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by Laurelin Paige

  Because sex is supposed to mean more than talent.

  Besides. I want to continue making movies at my current salary, and that means maintaining my squeaky-clean image in the press. Natalia Lowen isn’t wild. She’s a good girl.

  And good girls don’t do rock stars.

  It’s more than I want to get into right now, especially with my life coach present, who will certainly demand I examine the situation from another angle. Or gently urge me to try something new, which is even worse. So I just say, “It’s complicated.”

  My phone pings again with another text. I can feel Hadley and Rowan’s eyes on me, the heat nearly as intense as what he generates in me as I look down and read the screen.

  Nick: I’m achingly hard now after all this talk. I need u.

  “What did he say?” Rowan asks.

  “Uh, he said . . .” I’m distracted as I type my response into my phone. “He says he needs me.”

  Natalia: I’ll send you a picture to help with that when I go to the bathroom.

  I’m terrible, I know. But I can’t help myself. This is too . . . fun. And the other thing about good girls? We don’t get to have a lot of that.

  “He needs her!” Rowan says excitedly, gripping Hadley’s hand.

  “He needs her!” Hadley agrees, putting a swoony hand on her forehead.

  My phone pings again.

  Nick: A picture isn’t good enough. I need u here. Come 2 Vegas.

  “Now what did he say?” my friends ask eagerly in unison.

  My brow wrinkles. “He wants me to come to Vegas. But that’s ridiculous.”

  Before I can finish typing in my response, before Hadley and Rowan can finish squealing theirs, he sends another text.

  Nick: There’s a first-class seat on Delta leaving in three hours. I’m booking it 4 u rn.

  I gasp in panic, delete what I’ve already typed and start composing a new message that begins with the words I can’t!

  “Don’t send that!” Rowan says, reading over my shoulder.

  “Don’t send what? What did he say? What did she say?” Hadley is usually cool in these situations, but now she’s worked up as well.

  Rowan fills her in. “He’s booking her a flight to Vegas and Chickenshit over here is about to tell him no! Can I steal her phone again?”

  “Why the hell are you turning him down?” Hadley exclaims. “Maybe, Rowan. Maybe.”

  “I can’t go to Vegas!” I say too loudly, drawing looks from the table next to us. Truthfully, they’ve been staring at me through the whole meal, trying to decide if I’m who they think I am, if my bet’s right. I’ve been staring at them too, the adorable toddler in the high chair is pulling at my ovaries. A reminder of why exactly I can’t go to Vegas.

  The girls don’t seem to get it. “Why not?” they ask, again in unison.

  As if Nick can sense the conversation happening, his next text echoes their sentiments.

  Nick: Don’t try 2 talk urself out of this. There is absolutely no reason u can’t come. U said u were free this weekend. I’m about 2 push purchase on this flight . . .

  “What if he thinks this is something it isn’t?” I really don’t want to lead him on. I really don’t. But my body’s already responding to the idea that he needs me so badly he can’t even wait another day to have me.

  “From those texts I read, he’s only interested in what you’re interested in,” Rowan assures me. “And, like you’ve said, he’s twenty-three. He’s definitely not into a relationship.”

  The confirmation from Rowan makes my chest pinch for some reason.

  I ignore it, along with the butterflies in my stomach, and rush into my next concern. “What about the press? I managed to dodge any rumors with our first hookup, but my luck isn’t going to hold.”

  Even as I make excuses, I can feel my stance weakening. Just like my knees when I think about the possibilities of how far he can push me with another night together. Of how far I can go.

  “The papz won’t find you in a hotel room,” Rowan insists, weakening me further. “And after what you said about last time, I’m sure that’s where you’ll spend the whole weekend.”

  She and Hadley share a knowing smile that makes me regret telling them anything about our night together at all.

  “Please do this,” Rowan starts to beg. Her voice sounds suspiciously like my libido’s voice, which is begging the same. “Please, please, please. For me. You need this. I need this! It’s too, too good to pass up.”

