by Haley Jenner
“Yes.”
“Good.” He closes the distance between us, the tip of his booted feet kissing my bare toes.
“You have any issue with us picking up where we left off this morning?”
I swallow. “Where was that?” My voice shakes.
“Oh.” He shrugs. “‘Round about here.” His mouth descends on mine tantalizingly slow.
His bottom lip drags across mine, not quite a kiss, more the promise of one. Tongue dipped out, he flicks my top lip, and I chase the movement, much to his amusement.
“Take your top off, Roxy,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Make me hard.”
Make. Me. Hard.
A moan, so embarrassingly desperate, escapes my mouth. My entire body clenches, wanting nothing but that in that single moment.
Reid edges back, offering me room to do as he demanded. Arms held lazily behind his back, he watches me intently.
With shaking hands, I rip at my shirt, pulling it over my head and letting it fall to the ground at my feet.
Nostrils flared, the thick line of his throat cording with want, Reid’s eyes close.
I feel almost fiendish for his gaze, needing the fire in his eyes to strip across my skin like it did earlier today. My palms, clammy with desire, rub over the stiff peaks of my nipples, a quiet whimper slipping from my mouth.
I reach for his shirt, his eyes flying open as my fingers tickle the firm skin of his waist. Helping without instruction, he pulls at the material along the back of his neck, yanking it over his head.
I smile, the gesture as salacious as it is needy. A single finger reaching out, I skim the line dipping from his hip bone down to the waist of his pants. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
Flicking the button of his jeans, my eyes remain fixated on the movement, my tongue dipping out to lick my dry lips. “I used to think about this moment a lot,” I whisper. “Think about seeing you naked, about what your cock would look like.” I look up at him, dragging my bottom lip through my teeth. “About what you’d feel like inside of me.”
Hand pushing against his cock, he groans, the quiet promise in my words almost too much.
“Yeah?”
“Mmm.” I nod, fingers pulling at his zipper painfully slow.
“Don’t play then, Firefly,” he grits out. “Take it out.”
Hand sliding into his boxers, I dip it all the way down, fingers tickling at the soft touch of his balls before my palm skims upward, dragging along the straining need of his cock.
His hands haven’t touched me, currently fisted tightly at his sides where they look to remain. I don’t know if he’s teasing me or offering me control. Either way, I’m thirsty for his touch. My skin like fire, his hands a balm I need to soothe the ache building within me.
Pushing at his boxers, the smooth line of his cock bounces out. Long. Thick. Hard.
“Oh,” I stutter, an eager tick to my lips twisting them upward.
“I’ve shown you mine” —he leans forward, nipping at my jaw— “now you show me yours.”
My thighs clench. My pussy throbs. My nipples harden to the point of pain.
Hands to my hips, I shimmy out of my pants, stepping out of them delicately as they fall around my ankles.
He says nothing, not with words. His body saying everything I need to hear.
His cock jerks. His jaw sets. The lids of his eyes drop in desire.
He’s every fantasy come to life.
The wide, tanned expanse of his chest is pattered with a light layer of hair. Abs, not fully formed, but still carved into his skin pull boldly down in an obvious V. A dark dusting of hair trails from his bellybutton all the way down, highlighting the straining length of his cock, the flared head beading with his want, his need to explode. He still wears pants, jeans, and boxers shoved down just enough.
“It was torture today.” He slides his teeth along my jaw. “Being so close to this.” His hand moves in between my thighs, rubbing back and forth so softly, I can scarcely feel him. “Smelling you; hot and ready and not being able to taste you.” He growls, the roughness in the sound vibrating where his teeth bite into my throat as he continues to tease me with his barely-there touches.
“You wanted my mouth here, didn’t you, Roxy?” One finger touches my clit and my body shakes. I’m tapped out, wound so tight I feel ready to give over to the orgasm I’m still coming down from. “You wanted my tongue to fuck you, wanted me to drink you up, to let your cum decorate my lips and chin.”
