Playing For Love

by J. C. Grant

  What the fuck did she think? I had a marriage license forged?

  She got up, breaking me out of my thoughts, and started getting ready. I got up and took the tray back to the kitchen. Just as I was setting it down, her phone chimed, receiving a text. I was apparently a masochist. I hadn't let her change her number, because I wanted to know what he was doing and saying. I couldn't change mine, needing proof against Dawn and her ongoing behavior. I forced myself to take care of the dishes first, trying to calm down, before I checked it. Between what Zach was trying to do and what Dawn had already successfully done...

  Zach: I still love you. Find a way to

  get away from him. We can

  be together.

  8:49 AM

  Bracing my hands on the kitchen island, I took a deep breath and blew it out roughly. Letting my head fall forward, I counted to twenty. I didn't want to smash her phone then have to tell her why—I'm a jealous asshole who can't control myself. I should be able to handle her ex doing it when Dawn was doing the exact same thing. Difference was, Zach could compete with me. He was famous. He was attractive. Women were obsessed with him and he'd already been with Austin.

  Graphic images of him sinking his cock into her tight cunt, her hot mouth flashed through my mind and a desperate rage coursed through me.

  Taking several deep breaths, I got my shit together and went back into the bedroom. Austin was in the closet, looking through her shirts. She was wearing black leggings and one of her favorite bras—black with ivory lace edging. I owed whoever came up with leggings, yoga pants, whatever. And that bra... I couldn't believe I still hadn't fucked her tits. I watched her as I grabbed a pair of worn-out jeans. I couldn't tear my eyes away as she slid on a plaid button-up shirt.

  Catching my stare, she asked, “Babe? Are you changing? We need to hurry. I want to stop by the Coffee Bean.”

  “Yeah.” My throat was thick with emotion, rage and arousal.

  I quickly changed, still watching her. Mirroring her as she put on her socks and boots. She was my family; she was my life. Everything I wanted was centered around her. She was mine. There was no way I was losing her. No. Fucking. Way. I ripped a shirt off a hanger blindly and put it on.

  I'll break every bone in his body before he takes her from me.

  Austin

  It felt like the first day at a new school when David parked in front of the building with fifteen minutes to spare. Nervously, I grabbed my drink and purse, my jitters growing.

  David's hand closed around my wrist as I started to get out. “Let me do all the talking.”

  As much as it annoyed me, it was probably better. I was usually rude or inappropriate when I was nervous.

  “I'm just going to be polite, sit, and be pretty. You handle everything else,” I agreed, feeling a huge weight lift off my shoulders.

  The smirk on his face—the one of complete male satisfaction—was a little unnerving. I got the feeling he would love nothing more than if I agreed to that arrangement on a permanent basis.

  He let go of my wrist, and we got out and headed for the entrance.

  Suddenly, he turned, appraising me. Then he grabbed my hand, entwining our fingers and pulling me forward until I was tucked against his side, wordlessly giving me confidence. How he knew I needed it, I didn't know.

  He carried himself a little differently, taller, prouder, more aggressive... something. I noticed it after we got married. As we entered the lobby, I tucked myself slightly behind him, Chance on his other side.

  I wasn't sure where this sudden shyness came from. This was part of the package that I was pursuing with acting. Maybe it was because of the reason it was all happening—because of who I married, not because of my own accomplishments. Might have been my imagination, but the scrutiny seemed more intense.

  He led us to the end of a long corridor and into a studio with a huge warehouse garage door open to an alleyway.

  “Mrs. Taylor?” A man approached hesitantly.

  “Yeah,” David answered gruffly before I could, stepping slightly in front of me.

  The guy stopped short, seeming genuinely surprised to see David. “Ah, Mr. Taylor, it's nice to meet you. I'm Joshua,” he said, extending his hand.

  Joshua was exactly what I had imagined—a nerdy hipster, glasses and all, my height, and light brown hair. He’d be completely unnoticeable in LA, but not because he wanted to be. There was an arrogance about him. I didn't know if it was overcompensation or he was deluded. Either way, it was laughable and kind of sad, definitely off-putting.

  “I'll just… wait for you to start makeup,” he said as he pulled from David's grip, rubbing his hand.

  “Mrs. Taylor, we're ready for you in makeup.” A petite guy approached wearing heavy eyeliner. His silky, smooth black hair was pulled into a perfect man-bun. I was envious of his flawless skin.

  I caught David's eyes and took a deep breath, then responded, “Lead the way.”

  “I'm Devon,” he said over his shoulder as I followed him.

  “Austin,” I replied. I couldn't help but notice his walk was more feminine than mine, making me slightly self-conscious.

  As we made our way down a hall Chance’s grunting breaths and David's heavy boots right behind me, assured we wouldn't be sneaking up on anyone.

  Entering the makeup room, the bright lights were shocking as I sat in the styling chair. I caught David's proud but stoic reflection in the mirror as the makeup artist gushed over my silver Balenciaga. It was too cute—David was proud of his purse-buying skills. I couldn't stop grinning at him as he lowered his big frame into the chair next to me.