  I glower at her, but then I look to Hadley, hoping she’ll tell me what to do, like she always does.

  “It does feel like this fling could last a tad longer,” she says after a beat. “Especially if no one knows.”

  Hadley’s words are exactly what I need. She’s right. I’ve maintained that I only want this to be about sex. No one’s found out about us. Our chemistry is off the charts. Why am I hesitating? Why would I miss out on one more night with the sex god? Two nights, actually, since he’s booked to do a show tomorrow as well as the one this evening. This isn’t the time to get cold feet. What would a dirty girl do?

  I pretend to be one as I furiously shoot him a text.

  Natalia: Okay. I’ll come.

  Hadley and Rowan look at me expectantly.

  “Well?” Rowan prods.

  “I have to leave if I’m going to have time to grab a bag,” I say, throwing my napkin down.

  My friends cheer and tell me they’ll take care of my bill as they push me toward the exit. They’re so busy shooing me that I don’t get to read Nick’s final response until I get to my car.

  Nick: Oh, u will. Over and over.

  I manage to make it through the airport and the short flight without any major celebrity sightings. Over the years, I’ve discovered the best way to remain incognito is to use the thrown-together look. Nothing says “I’m famous” like the giant hat and oversized sunglasses. I just put my hair up in a massive messy bun, don a baggy T-shirt and a pair of scruffy shorts, take off my makeup, and add a pair of glasses. It’s like a reverse movie makeover, and it works. I’m hardly ever noticed. Either people don’t recognize me without all the glam or they just don’t believe that someone like me would ever go out in public without being perfectly made up.

  Despite the fact that I know this, the fact that it’s kept me out of people’s selfies and gossip magazines for years, I did almost put myself together. I even spent a few minutes looking through my sundresses, trying to find the cutest one. It seemed wrong to go see Nick and not look good for him.

  Which was silly. Because we were only going to get naked anyway.

  Besides, I told myself, it’s more delicious to keep playing the good-girl card when I know for a fact I’m going to be very, very bad soon.

  And even if dressing up would be fun role play, it wasn’t worth the risk of being photographed. The speculation that would start the second someone uploaded a picture of me in lace short-shorts and sky-high heels . . . Well, I’ve been through tabloid speculation before. I don’t plan to go there again. I did pack my sexiest underwear, though, and a particularly adorable skater dress that would look nice if we ever decided to leave the hotel room.

  I hope we don’t even leave the bed.

  Unless it’s to move to the floor.

  Or the balcony.

  Or the hot tub.

  Or . . . I shake off the ideas before my flush deepens and the rest of first class sees me wriggling in my seat like an over-excited teenager.

  By the time I get off the plane and make my way to baggage claim, my heart is already thumping in my chest. I feel jittery and my hands are clammy, and while I laugh when I exit the security area and see a man in a suit holding a sign that says Murphy Brown—the name Nick told me to look for—I’m a little disappointed that he isn’t here himself. No matter that he shouldn’t be here. If he were, it would be a big red arrow for the gossip rags, and that’s the last thing I want.

  Ah, the games we play in trying to maintain
a little bit of privacy.

  The driver greets me, introduces himself as Ned, and helps me get my bag from the carousel. He takes it, and my carry-on, before leading me outside and across the street to parking. I spot the limo before Ned indicates that’s where we’re going, and my stomach flips.

  Is he in there?

  I barely take another breath until Ned is opening the door for me, and I’m sliding into the backseat where Nick Ryder waits for me.

  Nick Ryder. The object of a million girls’ fantasies. And tonight, the maker of mine.

  “Hi,” I say softly, suddenly shy.

  He grins as he slides closer to me—or I slide closer to him. “Hi.”

  And just like that, we are fused together, kissing with our whole bodies pressed up against each other, and if for even a second I doubted that our chemistry was strong enough to last more than one night, it’s quickly proven that there’s nothing to worry about.

  His mouth feels amazing. His tongue is my new favorite plaything. He kisses me softly and deeply and teasingly, mixing it up so much that I would almost be content to sit here and do this for the whole ride. For our whole weekend together.