“Yes,” I rasp.
Hand retreating from its too gentle caress, Reid takes a step back, a cocky pride pulling his shoulder back.
“Bend over the couch, Roxy.”
My eyes fall to the couch, then back to Reid, still the picture of tranquility in all his naked glory.
I’m a mess, frenzied with the need for Reid to fuck me. And here he stands, cock out, hands lazily at his side, tenderly whispering demands that I can’t help but follow.
Lifting my chin, I move toward the couch.
“Right there.” He stops me at the armrest. “Hands stretched out, ass in the air.”
Wetness just doesn’t pool between my thighs, it’s rushing, and clenching my legs together, I feel the wet press dipping along my inner thighs.
Hands sliding along the cushioned fabric of the hotel’s Chesterfield, I bend at the waist, the cool air conditioning making me shiver.
The loud echo of his belt buckle hits the polished floor.
He doesn’t speak as he approaches, the anticipation like the cruelest form of foreplay. I crave his voice. The thick scrap of his vocal cords growling in pleasure.
“Reid.” My voice is embarrassingly desperate, his name more an eager cry than an actual word.
“Shhh.” His palm slides over the cheek of my ass, first the right, then the left. “Ass looks as tasty as your pussy, Monroe.”
I whimper.
He drops to his knees, fingers trailing over the back of my naked thighs, lips kissing the underside of my ass cheeks in promise.
My entire body clenches, remembering the way his thumb felt buried deep within the most private part of my body, bringing me to climax.
Holding my cheeks apart, his tongue laps at my pussy, teasing the swollen flesh with the tip of his tongue.
I cry out.
His tongue thrusts into me, once, twice, three times before pulling out slowly. It circles my clit, tender, measured strokes that make my legs weak.
“Jesus,” I groan.
“You can call me Reid,” he burrs against my oversensitive clit, making me laugh and moan at the same time.
Moving back, his tongue thrusts inside me again, more determined this time.
I won’t last long. My pussy is already tightening, throbbing with the need to explode.
He pulls his tongue out, only this time, he doesn’t move toward my clit, he stands higher on his knees, the tip of his tongue circling the very entrance his thumb broke through earlier today.
I scream. The feeling is unreal. I have no doubt I would’ve fallen in a heap if it weren’t for the couch keeping me upright.
Tongue lapping at my ass like it was my pussy, I come in no time, his name a raw scream as I explode into a million and one irredeemable pieces.
“Fuck you now, Roxy?”
The words I make are incoherent but clear enough for him to take my encouragement.
Taut from the orgasm still ringing through me, Reid slides inside of me, stretching me uncomfortably.
“Jesus. Fuck.”
“You can call me Roxy,” I grit out, the words echoed by a long moan.
Fingers pressing along the bites of my spine, he reaches the nape of my neck, forcing my body farther in the couch.
The muscles in my legs and back protest, small pins of pain pulling along them in delicious torment.
Reid powers inside of me without pause. In and out on a toe-curling roll of his hips. I feel completely dominated. Utterly at his will. My body bent to
his pleasure. He’s in complete control. I can’t even move. But I can feel.
I’ve never been fucked like this. Rough and dirty while feeling wholly worshipped. The pleasure coursing through my body is solely and unequivocally Reid’s doing. I’m merely a pawn in the race he’s taking for us both, making my body tingle while thundering toward his own release.
My orgasm, barely having teetered off, hits again without warning. Even more intense than before, I can’t even muster the strength to make a sound. My body straining in rigid pleasure, a silent scream cracking at my jaw before I go limp.
“Yes. Fuck. Yes,” Reid chants unevenly, hands gripping the weight of my hips severely enough I can already feel tomorrow’s bruises.
The couch shifts with the power in his thrusts, edging forward on a jagged scrape of wood.
“Gonna come,” he grits out before driving forward one last time, a growl so feral rips through the room as he empties inside of me.
