by L. A. Rose
I scowl and spin around in my chair. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We haven’t talked in ages. He’s probably forgotten all about me. It’s just not going to work out.”
“Oh, it will too,” says Marie. “This is classic. The couple almost gets together, and then something happens to drive them apart toward the end. But then they make up and have mind-blowing sex. It’s level one romance stuff.”
“Blah blah blah, I’m Marie and I spend too much time reading lady porn so I think I know everything, blah blah.”
“Now you’re just being childish.”
I stick my tongue out, definitely not proving her point.
“Look,” she sighs. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for you. I’m desperate. My deadline’s coming up and I’ve been trying to write the sex scenes on my own, but everything I come up with is terrible. You need to have one more session with Adrian. Then you can write the last scene and I’ll leave you alone.”
“I can write it on my own.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m looking at this page and you have Jonathan disappearing from the face of the universe and turning gay, respectively.”
“Well, maybe romance readers need to challenge their expectations a little! Sometimes that’s how it works out in the real world!”
“In the real world, people face their fears.” Marie gently removes my hands from my face, where I’ve been hiding my eyes. “And they’re better for it.”
“I’d rather face the TV. I need to finish Breaking Bad.”
I’m starting to get up when her hand clamps down on my wrist.
“One more session,” she pleads. “For me. As your friend. Then I promise I’ll never bring Adrian up again.”
I’m about to say no, but her eyes are so damn desperate. And it’s not like agreeing to fake hook up with him is agreeing to take him back into my life, right? It’s just research. Purely clinical.
“Okay,” I say before I know I’m saying it.
She pumps a fist in the air and runs out of the room before I can take it back.
~20~
ADRIAN
I have to steel myself before knocking on her door.
Marie answers. Her face brightens when she sees me. “Adrian! It’s been way too long. You left me with a mopey roommate and a useless co-writer.”
“MarieshutupbeforeImurderyou,” a voice calls from inside. Cleo’s voice. The breath catches in my throat.
“Thanks for coming,” Marie says, and lets me in.
Cleo is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her feet like they’re telling an excellent story. I can breathe easy again, seeing her. Just knowing she’s fine and whole. Even if there are bags under her eyes.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
She looks up, and her eyes meet. Panic flashes there. “Oh, hello! What a surprise, seeing you here!”
I can’t help it. I smile, just a little bit. I’m so damn happy to see her. “This is your apartment. And you guys invited me here. So it’s not really a surprise, is it?”
“I guess not,” she mumbles, looking down. My smile fades.
“All right, you two, let’s get cracking,” Marie announces, clapping her hands together. That’s the Marie I remember. “Adrian, as you may know, my deadline is fast approaching and Cleo’s recent work has been…unsatisfactory, let us just say. So we need you.”
“Right,” I say. “You explained on the phone.”
“I hope you don’t mind doing this.”
“I’d have done anything to see Cleo again.”
Though she doesn’t look up, I can see her shoulders stiffen.
“Yeah,” says Marie, softening. “Okay. Come this way.”
She tugs me after her toward her bedroom. Cleo follows, head down like a lost puppy. All I want to do is wrap my arms around her, tell her it’s okay, I’ll leave if she wants me to. But Arianna told me to fight. My desire to keep Cleo comfortable battles with my desire to win her back over, and I end up saying nothing.
Marie opens her door, and I blink. I’ve never seen Marie’s room before, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t always look like this. Cleo’s startled cough tells me I’m right. She’s drawn the curtains, and the light comes from candles flickering everywhere. The bed has been shoved into a corner, the blankets piled messily on top of it.
“I take it we’re not using the bed,” I say.
“After what happened to the couch? Hell, no.” Marie points to a clothes hook mounted on the wall. A silk scarf dangles from it. “You’ll be using that.” She points to her bedside table, on which sits a blindfold and a jar of massage oil. “And those.”
The possibilities burst through my mind, and I feel myself hardening. But I turn to Cleo. “Are you okay with this?”
“She knows what Jonathan and Amelia like, she’s read my outline,” Marie insists. Cleo gives a tiny nod, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Jonathan’s dominant. A real alpha male. This scene is where he and Amelia take their relationship to the next level.”
As Cleo wanders across the room, fingering the red silk scarf, Marie elbows me and whispers, “You have to show her what it’s like to be dominated by someone like you. Kay?”
“You’re kind of evil,” I whisper back.
The smile she gives me is definitely evil. “Good girls don’t become bestselling authors.”
“Is that a fact,” I say, but she’s already turning away, picking up a notebook from her dresser and settling on a blue beanbag chair against the wall.
“Get going, guys. Clock’s ticking.”
“No pressure,” I mutter, turning toward Cleo. She glances up at me, nervousness written on every inch of her face. And suddenly, I realize what I have to do.
I have to prove to her that our connection is strong enough to outweigh her fears.
I have to remind her why she wanted me so much in the first place.
I move up to her, slipping an arm around her waist. “If I don’t do this, I think Marie will chop off my head,” I say. I’m rewarded with a small laugh.