  Almost.

  Even with his focus on me as it is, he’s still aware enough to reach over and hit the button triggering the divider between us and Ned as soon as the engine starts. And that’s when I really start kissing him, tying my fingers into his hair and crawling into his lap.

  We haven’t driven very far, but my knees are already spread on either side of his hips, and I’m very aware of his cock, stiff and ready through his jeans beneath me, when Nick surprises me and gently pulls his lips away.

  He gazes at my face, stroking my cheek with his thumb. “Hey,” he says. “I’m really glad you came.”

  My chest starts to tingle high up, underneath my collarbone, and it feels so good and scary that I can’t decide if I want to cling to the feeling or run away from it as fast as I can. That’s the trouble with moving outside the comfort zone. It’s not just uncomfortable, it’s confusing.

  I try to chase the sensation away with one of Nick’s jokes. “Well, I haven’t come yet.” I can’t help giggling afterward. Even though he’s opening the doors to my sexuality, I’m still a bit awkward about it.

  He laughs, but it’s brief, and when I try to grind myself closer, he puts a hand on my hip, stilling me.

  “How was the flight? Anyone bother you?”

  I fidget, twisting the material of his T-shirt in my hands. “It was fine. No troubles. I’m relatively certain there won’t be any TMI report saying I’ve run to Vegas to hook up with you.”

  “Good,” he says, but something about his tone sounds almost disappointed.

  I move a palm from my shorts to rub along his chest, wishing he’d take his shirt off already. The fact that it’s still on is a disappointment to me.

  Again he stills me, gently placing his hand on my wrist. “And how was brunch? Was it with Hadley and Rowan? I hope I didn’t break up your girls’ get together.”

  I sigh softly, wondering if I shouldn’t have mentioned Hadley and Rowan in my texts over the last couple of weeks. Texts that, although mostly dirty, were also somewhat personal, I realize now.

  I’m so bad at this, I can’t even do no-strings sex right.

  I wonder how he feels about me opening up to him. This man—this kid, who only signed up for fantasy sex with a famous actress. With more than a decade between us, what could we even have in common? What could he even understand about my life? Or vice versa, for that matter. Yeah, we have fame in common, but that’s probably all.

  Despite those doubts and questions rolling through my mind, I consider telling him everything. All about how my friends reacted when they realized he and I were texting, about how they stole my phone and the narrow escape I had getting it back without Rowan performing our sexts as a monologue right there outside Blacksmith’s. I consider telling him that it felt good to be the one of us that had something a little bit scandalous going on, a real scandal instead of a fabricated scandal. Consider telling him that, even though I love my friends with all my heart, I was so glad he tore me away from them, that he wanted me to drop everything to come and see him the same way that I was so glad he walked into that night show green room, pursuing me more nobly than anyone ever had before.

  Even though all that’s true, it’s not why I’m here. It’s not what he and I are meant to be about. It would give the wrong impression.

  So I swallow all the things I could tell him, and bat my lashes instead. “Can I tell you a secret?” I draw dizzy little circles on his chest right above his heart, staring at my finger while I wait for him to answer.

  He’s too intrigued not to. “Definitely.”

  “I want you,” I say breathily.

  I’m already trailing my hands down his chest and slipping off my seat onto the floor when he asks, his voice thick, “How exactly do you want me?”

  I land on the floor of the limo and blink up at him as I move my hands to his button fly. “I want you in my mouth.”

  Now, I’ve given my share of blowjobs, but this seductress act is new for me. I rarely am the one to initiate anything. This time I just can’t help myself. Between the thoughts I need to silence and the naughty possibility that the driver knows exactly what we’re up to, my mouth is watering. His dilated eyes and shallow breathing embolden me to continue. Maybe I should do this more often.

  “I want you to use my mouth exactly the way you like it,” I tell him and mean it.

  He groans. “You are so ridiculously hot.” He lifts his hips so I can help him pull his jeans down just enough to get his cock out, and when I do it’s right there in my face—hard and hot and red. I’ve never wanted to put something in my mouth so badly in my life.

