by Colet Abedi
“Just. You.”
I don’t even have to ask. He thrusts in deep before I can even blink, and I come so fast and hard that I scream his name over and over, until I’m finally able to float back to earth. When I open my eyes and see the look of smug satisfaction on his face, I wish I had stayed up in orgasm heaven a bit longer.
Fine.
I’ll give it to him. Him and that cock of his are pretty epic. I think about the conversation we had right before the incredible sex. Normal adult people talk. His words ring in my mind. It’s so annoying that he’s right.
“So what now?” I know my voice sounds shy, but I can’t help it. I kind of feel like everything has changed again. And in a different way than last time.
“I have a thought.” Jamie’s voice is quiet as he moves a strand of my hair away from my face. His gaze flickers to mine, and he lets me inside. He’s not hiding anything. “We date like normal people. In normal relationships. And we see how it goes.”
My stomach drops. He used the word date, relationship, and “seeing how it goes” in practically the same sentence. No matter my reservations I have, it sounds too damn good to resist—to at least try out for a while.
I mean, look at him. He’s to die for. And he cares—it mattered if I had been with someone else in our break just like it does for me. If he ends up crushing me, at least I’ll have a great story to tell my children. What the hell?
“Exclusively?” I ask after a while.
“You’re not fucking anyone else. If that means we’re exclusive, then so be it.” The look he gives me is so possessive, it practically brands me.
I’ll never admit it to him—or anyone else—but I like it.
“Then the same goes for you.” I try to act cool, but I feel anything but.
He stares at me long and hard before answering. “Hadn’t planned on it,” Jamie says slowly. “But to be honest, it’s what I thought we were doing before your irrational meltdown.”
I astral project out of my body and do a happy dance when I hear his words. “I object to the use of the word irrational,” I say calmly.
“Are you writing a spec for Law & Order or something?” Jamie cocks a curious brow.
I laugh. “You’re funny.”
“You’re hot.”
I melt, then burn or do both simultaneously. I want him. Again. I hope he keeps good on his promise that the pool table was the first of many to come. Instead, to my surprise, he leans down, gives me a quick, chaste kiss on the lips, then moves away from my body and pulls me up and off the table.
His jeans are buttoned in no time, and he runs a hand through his thick hair before he walks to the door and starts to pull it open.
“Where are you going?” I ask in confusion while I finish straightening my dress and smoothing down my hair. I’m sure I still look like I had sex, but that’s the good thing about this place. Everyone else is or also recently had sex.
“We are going,” he says.
“Where?”
“We’re leaving this place.” His answer is cryptic, but I go with it. As long as we’re going someplace to have more make-up sex—because that’s what I’m calling it—I’m down.
He shakes his head in exasperation, walks back to me, and takes hold of my hand. We exit the room and make our way through the club pretty quickly. Jamie signals to one of the concierges who stroll the halls, making sure their VIPs are taken care of. Kerri was the one who let me in on that little secret. A man dressed conservatively in a black suit walks our way, speaks into the Bluetooth device in his ear, and ushers us down a private hall and out two double doors. We enter what I’m assuming is the VIP garage. Kerri and I didn’t come in this way. Both times we’ve been here, we Ubered.
There’s an SUV waiting for us. Jamie opens the car door quickly, and I get inside. The driver doesn’t get out of the car, which at first I find odd but then figure it might be for privacy. In any case, I’m grateful.
We settle in.
The car starts to move, and I watch Jamie connect his iPhone to the Bluetooth, and very quickly, Neil Young’s “Harvest Moon” echoes through the car. I close my eyes in serious ecstasy and try my hardest not to drool when I meet his eyes. Everything about Jamie is just so… cool. To my surprise, he doesn’t sit next to me but across. His legs cradle mine, which is nice and kind of sexy considering the difference between our sizes. He makes me feel very feminine, but I still wish he’d come and hold me.
We’re both quiet for a minute and listen to the song. It’s kind of perfect in a strange way.
Jamie breaks the silence. “So how’s work been?”
I meet his bright gaze, and my heart flutters. Then that sensation—the sensation you get when you’re staring at something that takes your breath away, when you’re staring at something that’s pretty special… That happens, and it’s pretty freaking surreal.
“Fine.” My response sounds nervous, but I can’t help it. I try to cover my unease, but even my next words come out awkwardly. “I saw the announcement today in the trades. Congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks.” He doesn’t sound too thrilled.
He’s officially directing The Origin. The deal was brokered quickly, and the studio gave Jamie everything he asked for, which if rumor is true—and in this town it usually is—were some pretty big, substantial requests. That’s how bad they wanted him. When Tony thought I wasn’t listening, I overheard him tell Kerri the studio bent over and took it in the you-know-where from Jamie’s agents and attorneys.
“You don’t seem too excited.”
He shrugs and gives me one of those cute, sexy smiles—the kind he doesn’t realize are hot. It reminds me of the ones he kept giving the ladies in the audience tonight on the Craig Williamson Show. Oh, I saw everything. I pray I manage to keep my big mouth shut and not let him know I watched and dissected. Did I dissect…
“I am,” he says with a sigh. “It’s just a lot of work and years.”
