by Alexis Daria
The waitress intercepted her on the way, holding a champagne flute in each hand.
“They’re light on the orange juice,” she said, handing the drinks to Jasmine. “Figured you could use it.”
Jasmine took them gratefully and made a mental note to leave an extra good tip. “You are a lifesaver.”
The waitress bit her lip, stalling like she wanted to say something, and that was when Jasmine knew she’d been recognized. People always got that nervous look before they asked—
“Were you on that show? Sunrise Vista, I mean. Was that you?”
Jasmine nodded and smiled. No matter how she was feeling, she was always kind to fans. It took courage to approach someone considered to be a celebrity, and everyone remembered when those celebs let them down. “Yes, that was me.”
The woman gave a little squeal and pulled out her phone. “I thought so! Oh my god, I loved that show. I used to watch it before my late-night bartending shifts, and was so sad when it ended. Can I take a picture with you?”
“Sure, just crop out the drinks,” Jasmine said with a wink, then leaned in to take a selfie with her. “What’s your name?”
“Bethany.”
“Thanks for the drinks, Bethany.”
“You’re welcome. Also . . .” Bethany pointed to an empty stool at the bar. “There’s a spot there if you need to have a moment alone.”
Shit, how much had she overheard? With a grateful nod, Jasmine carried her drinks over to the bar and took a seat. Sipping slowly, she texted the Primas of Power for support.
Jasmine: Help.
Ava: Are they being awful?
Jasmine: No more than usual.
Michelle: Bad enough.
Jasmine: I have mimosas. So it’s not all bad.
She added some champagne glass emojis.
What she really wanted to do was tell them about Ashton and what she’d done with him last night. How he’d slept beside her and been so sweet this morning, holding her before he left.
And damn could he kiss. She didn’t understand why he’d made a point of saying they shouldn’t have intercourse, but it didn’t bother her. He’d still made her feel cherished and wanted, and the orgasm had been amazing. Maybe he had an STI, and hadn’t felt comfortable telling her in the moment? Or maybe he just wanted to take it slow, since this was technically their first real kiss? Either way, they could discuss it later.
She started to type a message to her cousins, but held back. The part of her brain that knew she was making stupid choices where a man was concerned had been flashing all sorts of warning signs. She just had years of practice ignoring them. If she told Ava and Michelle, she’d have to listen to that part of her mind, and then she’d have to listen as her cousins pointed out—rightly so—that she was not adhering to any of her goals. They’d remind her of the Leading Lady Plan and ask where she was on the Jasmine Scale. She’d blown so far past Crush that she didn’t even want to think about when Infatuation had taken root.
Being with Ashton had been worth whatever second-guessing her common sense wanted to do. He’d made her feel special. And she hadn’t only enjoyed their time in bed together—they’d had real fun during karaoke, and now that they were communicating, he was wonderful to act beside.
They’d have to “communicate” about this—about the way he’d touched her, stroked her, kissed her. Part of her really wanted to talk about it. But the other part knew they were better off sticking to the original plan of practicing their lines together, and no more.
She knew it. She just didn’t care.
After finishing both drinks, she stood up, a little wobbly but with a nice enough buzz that she felt ready to face her family again. Determined to get through the rest of the meal without making any more passive-aggressive jabs—she’d be the better person, this time—she returned to the table . . . just in time for them to rehash all their old jokes about her vegan “phase,” which had actually been an elimination diet to uncover food sensitivities.
Jasmine waved and got Bethany’s attention again. “Just champagne,” she said in a low voice. “Keep it coming.”
Chapter 24
Ashton returned to Jasmine’s room that evening with the script for episode seven and the best of intentions.
He’d spent two hours that morning sweating it out on the treadmill and with the weights, and then had an hour-long video call with his son that had reset his priorities. Yadiel was worried about the new school year because he’d heard from one of his friends that fourth grade was really hard, and he had a lot of thoughts about the latest Marvel movie. Afterward, Ashton had caught up with his father, who’d shared that Abuelito Gus’s cough hadn’t worsened, but neither had it gone away, and that Abuelita Bibi was experiencing knee pain but had refused to stop cooking at the restaurant.
Still, even with all that to think about, Ashton hadn’t been able to put Jasmine out of his mind.
Bad idea, his brain told him as he knocked on the door. You’re going to end up hurting her.
But he couldn’t stay away.
Jasmine opened the door wearing a bright smile and the yellow floral romper she’d worn during their first rehearsal with Vera. Instantly, his anxiety eased.
“Hi,” she said. “Come on in.”
He followed her inside and was hit with the smell of hot pizza.
“Dinner?” he asked, spotting the box on the dining table. A half-eaten slice sat on a plate next to it. She picked it up and took a bite.
“I spent the day with my family and drank my weight in mimosas,” she explained after she’d chewed. “All I want is pizza right now. Real New York City pizza with a soggy thin crust and too much cheese and oil.”
“When in Rome, I guess.” Ashton took a slice from the box. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What, pizza?”
“No, your family.”
