“Clams,” he repeated. “And you were only allowed to have them on your birthday?”
“Birthday or a special occasion, like when I made honor roll.”
He maintained his confused look. “I mean, I could understand that with something that was a huge splurge, like pizza, but clams can be healthy, right?”
They can be. But not the way I liked them. Simmering in a creamy chowder. Or buttery linguini. And I didn’t know if I was ready to reveal just yet how intense Mom was… well, is. How she would measure out my food, down to the teaspoon. How we would have weekly weigh-ins together, and the disapproving scowl that would mar her forehead every time I went up a dress size. I copped out, and answered, “Well, they were expensive and we didn’t have a lot of money.” This wasn’t entirely a lie. Even before dad left, we only had clams on special occasions.
“Okay,” Ash said, his smile returning. “Clams, it is.”
I never thought the word could sound so fucking sexy. But Ash Livingston saying clams just about had me spreading my legs and offering him my clam.
Could I actually do this? Casual sex with my boss? It was amazing how drastically I had shifted in the course of only a few minutes. Back in the bar? I’d been convinced it would never happen. No way, no how. But now? Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was our easy, light banter. But I felt an inexplicable draw to this man. A chemistry I hadn’t felt in years… maybe ever. That thick desire pulsing through my body was too strong to ignore. I never indulged in it. And maybe it was time. I was a woman with needs. And he… well, he was gorgeous and radiated with raw, sexual need.
Would he even want to do this? I glanced to the left one more time to find his jaw tight, pants tented with a bulge that was more than impressive, and his chest heaving with each rapid breath. Oh, he wanted it.
“I didn’t expect a question as simple as ‘What’s your favorite food to surprise me.’ But Lucy… you are one of the most remarkably unpredictable people I’ve ever met. I mean… fuck.” He finished the thought with a light tap to my steering wheel.
Remarkably unpredictable. I liked that more than I should. “Fuck, is right,” I said. His gaze snapped to mine, shining and alive with need.
A shiver trembled through my body, starting at the base of my neck and surging to the pit of my stomach; an aftershock of pure pleasure and anticipation.
Then, his eyes cut back to the road and he shook his head. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m sober enough to know I want this. And drunk enough to have the courage to actually say it.”
There was an ease to his smile; a carefree, devilish attitude that I wished I could mimic. He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not coming upstairs with you, Lucy.”
Damn. That was a surprise. And a punch to the gut—no, not the gut. The vagina. “Well, good. Because I live on the first floor.”
“Fine,” he said. “Then, I’m not going inside with you.”
“Why not?” Was I that unfuckable? That the director with the biggest reputation at Silhouette wouldn’t even sleep with me? No—wait. He’d said I was beautiful. Hollywood beautiful. Unless it was all just a lie to get in my pants… but then he would be coming inside, wouldn’t he? I was like a dog chasing my tail. He had me spinning in circles.
“Because… like you said… those studio rules are in place for a reason. And that reason is more important than the raging case of blue balls I will inevitably go home with tonight.”
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look… But, of course I looked. Yep—that bulge was still there. Bigger than ever. Just the mention of his balls had me squeezing, aching for release.
“You’re saying that we’re just going to pretend like nothing happened? Like neither one of us wants this?”
He shook his head slowly. “No… I’m saying that we’re not going to rush in tonight. I’m saying we’re both going to really think about it and then decide another day. Soberly. After we sign a consent contract. And tomorrow, I’ll shift any sort of costume needs over to Jon, my assistant director.”
“You will?”
“Yes. Technically, even though I’ll be your director, I won’t have any say in your department—or at least, I won’t have any say in the hiring and firing of your department. I’ll still have a say in the costume designs, of course. Something I probably should have done when Kelly was hired in the first place.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “So… there’s nothing I can do to get you to come inside tonight?”
“No.”
“But—”
“Lucy, no.” His voice boomed with authority and an erotic promise. Even though he was scolding me, raising his voice, goosebumps broke out across my flesh and I trembled with a stabbing shiver of desire. “But,” the softness in his voice deceived the heated way he stared at me. “I’m going to kiss you goodnight. One kiss. If you’re comfortable with that.”