Bodies wet with sweat, we fall in a heap to the floor, Reid twisting us as we go to prop me on his lap. His heartbeat is prominent in his chest, racing ahead of his shallow breathing.
My sweat cooling in the tempered room, I shiver in Reid’s arms. He pulls me in closer, his lips pressing against my temple in a hard kiss.
“I know I’ve slid inside twice now with no mention of protection. Just wanted to reassure you that I’m clean,” he murmurs against my head.
“Oh my god. I’m an idiot. Of course, I’m on birth control,” I ramble, cursing my stupidity. “I should have told you that. We’re good.”
His hand brushes my hair from my forehead.
“Oh, and I’m clean.” Insert forehead slap. Smooth, Roxy, really smooth. “Probably should’ve led with that,” I add sheepishly.
His chest moves up and down with this quiet laughter. “Herpes is likely less appealing than a baby,” he jokes.
“Both lifelong.”
“That is true. Both irritating and painful at times.”
Our laughter teeters off on small sighs.
“Wanna clean up and go grab a bite?”
I push aside the irritation I feel at his ignorance, not wanting to ruin the moment we had just shared.
“I’m shattered. You cool for me to order us something in? I’m keen on an early night. Ari and I have an early shoot tomorrow.” The sound of my voice is embarrassingly sprightly, an attempt to rid my hesitance.
Truth is, I’m not ready to dive into a conversation about what we’re doing. I don’t want labels, or expectations, or rules. God. I don’t want him to tell me he wants to do it again. Or worse, that he doesn’t. My mind is racing with all the reasons why Reid and I are wrong. All the while, my heart is dancing to all the reasons that we’re right.
Reid is uncomfortably silent, his breathing still thick and heavy in my ear.
“Of course,” he finally answers, his tone betraying the way he feels. “I should head out anyway. I told James I’d review some key dialogue in the script.”
“Oh?” I shift, moving from his lap.
Standing awkwardly, I pick up his pants, handing them to him. He takes them on a thin-lipped smile, the gesture altogether forced and very unReid-like.
“Yeah.” He dresses quickly. “We just want to tweak some parts that seem unnatural.”
Pulling my shirt over my head, I rush to push my legs through the legs of my shorts, needing the barrier of clothing to calm my nerves.
Standing in front of me, I let his eyes scan over my features. “We are gonna talk about this, Firefly.” He inches forward, the soft touch of his lips pushing against mine. “But I see those mismatched eyes thinking too hard. Overthinking never does anyone any good. Don’t snare yourself in the web of here.” He taps his head. “This” —he taps his heart— “knows better.”
His lips touch my cheek before he leaves, his hand squeezing mine before disappearing through my door.
Eighteen
Take Two
Roxy
My feet slow in trepidation as I move toward my trailer, Baxter pacing back and forth in front of the door.
“Roxy,” he almost pleads as he sees me, taking a step in my direction.
I side-step him, working to rush to my door while trying to remain composed.
I learned that early in this industry. Nothing can faze you. Nothing. If it does, you’ll find every “professional” analyzing your behavior in every magazine spread from here to the moon.
Imperturbability in the face of provocation. You may come off detached, or even discourteous, but that’s preferable to crazy. Trust me.
“Please,” he begs this time. “Five minutes of your time. I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m asking all the same.”
I freeze with my back to him, a solid breath pulling through my nostrils to inflate my lungs before I let it go gradually. “Two minutes and I can’t promise I won’t throw something at you.”
Rushing up the stairs behind me, relief deflates his shoulders. “Deserved. Invited,” he welcomes, working hard to hide his smile.
Following me into my trailer, I gesture to the couch. “Don’t expect me to offer you refreshments.”
“Roxy, I’m so sorry,” he jumps right in, balancing on the edge of the couch. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t really,” he corrects himself.
“Why’d you do it?” I can’t stop myself from asking. I know Reid explained it to me, but I want to hear it from him. I want to hear the truth in his words. I want him to tell me he didn’t do it to fuck me, and I want him to mean it.