  “So.” Devon interrupted our silent conversation. “Super glam or—”

  “None of that paint by numbers shit everyone does. That plastic surgery with makeup,” David answered casually, his voice low and calm, but in the small space, that soft growl boomed.

  The reaction Devon had... I understood. That voice was intense the first time you heard it, and it apparently had the same effect on gay men.

  Devon's breath hitched and his hand moved to his neck as he watched David. After a long moment, he cleared his throat and asked, “So you want her natural?”

  “I want her to look like her, not a Kardashian.”

  “Got it. I'll just enhance her features, not create new ones.”

  “Exactly,” David rumbled.

  “Not going to be a problem, she has great bone structure.” I didn't know if Devon was being polite or trying to keep a conversation going with David.

  I guessed the latter.

  David sat and watched, keeping his side of the conversation up with Devon while playing with Chance and drinking my Green Tea Dream that we'd stopped for on the way.

  Dirty bastard, he said he didn't like it. Now look at him.

  David vetoed several things before Devon found something he was okay with. I knew he was worried about how I'd be perceived—gold digger, fame whore, wanna-be—but it was a tad excessive.

  “Okay, let's get this hair ready.”

  “Is now a good time?” I heard someone ask.

  “Yeah, now's fine.” David's voice was hard.

  “Um. Okay. Um. Sorry. Uh,” he stumbled. It seemed David was enough to intimidate the guy.

  I assumed it was Joshua babbling—I couldn't see with my hair piled on top of my head and tilted down. All I could see was Chance and David's heavy black boots.

  “Mrs. Taylor, how did you come to meet David?”

  “I'm wondering why you're the only one who needed follow-up questions in person,” David countered.

  “Well, I wasn't sure—”

  “You weren't sure what you wanted to ask? Or you weren't sure what she looked like? Or you wanted to try to get some dirt?”

  “No. I didn't—”

  “The other two knew what they wanted to ask. So, I'm just wondering why you're different.”

  David was barely letting him speak.

  “I just wanted to get a feel for her.” />
  I heard David's chair swivel around, then more silence. I realized Joshua's wording might have been enough to set him off.

  “It's fine. It's not a problem,” I spoke up.

  “Yeah, it is. She did the interview. So you got any follow-up questions, ask me,” David growled low.

  After a moment, Joshua cleared his throat, then asked, “How did he propose to you? You—how did you propose?”

  “I told her she was going to marry me eventually, one way or another, so she should go ahead and do it now,” David deadpanned.

  I knew what he was doing, making himself out to be the bad guy, which meant the media was negative toward me.

  “David, you did not.” I couldn't stop myself from defending him from himself.

  “Yeah, I did,” he countered gruffly, letting me know he was handling this.

  “It was way sweeter than that,” I corrected.

  It was silent for a moment. Then Joshua asked, “What did you think, having David Taylor approach you?” he asked robotically.

  “She didn't know who I was, and when she found out, she refused to see me again.”

  Devon started laughing. “Oh, girl. You're not into baseball?”

  “No,” I admitted, relieved to have the tension broken.

  “Oh, hell. I bet you were thinking ‘Get this playa away from my ass!’”

  “That's exactly what I was thinking,” I laughed.

  I felt a large hand on my thigh, squeezing. David was teasing, reprimanding, and comforting me all at once.

  “I hope it's only a five-year arrangement. You'll still be gorgeous when you're free of him.” I didn't know if this was Joshua's attempt to get dirt or just snide comments thinly veiled as jokes. Either way, they were offensive. And if I was offended...

  “This isn't an arrangement,” David said darkly. “She isn't going to be ‘free’ of me.”

  “David.” I knew those comments would ramp him up. He was too protective of me to let it go.

  “All I've heard is that you're a gold digger,” Joshua continued. “But he won't even let you speak.”

  “She can do whatever she wants.” His voice was rising in anger, at having to defend me or our relationship or being accused of controlling me. Probably all of the above.

  “David,” I warned.

  Joshua wanted dirt on us, on me, and David was close to giving it to him. I knew he wanted to take the heat, be the bad guy to get them off me, but I didn't want the article coming out and being a bash piece on him.

  “I'm good, sweetheart.” His soft growl soothed me. Even though I knew he wasn't good, he wanted me to know he could handle it.

  “If you have any more questions, feel free to call me,” I excused Joshua brusquely, before David could say anything else.

  “Ah. Sure—yeah. Of course.” He seemed taken aback my assertiveness.

  Devon finally let me lift my head, so I could look at David.

  “He pushed,” David defended when our eyes met in the mirror. “It pisses me off. He basically called you a prostitute. Then a gold digger. Said I'm fucking controlling you. Like I'm forcing you to be with me.”

  And that was the root of the problem. He didn't want anyone suggesting I didn't want to be with him for him. It seemed he had some insecurities about that. Maybe because I was so reluctant in the beginning. Or like he'd said before: I have one foot out the door. But I didn't anymore.

  Do I?

  “Okay, beautiful. You're ready.” Devon masterfully ignored David's mini-tirade.

  I finally looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was in sexy, loose waves and my makeup was a natural, just-fucked look.

