L.A. Fire

by Sarah Bailey

  He pulled up to a sitting position, and gripped my ass firmly in his hands. I rode him hard, harder, harder still. My breasts were jiggling, my thighs were shaking from the strain, and I was panting and moaning. Our eyes never left each other. His expression was ravenous, greedy, and it drove me wild. The passion coiled, and then released with a big explosion, sending shock waves of ecstasy coursing through me. My cry was long and animalistic, completely feral and out of control.

  That cry set Julian off. He squeezed my ass harder, kneading it with his fingers, and started thrusting into me. His face was strained, his eyes fierce. He pushed me onto my back, pinned me to the bed, and stared down at me with a hard, possessive look. He snarled, then started ramming into me, pounding and pounding me so I was screaming again, senseless with desire. His drives were fierce and exquisite, and soon his face contorted, and he was grunting, his body trembling, his biceps flexing, as he pumped into me with everything he had, coming long and hard.

  He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard against me ear. His hot breaths sent a final shudder through me. I wrapped my legs around his body, pulling him closer still. I held him like that until his breathing had slowed. He found my mouth and kissed me deeply, pushing back my matted hair from my face. “You’re so beautiful when you come,” he said, stroking my face. I smiled up at him, suddenly feeling shy.

  He chuckled slightly and said, “It’s too late to get coy with me, baby. I’ve seen you come undone. And it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I gave him a soft kiss, then trailed my fingers down his back. A shiver coursed through his body, and his eyes darkened. “I’d love to feel your nails dig into my back when I fuck you,” he said.

  I trailed my nails again, only this time harder, sinking them right into his flesh. He groaned at the back of his throat. “I’m going to chain you to this bed and keep you here as my sex slave.”

  I flashed him a crooked smile. “Maybe on the weekend. Right now I’ve got to get to work.”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. “Okay,” he said. “But I’m going to hold you to your promise.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Maybe isn’t a promise,” I said, playfully pushing him away.

  He grabbed my hands, and pinned me down again. He shot me a scorching stare and said, “Promise me you’ll let me handcuff you next time.”

  Holy fuck. Handcuffed? How hot was that? He must have seen something in my face that pleased him, because his eyes started sparkling with delight. “Promise,” he said. “Or I’ll tie you to the bed right now and you won’t be able to go to work.”

  My heart started pumping a little faster, and my stomach fluttered. “I’ll starve,” I said, dramatically.

  “No you won’t. I’ll feed you my cock.”

  My breathing became ragged again. I squirmed under him, reveling in the feel of his chiseled body against my flesh. I’d never been handcuffed before. The thought of being so vulnerable sent a jolt of fear through me, but it also turned me on. “I’d be completely at your mercy,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

  Julian released one of my hands, and gently stroked my cheek. “Trust me?” he asked, tracing my features with his finger.

  “Yes,” I said, without hesitation. Julian smiled brightly, then gave me a lingering kiss.

  “And you promise to let me tie you up?”

  “Yes,” I said, a gentle quiver of strange delight rippling through me.

  “Good,” he said, freeing me. “Now let’s get you home so you can change.”

  ***

  When I got to the office that morning, I was in a great mood. I noticed in the elevator that my eyes looked bright, and my skin was glowing, the way it only does after a night of insanely amazing sex. The moment I walked through the glass doors to Cooper McGregor, Annabel flashed me a bright smile. “You look fantastic today,” she said, checking out my dress, and giving me an appreciative nod. I was wearing a peach v-neck Vera Wang dress that my mother had bought me as a graduation present. It was made of satin, and flowed out from the waist.

  “Look who’s talking, you stunning woman,” I said to her in response. She had on a simple cream shift dress with black jeweled trimming, and looked incredibly elegant. She beamed at me in response and wished me a good day.

  Everything went smoothly that morning. I finished typing up several pending contracts, and even managed to get through a script or two in the slush pile. I was just getting up to make photocopies when Amanda appeared at my cubicle, her hand on her hip, and hovering down at me. “Hello, Sarah,” she said in that sickeningly sweet voice that I’d learned only meant trouble.

  I gave her a guarded, icy look and said, “What do you want, Amanda?”

  She twirled a piece of her straight brown hair around her finger and said, “Oh, I’m just, you know, checking in to see how you’re doing. With work and what not.”

  I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. “That’s very sweet of you, but I’m doing fine. Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work.”

  I caught her eyeing me critically, looking me up and down. “Nice dress,” she said. “It’s impressive that you can afford it on an entry level salary.”

  I looked at her more closely. She was dressed in a flowing, floral, Juicy Couture dress that must have cost her a small fortune. “You’re not exactly wearing rags, Amanda.”

  “Well, I’ve been working. Hard. I’ve earned my salary. You know, instead of trying to sleep my way to the top.”

  A jolt of anger shot through me. I glowered at her. “I’m not sleeping with Paul,” I said.

