by Mia Sosa
The night she’s due back, I celebrate signing Gabriel Vega by meeting him for dinner. It’s a welcome diversion from thinking about Ashley throughout the day. I need to get a grip where she’s concerned, and my brain is slow to cooperate. It’s not a state I’m familiar with. Being overworked has been my drug of choice for years, leaving me no time to think about my nonexistent love life. Enter Ashley, and I have no idea what I’m doing.
Gabriel and I are seated in a booth at Starlight, a small corner café with walls covered in framed photos of Hollywood stars.
Gabriel cranes his neck as he surveys the scene.
“Hoping to spot someone famous?” I ask him.
He straightens and faces me. “Sorry. Was I that obvious? It’s just . . . I have an agent, man. I’m excited.”
“You should be. But let’s be clear, you have an agency backing you now. Not one person, okay? That’s why I wanted you to meet the team, so you could go to them if you need help.”
“Right. You made that clear. But you’ll be my point person?”
“Yes, I’ll be your person on the ground, so to speak. I’ll hustle for you, talk you up, help you navigate the bullshit. It’s a partnership, okay? If you ever feel I’m not doing enough for you, tell me. I might not agree with you, but I’m mature enough to recognize I’ll get it wrong sometimes.”
“Well, I’m glad you brought me in. We’re going to do great things together. I can feel it.”
Taking in his fresh face and bright smile, I can’t help remembering Carter’s early enthusiasm. The business chips away at that eagerness over time, but when an actor’s first starting out, it’s a jolt of energy that fires me up, too. My job is to channel it so Gabriel can get good work and—importantly for us both—so he can get paid. This is where I excel.
After the server takes our order, I lean forward. “Let’s talk about your game plan.”
We discuss his roles to date, and I suggest a few changes to his résumé. “My biggest concern for you is that it’s clear from your roles so far that you’re being typecast.” I recall the tense conversation I had with Quinn a few weeks ago. My gut tells me the best approach would be to address the matter head-on and say outright—in black and white—that Gabe isn’t interested in stereotypical roles. Quinn would murder me, though, so I settle on a temporary work-around until I know more about how he’ll be received. “I’m going to focus on getting your name out to casting directors who’ve done right by other minority actors. As for casting calls, we’ll go over those together and be sure you’re on board with the role before I do any networking.”
As I talk, Gabe’s smile wanes. He leans forward, his gaze and elbows on the table. “And what happens if the roles are too few and far between? What do we do then?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure what we’ll do, but we’ll figure it out together, okay? For now, spruce up that résumé. I’ll start making calls.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Excusing myself, I pull it out and see a message from Ashley:
I’m home. See you soon, Care Bear. Can’t wait.
Now I have a significant incentive to finish this conversation. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can get home. Home to Ashley.
I slip my phone back in my jacket pocket and motion for the server to bring the check. “So we’re good?”
Gabe draws back and stretches in his chair. “There’s one more thing . . .”
Hearing the hesitation in his voice, I lean forward and study him. He’s not meeting my gaze, and he’s fidgeting with the unused cutlery beside his plate. “Gabe, I’m your agent now. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me. Believe me, I’ve heard some wild tales over the years. If it’s not criminal or unethical, you’ll get no judgment from me.”
He lets out a breath and smiles. “Yeah, I’m not sure why I’m making this a big deal. It’s about Ashley . . .”
His use of her name hits me like a sucker punch. God, I hope this isn’t going where I think it’s going. I draw in a long breath, suppress all signs of the tension I’m feeling, and adopt a nonchalant façade. “What about her?”
“Well, I remember her saying that you were family friends, so I was wondering if you’d pass on my number to her?”
Yeah, it’s going where I thought it was going. You know, for a man who detests when his personal and work lives overlap, I sure do confront the issue at every turn. Now how to do I put this to minimize the awkwardness? As few words as possible seems about right. “Sorry, Gabe. Ashley’s seeing someone now.”