“Stop being so sugary sweet,” Marie yells. “Jonathan’s the kind of man who sees what he wants and takes it.”
At this point, I’d pretty much like to punch this Jonathan guy out. But all I can do right now is be Adrian, while Cleo is Cleo.
And maybe there’s more Jonathan in me than I’d like to admit.
All I know is that Cleo looks goddamn delicious standing in front of me, her bra strap barely visible through her white tank top, and I need to have my hands all over her body.
I turn her around to face me. The nervousness has begun to dissipate, and she’s staring at me hungrily. The days of absence haven’t done anything to alleviate the fact that I left her wanting, craving me.
And then she surprises me.
“I don’t know if he can do this, Marie,” she says, hesitation battling with the slightest glint of wickedness. “Maybe he’s just not that kind of guy.”
It’s a challenge.
And I accept it.
I take both her wrists and hold them together, slowly raising them above her head. “I’ll show you exactly what kind of guy I am.” I take the red scarf and tie both her wrists together, knotting it so that she’s comfortable, but secure. I step back for a second to take her in. With her arms suspended above her head, her breasts strain against the fabric of her shirt. She moves her hips unconsciously, the skirt shifting over her full, delicious thighs, as she stares at my body with pure want.
I’ve never met a woman who needed to be satisfied this badly.
And I won’t let her down.
I take off my shirt, so she can have a chance to see what she wants before I blindfold her. Her eyes run down my chest, my abs. I pick up the blindfold and step toward her.
“They say that when you can’t see, your other senses become more powerful.” I brush back her hair and tie the blindfold over her eyes. “Let’s see if that’s true.”
And I kiss her.
I mean it to start out gentl
e, but the desire that’s been burning in me ever since we parted ways explodes out at once, and I kiss her so hard I shove her back against the wall. She tastes sweet and clean. I could taste her for days. Years. Her mouth is hot and welcoming, and I slide my tongue against hers as she presses her mouth to mine with just as much fervor.
I trail my hand down her chest and massage her breast. A shiver runs through her.
“Just as responsive to my touch as ever, aren’t you?”
She thrusts her chin out defiantly and a little playfully, even though she’s blindfolded. “How are you going to take off my shirt when my arms are tied up?”
“Like this.” I grip the fabric at her chest and tear it, ripping it down the middle and straight off her body. The bra she’s wearing is lacy, black and red. But it’s nothing compared to her taut stomach, the swell of her breasts. I throw the shirt to the floor.
She bites her lip, and I know that I’ve just turned her on completely. “You’re lucky that was a cheap shirt—”
I kiss her hard, sucking her bottom lip into my mouth and pulling on it slightly. “Don’t talk unless you’re telling me how much you want me.”
She shivers, and finally she says, “I want you…”
“Good.” I loop my arm around her back and pull her body into mine, kissing her neck, her chest. She moans, and her head falls back. I unhook her bra and let it fall to the floor.
“Cleo, don’t forget to…” Marie calls out, and then stops. “Never mind. I think you’ll remember this enough to write it.”
I lower my mouth to Cleo’s breast, sucking hard on her left nipple and then the right. They’re hard and taut under my tongue. Her breathing quickens, punctuated by little whimpers.
Just as quickly, I step back. The sight of her topless body writhing under the rope makes me nearly crazy with desire.
“Where’d you go?” she pants.
“Tell me how much you want me,” I say coldly.
“A lot. Adrian…please.”
“Tell me how much you need to be touched.”
“I…” She grits her teeth. “I need you to fucking touch me right now.”
I bite her nipple lightly, enough to make her gasp, before running my tongue in circles around it.
“You don’t know how much I’ve been wanting you,” I say quietly.
“Adrian…”
I silence her with a kiss. Then I kiss my way down her neck, over her breasts, down her chest and stomach. I pick up the massage oil and dip two fingers in, painting a line over the places I kissed, then using my whole palm to spread it over her body, rubbing it into her nipples.
“Wow,” she groans.
Once she’s gleaming and slick, I press my body against her, shoving her into the wall and grinding my hips into hers so she can feel how hard I am. She moans out loud.
And I tear her skirt off.
Her panties are red and lacy to match her bra, and they’re soaking wet. I grin. And then I turn to Marie.
“I think we need some privacy.”
“All right,” she sighs. “You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. I trust you.”
She winks and closes the door behind her, and I turn back to Cleo.
“It’s just you and me now.”
I cup her ass with both hands and squeeze, using it to rub her crotch against mine. When she’s shaking from the strain of trying to shove her body against mine as hard as possible with her arms tied, I step back again.
“Fuck, Adrian,” she spits out. “Don’t stop.”
“Louder.”
“Don’t stop,” she cries.
I step forward again, cupping her pussy. She bucks forward into my hand eagerly and I pin her against me as I push two fingers inside her, pumping three times before yanking out again. She practically convulses.
“I’m so wet for you,” she groans.
Hearing those words come out of her mouth make me dizzy. This time, I push three fingers inside her. She gasps at the new sensation, and I feel her contract against me. She’s so tight. I slide my fingers in and out, and then press my finger hard against her clit, massaging in a small circle. Her legs shake and she melts against me. “That feels so good. Jesus.”
