He took the moan as encouragement, and licked and bit and sucked. "Take your shirt off too," I said, recalling his encouragement to tell him what I wanted. Plus, our little closet encounter left me wanting to touch his skin so badly.

Keaton looked up, mouth red and swollen and wet and opened the buttons on his tight black shirt. "Like this?"

I nodded. "Just like that." He tossed the shirt to the floor and was about to bring his mouth back to my nipple but I took his head in my hands.

"No," I said.

His face fell, but he nodded. "Whatever you want."

Power surged through me. Here was a man used to getting whatever he wanted, and yet he'd still stop if I wanted him to. He misunderstood my directions, however.

I pushed him to a kneeling position. I needed to know what that felt like. "I want to stretch again."

"Yes, please," he said, running his finger across the waistband of my workout pants. I gripped my fingers in his hair and pulled him to my hips, showing him exactly what I wanted. God, I had imagined his tongue inside me ever since the concert two weeks ago.

"May I?" Keaton asked, rolling the top of my pants down, exposing my purple polka dot underpants. I didn't think I'd need my fancy stuff on the plane. Oops.

"Consider it an order," I said, surprised at the husky tone of my voice. I smirked at myself. Scarlett would be so proud.

"I am . . . unworthy, Goddess," he said, pulling my pants and shorts down in one swift motion. He pulled them off one leg and I swung my thigh around his neck. Keaton didn't hesitate for one second, he simply buried his face and fingers between my legs and got to work. I gasped so hard I thought I'd get us caught. His mouth and tongue moved in perfect synch, slipping in me, slinking up me, making me bite my tongue to keep from screeching his name. I looked down, at my fingers stroking the black and blue peaks of his hair, at his face intensely kissing, his fingers gently rubbing. Within moments, I was undone. I moaned, completely ignorant of anyone else outside the lavatory who may be listening, and gripped his shoulders as the pleasure snapped and unwound inside me.

The plane shook, and Keaton pulled away with a mischievous look on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the voice said over the speaker as I nearly collapsed against the wall, body numb with pleasure, "the fasten seat belt sign has been turned on. Please remain seated. We are hitting a pocket of turbulence."

"Can't say my skills had ever brought a plane down, but there's a first for everything," Keaton said, pulling himself to standing and gently scooting my shirt back up. "I do look forward to more of your orders, Goddess."

I nodded, completely unable to form words, and we finished dressing. He scooted out of the bathroom first, and I followed a minute later. Nobody in the cabin seemed to notice, but then again, who knew if Keaton did this sort of thing a lot. That thought nearly gave me pause-was I becoming a groupie? The feeling sunk inside me and all the newfound sensations began to fizzle and become replaced with shame. A groupie. No, not me.

As I found my seat again, I saw that Keaton had poured us both some sparkling water. "You must be parched," he said, handing it to me as I buckled myself in.

"Thank you," I said, taking the drink and a long sip.

"Anything for you," he said. "And you know you can have anything from me. I want your orders, anytime, anyplace."

I quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded.

Huh.

No, I decided, I wasn't a groupie. A groupie would have gone into that bathroom for his pleasure. To blow him, or to fuck him. No, Keaton wanted to please me in there.

Maybe he was my groupie.

"Then come here," I said, yanking the collar of his shirt toward me. He looked surprised but delighted at the move. "You don't seem to be the cuddly type, but I am," I explained, and pulled him close to me. Keaton put his arm around me and sidled up.

"Oh, I could get used to orders like this," he replied. I stifled a giggle.

"Did you go to college?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, but I'm probably just as well versed in the classics."

"I'm curious about your Greek tattoo," I said, touching his shoulder, "the Lion Gate of Mycenae."

He smiled. "My mother was Peloponnesian. She died when I was just a baby. I got this to honor her."

My eyebrows lifted. "Your name is decidedly un-Greek."

"Well, my middle name is Kyrios."

I high-fived him. "You're my people!"

He laughed. "So yes, the tattoo has a meaning. They all do actually. We can do an in-depth lesson some time," he joked.

"I want to know more."

Keaton shrugged. "My dad was a musician, too, and we were on the road often. He never hit it big, but we did get to see the world. We traveled all over South America by bus, backpacked in the Alps, and even stayed at hostels between shows. It was just him and me and a guitar most of the time. He passed away before he could see me reach the stardom he had always longed for."

"I'm sorry," I said.

Keaton waved his hand. "Don't be. I know he's proud. Of my music, at least. Not necessarily my antics."

I pinched his arm and was startled to see someone next to me.

"Glad to see you're comfortable in first class, Thea," Coach Dunks said.

My face fell. "Yes, sir," I replied, fumbling for an explanation as to why I was, well, cuddling with a rock star.

"I came up here to relay some of the strategy Reese and Donelle had discussed, but I see you're busy."

"Coach, I-"

"Just," he said, shaking his head in disapproval, "keep your head in the game."

The rest of the flight was short and definitely less eventful than before Coach had given me a reverse pep talk, but when Keaton and I parted, he took my hand. "Things will fall into place," he said. "I'll see you."

People had begun to stand and exit, and soon I'd be with the team. "Well, should we make plans? I have practice tonight, but-"

"I have a show tonight," he said, "and some press stuff."

My face fell. "When will we . . ." I trailed off. The first game was tomorrow night, and all day we'd pretty much be discussing strategy, watching videos, and practicing. No time to slip out, and he'd be gone by our second game.