  Her eyes glimmered with malice, and she shifted her weight to the other foot. “No, but rumor has it, you’re sleeping with Julian. I’ve seen the paparazzi shots. Did he buy that dress for you?”

  I was livid, and I felt like slapping her. “No, he didn’t. Not that it’s any of your business,” my voice was shaky, and when she heard it, her eyes flashed with triumph.

  “Oh, what then? Did daddy set up a trust fund for you?”

  I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Part of me knew Amanda was being a bitch, and was doing everything in her power to make me feel like shit. But her words got to me. I wondered if that’s what everyone in the office was thinking. That I was taking the easy way out by sleeping with Julian. That I wasn’t earning my place at the office on my own. Sure, I didn’t work for Julian directly, but he still owned half of the business. Also, I knew I worked hard, but my parents had a lot of money, and they were helping me out. Without my so called trust fund I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the gorgeous clothes I was lucky to be able to wear.

  “I don’t work for Julian,” I said, my voice still trembling. “And where I get my money is none of your business. Now get the hell out of my face,” I said, grabbing the stuff I needed to photocopy, and pushing past her. She smirked, and turned away, clearly satisfied.

  For the rest of the morning I felt horrible. Was everyone in the office judging me for dating Julian? Was Paul looking down on me for it? He’d expressed his concern, and I’d gone ahead and ignored his advice. Was I putting my career in jeopardy? These same questions kept running in circles in my head for the rest of the morning. By the time Julian called me at quarter to twelve, asking me to meet him for lunch, I felt like a complete basket case. I was suddenly so self-conscious that I told him I’d meet him in the lobby, worried that the office might think I was flagrantly flaunting my relationship with the boss’s partner.

  I decided I needed to talk to Julian about this. At noon, I grabbed my purse, and took off to meet him, the morning glow I’d walked in with now completely gone.

  ***

  Julian took me again to Melinda’s. He could tell in the car ride over that there was something worrying me, but I told him I wanted to wait until we got to the restaurant to talk about it.

  Once we were settled in our seats at Julian’s regular table by the window, he leaned forward, and said “Okay, tell me what’s wrong.�
�

  I took a deep breath. “I’m worried that dating you is hurting my career,” I said frankly.

  Julian’s brow furrowed, and he reached for my hand. “Who’s giving you that impression? Paul? Because if he’s coming down on you for this I swear– ”

  “It’s not Paul,” I blurted out. “He’s been good about not interfering. It’s just, well, I feel people are judging me for it.”

  Julian took a big gulp of his water, and squeezed my hand. He was about to say something when a tall, burly, middle-aged man in a beige linen suit appeared at our table. “Julian McGregor,” he said, reaching out his hand. For a split moment, annoyance flashed across Julian’s face. Then his expression cleared, and he smiled at the man.

  “Peter Sanders,” he said in a businesslike tone, “Good to see you.”

  The moment his name was mentioned, I knew who he was. A major Hollywood executive producer who had purchased several scripts over the years from clients of Cooper McGregor. His shrewd brown eyes glimmered with intent, and the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. “I hear Paul is selling a new thriller. Bourne Identity meets The Matrix. I’ve read the script, and I’m interested.” His eyes were hard, frank.

  I snapped to attention. Julian must have noticed my expression, because he gestured toward me and said, “This here is Sarah Stevens. She actually discovered that script.”

  The producer’s eyes skated over me. His eyes lingered too long on my chest. He grinned at me in a slightly lecherous way, and said, “That’s great, darlin’,” then winked at Julian, nodding in approval. “Anyway,” he continued, turning his attention back fully to Julian, “Let Paul know I’ll be calling him this afternoon with an offer.”

  Julian’s face was tense, but he nodded. The producer gave him a tap on the shoulder, and strolled back to his table.

  I felt a strangled scream rise up in my throat. This was it. This was my nightmare. Having my achievements undermined or ignored, because I was seen simply as the pretty girl on a powerful man’s arm. And isn’t that what I was? My worst fears had just been realized. Sleeping with Julian had reduced me to arm candy. No one in the business would take me seriously again, I was sure of it. An image of my mother welled up from my memory. Dressed in a beautiful red Givenchy dress, holding on to my dad’s arm dutifully while he spoke to other businessmen, nodding politely, and hardly speaking, knowing it was her role to be seen rather than heard.

  “Julian, I can’t do this,” I said, grabbing my purse and getting up from my seat.

  “Sarah,” he said, sternly. “Sit down.”

  “I can’t. I feel humiliated,” I said.

  He gave me a level stare. “Sarah, Peter Sanders is part of the old boy’s club. He sees women as pieces of ass, no matter how successful they are. Don’t give him this kind of power.”

  My lip trembled. “But I don’t have any power,” I said. “I’m a rookie. And I’m dating my boss’s partner.”

  Julian rose, and reached across the table for my hand. “Sit, Sarah.”

