King Size

by Lexi Whitlow

  He swung around and caught me in a bear hug just as I was about to hurtle myself, arms flailing, claws out, at the girl he was chatting up. Despite the fact that he had me in a body hold, I kept fighting him and screaming at that poor girl, who scrambled backward as fast as her five inch heels could carry her.

  Maddox was trying to get control of me and checking the bar to make sure no one was Live Streaming my latest tantrum to Facebook, while shouting, “What the hell, Avery? What’s wrong with you? Get a freaking grip.”

  I fought him all the way out into the lobby, ranting about the girl at the bar and the way she looked at him. Then ranting about the way looked at her.

  Maddox pointed out the obvious, “Good lord, Avery, you’ve had too much to drink.” He shook his head at me like I was an errant child.

  I’m standing there, wobbling on bare feet, carrying my heels in my right hand like a weapon, trying to be clever. “Oh and you’re in there drinking Pellegrino?” It was the only thing I could think of. My head was in a blinding rage, and I’m seldom quick with the witty repartee when I’m pissed-off – much less when I’m drunk.

  “We’re not talking about me.” Maddox snapped. “I’m taking you upstairs. It’s my night off, and I’m still having to babysit you.”

  And then he asked where my security detail was.

  He’s always so responsible. Dependable. Predictable. Even three sheets to the wind and he’s all-business. Why can’t he take a risk?

  In that second, when he asked about Marc – the guy assigned to provide security for me on Maddox’ night off – all my rage vanished. I screwed up. I just looked to the side, shrugged and confessed. “I gave him the slip between the restaurant and the first bar. He bugged my friends and he bugged me, and I just wanted to have fun, one – last – time, before Evelyn ascends to Empress of the World.”

  Maddox scowled at me, then his expression changed to disappointment. He gets preachy when he’s disappointed.

  “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He said. “If you don’t get someone else killed first.”

  He grabbed my elbow, turning me in the direction of the elevators. He pushed me forward like he was prodding a willful cow, walking me toward the mirrored doors. Once on the elevator, and reasonably confident that I’d calmed down, I saw the adrenaline rush in his eyes subside and the alcohol buzz start to creep back in. He was still angry though.

  “Don’t be mad with me.” I begged him, trying to conjure up a sympathetic tone. “I’ve had too much to drink, but I never do that anymore. You know that. You know I always do...”

  “Exactly what you’re supposed to do.” Maddox interrupted me, finishing my sentence. He’s heard it all before.

  And then he starts guilting me.

  “You do do realize that Marc Baker – your detail – is probably going to get fired over this? He lost his principal. First rule of protective service work; don’t lose sight of your principal. He should get fired. But honestly Avery, I doubt he thought you’d be stupid enough to try to ditch him. He’s probably freaking out, thinking you’ve been snatched or something.”

  I wasn’t quite that thoughtless. “No. I called him. He knows I’m alright.”

  Maddox looked up at the ceiling and heaved in a deep sigh. “You are one complicated pain in the ass, Avery Thomas.”

  That was two weeks ago. Tonight I’m sitting on the edge of the tub looking at his last text.

  Maddox calls me through the closed bathroom door with a brittle edge in his voice.

  It’s the same tone he took two weeks ago – after he slipped the key into my hotel room door and directed me into it – and I hesitated, then reached up and cupped the back of his neck in my palm and pulled him toward me.

  He moved my hand away roughly. “You’re drunk, Avery. Stop it.” His tone was edged with tension.

  I just stood there, staring at him, still wobbly from too much drink and not enough to eat.

  “Avery. Go inside and go to bed. Tomorrow is a big day and it starts early.”

  He was a little bleary himself.

  “Check my room?” I asked him. That was protocol, after all. I’m accustomed to this song and dance now. I know the rules. That’s how I break them when I want to.

  He rolled his eyes at me. “Alright.”

