Chapter Fourteen
Babysitting had wound up being less horrible than expected. Dean was amazing with kids, and throughout the day, he’d slowly managed to get Jade to have some fun with little Maya. But she was definitely more aligned with the idea of having someone else’s kid for a day than having her own full time.
Jade had expected to feel some sort of loss with that realization, but the main thing she sensed was relief. If she didn’t want kids, didn’t have kids, she couldn’t pass on the propensity toward depression, and she definitely couldn’t pass on whatever else had ailed her mother. No, there would be no small versions of her running around.
Beyond the mental health worries, she just wasn’t cut out for it. Not least of all because it had left both her and Dean exhausted by the end of the day, which meant no sex again. And his crazy schedule had restarted at five this morning, which meant long days and short nights all week long.
No way. She wasn’t going another entire week without sex. He might be tired tonight, but he wouldn’t be as dead as he would be tomorrow, or the day after, which meant tonight was the perfect night for curing what ailed her.
Dean wouldn’t be home until eight at the earliest, so as soon as she was done with her last photo shoot for the day, Jade went shopping.
One of the best things about living in Hollywood—one can always find costumes. Tonight, she and Dean were getting back to the way things between them were supposed to be, at least if she had anything to say about it.
The instant she heard footsteps in the hall at eight forty-five, she jumped into action. Her feather duster flew over surfaces like it had a mind of its own. The door opened and closed, Dean’s keys dropping heavily onto the console table. Still, she dusted.
Four slow treads, and then he stopped.
She kept right on dusting.
“What are you doing?”
Spinning on her five-inch black heels, she brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Monsieur Hartley. I did not expect you so soon. I’d planned to be finished by the time you made it home. I am almost done.”
He blinked, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or he’d fallen asleep on the drive. Jade leaned across the back of the couch and started fluffing pillows, casting a saucy smile over her shoulder. He wasn’t looking at her face, though. His eyes were fixed a little too far right for that—he was focused completely on her ass, exactly as she’d intended.
When she resumed rearranging the pillows, her smile wasn’t role-play at all. She’d planned this carefully to harken back to their first time. He’d loved the Russian spy thing, and the idea of playing maid to his lord-of-the-manor turned her on—a lot. To make certain this was as enticing for him as possible, she’d forgone the rumba panties that came with the costume. He seemed unable to tear his gaze away from her naked ass and sex framed by the black satin and white lace of her French Maid outfit. Debauchery in innocence.
Fearing he might never move with her on display like that, Jade spun around, duster sweeping over the bar stools.
Dean swallowed hard and took a step forward, unbuttoning his top button. “I thought we had an understanding that you’d be out of sight by the time I returned.”
Thank God! Her Dean was back from whatever crazy trip he’d mentally taken. No more babysitting. No more freaking missionary sex. “Oui. There was an incident earlier, and I had to restart your dinner…”
“I’m not hungry.”
That was good because she’d assumed he’d eaten already—sex was the only thing on the menu tonight. “I…I can leave.” She laid the duster on the countertop and smoothed down the skirt of her costume.
Dean was there in a heartbeat, his hands like shackles on her arms. “I think, mademoiselle, that you need to offer some sort of recompense for staying past your appointed hour.”
“Oui,” she said, batting her fake eyelashes at him innocently. “Whatever you wish, monsieur.”
“No, no. I wished for rest and relaxation when I returned. You clearly have no desire to give me what I want.” He shoved her gently, releasing her arms as he did, and then rounded the couch to collapse against the cushions.
“Non. I do.” She reached into the open collar of his shirt and started to massage his neck and shoulders. “I wish nothing more than to provide everything you desire. Je m’excuse.”
He unbuttoned another two buttons, allowing her more access, and leaned into her touch. “What was that?”
“I am sorry for failing you, that is all.”
Reaching up, he grasped her hands and slid them down his chest until her fingers were brushing his abs and she was bent over him. “You aren’t failing me now.”