“Years?”
“It’s a three-year commitment from pre-production to post on both movies and press and all that part of the business I’d rather do without.”
I can hear the tired in his voice just thinking about it.
“It’s a lot. I just tied myself up if anything else comes along I might want to do, and that’s a bit scary too.”
“Do you regret agreeing to do the sequel as well?” I search his gaze.
“No.” Jamie shakes his head. “After I read the book, I understood more. Honestly the script Darren wrote is fucking unbelievable, and it’s going to blow people away. And I only had to read the first fifty of the sequel to know it was excellent, and he’s not done yet. It’s his first draft.”
“I’m surprised he showed you,” I say. Most writers have aversions to showing their directors anything until it’s finished. He must be really confident and sure.
“He wanted me to see where he wanted to take it,” Jamie says. “To get me to come along for the ride.”
“Well, it worked,” I say with a smile, “and seems like it’s going to be quite a ride.”
His eyes pin mine. “The wilder the ride, the more I like it.”
My stomach drops at the double entendre. Jamie’s eyes glint possessively as they roam over my legs.
“And then you’ll hand off the reigns to another director?”
“That’s the plan,” Jamie nods his head as he leans back in the seat. His gaze flickers over my breasts, then mouth, then straight back to my breasts. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
Jamie continues with a secretive gaze. “But I’m a producer on everything, so I’ll be part of the film franchise in one way or another.” He knows what he’s done to me.
“How many will there be?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
“As long as the movies are making money, they’ll be making the movies,” Jamie says confidently. “But I’m creating a world that can live forever, is multi-dimensional, and the studio can exploit across all platforms,
so it’ll go on for a long run.”
“Trust me.” I all but roll my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me that. Popcorn movies are all people watch now—not what they really need to be watching but what they are nonetheless.”
Jamie’s quiet for a moment.
“Shouldn’t you still be stroking my ego?” he scolds.
I’d like to stroke something else. The thought naturally pops in my mind. Just the picture makes me insta-horny. There’s no one else in the car with us, and the glass is blacked out, so why not?
“Do you want me to?” My voice sounds hoarse. My gaze shifts to the impressive bulge in his jeans. He does nothing to hide it; he’s proud and cocksure.
He has every right to be. If there is another life after this one, and I come back as a man, I hope I have a cock like his.
“Later.” Jamie and I lock eyes. “When we’re all alone, I’ll tell you exactly what I want you to do. I have plans.”
I practically lick my lips. I can’t wait to hear all about his plans. I’m in, like 100 percent in. I just need the time and place.
Jamie smiles broadly and gives me a sexy wink. He looks boyish and playful and as appealing as a slice of red velvet cake from The Ivy.
“Let’s place a bet.”
“Why and on what?” I ask quickly.
“For fun,” he says, shaking his head in admonishment. “For you to see how good I am.”
I raise a questioning brow.
“At everything I put my mind to.” He smiles and looks impossibly handsome.
His arrogance is seriously next level.
“I’ll bet on whatever you want I’ll correctly predict the box office winner of the four-day Thanksgiving Day weekend, and not only that, but I’ll be within five million dollars of the gross.”
“You’re seriously the most arrogant person I’ve ever been in contact with.” I shake my head in disbelief. “And why would I want to take this bet? You must think I was born yesterday.”
“Why wouldn’t you take the bet?” Jamie asks questioningly. “I thought you’d love to take the opportunity to prove me wrong. Or are you scared you can’t beat me?”
“Oh, I would totally take this bet, but the Boon comic book movie is opening over Thanksgiving.” I don’t need to remind him. “You and I both know it’s going to kill it, so you’re just betting on a number.”
“I don’t think so,” Jamie says, disagreeing with me. “I think Duff is going to beat it by over a thirty percent margin.”
“You’re insane.” My voice is laced with disbelief. “Duff is about a cult in a small town. No way will it make those kinds of numbers.”
“I’ve got skills.” His smile is sure. “I know things.”
Does he ever. I’ve seen them firsthand, but I know he’s wrong.
“Let’s make a bet on how right I know I am, and how you will be wrong come Thanksgiving.” Jamie leans in toward me in excitement, his gaze searching mine. “Seriously. Let’s bet. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever?” I ask.
“Anything your heart desires.”
I cross my arms and raise a brow. “Even your house?”
That gives Jamie pause, but then he smiles. “If you want my house, Wylder, you’ll have my house,” he says calmly. “If you lose the bet.”
“I don’t want your house.” I say it like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world. Meanwhile, I totally want his house. Who wouldn’t? I’m not crazy.
“What then?” Jamie asks.
“A plant.” My answer is easy. When he looks at me in surprise, I explain, “I have a thing for plants…”
There is an uncomfortable silence.
“Is there a particular plant you’d like?” His smile is tender, and I’m suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m impartial,” I say.
“And do you have a named picked out for our plant?” Jamie asks. “Don’t think I forgot about Tom, Dick, and Harry.”
I feel myself blush. When he says “our,” I melt and kind of die—like a tiny, little death—because the thought thrills me even though I wish it didn’t excite me so much. But seriously? Imagine sharing a plant with Jamie Donovan.