He jerks his head back. “Oh. Okay.” He laughs. “Well, maybe it won’t work out. A guy can always hope, right?”
Dammit. He won’t let the matter go unless I give him a reason to. I’m not looking forward to telling Carter I’m actually dating his sister, but there’s something satisfying about the prospect of acknowledging to Gabe that Ash is my girlfriend. The server arrives with the bill, and after glancing at the total, I hand him my credit card. When we’re alone again, I say, “Gabe, I’m the someone.”
He squints at me. “Sorry?”
“The someone Ashley’s dating. The someone is me.”
“Oh.” He stares at me a few seconds. “Ohhh, I get it.”
I fuss with my tie and loosen it. “It hasn’t been long, so yeah. That’s why . . .”
“Oh, yeah, no. I understand. Forget I said anything, okay?” He holds up his hands. “I’m no longer thinking about her in that way.”
Right. That’s not how a man’s mind works, but I’m not going to be unprofessional about it. This conversation itself is giving me hives. “It’s forgotten.”
The waiter returns with my card, and Gabe and I stand to leave. As he drops his napkin on the chair, he says, “Man, you’re Carter’s best friend and you’re dating his sister. He’s going to get all the great jobs, isn’t he?” He chuckles as he says this, but I don’t join in his laughter. Gabe and Carter aren’t in the same league, at least not yet. Still, it’s the first time a client has suggested that I give Carter special treatment, and although there’s no truth to the implication, I’m annoyed with myself that it’s even an issue.
I stop Gabe before he exits the dining room. “Look, I pride myself on being able to keep my personal life from affecting my work. You have nothing to worry about.”
Gabe claps my shoulder, his voice sure. “I was just joking. I’m not worried, man.”
That makes sense, I suppose. Because I’ll be doing enough worrying for the both of us.
MY CONDO IS dark and eerily quiet when I walk through the door. It’s not like I was expecting balloons and confetti, but I was selfishly imagining that she’d rush into the room and throw herself at me.
I stride through the hall and peek into Ashley’s room. Her carry-on sits untouched on the floor, and her bed is still made. Maybe she stepped out to the store. Loosening my tie as I step into my bedroom, I drop my jaw when I see Ashley in my bed. Holy hell. She’s naked—and blindfolded. I close and open my eyes to be sure I’m not imagining the exquisite vision before me. Nope. Still there. Still rocking my world.
I slip my tie off, ease out of my suit jacket, and approach the bed in stealth mode. “Welcome home, Ash.”
She doesn’t respond, and then I notice the slow rise of her chest. As I move into the room, her faint snoring grows louder. I press a fist against my mouth to stem my laughter. And then I realize the insanely fortuitous opportunity at hand.
I make quick work of unbuttoning my shirt and toss it behind me as I kick off my shoes. The socks must go, too, because it’s a personal rule of mine, a response to the trauma of watching pornos as a teen. But that’s all the time I’ll spare, because I’m eager to nestle between her legs and make her come.
Like a tiger approaching its prey, I climb onto the bed and watch her reaction. She stretches awake, her back arching off the mattress, and my gaze roams over her naked skin, taking in the sight of her breasts. If I’m not mistaken, her dusky nipples are speaking to me. Julian, suck u
s, they say.
“Julian?” she asks.
“It’s me.”
“Sorry I fell asleep. I had big plans.”
She rocks her hips, redirecting my attention to the lower half of her body.
“Don’t worry about it,” I whisper. “This is perfect.” I slide a hand between her legs and caress her calves. “Open up, baby.”
She scoots back and spreads her legs wide, giving me ample room to settle in.
I kiss her thigh before tapping it. “I want to bury my face in your pussy and make you come. Would you like that?”
She sighs. “Not really, no.” After a few seconds, she laughs. “I’m kidding. I’d like nothing more than for you to show me your best impression of an ostrich.”