His lips pressed against the underside of her breast, and she let out a low moan as the satin shifted against her bare skin. Leaving her to brace against him, he reached up and tugged on the fabric of her bodice, freeing her breasts. He took one nipple in his mouth, sucking on it greedily, while he pinched the other between his fingers.
Yes. This was what she needed, what she’d been craving from him. Her clit was throbbing and wetness was already slicking her folds, making her ready for him. But if she played her part truthfully, she needed to offer him something first. “Monsieur?” He made a noise against her breast that sounded like assent. “May I…service you?”
He released her nipple, flicking his tongue against it for one last taste, and said, “Oui. All the fucking oui.”
She rounded the couch slowly, a seductive roll to her hips that wasn’t strictly necessary at this stage but made her feel sexy. Stopping in front of him, she waited as his gaze roved over her from bottom to top. The instant he signaled, she dropped to her knees in front of him and undid his jeans. “Merci, monsieur.”
“What are you thanking me for?”
Once she had his dick free, she looked up at him, striving for innocence, but at least succeeding with honesty. “Letting me taste you. I’ve wanted this since the first moment we met.”
Her lips curled around his head and slowly followed her hand down the length of his shaft. Having him in her mouth was like tasting heaven. The weight of his cock on her tongue, filling her mouth, hitting the back of her throat—it was perfection. And the sound of him moaning as she sucked and licked—God, she could live off that sound alone.
Someday soon, they needed to have an oral-only day. Taking turns. At the same time. Over and over again until they were spent. She’d mention it later. Right now, she wanted to focus on finally having him back with her the way they were meant to be.
She reached into his pants, cupping his balls and massaging his taint. His muscular legs went stiff around her, and his hands found her hair, tangling in the perfectly coiffed strands and undoing all her hard work. Just like she’d imagined he would—just like she’d hoped he would. His reaction only spurred her to take him deeper, suck harder, stroke faster.
“Oh God, kitten. I’m so close…”
Breaking his role meant the words were intended as a warning in case she wanted to stop. But she didn’t, she wanted all of him—she’d waited long enough.
She took him as deep as she could, her eyes tearing as his cock went into her throat a little. Again. Again.
He clutched at her head and his hips rose off the couch, thrusting into her farther than she’d been able to take him on her own. Warmth spurted into her throat. He sagged against the cushions, and she bobbed her head a couple more times, milking him, lapping up every drop he offered.
When she sat back on her heels and looked up at him, he wore a strange expression. Or, at a minimum, strange for the occasion. He looked almost…sad, like he hadn’t wanted this, like he’d been happy with where their relationship had gone since she’d been sick. She had to be reading that wrong—sadness made no sense, not when things were finally back to normal.
Dean cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the skin under her eyes, likely wiping away mascara that had run with the tears brought on from taking him so deep. “Oh, kitten…”
“Don’t worry, handsome, you can give me mine in the other room. Just let me strip off this getup first.” She sauntered into the bedroom, kicking her heels into the corner. In the closet, she carefully untied the apron and draped it over a hanger. The crinoline she shimmied down her hips and hung over the apron. The zipper caught on the satin of the dress, but she freed it in seconds. Still, the last thing she wanted was a delay zapping the sexual energy they had going on. So she tossed the dress on a shelf, vowing to store it properly in the morning. She quickly scrubbed her face clean of the smeared makeup and let her hair down, brushing out the snarls Dean had twisted into it.
Letting out a deep, happy breath, she strode into the bedroom—only to find it empty.
What the…?
A low sound came from the living room, and she didn’t even have to walk all the way out to discover the source. Dean hadn’t moved from where she’d left him, not even to do up his pants.
He’d passed out on the couch during the few minutes she’d spent in the bathroom.
So much for not zapping the energy or her getting hers.
With a gentle shove, she laid Dean on his side, head on a pillow, and then covered him with a warm throw.