She sighed dramatically and dropped into one of the chairs. “Not really? Maybe you can tell me about yours instead.”
This was dangerous territory, but he sat and tried to answer without giving away too much. “My family owns a restaurant. My mother passed away ten years ago, but my father and grandparents still work there.”
“They’re in Puerto Rico, right?”
“Yes. I moved them to Miami after Maria, but they wanted to go back.”
She took a fresh slice from the box. “They’re okay with you being an actor?”
“Of course. They’re my family. They’ve always supported my art.”
Jasmine’s eyebrows shot up and she gave him a look like, Are you kidding me? “What do you mean, of course? Don’t take that for granted. I could win an Oscar and it wouldn’t matter to my family.”
Ashton shrugged as he chewed a bite of pizza. “My family has reacted to everything I’ve ever done like it’s an Oscar win.” That was why he wanted one so bad—so he could prove himself to everyone else.
Jasmine’s expression turned wistful as she stared at the crust on her plate. “Must be nice. Mine only care if you’re married and have kids. And yeah, I want those things, but I still have value as a person without them, you know?”
He blinked. She was right. He was lucky in how his parents supported his career. And also . . . she’d just revealed a lot about herself.
His heart ached for her, and he wanted to ask more, to hear the details of her day, of her family, of her childhood, but she flipped open her copy of the script and said blithely, “Episode seven. The penultimate episode. What happens?”
Ashton swallowed the food in his mouth. All right, she clearly didn’t want to talk about her family, but he’d thought they’d at least discuss what they’d done last night on this very table. However, he recognized a subject change when he heard one, so he respected her wishes and answered. “Victor spills his guts on a bunch of talk shows.”
“Oh, lots of feelings,” she teased. “Marquita loves including those moments.”
“From the top?” he asked.
�
�Sure, why not?” Jasmine kicked back in the chair and crossed her bare feet at the ankles. “Looks like it starts with a montage. I’ll read the parts of the hosts.”
They were halfway through the second scene, which featured a Kelly Ripa–like TV host, when Jasmine tossed a wadded-up paper napkin at him. It landed on his script.
He shot her a quizzical look, and she shook her head at him.
“What’s up?” she asked. “You’re distracted. You keep looking around the room.”
“Oh.” His face warmed. “I keep waiting for your cousins to barge through the door.”
Her teasing expression smoothed and her gaze turned hot. “They don’t know you’re here.”
“No? I thought you told them everything.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “Not everything.”
And there it was. An allusion to the previous night.
Suddenly, Ashton couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened, his skin heated, and before he could talk himself out of it, he tossed his script on the floor and reached for her.
They came together, Jasmine all but leaping onto his lap to straddle his legs. He planted his hands on her round ass and squeezed as her mouth crushed down on his.
“You taste like pizza,” she murmured against his lips.
“So do you.”
Ashton pumped his hips up toward her heat, pressed so close to him. Slipping his fingers under the hem of her romper, he groaned when he found her bare. “No panties?”
“Nuh-uh.” She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her chest. “No bra either.”
“You’re incredible.” He breathed the words against her neck as his fingers flexed on her breasts, cupping them through the thin fabric. “How do you take this thing off?”
“Like this.” She got off his lap, and when he would have protested, he swallowed his words instead, practically drooling as she yanked on the neckline and shimmied out of the garment. And then she was utterly, gloriously naked.
“Ven acá,” he said with a growl, catching her wrist and pulling her over to him.
With a breathless giggle, she resumed her place on his lap and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. Her other hand snaked down between them to stroke him through the fabric of his pants. He gasped, his cock surging at her touch.
They were doing this. They were definitely doing this. Consequences be damned, he had to get inside her.
“Forget what I said yesterday.” Desperation made his voice gravelly. “We should definitely have sex.”
She met his eyes, her expression uncertain. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He realized he was being presumptive and hastened to add, “If you are?”
She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I am one hundred percent on board with having penetrative sex with you.”
He groaned and pressed his face into her shoulder. “Did I really call it that?”
“You sure did.” She touched his chin, gently urging him to look at her. “Do you want to tell me why?”
“I . . . don’t cross that line with coworkers.” It was as good a way to explain it as any.
She just nodded. “It’s a smart policy. I get it.”
“But I want to . . . with you.” Total understatement.
Her smile was sweet, but that fire was back in her eyes. “Me too.”
It seemed silly to sit around talking when he had a naked woman on his lap. And now that they were on the same page . . .
He gripped her thighs and stood, lifting her as he had the night before. “Condoms?”
She wrapped her arms and legs around him, arching to thrust her breasts in his face. “Bedroom.”
He carried her in, but didn’t set her by the bed. Instead, he put her on the dresser. “Quédate aquí,” he ordered sternly, and she giggled.
He found the condoms in the drawer with the lube, so he grabbed that too. The assortment of pink and purple vibrating devices was interesting, but not for tonight. Tonight, he’d keep it simple.
That line of thinking implied they’d have more than just tonight, so he pushed the thought aside and returned to her with a deep, searching kiss.