God, yes. Blood rushed through my body, a whooshing river, and it roared in my ears.
“Lucy?”
“Yes,” I managed to say. “Yes, I’m comfortable with that.” Comfortable? Yeah, that wasn’t the right word. It alluded to an aloofness. You’re comfortable on a couch. Not at the prospect of Ash-fucking-Livingston’s tongue tangling with yours.
For ten minutes, silence scraped between us on the rest of the drive. Finally, we were nearing my apartment. “Take this exit,” I directed him, pointing ahead. He did as I said, turning the blinker on and following my remaining directions into the back alley of my apartment complex, and the two-spot garage for my and Andrea’s cars. “You can just park it here.”
With his hands still on the wheel, he played with a ring on his pinky finger, rotating it while he narrowed his eyes. It looked like he was thinking… contemplating… hard. He looked around the garage, lines creasing his forehead.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah… I just… I feel like I know this place.”
I got out of the car and Ash did the same, shutting the door and walking out of the covered carport. “This is the back entrance. The main road to the front door is here.” I pointed, but he was already taking off, walking in front of me, leading the way like he’d been here before. “Um… It was renovated a few years ago,” I said, following him around to the front of the building.
Stairs lined a path up to the locked front door and Ash stood, ramrod straight, staring at the door. His mouth hung open, his eyes tight, forehead creased. Something was wrong. Really wrong.
“Are you okay?” I placed my palm to his back, and he jumped, jerking his gaze to me. Like he had forgotten I was there, too. His normally tanned skin was pale and he twirled his ring nervously.
“I’m fine,” he snapped. But I knew that tone. I had used that tone myself so many times I could recognize it anywhere.
“Why don’t you come in for a few minutes,” I said, studying him cautiously. “I can make you some tea.”
“No. I… I need to get home. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day on set.”
“We have to wait for your Uber anyway. It’s going to be at least ten minutes—”
He had his phone out, punching in a text message. “No, it won’t. My driver will be here soon. There’s a little bar around the corner… I’ll wait for him there.”
What the hell happened? The shift in his personality was so different, so palpable that if someone had told me right this second that Ash suffered from multiple personalities? I would have believed them.
His hands shook—visibly trembled—and he shoved them in his pockets, looking up at the slice of moon—barely a fingernail’s curve in the sky. He needed something. And it wasn’t tea. I didn’t even think he needed sex. Before he could stop me, I curled my arms beneath his and flattened my palms to his rigid back, squeezing him into a hug. Every dip of hard-etched muscle tightened beneath my flexed hands. I didn’t care. I dug my fingertips into his back, squeezing him, holding him and rested my cheek to his broad chest. The thump of his heart wa
s rapid, thundering with each pulse in my ears. The tenderness of the moment, the intimacy of it, was alarming. He didn’t need tea. He didn’t need to come in. He needed to be held. He released a heavy breath and my cheek moved with the exhale. I felt his rock-hard muscles loosen and relax beneath my embrace, and then his arms were around me. Cradling me back. Our breath became syncopated, one with each other’s, and in that moment, I didn’t know who was consoling who.
After several minutes, he peeled me off of him.
The frown creasing his gloriously handsome face was alarming. I had seen him frown before at work… but not like this. Those other times, it was a scowl. An expression of dissatisfaction or annoyance or frustration. This? This frown was grief. Heartache. And misery.
I brushed my fingers across the tight groves of his forehead and around his eyes, then dropped my hands and my gaze to the ground. Maybe whatever this was—whatever was going on with him was none of my business. Maybe whatever triggered him was a good thing. It was the screeching halt we needed to stop whatever momentum we’d been gaining tonight.
Curving his hands around my jaw, Ash tipped my head, waiting until I lifted my gaze to his. He didn’t have to wait long. Then, closing his eyes, he touched his lips to my forehead. Salty tears pooled in my eyes, though I had no freaking idea why. Why was he so upset? Why was I feeling his pain so intensely? Why did this kiss feel more like goodbye than goodnight or a promise of more to come?