“Mo,” I admit.
Jamie’s head bobs from side to side as he takes in the name. I can’t tell what he thinks.
“What?” I ask. “Do you think it’ll give her a complex?”
“Her?” He looks surprised. “Well, I don’t know what else you can expect if you plan on naming a she ‘Mo.’”
“It’s short for Mona Lisa,” I say. “And Harry is short for Harriet.”
His gaze meets mine, and we both smile at the same time. He must think I’m completely insane. Well, at least it’s all out in the open now. When I grow up—which means when I make a shit ton of money and can afford whatever I want—I want to have a big greenhouse. I’ve seriously already designed it in my head.
“And if I win?” Jamie asks quietly. “What do I get?”
My gaze meets his.
“What do you want?”
“Easy. Your story. The real one,” Jamie says to my complete surprise. “I want to know why you’ve become such a man-hating hard-ass. I mean, I have my suspicions. One starts with D and ends in Y, but I could be way off.”
I have to tell myself to close my mouth. He says the craziest—God, I missed that smart mouth of his.
“You know what,” I tell him, shaking my head in amusement. “I’m going to be an adult, and I’m not going to engage.”
“But you agree to it?” Jamie won’t be deterred.
There is no way he’s getting this. Duff is going up against a pre-built mega-powerhouse institution with, ironically, a cult following. There is no way. This is my first real Hollywood bet. I need to be confident.
“Wylder?”
“I agree,” I say.
Jamie settles back into his seat and crosses his arms in satisfaction. There is a steely glint in his eye, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he bought out multiple movie theaters so he could win.
Oh my God, he won’t do that, will he?
But then it doesn’t matter because he stares at me in that Jamie Donovan way, and it makes me want to jump him. I wonder why he’s playing so hard to get. He’s not really looking like he wants to talk anymore, so I mentally prepare in excitement for what’s to come: My place or his? I’m relieved it’s the weekend and I get to sleep in and hopefully have a lazy bedroom day with Mr. Donovan.
When the SUV makes the turn off Laurel Canyon, I’m not surprised to see it’s my place because I am much closer to downtown, where the club is located. The car pulls up to the house, and Jamie quickly exits to help me out. He shuts the door and follows me up the walkway, but the car stays put. I’m confused.
I full well expect him to come inside the house with me, but instead, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me until I’m breathless and horny as hell, then gives me the softest, most tender kiss ever. He pulls away from me so he can look me in the eyes, but his arms remain locked around my waist.
“You’re not coming in?” I try to give him no choice and push him inside the door.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he tells me, shaking his head. “I’ll bring something sweet.”
I’m devastated. He’s the only sweet thing I want, and I want him now. I feel like Veruca Salt from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Instead of an Oompa Loompa, I want a Jamie Donovan.
“Then I’ll see you in the morning.” I hope he can’t hear how disappointed I am.
“Good night, Wylder,” he whispers against my lips before kissing me slowly again, barely long enough to make me horny as hell. When he finally pulls away, he whispers again. “Dream of me.”
That won’t be too hard to do.
Chapter Four
I wake up at the ass crack of dawn.
I’m up because I’m starving for food and sex—or sex and food, whatever I can get to first. I grab my phone to see if there’s a text from Jamie. There’s not,
but then again, he did drop me way past midnight. He has to be sleeping.
I need to relax. I probably won’t hear from him for hours.
I jump out of bed and pull on a pair of comfy black sweat pants over my lace thong. So I slept in my most expensive lingerie in case Jamie decided to surprise me? Big deal. Who wouldn’t? I grab the matching black sweater, make a quick vanity stop in the ladies’ room, then head right to the kitchen.
I stop in my tracks when I see Kerri sitting at the counter in front of what looks to be a jumbo-sized pizza box, chowing down on a giant slice of pepperoni and mushroom.
Half of the pie is gone.
Impressive.
But then, so is the way she looks. Her hair is a freaking mess, standing up every which way. Her black mascara is in streaks down her face, and her lips are swollen, like she’s been kissing all night swollen. I take note of her clothes. Everything is seemingly in place on her black button-up top and short leather mini. She’s barefoot and barelegged, and she looks as happy as a pig in shit.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” My smile is smug as I walk up to the counter and grab a slice of pizza. “You obviously just got home.”
Her blue eyes flicker to mine, and she smirks. “You obviously fucked Jamie Donovan.”
I can’t stop the blush, and I gasp. “How do you know?”
“Please.” Kerri shrugs her shoulders and rips a piece of crust off the slice. “The gasp of virginal outrage is a load of shit, and you and I both know it.”
“Fine,” I admit and brush my blond hair away from my face. “But seriously, how do you know? You left me all alone.” I say the last part just to make her feel guilty.
“I’ve got my spies.”
It doesn’t work. Our eyes meet.
“You first.” We both say it at the same time.
God, I love her.
I pull myself onto the counter, cross my legs, and start stuffing the pizza in my mouth.
“All right then,” she tells me as she gets up and opens the fridge with gusto. “I’ll go first.” She pulls out a bottle of champagne and a bottle of orange juice. “But we need these mimosas.”