  I felt fury lash through me. “I’m not your dog,” I said. “I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Sarah,” he repeated, his tone pleading. “Let’s order, and discuss this over lunch.”

  I shook my head, and fought back the tears. “I’m done, Julian. I’m done with this. I’m not going to be that girl, okay? It’s just not going to happen.”

  I grabbed my purse, and hastily made my way toward the entrance. As I pushed through the door, Julian grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Don’t leave like this,” he said, his eyes gripping mine.

  A number of heads on the patio turned to stare. I didn’t care. All I could think of at that moment was getting away from Julian, getting into the cab, and heading somewhere quiet where I could process my feelings. “I’ve got to go,” I said forcefully, and pulled my hand away.

  I made it to the curb, and hailed a cab. Once I was settled inside, I looked out the window. Julian was standing beside the cab, staring at me, his eyes pained, his whole body tense. I tore my gaze away, turned my attention to the cab driver, and gave him the address to the office.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  As he pulled into traffic, I shot one last glance at Julian. He was still standing in the same spot, his eyes on me, looking shocked. I shifted my eyes away from him, peered straight ahead, and didn’t once look back.

  ***

  I spent the rest of my lunch in the downstairs lounge, picking at a yogurt parfait, and thinking about what had just happened. I felt so conflicted. I knew I was falling for Julian. Hard. I felt so safe with him, and he brought out parts of me that had been lying dormant with Rob, and everyone else I’d dated for that matter. The orgasms he’d given me were mind-blowing, and when he told me to trust him, to lean on him, to, figuratively speaking, let myself fall back into his arms, I knew I could do it. I just knew he would catch me. The proof was in his actions. The first night at his place when I’d crumbled in his arms, he’d held me up, then coaxed out a desire and vulnerability in me that I rarely shared with anyone. He was so perceptive, so strong, so brutally honest that there was literally no way to hide with him. Every other man I’d ever been with had never been able to reach my core. But Julian was different. He truly saw me. And he was hungry to learn everything he could about me.

  But we weren’t equals. He had years of experience on me, both in the boardroom and in the bedroom. And I had a sick feeling that the look of dismissal I’d gotten from that producer in the restaurant was just a harbinger of things to come if I stayed with Julian. I’d seen it with my mom and dad. She was beautiful, vivacious, and an extremely talented artist. But she never had a chance to grow her talent. My dad was a powerful man, and she’d settled for the role of trophy wife. And that’s how all of my dad’s colleagues, and his colleague’s wives, saw her. A stunning-looking socialite who was always gracious, and completely devoted to her husband. But I’d known that deep down, she was never happy with that. Not completely. She had always secretly yearned to express her talent, to be known as someone more than business mogul Adam Stevens’s diplomatic, elegant, and supportive wife.

  When my dad divorced her, she had undergone an identity crisis, because her self-concept was so linked up with his, she completely lost sight of herself as a person apart from him. She was now in her mid-fifties, and finally getting back to doing her art. But she had to work so hard, go through so much pain and turmoil to figure out who she was, and what about herself and the world she wanted to express. I didn’t want to end up like that. And I knew I had some of her tendencies. I’d lost myself with Rob, throwing myself into promoting his band, and letting my own interests fall to the wayside. And I knew I was capable of doing it with Julian. I could easily spend my time singing his praises, supporting him, and not growing my own talent.

  Yes, I was falling for him. And I was already addicted to his touch. There was no question about it. But I needed to end it before I got in too deep. Just the thought of not seeing him anymore made my want to curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out. But I had to think of my career. I couldn’t sacrifice my career for love. I was not going to turn out like my mother.

  When I got back up to the office, Paul was pacing around my cubicle. His eyes lit up the moment he saw me. “Good,” he said. “You’re back. Two producers and one director have put in an offer for Jason Burns’s screenplay, and I need you to set up an appointment for him to come in and discuss this. Preferably for this afternoon.”

  I smiled brightly at Paul, suddenly feeling excited that negotiations over the screenplay I’d discovered were going somewhere. “I’ll call him right away,” I said.

  Jason Burns was ready and willing to come in later that afternoon. When he arrived, I ushered him to the boardroom, where Paul was waiting for him.

  “So, these are the offers,” Paul said after going through all three.

  Jason ran a hand through his unruly brown curls, then took a sip of the coffee I’d prepared for
him. “Yeah, I don’t know about the producers. Eric Daniels I don’t anything about, and as far as I know, Peter Sanders is a total douche.”

  I almost choked on my coffee. I started coughing really hard, and Paul gave me a strange look. Then he returned his attention back to Jason. “I do have to note that Peter Sanders is really excited about the project, and he’s put in the highest bid.”

  Jason frowned. “Yeah, but the movies he produces suck. I mean, they do well at the box office, but they’re all super slick and commercial. It’s like even the projects that have huge potential, he just kills their soul.”