“Goodnight, Lucy,” he whispered in a hoarse tone, backing away. “I’ll wait for you to go inside.”
I turned, feeling hollow. Empty. A lump burned, lodged in the center of my throat. I slid my key into the front door and turned, finding him standing curbside watching me, fingers still twirling that ring.
“Whoever that ring belongs to,” I said, tilting my chin to the ring. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
His hands froze and I could see, even in the inky night, veins pushing against the thin skin of his hand. A potent blend of emotions percolated in my stomach. Rationally, I knew Ash was going through something. Something heart-wrenching from the looks of it. But the way he pulled back from me? Peeled me from his body like a snake would shed its skin? That emotional tug of war had given me whiplash when I was a kid, too. That immediate absence of affection was exactly what my mom had done to me. Over and over and over again. And tonight? Ash might as well have taken a machete to my old wound.
You would think that my dad’s behavior would have scarred me most. That watching him berate my mother for what she ate, what she wore, how she cooked, and every other little thing would have been the catalyst for my wounds. But it wasn’t. I grew to expect this from my dad. He was an asshole. I knew it from the time I was three and he ate half of my ice cream cone while I stood beside him crying. But my mom? I trusted her. She was my rock. Or at least… she was supposed to be. Until Dad left and he gave her the final, ultimate blow that pulverized my rock into mere dust.
Chapter Seven
Ash
I slammed my fist into the leather backseat. What were the fucking chances? That Lucy would be living in the same apartment complex Brie had lived in when we first met? Thank God for company car services. I hadn’t stepped foot in her neighborhood in over seven years—not since the day I helped her pack up her apartment and move in with me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, dropping my forehead to the cool window. Memories rushed my mind, flooding my thoughts with our first date—the little Mexican place around the corner. How I walked her home, backed her against that same railing Lucy had balanced herself on tonight… and I had kissed Brie right there like my next breath depended on it. I remembered how she tugged me toward the door, and as she fumbled with her keys, I nibbled her neck, making her lose her balance and accidentally ring all the buzzers on the third floor.
I liked Lucy. She was smart and funny and sexy and unassuming. And she was a natural submissive. Was she completely oblivious to her instincts?
Not that it mattered. My withered heart was worthless. She deserved so much better than me. The way she held me? Hugged me as I started to have a panic attack. Then noticed Brie’s ring? It’s what I would have done, I heard Brie’s voice echo in my mind.
But you aren’t real. You are my subconscious. I looked down at my hand and the moonlight glimmered off the hammered white gold.
Pushing Lucy away was hard. And as soon as I had her at arm’s length, her gaze had dropped to the ground. Like any good submissive. I stopped twirling the ring and fisted my hands instead.
Pain. That’s what I needed. I needed to make a woman cry out; beg for mercy when, really, she was enjoying every second. I needed to hear her screams so loud and anguished that they matched the screams I felt in my heart. I needed her ass to welt with the same scars I felt beneath my ribcage.
And then I needed to feel her release. See the euphoria overtake that pain. I needed to watch someone triumph over their pain. Own it and not let it consume them like it consumed me every minute of every fucking day.
In truth… it wasn’t that I liked watching my subs in pain. It was their strength and the tenacity. Their endurance and the way they found happiness and pleasure in what most would see as terrible.
I didn’t spank my submissives because I was mad or disliked them.
It was the opposite. I did it because I admired them. I wanted to be them.
A knot lodged thick and heavy in the center of my throat, and I fucking hated myself for the tears that pooled in my eyes. I blinked hard and fast, pushing them down. Swallowing them. Ignoring the pain, yet again.
And after sharing those drinks with Lucy? Driving in her car and smelling the scent of vanilla and lavender surrounding me in the enclosed seats… I couldn’t go back into LnS after that—after her—after Brie’s history and memories engulfed me—and just hook up with someone random. But I also didn’t deserve to go home. To sleep in the same bed Brie and I shared.