  Maddox stepped into the hotel suite and flipped on the lights, leaving me outside in the hallway. I wasn’t supposed to, but I followed him in a few seconds later. He checked the bathroom first, then the bedroom, making sure the balcony doors were locked from the inside. He checked the closet and then the sitting room. He turned around to fetch me from the corridor, but I was already inside, slipping out of my dress. I was on a mission.

  “Jesus...”

  Maddox dropped his eyes and tried to move around me, headed for the door, but I anticipated him. I slipped my hand around his waist and held on tight from behind. If he’d kept moving he’d have brought me stumbling to my knees. Instead of that, he stopped dead in his tracks. I slipped my other arm around him, over his shoulder and pressed myself close against him, wearing only my bra and panties. My dress was on the floor at his feet.

  “Stay with me.” I asked him. “Please.”

  I felt his heart pounding underneath my left palm.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled, saying, “Avery. We’ve both had too much to drink. This is not...”

  I slipped my hand lower, down his belly, pausing at his belt, unbuckling it with just one hand. Then I reached even lower, letting the tips of my fingers find that firmness increasing just under his zipper. I heard his breath catch and felt him stiffen as I stroked him.

  “Just one night.” I said. “We’re both curious. I know it. And… It’s your night off.”

  It happened fast. Maddox turned and swept me up, and in just a few fumbling seconds, we were entwined together, he was inside me, and we were moving with the rhythm of angry waves crashing on a storm wracked beach. It was nothing like I imagined it would be. It was heated, and furious, and hard, but he made me come so fast, as rough and as thoughtless as it was, it was also good. I came a couple of times – but it took Maddox a while to get there. When he finally did it was like the tide inside him turned. It was furious, raging. When it was done, he melted into me like a passing hurricane evaporates on the horizon, leaving only glassy seas and a pile of debris in its wake.

  ~~~

  Excerpt from Muscle

  Winter

  This guy, he’s a fucking showboat.” I look between the two men who showed up at the warehouse I’m calling a portrait studio half an hour ago. They’re both Navy SEALs.

  I’ve been taking photos of SEALs for the calendar I’m working on for weeks. And I haven’t seen a single man who looks like this. After flirting with me for the entire day yesterday, Gates Vaughan is here again.

  “Damn right, I’m a showboat, Ransom,” Gates says. “If you were half as good looking as I am, you’d be on the cover of this damn calendar. Isn’t that right, Winter?”

  Gates gives me another one of those panty-melting looks. For five hours yesterday, he stared at me with those deep amber eyes. And then he had the gall to ask me out for dinner.

  He’s the muscle for this calendar. That’s all he is.

  But deep down, I know he’s more than that. He’ll be the jewel of this project. If he knew what he was—a born model, a born actor—he’d already be making hundreds of thousands of dollars in the business.

  But he says he’s a SEAL. And he takes that more seriously than anything else.

  “I’m gonna go now and let you be pretty, Vaughan.”

  “I’m damn good at it,” he says to Ransom, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. I get that feeling again—the one I had when I first saw him. It was a visceral feeling, almost terrifying, the kind of feeling you might get when you’re falling.

  “Okay,” I say nervously. “Let’s get going, Muscle.”

  “Muscle? My name is Gates.”

  “You’re the m
uscle. I don’t get paid to remember my models names,” I say, feigning gruffness.

  Ransom laughs all the way to his car, leaving Gates stranded here with me. I pretend it’s a normal day, that this is a normal model, that everything is normal. I usher Gates into the studio.

  “Why are you out in the middle of nowhere in an abandoned warehouse taking pictures of military guys?” Gates asks, not missing a beat as I set up the backdrop.

  “We don’t want my dad or the military finding out about this project.” I shrug, fixing my camera on the tripod for a few quick stills.

  “Why would your parents be concerned?”

  “Shh,” I admonish him. “I’m not in the mood for conversation.”

  Gates laughs and gets into the position I showed him yesterday. He flexes his arms and laces his fingers together. He’s tall, perfectly built, incredibly fucking strong. God.