  My eyes met David's again. He gave me that sexy half-smile and winked, then stood, offering me his hand.

  “Where's her wardrobe?” David inquired, helping me up.

  “You don't know?” Devon asked with a wide-eyed look.

  “Know what?” David and I responded in unison.

  “She doesn't have wardrobe. She will be covered strategically, but no clothes.” His words were cautious.

  “No.” David didn't hesitate. “She's not.”

  “David.” I pulled at his hand.

  “No, Austin,” he said, looking down at me. “Just—Fucking no.”

  “You wear damn near nothing in your shoots.” I hissed. “Don't tell me no.”

  “Goddamn it, Austin.” His jaw clenched.

  Turning to Devon, I asked, “Is there a robe?”

  “Yes,” Devon answered quietly, as if his voice alone would set David off.

  I pulled away, following Devon to a dressing room, leaving David behind. The possessive rage radiating off him had my pulse pounding. Before I shut the door, David was there shoving his way inside with Chance.

  “Austin, please,” he begged quietly, shutting the door. His expression was hard, eyebrows drawn together, jaw clenched.

  “David, it's fine. You're here. Nothing's going to happen.” If I was being honest, the only way I could do this was with him here, knowing he would never let anything happen to me.

  “Of course not!” he whisper-yelled. “I don't want these people—”

  “David, this is no different than your shoots,” I tried to reason, then shifted to challenging. “Nothing happens at those. Do they?”

  “Not unless you're there.”

  “People see you almost completely naked.” I pleaded with my eyes. “Please don't undermine me.”

  His expression softened. “I wasn't trying to undermine you. But—”

  “I get it,” I said, taking off my shirt. “I didn't like seeing you wearing those tiny underwear when I walked into your photoshoot. I don't like that the entire world sees you like that or that you can see every contour of your ass on a billboard on Sunset Boulevard.” I finished my rant as I pulled off my boots and socks, then leggings.

  He looked at me with a mixture of lust, anger, and possessiveness. His hands slid over the bare skin of my hips. His fingers dug in and he yanked me flush to him. “This is for me. Only me.”

  He held me like he owned me; it was comforting. It made me feel safe.

  Then his tone and expression shifted to serious and a little sad. “I don't want to share you. With anyone.”

  He seemed to feel like he was losing something.

  When I didn't respond, he added softly, “I don't think this'll be good for your image.”

  I thought about that. If the press was already negative, nude or partially nude pictures would probably only exacerbate it.

  “I've got an idea that'll be perfect,” I whispered mischievously.

  I pulled on the robe, securing it around me, then quickly led David toward the makeup room.

  “Hi, I'm ready,” I announced as David grumbled his disapproval.

  Devon took us over to the staged area, making quick introductions. I took the photographer, Anthony, aside and explained David's reservations. Then offered my solution.

  He readily agreed.

  I approached David, who was trying to occupy himself with Chance.

  “Take off your shirt, babe.”

  He looked at me for a brief moment. Then his eyes narrowed slightly before he peeled his shirt over his head, obeying me without question. His growing smirk let me know he was more than happy with whatever I had in mind.

  Taking his hand, I led him to the spot the assistant indicated. “Get on your knees.”

  David complied without hesitation, his smirk turning into his sexy smile, his perfect, white teeth showing.

  “Now, cover my boobs with your hands.”

  His hands shoved the lapels of the robe aside, covering as much of my breasts as he could.

  “Now, just keep your head in front of me.” I smirked.

  His chin pressed to my pubic bone, rubbing.

  I opened the robe and David tensed.

  “I'm covered,” I reminded him quietly. “You're covering me.” I slowly let the robe fall away.

  I thrust my hips toward his
face, distracting him from our surroundings. His eyes focused on mine with a heated glare. I did it again and he leaned close, gently biting my pubic bone.

  Fuck. I was getting wet.

  Biting my lip, I watched him watching me.

  “Eyes up.” I heard someone say.

  When I looked up, everyone was in place, photo after photo being taken.

  “David, turn your head,” Anthony directed.

  David did, but continued looking up at me as he nuzzled his scruffy cheek against my mound.

  “Austin, show off that ring.”

  I did, placing my hand on the back of David's head. His face pressed harder into me. Nuzzling.

  “Perfect. Just like that, David... Like you worship her.”

  “I do.” David's voice was deep and rough and alarmingly intimate. His conviction caused an eerie silence to fall over the room.

  A few breaths later, Anthony asked, “David can you pull your jeans down some?”

  “Not taking my hands off her tits.”

  “Devon, could you?” I asked.

  Devon darted over, eagerly pulling David's jeans halfway down his ass.

  “Austin, look away, like you couldn't care less that you have this rich, godlike man worshiping you.”

  I saw a flash of something in David's eyes before I looked away, something I never wanted to see again.

  Only a few short minutes later, Anthony announced, “Okay, guys. I think we have enough.”

  David stood, covering me, and I quickly put the robe back on—with David's aggressive assistance.

  I tied the belt, and then David cinched it tighter before pulling his jeans up. I felt chastised as I walked over to Anthony to thank him for being understanding of David's issues, which was completely ridiculous considering David was an underwear model.