"Just trust me. Keep your phone handy. I will serve you yet, Goddess." And without another word, Keaton the megastar exited with his entourage, leaving me with nothing but his cryptic prophecies and a stunned silence.

The team joined me easily, forgiving my absence much better than Coach had done, but then again, they didn't see me lounging, post-orgasm, with a superstar.

"How's the knee holding up?" Callie asked, pulling me aside and a few paces behind the crowd as we headed to the bus that would take us to the hotel. "Was he up in first class with you?" she whispered in a high pitch and a hot burst of breath.

I poked my finger in my ear to dislodge the uncomfortable moisture. "Jeez, Callie," I grunted. "Yes, he was."

Her hands flew to her mouth and she stifled a squeal.

I smirked at her.

"You didn't," she said, eyes wide.

"No, we didn't," I said, voice coyly dodging her accusation.

"But . . ." she prodded.

I shrugged. "Let's just say I'm very relaxed," I said, shaking my shoulders. "Loosened up some tension."

She slapped my shoulder. "You bitch!"

I pushed her gently. "I know."

"Ahhhh!" she shouted. "Details?"

"Not on your life," I said as we closed in on the group. Our duffel bags were being loaded into the side and one by one, we marched up the steep stairs of the bus.

Callie slid into the seat next to me. "Eight inches?"

"Shhhh," I whispered, ducking down in the seat. "Today was all about me, okay?"

Callie's head fell forward against the seat in front of her. "Fuuuuuck. You're kidding me. He . . . you . . ."

I patted her on the head. "If you're good, I'll tell you after practice. Hit every three-pointer and I promise to divulge."

"You're the devil," she groaned.

"I'm a goddess," I clarified, popping my earbuds in and listening to some Trickster City tunes for the ride.

I dozed off for a bit to the sounds of Keaton crooning in my ear, and after a while Callie shook me awake. "Check in and then practice," she said, "so stop daydreaming of getting diddled in your seat by a rock star."

I groaned and stretched. "I didn't get diddled, I got tongued," I explained, "and it wasn't in my seat. It was in the bathroom."

Callie's eyes widened and she shook her head at me. "I don't even know you anymore."

I shrugged and we headed into the hotel.

The rooms were pretty straightforward-all dusky green and tan, the way they're always decorated-and I unpacked quickly, just shoving clothes into drawers.

"Glad you packed your new panties. Wearing them for him tonight?"

I sighed. "I don't even know when I'm going to see him. Our schedule's a bit packed and so is his."

She bit her lip. "I don't want to have to punch you again. Then again, I am a bit jealous, so it won't be that hard."

Just then, my phone alerted me to a text. I slipped into the bathroom so Callie wouldn't see my reaction, good or bad.

It was a picture of a balcony. There was a bottle of champagne on the balcony table, and a pair of handcuffs beside it. Sneak out tonight at six and this is what you'll find, it read.

I frowned.

Practice. Remember? I texted back.

Choose wisely, then, he quickly wrote back.

I wanted to throw the phone in the toilet. Choose? Was he kidding?

No such thing as a choice here, I wrote back. Part of me wanted to put an angry frowny face.

There's always a choice, Goddess. Choose wisely.

My heart slammed around in my chest and my stomach wanted to leap out of my throat. What was this guy doing to me? He couldn't torture me like this.

Then I remembered I was the one in charge. I had to show him I called the shots.

I choose the team. They need my skills. You want to see me? Reschedule your shit.

For a moment, my phone remained silent. I couldn't believe how bold I was, but he was the one who gave me this power over him, so he deserved it.

You know very well that gods decide the victors, anyway, he wrote back. Again with his cryptic weirdness. Maybe he was one of those trippy, druggy rock stars.

I choose my scholarship, my teammates and my pride. Tears welled in my eyes. I wanted him so badly, but he couldn't make me choose like this. I wanted what was right for my life, not what would feel good momentarily.

Very well. Then let's see what fate has in store.

I SULKED ALL THROUGH STRETCHING, weights, and cardio. Our team had four fitness instructors who traveled with us, but my favorite was Shawna. Even though she gave me the business for my attitude.

"I don't care how bad you played two weeks ago, chickie, you need to pick-it-up!" she shouted as I did another dead-lift squat.

I grunted and gave her a nod.

"The fact that you haven't sweat through your shirt yet means you aren't putting in your time. Gimme ten more."

Red faced and pissed off, I busted out the rest of the squats in angry silence. Granted, they were taking it easier on us because of the tournament, but she was still a hard-ass.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," Shawna said and gave me a pat on the shoulder and addressed the team. "Now let's move on to a couple dozen weighted calf-raises."

I grabbed a few twenty-pound weights and went on my tiptoes. With every muscle twitch, I thought about Keaton and how he was going to make me choose. Not really, though, since I chose the team, but how dare he?

Was this some sort of test? Was he trying to be a switch like Scarlett had said? I just didn't understand how a man who wanted me so badly would want to mess with me like this.

"Atta girl," Donelle said, as she observed my stone-faced workout. I gave her a nod. Maybe the team knew how serious I was about playing. Now more than ever. I had to prove that the decision I made was the right one.

But oh, how my heart wanted to choose differently.

Keaton made me swoon, for goodness' sake. He turned my toned muscles into syrup. The thought of him made my pulse quicken and I worked my body harder to purge the thought of him. Focus on the game, the strategy, your body.