No matter how much she knew she was doing the right thing, frustration bubbled up inside her. She missed him like she couldn’t believe, and this taste only made the ache inside her worse. What the hell did she have to do to get things back to how they’d been before?
Was he trying to shove her toward Isak? It was starting to feel that way, and she didn’t understand why. Everything he’d said and done up until she’d gotten sick had pointed to him wanting her to abandon her Isak plan in favor of staying with him. Now? It was as if he’d stopped caring what happened to their relationship.
A confrontation seemed imminent, but she didn’t want to go there tonight. Especially not if it meant waking him. She needed a fresh perspective, and she had lunch with Vicky tomorrow. She could wait that long.
…
The moment Dean found out he’d have a late-morning break, he called Chaz and asked him to come by the set.
After checking out Dean’s co-star, Brittany, as she stormed to her trailer, Chaz sat next to him. “What’s going on? Jade has me on a location shoot this afternoon, so I can’t stay long.”
Shit. Chaz’s apprenticeship. How was this mess going to affect him? “I fucked up.”
“And?” he asked, like fucking up was Dean’s normal mode of operating.
Maybe it was. Maybe he was the reason things had never worked out for him in the past—with women, with families, with anything. “And I’m not sure I can keep up this charade with her much longer. Last night she surprised me with the blow job of my life.”
Chaz cocked his head to the side. “Sorry, but no matter how irritable she might’ve been this morning, I fail to see how an awesome BJ is a bad thing.”
“Because I’m supposed to be acting like husband material?”
“And husbands don’t get blow jobs?”
From somewhere, voices yelled, “Mine does!” and “Mine doesn’t!” Neither of which really helped the situation at all. Dean lowered his voice, hoping Chaz would do the same. “She did this whole French Maid role-play thing. It was super hot and ended with her blowing me…and then I passed out.”
Chaz opened his mouth, snapped it shut again for a moment, then said, the words coming out slowly, “I can’t say for sure, since I’ve never been married, but that kind of sounds like stereotypical husband behavior, if you ask me.”
Fuck, the more Dean thought about it, the truer that seemed. Chaz was right, but it didn’t mean doing it was right. “I don’t want to be that guy, though. Other than me falling asleep, last night was going back to how she and I were at first. Which means it was just sex again. Which is awesome on the one hand, but it also means I failed at proving I can be everything she needs. Maybe I’m wrong, but until Isak Alfredsson is off-continent, it sure as hell seems like I’m nothing but her booty call.”
“You live with her, man. That’s not a booty call.”
No, but he wasn’t confident that it was more than sex, either. Not when he couldn’t get her to open up and talk to him. “But it’s not enough to keep her here.” To keep her with me.
Chaz sighed. “How long until Thor leaves?”
Soon, but not nearly soon enough. “Two weeks, give or take. Unless he’s decided to stay longer. That was the last I knew.”
“And with both of you working all week, she’s not going to be able to break up with you until the weekend at the earliest.”
“Very supportive. Thanks.” Why the hell had he called Chaz for help? He might as well have asked little Maya how to fix this.
Chaz stood and stretched. “My point, dumbass, is take her away for the weekend. Do something to really get at the deep stuff between you. Make her feel like you’re committed to her and not just to her body. She wants a public breakup? Make sure you aren’t in public. If she’s going to dump you, put her in a position where she’s at least dumping you and not just making it easy to hook up with the Swede.”
Okay, maybe Chaz wasn’t so bad at this after all. Everything he’d said made sense, and Dean had time this weekend. “Perfect. Any brilliant ideas of someplace to take her where I won’t give in to the temptation to fuck her senseless?”
“She’s been bitching about needing a massage. Maybe a spa or something? Not a perfect solution to all sides of your problem, but it’d show you’ve been paying attention to her needs.”
“Yeah.” Dean nodded. Someone here would know a great place to cover everything he was looking for—he’d ask around before heading back to the W for the night. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”
One of the production assistants, a short bubbly redhead, bounced over. “We need you on set now, Mr. Hartley.”