She helped him undress, their movements frantic and fumbling. “Hurry,” she kept saying, and he gloried in the knowledge that she was as anxious for this as he was. She already had a condom unwrapped by the time he’d shed his pants and underwear, so he held still—barely—while she unrolled it down his length with torturously slow movements. But when she reached for the bottle of lube, he shook his head and took it from her.
“Hop down,” he said, helping her off the dresser. Then he turned her around to face the rectangular mirror hanging over it.
Their eyes met in the reflection, and a slow, sensual smile spread over her lips.
Apparently she was on board with his idea, too, because she spread her feet and braced her hands on the edge of the dresser. Her willingness and enthusiasm were arousing all on their own, but damn, she was stunning too. He swallowed hard, admiring her long legs, the curve of her ass, the arch of her back—until she turned and raised her eyebrows at him.
“Are you going to take all day?”
“No, querida. I’m here.”
And he was. He was here, all in, for whatever came next. For tonight, it was just them. Just this.
Tomorrow . . . well, they’d deal with tomorrow when it arrived.
QUERIDA. HE’D CALLED her querida.
Warmth spread over Jasmine’s body at the term of endearment. The way it rolled off his tongue, the feeling of being dear to someone, made her want to get even closer to him. And tonight, they would.
She curled her toes into the carpet as she watched Ashton prepping behind her, the mirror affording her a front-row view. God, she loved the look of him naked. He was perfectly proportioned, with an easy strength and confidence in his own skin that was so damned attractive. And his cock was pretty great too.
He squirted some lube into his hand, then set the bottle aside. Stepping closer, he gripped her hip, then slipped the lubed-up hand between her legs.
At the first touch of his fingers on her pussy, she shut her eyes and let out a low moan. The way he caressed her there was so fucking lovely. Gentle, but sure. He smoothed the lube over her folds, coating her with the gel to make sure she was wet and open. His fingers teased her entrance and she sighed, her breath hitching when he found her clit and stroked.
“Please,” she whispered, shaking her ass to hurry him along.
It worked. With a groan, he moved behind her and bent his knees. His thighs pressed against hers, and then the head of his cock prodded at her. Their eyes met in the mirror and she sucked in a breath. His handsome features were stark with the intensity of his concentration, and his dark gaze entranced her. This kind of single-minded focus—on her—was a turn-on like no other. Then he pushed forward, filling her, stretching her. Pleasure detonated her thoughts into stardust. The lube and her own readiness eased the way, but he still felt impossibly thick inside her.
And so fucking good.
He had to rock himself back and forth a bit to stretch her, but when he was fully sheathed, with his hips pressed against her ass, she dug her nails into the edge of the dresser and hissed out a breath.
Panting, he leaned over her back and braced his hands next to hers. “Okay?”
“Perfect.” She thrust her butt back against him, and it was like that one move broke his control. His arm snaked around her waist and he began to thrust, setting a fast, pounding pace that left her breathless. The power in those thighs, the passion in his gaze—he was consuming her from the inside out. And all she could do was hold on for the ride.
“Cójelo,” he growled in her ear, and she just sobbed “yes” over and over in response.
Her entire world narrowed to his cock shuttling in and out of her, his skin slapping against hers, his harsh pants and growls, his lips hot against her ear whispering Spanish dirty talk. His hands moved up and down her body—rolling he
r tight nipples, squeezing her madly bouncing breasts, rubbing circles over her clit. She was a mass of throbbing sensation, originating from where he hammered into her. Just like before, her pleasure was his sole focus.
She loved it. She couldn’t take it. She never wanted him to stop.
When her limbs threatened to give out, he gathered her close, letting her lean on him. He held her up with his hands on her breasts and between her legs, and with the force of his straining thighs and cock. Their sweat-dampened bodies slid together, generating heat and friction.
Through it all, they watched each other in the mirror. There were no barriers here, nothing but naked, hungry passion. She’d spent so long trying to get past his walls and now she was in. What she found there rocked her to the core. She hadn’t been prepared, and now, with her emotional defenses demolished by the waves of arousal coursing through her, she was perilously close to the abyss at the end of the Jasmine Scale.
When her eyes tried to drift shut, powerless against the ecstasy he was building in her, he thrust harder and murmured, “Mírame.”
Look at me.
Ashton’s gaze was blazing hot, demanding that she feel everything he had to give and more. So she did.
Electric spirals of bliss flashed through her, and her cries took on an urgent pitch. She was close to her breaking point. This much sensation, this much emotion, couldn’t sustain itself. It had to crest, or it would consume them.
She reached behind her and gripped his thigh with one hand, reveling in the unyielding muscles, in the strength behind his thrusts. And surrendered fully to the pleasure zinging through her.
“Querida,” Ashton breathed in her ear. “Come for me.”
How could she do otherwise?
Her body tensed, all her muscles contracting. And then she exploded from within. She shook in his arms, racked by the waves of sensation flooding her senses and overloading her nerve endings. Euphoria cleared her mind and left her senseless to anything that wasn’t the press of his skin on hers. She would have collapsed onto the carpet if it weren’t for him.