I shake my head at that one, unable to suppress my grin. “Place those gorgeous legs on my shoulders, then.”
“So bossy,” she says.
“And yet you’re doing as I say. I wonder why.”
“Yeah. I know not to bite the mouth that eats me.”
My forehead falls to her thigh as I laugh. This woman. “Okay, no more jokes from you. I’ve got serious business to attend to.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“That’s going to make it hard for me to execute my plans.”
Her laughter shakes the mattress. “Not those lips, silly.” After a pause, she says in a softer voice, “I’m proud of you, though. Your developing sense of humor is going to add years to your life. They say—”
“Ash.”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
“Well, damn. If you weren’t about to go down on me, I’d—” She lets out a long moan, and then she sucks in a shuddering breath. “Oh fuck. Julian, yes.”
That’s more like it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ashley
THIS MAN’S TONGUE should be bronzed and given a permanent place in the nearest art museum. The placard would read, Giver of atomic orgasms, circa 2018.
My mouth hangs open as he presses his lips against my inner thigh, making me anticipate the next stretch of sensation he’ll draw out of me. We’re on round two, Julian having decided that the first orgasm was merely the appetizer. I’m giddy with anticipation thinking of my own plans for dessert. In the meantime, waiting for him to set me on fire again threatens to make me howl, and I am not ashamed.
The blindfold intensifies the experience, my other senses sharpening to make up for my inability to see what’s happening: the rustle of the sheets when he shifts on the bed; the soft lick of his lips; the long, slow inhale when he breathes me in; the sandalwood cologne he favors.
This time, though, there’s more movement than before. And then he lightly squeezes my breasts before trailing a single finger down my belly. He stops at my navel. “Should I keep going?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please, yes.”
He inches his finger a smidge lower. “Here?”
I raise my hands overhead and stretch against his touch. “More. Put your fingers inside me.”
“Is that what you need?”
My encouragement rushes out as a desperate plea. “God, yes, please.”
“But what if you come on my hand? Will that be enough? You’ll want to fuck me, too, right?”
He stresses the word fuck, and my pussy throbs in response. “I promise I won’t come.”
The bed shifts under his weight, and then he’s no longer touching me. Damn him.
“You want to make promises, huh?” he asks.
I freeze at the casual way he dismisses the notion. Is he pulling back on me? Now? I can’t see his face, so I’m unable to glean any clues from his expression. I bring my legs together, unsure where this is headed and detesting how exposed I feel.
“No, baby, don’t close up on me. I’m trying to tell you something and going about it badly. You want to make promises? Go ahead. I’ll make them, too. I want this for as long as you want me. Us. Together. No one else. I don’t think we ever made that clear.”
This is huge for him, and we both know it. He’s making promises without the benefit of knowing how Carter will react to us as a couple. It’s huge for me as well. The cynical part of my soul warns that not making promises about our relationship is better than making and failing to keep them. But I want to try with Julian, because I’m confident he’ll try just as hard as I will to make this work. “I wish I could see your eyes.”
He takes my hand and places it on his chest. “Feel my heart instead.”
And I do, the beats steady and strong against my hand, a fitting description for Julian himself. “Okay, just us.”
He takes in a breath and lets it out. “Perfect. Now let’s see if you can keep your promise not to come.”
Oh God. Why did I make that stupid promise? He’s going to wield it against me like a weapon.
“Now, if you want my fingers, you’ll get my fingers. If you want my mouth, you’ll get my mouth. What’ll it be?”
“I want both.”
“Good choice,” he says. The mattress dips between my legs, and then he lays the flat of his hand on my pussy and lightly squeezes it before sliding two digits inside me.
I lift my ass off the bed to get closer to his mouth. “Julian, yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
As he slides his fingers in and out, his tongue comes down on my clit, a long, strong lick that curls my toes and sends a tingle down my spine. “Jesus, Julian. More. Do that again.”
