by Stella Gray
“Oh, yes. Yes.” The words fly out of me like a prayer.
His lips find my nipple and he lightly sucks as he works my clit. The dual sensations make me feel like I’m floating. He turns his attention to the other nipple, giving little pulls that send sparks through my body. And then he makes his way lower, kissing along my body as he works me close to orgasm. He’s going so slowly that I want to scream from the anticipation.
Suddenly, he grips my hand, entwining our fingers and squeezing. I don’t have time to think about it as his lips replace his fingers between my legs. I cry out and buck against him.
My body responds so quickly, pushing and pulling, teasing me with the promise of sweet release. But Luka takes his time, slowly licking and swirling his tongue over my clit as if he has all the time in the world to do this. Then he slides a finger into my pussy, pumping with agonizing slowness as he continues to suck me. I’m right on the edge when he pulls back and looks up to meet my gaze. He licks his lips, grins, and goes back in.
Three more swirls of his tongue push me right over the edge. Panting and murmuring his name, I soar on pulsing waves of pleasure. I’ve barely recovered from my orgasm when he goes back to covering my body with soft caresses and kisses. Over my thighs, hands skating over my calves with massaging strokes. He draws his nails over my hips, up and down my ribs, until every inch of me trembles. He’s never touched me this way before, and I don’t want him to stop.
Luka keeps working his way up until he’s covering me with his hard body.
“Mm-hmm,” I encourage him, spreading my legs wide, urging him in.
He obliges me. Pressing his cock to my entrance, the head bobbing against my wet lips, he pauses to give me a long, languid kiss. Teasing me.
“Luka, I…yes…” I moan. I almost say more. It’s there on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down. I can’t tell him. I want to, but I can’t say it.
He enters me in fractions, carefully, fluidly filling me up and then pacing his strokes with a long thrust followed by a short pause until he pulls back and starts over. I shudder and moan, my grip tight on his biceps. I’ve never felt so connected to him—or anyone else—before. It’s amazing to be with Luka this way, each inch of him slowly filling me up and pulling back. His plump tip passes my lips with each thrust and I swear he’s going to make me lose my mind.
A second orgasm builds fast and hard, the tension inside me screaming to be uncoiled.
He cups my face and kisses me, the tenderness replaced with a calculated urgency. He’s holding himself back, but I feel his urge to come with me in the tightness of his muscles and the pace of his breathing. He moves one hand to my hair, sliding his fingers over my scalp. Tingles run from my head down the sides of my neck. He kisses there, nibbling along my collarbone while massaging his fingers through my hair.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Just like that.”
His cock is torturing me with slow pleasure. I can’t take another second. With a gasp I come hard, my voice filling the room with high-pitched moans as I unleash all the sensations and emotion that he’s built up in me. Luka tenses with a muffled groan as he shoots his own hot release. Then he collapses beside me, breathing heavily for a moment before pulling me close.
He wraps me up in his arms. When I glance at him, I see that his eyes are closed, his expression completely at ease. His entire body is relaxed, too, as if making love to me finally released some of the pent-up tension he’s had for so long.
My eyes go wide. He did, didn’t he? My husband made love to me.
That wasn’t sex. That wasn’t raw and hurried. It was careful, and tender, and thoughtful.
I blink back tears and snuggle into my husband. He kisses the top of my head and my heart nearly bursts. He may never say it out loud, how he really feels.
But he sure as hell just showed me.
Luka
Chapter 16
No matter what Brooklyn says, I can still hear my father’s voice in my head, telling me I never should have given my wife power over me by showing her my vulnerable side.
But the sex we had last night was almost an out-of-body experience, like one of those meditative moments of transcendence you hear about from the hippie yoga instructor you think is slightly crazy. Until you realize they might be onto something.
I’ve fucked more women than I can remember, but I’ve never felt anything like that before. Never once did I feel as driven to give someone else pleasure as I did with my wife after the interview yesterday. And then the connection I felt…I can’t explain it, and I don’t know that I need to. But what I do know is that I have to find a way to take back the pieces of myself that I exposed to her while she was screaming my name.
I get out of the shower and am almost done toweling off when my phone dings with an incoming text. I grab it from the vanity top and read the message with a hot rush of adrenaline.
So…we still on for today? ; )
I send a short reply and then head into the bedroom to get dressed.
When I pass the bed, I notice the sheets are still rumpled from the amazing sex Brooklyn and I had last night. She’s out right now, off at some “soulful” cycling class with Mateo, but her scent still permeates the room and I inhale, filling myself up with it even as I curse inwardly for doing so. She really got under my skin yesterday. Something about her sincerity before the interview, and the way she clung to my hand throughout the whole thing, busted through the wall I’ve been trying to keep between us.
* * *
Everything I said on camera to Julia Espinoza was true—especially the part about Brooklyn teaching me the importance of honesty in relationships. My wife has definitely opened my eyes in that regard, even if it took the twist of her betrayal to make me understand why you need to be open with your partner. Before Brooklyn, I didn’t care about give and take either, or looking out for someone else’s feelings. Now I do, and for a while, our lives seemed better for it.
Am I ready to let her back in?