I didn’t want just another nameless submissive. I didn’t want any woman. I wanted Lucy. For the first time since Brie, I ached for a woman; not just a release. I wanted to own Lucy; I wanted to own her pain, her pleasure, and everything in between and watch as she fell to her knees and learned what ecstasy lies beneath the surface of obeying.
For five hours, I tossed and turned. Five sleepless hours, hearing whispers of Brie’s voice. Seeing her face every time I closed my eyes.
At five-thirty in the morning, I was on set after a freezing cold shower with a fresh cup of coffee in hand… and my balls were bluer than the Los Angeles sky. I passed the first two hours of the day keeping busy with prep for the shoot and intentionally avoiding the wardrobe tent. Good God, help me, if I stepped foot in there and had to be face to face with Lucy this soon after our—our what? Our almost kiss? The fact that I was so intoxicated by our evening together that I was about to risk everything by entering a consent contract with her?
By seven-thirty, every department had shooed me away so they could finish their jobs in peace. Apparently having your boss over your shoulder, micromanaging, wasn’t the most effective tactic.
I sat in my trailer on my couch, with a cup of coffee, taking twenty minutes to myself before the craziness of the day started. We were thirty minutes behind schedule, which was to be expected when you had this many extras on set, but it was still driving me nuts. I had my cell phone balanced on my knee as it buzzed, a call coming in. “This is Ash Livingston,” I answered.
“Ash,” a woman’s voice on the line said. “This is Roxanne Yorkshire, Pierce Whitley’s agent.”
I immediately jumped to my feet. “Roxanne,” I said, pacing in my trailer and raking my fingers through my hair. “Thank you for returning my calls. As I mentioned in my messages—”
“You want Pierce,” she stated simply, her voice tinged with hard indifference. “You made a mistake in not casting him. Yes, I got all four of your messages.”
I swallowed and peered out the window as some of our extras started gathering, flip
ping through the racks of costumes with Lucy helping pass out items to the actors. I felt a smile curve on my mouth as I watched her work, her brown hair pulled into a smooth ponytail, and she wore the same outfit as yesterday—white t-shirt and jeans. “We do,” I answered. “You might not believe me, but I wanted to cast Pierce immediately. He was perfect as Leo’s brother, Jack. But the powers that be—”
“I don’t need to know the whys,” she said. “I need to know that his contract will be secure. And that his pay will be double.”
I sucked in a silent breath. Double was significant, and I didn’t have the rank to authorize that. “We want to do everything we can to secure him in this role,” I said. “His contract will be as secure as Jude’s which is the best we offer to any actor. I don’t know that I can guarantee double—”
“Pierce would be coming home from a super secret project happening abroad for this part. A part you originally didn’t offer him, even though you should have. You need to make it worth his while to walk away from this other project.”
That wasn’t what I’d heard. Assistants talk. And Raina had been chatting with Pierce’s and told her that he was on vacation in Croatia. The rumor mills in Hollywood are strong; a few little birds had told me that he’d been pretty upset he hadn’t gotten the role here, and that’s why he left the country. Either way, I didn’t think pointing this out would help my case any, so I kept quiet. Instead, I clamped my hand to my hips as Lucy looked up from behind the rolling wardrobe rack and caught my eye in the window. The corners of her mouth tugged into a semblance of a smile, and she pushed her glasses higher onto her nose before looking down at her clipboard.
My eyes fluttered closed and I turned my back to the window. “I understand that,” I said. Pierce had the upper hand right now. Hell, even if she was lying about his reasons for being in Europe, it didn’t matter. We wanted him and she knew it. It wasn’t all that frequent that studios recast movies after filming began, but it was known to happen. Hell, Back to the Future reshot half the damn movie with Michael J. Fox when they realized Eric Stoltz wasn’t working as Marty McFly. Bottom line—it happened. Just not very often. “Here’s what I can do. He’ll get the best contract that we offer talent. And I can authorize a twenty-five percent pay increase from our original offer.” That was literally the maximum I was allowed to offer without executive approval. I held my breath, awaiting her answer.
Role Play (Silhouette Studios) Page 8