He spreads me wide and licks at my clit, tiny, torturous flicks that provide just enough pressure to push me to the edge but not over it. My hands grasp the back of his head, and I grind into his mouth. Minutes of exquisite tension pass, and my brain goes fuzzy. If someone forced me to recite my ABCs on pain of death, I’d be done for.
The mattress shifts again.
Although his mouth is gone, his breath teases me, letting me know he’s still close.
“You’re so fucking hot here,” he says. “And I wish I could take this taste with me everywhere I go.” Then he closes his mouth over my nub and sucks—hard.
Shocked by the change in course, I arch my back and—oh my God, that’s me wailing. A million tiny explosions go off inside me, a ripple effect of pulsing sensations that make me cry out in pleasure. “Julian, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.” I repeat the word while tears slide down my face.
As I recover from the best orgasm of my life, Julian kisses the inside of my thighs. My body collapses into itself, and I can’t do anything but lie on the bed. Julian still has the capacity to move, though, and he slides up my body and removes the blindfold.
My eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the room, and then I focus on his face hovering above me. “Well, hello there.”
He gives me a slow smile and presses his lips against mine. “Feel free to sleep naked in my bed whenever the urge hits you.”
“Keep giving me mind-altering orgasms like that one and the urge will hit me every single day.”
Chuckling, he lifts himself off me and stretches. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to take a shower before we continue.”
I sit up on my elbow and watch him enter the bathroom.
He winks at me. “Round three begins in a few minutes.” Then he softly closes the door.
Actually, Julian, round three will begin in less time than that.
THE SOUND OF the shower is my cue to slip inside the bathroom. His eyes are closed, and his face is tilted under the spray of water.
Julian’s magnificent when he’s dry, but he’s phenomenal when he’s wet. An ass that could launch a thousand ships, and a powerful back whose muscles flex mightily even when he’s doing something as simple as lathering his hands.
I open the shower door and step in.
He doesn’t turn around. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”
I’m honest in my neediness. “I could not.” Pressing my chest against his back, I reach around him and grab the soap. Then I build up a nice amount of lather and wash his cock, making sure to stroke h
im slowly as I rinse him off.
He groans and places his hands on the wall. I hold him firmly, pumping him at a steady pace. One of his hands slides down the wall, and his legs shake. “Fuck, Ash. That feels incredible.”
I place my other hand on his shoulder. “Turn around. I want you in my mouth.”
He spins to face me and leans against the shower wall. I lower myself to my knees, caressing his chest and stomach on the way down.
I take his cock in my hand, look up, and give him a sultry smile.
“Ah, baby,” he says. “What a sight.”
With a last lick of my lips, I open my mouth wide and get my fill of him.
He balls one of his hands into a fist and slams it against the wall. “Jesus. Yes. Take my cock.”
So I do. And I leave no part of him untouched as I stroke him with my tongue. Then his hands are in my hair, pushing it to the side so his view is clear. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Keep going, baby.”
With that response, there’s no way I’m stopping. I go faster. And his groans grow louder as he rocks his hips forward again and again, until he groans my name in delicious anguish. He shouts a muffled curse before he taps me on the shoulder. But I don’t heed his warning. Instead, I palm his ass and push him farther into my mouth, enjoying the unintelligible sounds he’s making as he comes.
Boneless and dazed, he struggles to pull me up and kisses me, sharing the taste of him on my tongue. “Damn, woman, you wrecked me.”
I kiss his jaw and slap his ass. “One good turn deserves another, wouldn’t you say?”
He squeezes mine in return. “If that’s the case, we’ll be at this all night.”
“Good. Sleep’s overrated anyway.”
JULIAN’S RESTING HIS head on my stomach, lying diagonally across the bed.
“Is there something up there I should know about?” I ask him. “Bear in mind, if it’s a spider, I will catapult myself out of this bed so quickly you’ll definitely be injured in the process.”