I have no idea.
She’s changed me in so many ways, and I’ve grown as a result. But I can’t bring myself to forget how she almost sold me and my company out to Elite Image. It doesn’t matter that she burned the contract before handing over any of DRM’s insider secrets—or that she ultimately chose our marriage over Elite’s offer. I can’t allow myself to trust my wife again.
I’m a fucking mess thanks to her.
Objectively, though, it doesn’t benefit anybody for me to let my emotions rage out of control. So I’m pulling away again, just like I always do.
It’s a defense mechanism—I know that. But there’s no alternative. This is just how I am.
Turning away from the bed, I go to the closet and grab a Brooks Brothers shirt and dark denim jeans, slipping into my weekend uniform on autopilot.
This is the first Saturday in a long time that I haven’t had to put in at least a few hours at work, and I thought I’d have a relaxing day at home (as much as that’s possible with my father’s trial blowing up), but the text I just received means my day is going to be anything but easy. Still, I guess I’m glad for the distraction it’ll provide from the storm of emotions I’m battling.
I check my phone again, feeling a slight stab of guilt as I see another message from the same woman. Danica Shore. She’s asking where we’re meeting up.
There’s a bang from the kitchen and I freeze with my phone in my hand, mid-text. Mr. Kibbles comes running into the bedroom, and it takes me a second to fully relax. Apparently, the guilt over texting with Danica has me on edge, worried that Brooklyn will come walking in at any second and catch me chatting up her nemesis.
It’s a good thing the dog can’t rat me out to her later.
I’m not going to spend a lot of time with Monica. She’s an old friend, sure, but her career goals and cutthroat ambitions have driven her to disregard anyone she’s had to step on to get to the top, and we haven’t been close for quite a while. Beyond that, I’m married now, and m
y association with her could have negative PR consequences that I have no desire to deal with.
Though this isn’t exactly a social call to catch up on old times—Monica reached out recently to say that she’s ready to leave Elite and sign with DRM. I haven’t breathed a word of it to Brooklyn yet, since I know my wife would go berserk if she found out and I’m not sure how serious Monica is. And although I don’t need to personally oversee her contract, I do want to know what she’s up to and what her intentions are. She’s never been entirely trustworthy.
Hence our lunch date.
I finish getting ready and take Kib for a quick lap around the block before putting him in his kennel. He whines pitifully, but I know Brooklyn will be home to play with him soon.
After locking up the apartment, I take the elevator down to the street and start walking. I told Monica we should stick to my side of town and gave her the name of one of my favorite Italian restaurants in the neighborhood. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have her on my own turf.
Monica is already standing outside in a wide-brimmed straw sun hat and a huge pair of attention-getting sunglasses by the time I stroll the few blocks to Armando’s. Even without her loud accessories, she’d still be impossible to miss at almost six feet tall, her trademark white-blonde hair gleaming down her back.
“Luka, my love!”
Her face brightens as she greets me with a theatrical kiss on each cheek, her floppy hat almost taking my eye out.
“Good to see you,” I say, mustering up as much warmth as I can. “It’s been a minute.”
“Three years, if I’m not mistaken! The last time we hung out, we got shitfaced on dirty martinis at a VIP bar in Vegas.” She grins slyly. “It was some fashion show afterparty.”
“I’m not sure I remember that,” I say, pulling open the heavy glass door for her.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” she giggles. “I don’t think you would’ve remembered your own name that night. We wrapped up at five a.m. after doing body shots off the bartender. I think you went home with her, actually.”
“You have a good memory,” I say. Inside, I cringe at the way I used to conduct myself.
After giving my name to the hostess, we’re led to a table in the back. The window gives me a clear view of the sidewalk and the street, which I’m grateful for. It means I’ll have something to look at other than the pair of perky breasts Monica keeps thrusting in my direction.
“I’m so glad you were free for me!” she says, settling into her chair. She gives me a sneaky side-eye like she has a secret and then taps the edge of her water glass with one long, red fingernail. “Though I have to admit, I’m impressed you got Brooklyn to let you come alone.”
I know bait when I see it dangling. I don’t take it. “So, what prompted you to get in touch with us? Was it the rebranding efforts, or are you just ready to move on from Elite?”
“Hmm…maybe a bit of both?” Her eyelids flicker, her smile falling just enough to show me she’s disappointed that I didn’t indulge her taunt.
She sits back and runs a finger absently along the deep V-neck of her blouse. The waiter comes and she orders us wine before shooing him away with a wave of her hand.
“What were we talking about, again?” she asks, batting her eyes at me.
I smile, turning on the charm. “Business. Yours and mine. That’s why I’m here.”
“All work and no play makes Luka a dull boy,” she teases. “But you always did cut to the chase.” She uncrosses her legs and moves her chair closer, then crosses them again, slowly. Deliberately. “So. I’d like to sign with Danica Rose. Your father offered me a contract ages ago, back when I was new to the scene, but I had stars in my eyes and I wanted to go with a ‘Hollywood’ agency. Looking back, it was naïve. Elite hasn’t managed me as well as I’d like.”