Dropping into the chair across from him, I wait patiently.
“From the moment I met Reid, he’s spoken about his goal to produce, to direct,” Baxter tells me unnecessarily. “As time went by, he confessed having written a few screenplays. Firefly was everything to him. Is everything to him. I see you have a lot to do with that.”
I shake my head.
He laughs softly. “Your friendship is something he holds deep. I’ve heard him call you Firefly, Roxy. This is your movie; yours and Reid’s. This was his way back to you. Whether he realized it or not.”
My throat closes over. I’d never considered that. Reid confessed himself that no one would or could ever take the role of Abbigail from me. He could have produced anything, but he chose this. He chose Firefly. Maybe Baxter’s right. Maybe this was his attempt at an olive branch. One I’ve taken, but I continue holding between us, ready to let go at any time.
“I want this movie to be everything he wants, Roxy. He’s worked tirelessly to build up to this moment. I want him to shine. He deserves that.”
I don’t deny him that, I want that and more for Reid.
“James said any publicity was good publicity. The world is a sucker for a love story. I thought that people would start to ship your relationship. That it would build momentum for the film. I never expected this.” His face breaks open with guilt and remorse and I almost feel sorry for the guy.
“Unfortunately, stories like that don’t sell.”
Hands over his face, he rubs it roughly.
“I don’t know how to fix this.”
Truth is he can’t. It’s done, out in the open, impossible to stuff back into hiding.
“Are you in love with him?” I ask. “Reid?”
He shakes his head. “I love him. But I’m not in love with him if that’s what you’re asking.”
I stare at him blankly, not sure if I believe him.
“When I met Reid, he wanted to do everything on his own. It was as though he was trying to prove to himself that he didn’t need anyone.”
My chest aches with the way my heart contracts. A poor attempt to shy away from hearing how Reid survived without us.
“To the world he was detached, aloof. It made them want him more.”
The tone of his voice has changed. Gone is the panic, the dire need for me to understand. Now his voice drips with an affection I can’t hate him for feeling.
“I saw through it,�
�� he tells me. “Where the world saw detached, I saw loneliness. Where the world labeled him aloof, I saw a social awkwardness about him that seemed out of place on someone so formidable.”
The clenched compress of my heart endeavors to beat faster. It is as if Baxter has dug into the limbic system of my brain, pulling memories out like a ribbon, reading them to me like he’s scouring my very private diary.
I remember looking at Reid the same way. Not that I recognized it at the time, I was ten, too young to dig deeper. He was alone, seemingly content, but there was a vulnerability, a casual shyness about him that caught me before I realized. I expected him to tell me to go away, to dismiss my attempt at conversation. He welcomed it though, even though he’d likely never admit it. The moment I sat down, I had his full attention. I knew in that moment he’d be someone who would hold a special place in my heart for eternity. Friendship seems that way at ten though. Eternal.
“He pushed back at first, but I earned my place in his life. I’m his assistant, but I was also the closest thing to a friend he had. Sure, he’s well liked. He has an endless line of acquaintances that would happily gift him their time, but he doesn’t care for it. I didn’t want him to live this life alone, Roxy.”
I ignore the shutter of tears balancing in my eye sockets, asking for permission to fall.
“I’m glad he has you.”
“Had,” Baxter corrects sadly. “I took the bridge of trust we’ve spent the last few years building and burned it to the ground.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“What?” He looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “Why would you do that for me? After what I did?”
I sigh. “I’ve made some shitty mistakes in my life, Baxter, some really dumb decisions that have caused me a lot of pain.”
“But…”
“I can’t make Reid trust you again,” I tell him. “But I’ll try and help you to keep your job. You’ll likely be working closer to Ari than Reid though. Just fair warning.”
A cough of laughter breaks from his lips. “I don’t need you to do that, Roxy. I deserve to lose my job.” He stands. “You’re a good person. I just wanted to say sorry. You didn’t deserve the shit storm my mistake caused you.”