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” I murmur.
“Fuck, yes…”
I flick her clit, hard. She gasps.
“You’re not allowed to come yet,” I say coolly.
I let the tide that was rising in her recede for a few seconds before I return my attention to her pussy. This time, I pump her with two fingers while pinching and rolling her clit with my other hand.
“Yes. Just like that…damn it!” she shouts as I pull away again just before she comes.
“I want to hear you beg.”
“I am begging. Adrian, come on.”
“You can do better than that.”
“You are such a—”
Before she can get whatever insult she was going to use out, I drop to my knees and suck her clit into my mouth, stimulating it with my tongue, until she’s shuddering from head to toe. Then I pull back.
“Fuck!” she cries, agonized.
“Here’s the deal,” I say, caressing her nipples. “Until you beg to my satisfaction, I’m going to bring you to the brink over and over again until you lose your mind. You are completely under my power. And I’m not going to let you come until you convince me to.”
“You know what I want,” she grits out. “I’m not going to beg any more than I already am.”
This time I dip my finger in her wetness and draw light, rapid circles around her clit until I feel every muscle in her abdomen drawing tight, even though she keeps her mouth shut tight. I remove my hand.
“Trying to pretend that you’re not about to come won’t work. I know your body.”
Sweat stands out on her skin, mingling with the massage oil. “Please, Adrian.”
“That’s not good enough.” I smack my hand against her ass, and she yelps. “Prove to me that you need it.”
“I need it,” she growls.
I move to her breasts, ignoring her pussy completely, and pinch and pull both nipples, rolling them between my fingers and sucking them with my mouth until a long, slow moan escapes her. She squeezes her thighs together and I drop my hands.
“Make me come,” she pants. “Make me. I dare you.”
I smack her ass again, and she gasps sharply. “Daring won’t work. Only begging.”
Then I kneel again and lick her, spreading her thighs and slipping my tongue inside her, exhaling so she can feel my hot breath. She’s trembling with the effort not to moan, but she does anyway. And I run my tongue over her clit, just once, before pulling away.
This time she nearly sobs.
“Please, Adrian, please. I’m so fucking turned on and I want you to make me come, I’ll do anything if you make me come…”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
I’m moments from pressing my mouth to her again, about to give her what she wants, when Marie bursts through the door again.
“Um, sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But there’s a reporter at the door asking for you, Adrian.”
~21~
CLEO
“Where’s Adrian today?” demands a nameless freshman who, a week ago, had no idea who I was and whose familiarity with Adrian was limited to drooling at him from across the room.
“Yeah, where’s Adrian?”
“I need to text a picture of him—she doesn’t believe I have a class with him!”
Professor Newbury is failing spectacularly at regaining control of Psych lab. He waves a sheaf of papers in the air like it’s going to separate the mob of girls from my desk, when in reality he’d need a tank for that. And possibly some nuclear weapons. “Class, please…”
“I—” I start, but I’m steamrollered in point two seconds.
“Did you know he modeled?” some redhead wants to know.
“I can’t believe White Steel used him for their ent
ire new season,” gushes a blonde. “He’s on every page, wearing every item. It’s like a catalogue of just Adrian!”
“I don’t know much about fashion, but I bought that magazine and papered my room with it,” comments a girl who, as far as I know, hasn’t said one other word the whole semester.
“I know we’re all excited about Mr. King’s recent success…” Professor Newbury starts, then trails off. Then he shrugs and looks at me. “Do you think you could get me his autograph?”
The class explodes again.
Yesterday, Adrian King was known only to Statham students, famous as the insanely hot school sexpert, but otherwise unknown to the world.
Today, the world is obsessed with him.
White Steel catalogues are all over campus. In the science building. In the freshman dorm lounge. There’s so many in every girl’s bathroom I walk into that I think they may be reproducing like amoeba.
The cover is a photo of him in a white suit, the lighting stark, his dark hair standing out in pure contrast, a wicked smile playing around his lips and a dangerous glint in his eyes.
I definitely didn’t get cozy with that magazine cover under the blankets last night, pantsless. Nope. Not me.
Although you can’t blame me, considering he left me unsatisfied YET AGAIN.
Caps are warranted here.
I seriously think my uterus may have ruptured.
“I don’t know where he is,” I start. Unfortunately, a second later I do know where he is, because he walks through the classroom door. Harried, slight bags beneath his eyes, but sexier than ever.
Professor Newbury rushes up to shake his hand, a flush patterning his bald head. “Mr. King, I want to say that I very much admired your work for White Steel…and, please try not to be tardy again,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder at the class, none of whom are paying attention to him.
“Adrian!” shrieks some girl with bigger zits than eyeballs. “Is it true you’re dating Naomi Senekal?”
Who, now?
“Will you take a picture with me?”
A girl yanks open her shirt. “Will you sign my—”
“Class,” barks Professor Newbury, possibly remembering that he’s on track to get tenure. “Please settle down.”