  “Fine, then. Don’t get to know my sparkling personality.”

  I sigh loudly and go to over to the fitness equipment to arrange him again. I touch him lightly, not wanting too much contact. My life doesn’t have room for men like him.

  “All right, Muscle. Give me some good face,” I say, taking my camera off of the tripod and kneeling before him.

  “You’re not supposed to show my face. I could get fired.” Gates gives me a stare like he’s undressing me with his deep amber eyes. I’ve gotten looks from a lot of these Navy guys over the past few days. But with Gates, there’s something about the slightly amused curl of his lip that makes me want to forget about this damn calendar and jump into his arms.

  It’s probably because I haven’t gotten laid in at least six months, maybe more. It’s been fucking ages. And any man who looks like that—close-cropped hair, broad-shouldered and tall, with a body that moves around my set like a born model—gets me to thinking about things I shouldn’t even consider. Or it’ll be my career that’s toast.

  I ignore the hungry look in his eyes. Like he’s a predator. Like I’m prey. Like he’s the kind of guy who gets exactly what he wants, when he wants it.

  “I won’t be taking any stills of your face, Muscle.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Okay, Gates. Give me some poses. And don’t worry about your face, I guess. But I can tell you that when you give good face, you give good body too.”

  I blush when I say that. It sounds stupid. Suggestive. Juvenile.

  And it makes me think about his body even more than I already am.

  Ignore it.

  Gates jumps up, his body lithe and easy, and grabs the pull up bar. His face retains that smirk, but he automatically lengthens his lines and catches the light on his body as he pulls himself up and straightens his arms. I catch a few shots before he lowers himself down again and poses, showing off one bicep and then the other. I keep photographing him as he moves quickly and nimbly. The two of us fall into a rhythm again—Gates posing, catching the light, while I shoot endlessly, nodding here and there. He moves across the fitness equipment with an agility none of our other models have shown.

  The few shots of him that’ll end up in this calendar are worth their weight in gold. Certain women eat this stuff up, especially since these SEALs are some sort of sex dream for a lot of them.

  I see the reason behind those sex dreams, moving across my stage.

  Ella, my manager, calls out from behind the scenes. “Winter, that’s a wrap. I’m going home for the day, and you need to as well. Gates will be needed back at the base, I’m sure.” Ella steps out of the shadows, hands on her hips, her collared work shirt wrinkled from moving equipment around all day. “Seems like this one’s a little distracting.”

  Ella winks at me, I blush furiously, setting the camera down.

  “She’s been pretty distracted for the past two days,” Gates says, toweling himself off and stepping toward me. He makes me want to jump out of my skin. It’s intimate, photographing someone like this. And I know Gates’ body and the way it moves very fucking well now—so much so that I can’t help but imagine it next to mine.

  “I haven’t been distracted,” I say, swallowing hard. I put away my photography equipment as Ella gets ready to leave. She looks back at us as she gets her bag together.

  “Lock up when you go,” she says to me. “And Muscle, you need to get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to be responsible for your SEAL team getting word about this photoshoot.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Gates says, but his eyes are still on me. “I’ll get right out.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m getting the hell out of here. Plausible deniability.” I glance at Ella as she leaves, but I’m still standing in front of Gates, and the camera is no longer between us.

  “There’s a Mexican restaurant down the road from here. Good guacamole.”

  “Not hungry,” I say. I try to turn away from him to pick up my bag, but he catches my arm. Something deep in my core feels like it’s awakening, reaching out to him. There’s a small spark, a kindling, built from the first time I saw him to this very moment. I feel it like electricity where his strong fingers meet my skin.

  “I am. I worked up an appetite. And I’d like to have someone to share a meal with before I go back on tour.”

  His voice is gravelly and deep in tone, as if he’s working hard to restrain himself. I don’t know why I can hear it in just a few words—but I can. Something clicks in my brain, and I know he wants me. And not just as a dinner date.