  I draw my tongue around his crown a few times, then slowly suck him between my lips, using my hand to stroke along the length of him that I can’t fit inside. I repeat this a few times, watching him all the while. He moans, but I can tell that it’s not quite what he wants. It’s not his fantasy yet. His hands touch my head tentatively, then pull back.

  I let him pop out of my mouth to tell him to take over. He looks reluctant, so I offer again.

  “Use me,” I plead, then open my mouth to suck him in again. This time, he listens.

  With a growl, he moves his fingers to tangle in my hair. He pulls me down over him and bobs me back up, at a faster speed than I was going. “You want me to use you, how? You want me to treat this mouth like it’s just any eager groupie’s waiting at my stage door?”

  He fucks my mouth, a little rough, and somehow that only makes the whole thing hotter.

  I moan my assent as best as I can with my mouth full, and the vibrations make him jump a little against my tongue.

  “Spit,” he orders, letting me up so that I can perform the action on his cock. Immediately he pulls me back down onto his thick length. He bobs me again for several shallow strokes, then pushes deeper inside, so deep I nearly choke when his head reaches the back of my throat.

  “Can you take it?” he taunts, though I know somehow there will be no hard feelings if I say no, I nod. I’m not actually sure that I can take it, but I want to try. I want to try anything he asks of me.

  He seems to understand, and pulls out almost to his tip. “Big breath,” he says. “Breathe through your nose.” He starts to press back in, slowly farther and still farther. “Relax,” he coaxes. “Keep your throat loose.”

  It burns, feels like I’m being choked. My eyes start to water, but I concentrate on his instructions, relax my throat, my everything, my entire body, and soon he’s in all the way, his head slipping into my esophagus. I never dreamed my body could do this, give a guy this kind of pleasure. No guy has ever taken the time for me to work it out.

  Nick hisses, drawing out just enough to enjoy sliding back in. This time, I’m ready for the sensation, and it’s easier to swallow him. He bites his lip and I want to touch myself so badly. I�
��m so wet, pulsing with need, but I’m too afraid of losing my concentration.

  “Aw, Fuck, Nat,” he groans, picking up his tempo. “I’m going to come soon, going to come hard. And if we didn’t have to walk through the hotel lobby in about ten minutes, I’d pull out now and come all over your pretty little face. Would you like that?”

  It’s so filthy, what he’s saying, what he’s doing. Men never talk to me this way, but it doesn’t even occur to me to be disgusted. All of it just feeds my libido, makes me rise and buck my hips, as if there might be something in the air that would relieve the ache between my legs.

  He grins when I moan again. “Of course you’d like it. You dirty girl.” He says it so prayerfully, like it’s an honor, and so I feel honored hearing it.

  “Can I come in your mouth?” He’s thickening in my mouth so I know he’s there, that he’s about to explode.

  I nod again, eager for him, eager for every drop. When he bursts inside me, writhing his pelvis against my face until he’s fully released, I lick him clean, wondering if it’s possible that this is the most respect I’ve ever felt from a man in this position.

  When I’m finished, he pulls me off the floor and back into his lap and kisses me like a starving man, seemingly not at all bothered that his taste is still on my tongue, which is pretty hot in and of itself. He pulls away to look at me. “Are you okay?” he asks.

  Are you okay.

  Not that was fantastic or you suck like a pro. Not even just a satisfied smirk, but are you okay.

  And all of a sudden, I’m not wondering anymore. I know that this is the most respect a man has ever given me, and something about the realization steals my breath.

  I nod my head the slightest bit in answer, but when I don’t speak, he prompts me. “Can you say something?”

  I swallow and take a deep breath, trying to pull all these weird sensations that are threatening to make me feel things and imagine attachments back deep inside me where they belong. Ignored and forgotten.

  It takes a minute, and so he prods again. “Natalia?”

  I smile then, big and genuine. “I’m okay, Nick. And do you know what?”