She shrugs noncommittally and I tilt my head in interest, but don’t say anything. I can’t help thinking that I’ve been in this position before, sitting across from a stunning woman who had two irons in the fire. One in DRM, and one in Elite. I never for a moment suspected that honest, sweet Brooklyn would double-cross me, so all bets are off when it comes to Monica.
Truthfully, I’m torn. She’d be a great get for the agency, and it would certainly put another positive spotlight on us, but at the same time I don’t trust her.
Our wine comes and we order. I keep it light so I can eat quicker and end this meeting as soon as possible. I wonder if Brooklyn is home yet. Resisting the urge to check my phone to see if she’s texted, I sip my wine instead and wait for Monica’s next move.
“How about cheers to good friendship?” She leans in and raises her glass with a wink.
“Cheers.” I keep my gaze steadily on hers.
She takes a sip. “Well, what do you think? Does your agency’s offer still stand?”
“I think it would be mutually beneficial for you to sign with us, of course. But you have to really want it—and I’m not sure you do.”
She laughs as if she can’t believe it. “What makes you say that?”
“Because instead of calling DRM and asking us for an electronic contract, which we could have easily sent to you within forty-eight hours, you flew all the way from LA to Chicago and then reached out to ask if I’d meet up with you.”
She laughs again and swats at my hand playfully. “Oh, Luka. Can’t I check up on an old friend when I’m in town? Besides, I wanted to make sure we still click.”
“Sure,” I say, nodding.
When our food arrives, I waste no time digging in. Monica takes a bite of her salad. She’s slow to pull the fork from between her lips and bats her eyes as she makes a show of sliding it from her mouth. An appreciative little sound rumbles from her throat.
At one time, I would have found this irresistible. Monica is beautiful in the classic Scandinavian way. She has wide blue eyes, high cheekbones, and these full, pouty lips. Her fork is a lucky bastard for the pleasure of slipping between them again and again.
Yet all the things I appreciated about her before are escaping me now. I can appreciate her beauty. Objectively, I know she’s flawless. But…she just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
“So, how is married life, Luka?” she purrs. “You never seemed like the type to settle. Down, I mean.”
I take a couple more bites of my chilled salmon salad before I answer.
“What exactly would you like to know?” It’s obvious what she’s after. She wants the details on how things went after she exposed my wife’s betrayal to me while we were in Paris.
“I just worry about you, that’s all. You seem very happy, if the media is to be believed.”
“We do get a ton of press. Brooklyn draws a lot of attention. She’s got a good heart.”
Monica eyes me over her wine glass. Her expression flickers with venom and it solidifies for me that she isn’t just after a new contract—she’s after my wife. Maybe more.
Finally she sighs, trailing two fingers over my wrist. “All right, enough dancing around it. I’d like to officially sign with you. I already gave my notice with Elite, so I’d like to contract with a new agency as soon as possible. How should we nail this down?”
Gently, I pull away from her touch. If she’s going to be an employee, it’d be best to stay on her good side. I don’t need her creating any more waves for me. Or for Brooklyn.
The waiter comes to clear our plates, and I hand over my credit card to settle the bill. The sooner I can end this, the better.
“Come into the office later this week. I’ll let contracts know to expect you. Welcome aboard.” I don’t know if I really believe that she’s going to sign with us, but I’m game to go along with it until I know for sure.
She pouts. “So…you don’t want to seal the deal today?”
Something touches my ankle. I almost jerk back before I realize it’s her foot.
“I’m afraid I have other commitments.” I smile apologetically.
The waiter returns with the
receipt and I sign. Monica drinks her second glass of wine, savoring it in small sips, making it clear that she’s in no rush.
I make a big deal of checking my watch. “I should get going. Can I walk you out?”
“Let me dial an Uber real quick.”
She takes out her phone and taps at the screen, then holds out a hand for me to take. I help her to feet, and maybe it’s the wine, but her cheeks flush as she steps close to me, leaning into me as we head back outside into the sunshine.
I don’t like her closeness, but I’m not going to make a scene or give her the impression I’m rejecting her outright. As my father always said, keep your enemies closer.
We stand at the curb to wait for her ride. Her fingers stroke my lower back and it takes all my will not to pull away.
“You’re the best. It’s going to be so exciting working with you! Oh, there’s my Uber.”
She spins and launches herself into my arms. Shocked, I wrap them loosely around her while she hangs on to me for dear life.
Suddenly, all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Whipping my head to the side, my body goes cold as I meet a pair of incredulous brown eyes.
Brooklyn is standing there, holding Kibbles’ leash.
Brooklyn
Chapter 17
I woke up this morning with a sense of lightness that I haven’t felt in forever. I know sex is good for the body and mind, but having intense, emotionally connected sex with someone you have deep feelings for is indescribable. Like its own kind of therapy session.
It was amazing to wake up in Luka’s arms. I spent some time just looking at his profile while he slept, admiring his physical perfection and replaying the events of the night before. This must be what true love is like. On the one hand your own vulnerability is terrifying, but on the other it’s something you’re willing to risk. And you want to make your partner’s life better, help them work through their trials and their pain, and fill them with joy every chance you get.