  I had an inkling before, but now I’m sure.

  I pick up my purse and try to walk to the door, pulling away from the firmness of his touch. My father would ban me from working with Ella if he knew I was thinking of doing anything with one of the models, and he’d especially hate this calendar. Depraved, he’d say. You’re not worthy of working in this town, not if you’re thinking of the hired help like that.

  “I think you could find plenty of girls in town who’d go out with you, Gates.”

  “I like what I see right here. I’d like to talk to you. Get to know the artist behind the scenes. That kind of thing.” He pauses for a beat. “And I like redheads.”

  I turn to him. “No. Thanks.” I ought to get out before I make a decision I regret.

  “You know, it’s not that often that I see a woman who’s so confident at what she does.” He steps toward me again and brushes an errant lock of red hair behind my ear. I’m suddenly conscious of what my breasts look like in this white t-shirt, and I’m trying to remember if I put on my mascara this morning.

  “I’m just pretending to be a photographer at this point. I only work for the real artists.”

  “I saw some of the stills you did up on the wall. They’re good.”

  His thumb brushes against my cheek, and I let out a small sigh. I can feel the heat coming off of his skin, and I like it. Too much.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  “They’ve got beer, too. At the restaurant. You look like you could use a beer, to cool off.”

  “Maybe I could…” I look up at him and give him a little smile.

  “Or we could stay here for a little while and see where the evening goes.”

  “What are you…” I look around absently. There’s nothing in this warehouse but fitness equipment and cameras for the Navy SEAL calendar. There’s nothing else.

  Oh.

  He leans in, his lips close to mine. “I’m leaving for Afghanistan after the weekend. I’d like to have something to remember while I’m there. But I’ll go to my hotel now if you tell me to.”

  I gulp, and my body feels, suddenly, like there’s not quite enough air in the room.

  “You really cut to the chase,” I say.

  “It’s been two days.”

  “Not even that. And you’ve been flirting with me shamelessly. It’s not becoming.” I try to sound haughty and self-righteous, but it’s not exactly working.

  “I find it’s good to tell people what I want. If I don’t get it, I don’t dwell on it. But…” He looks me over, h
is eyes lingering longer than they should. “I might dwell on you if I don’t get this opportunity. Stay here and let me show you what I’m about. And then let me take you to dinner.”

  My mind goes blank for a moment. “Maybe we could stay here a little while.” I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I fully register what I’m saying.

  Before I can say anything else, Gates’ lips touch mine, tentatively at first. I taste him, feel the strength of his lips exploring my own, the glance of his tongue touching mine. All at once, the kindling at my core catches fire. Flames lick over my thighs and into the dark secret of my sex.

  Years of repressed need light within me, centering on this one man.

  “What the hell,” I murmur as he pulls me in to him, his body pressed against mine. I can feel every sinewy muscle on his body, every ounce of his strength. I think of how he moved today, like a trained actor, like a gymnast. His confidence and athleticism showed, and I liked it—more than I’ve liked anything in a long time.

  That fiery feeling—it feels like waking up after years and years of sleep. A deep ache overtakes my sex, and suddenly, more than anything, I want this man. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never slept with anyone on the job, and I’ve never fucked with someone I’ve just met.

  But I’m young. It pays to be reckless every once in a while.

  If he’s going back to Afghanistan in a matter of days, no one needs to know about this. That’s my excuse. Daddy won’t know. Ella can only guess. And there won’t be shred of evidence.

  Suddenly, he lifts me and takes me to the mat we have set up on the floor.

  “No one is going to randomly show up after hours, are they?”

  “No,” I say, my heart fluttering. “I don’t think so.”

  Gates lowers me down to the floor. “Good.”

  He moves his strong hands to my waist and kisses me again, lingering this time, letting his taste intermingle with mine. Deft hands move the skirt of my sundress and pull my panties down.