“Dean, and I’ll be right there.” He stood and grabbed Chaz in what they’d always jokingly called a man-hug. One arm, whack the other guy between the shoulder blades. “Thanks. I feel like I’m in so deep with her that I can’t see the surface.”
“Just call me your lifeline, and remember when you move out that you’re ditching me with Todrick and whatever his new problems are, as well as your share of the rent.”
“Can’t help with Tod, but I’ll cover my share until the lease is up. I promised you guys that much.” As they parted ways, he couldn’t help grinning. While he’d give up the money with no regrets, he had no intention of spending another night in that house unless it was as a guest.
…
Vicky’s eyes were wide as saucers when she glanced up from the menu. “What the hell happened to you?”
Jade didn’t want to know how bad she looked. After last night, she really hadn’t had the energy or desire to bother with her normal hair, makeup, and clothing routine. Gone was the curvy pin-up. In it’s place… She tugged the sleeves of the too-big sweater over her hands. “I’m going insane. That’s what happened. What is happening.”
“Isak? Or Dean?”
Leave it to the pregnant girl to cut to the chase. “Both?”
“You spill. I’m eating.” She dipped the chip in so much salsa that even Jade worried about the impact on the growing baby. But she had bigger problems than someone else’s child.
“I was taking your advice, or trying to. On paper, Isak is the perfect guy—he’s the type to swear forever and mean it, no matter what—but there’s no fire there. Honestly, when I’m with him, I feel…small.”
“In a bad way or a good way?”
“In an I-start-to-question-my-life-choices-and-personality way.”
Vicky put down the chip and sat back against the booth. “Oh. That’s not what I expected.”
Because that’s not what Jade had ever led her to expect. Isak had been the one that got away, the only guy she might have made it work with, the answer to all the things in her past that ailed her. Vicky knew how Jade had grown up, understood her demons as best as someone w
ho hadn’t lived through that could, but she didn’t understand how enticing the idea of security had been. How it overshadowed everything else—or had until her perfect complement had shown up.
“Ditto. The thing is I don’t know if I feel that way because it’s really how he is, or how I am, or if it’s because Dean makes me feel different. Or he used to. Now, I don’t know what the hell he makes me feel.”
The waitress stopped by to take their orders. As soon as she was gone, Vicky doctored another chip—adding guacamole this time—and said, “Off Isak for a minute, slow down and walk me through Dean.”
After blowing out a deep breath to steady herself, Jade launched into the story, starting once more on the day he’d shown up early at the studio and not stopping until she got to the part about him passing out on the couch the night before.
Vicky steepled her fingers, food all but forgotten for the moment, and tapped them against her lips. “You told me how Isak makes you feel. How does Dean make you feel?”
“Now? Like I bore him.”
“Not now…before things changed. How did he make you feel then?”
She toyed with her margarita, twisting the stem of the glass between her fingers and making the cool green liquid splash along the edges. At first it was hard to let go of the dullness and frustration of the last couple of weeks and think back to what they’d had before. Then, without warning, it was right there with the memory of him saying, The hottest woman in all of Hollywood is apparently my girlfriend. I couldn’t be happier.
“He made me feel…perfect. Not in an arrogant way, like I’m-so-awesome-bow-before-me. But…like I was everything he wanted just the way I am. My body. The way I talk. The fact that I don’t filter. He liked all of the stuff that drives most men in my life away.”
Vicky let out a blissful sigh and pushed Jade’s hand down until she released the glass. “I know that feeling, and it’s not something to let go of lightly. I thought Isak was the guy for you, since he was the only one you kept around any length of time and you always told me how his devotion made you feel safe and loved. But if what you’re saying about both of them is how you really feel, then maybe Sweden isn’t the best choice.”
Playing the Perfect Boyfriend (Gone Hollywood) Page 14
