Broken Records

by Cassie Mae

His lips are strong and firm against mine as I part my mouth and tangle my tongue with his. I already lost the job, and this interview is way past over, so I rip my stupid blazer off and let it fall to the floor. I thrust my fingers into his hair, holding him close to me.

  His hands settle on my hips, and he backs me up against the wall. We’re both covered in oil, slipping and sliding, but neither of us seems to care. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the last time we kissed. Memories of his hands on my body, his lips skimming down the curve of my neck, the way he filled me completely has been playing on constant repeat in my mind.

  I stumble for the buttons on his shirt, needing to feel his skin, desperate to run my fingers across the defined lines of his stomach. Each button slips from my grasp. An annoyed growl gets muffled against Ethan’s mouth, and he chuckles as his hands meet mine. He helps me unfasten the buttons until his shirt is on the floor.

  It’s still not enough. I untuck his undershirt and rip it over his head, revealing that perfect chest and abs. I press a kiss to his collarbone and run my hands along his hard muscles and taut skin.

  He cups my face and drags me back to his lips, plunging his tongue into my mouth. A moan rumbles up my throat, and I wrap my hands around his neck, afraid if I don’t, my knees will give out, and I’ll collapse into a heap of oil and clothes.

  His hands move down my sides and grip the back of my thighs, lifting me up and pinning me to the wall. His tongue trails down my neck, and he sucks and bites the sensitive skin at the nook before retreating back up.

  He rests his forehead against mine, our breaths coming out in short, fast gasps. “We shouldn’t do this.”

  “We both want this. Don’t tell me you don’t.”

  “I have meetings.”

  “You had an emergency.”

  “Reg is waiting right outside.”

  “Isn’t that what he does?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Stop talking.” I press my lips to his, soft and sweet, showing him how much I want this, how much I want him. I suck his tongue into my mouth and slowly trail my hands down his chest. “It’s just sex.” I lie because even though it’s much more than sex, I don’t have the willpower to walk away.

  I need him right now, and I don’t want to keep fighting it. Because the truth is, I can’t resist him any more than I can’t resist listening to music. He consumes me even when we’re not together, and if sex is all I can get, then I’m taking it.

  I nip at the sensitive skin of his neck, and the tension in his body slowly begins to ease. “Don’t make me beg.”

  The bulge in his pants presses against my center, and his head drops to my shoulder. He takes a deep breath, and I’m afraid he’s going to walk away. Afraid he’s going to take the spoon out of my hand just as I got to the dessert.

  He growls and grabs my hands, trapping them above me. He crushes his lips to mine, our tongues quickly finding each other, sliding and swirling, moving together in the most delicious dance.

  His hands fall from mine and catch my face, holding me as he explores my mouth. Heat pools between my legs, and I’m so desperate for him to touch me—to drive me to the edge of no return.

  Our bodies slip and slide together, the oil turning against us, making it harder for him to hold his grip. He reaches around, takes each one of my shoes off, and tosses them to the floor.

  “Shower?” I say, pulling away and resting my forehead against his. I tighten my legs around his waist, not wanting to leave the warmth of his arms. He hugs me close to him and stumbles to the bathroom, stepping out of his shoes as I rain kisses along his jaw.

  I open my eyes as he steps over a slab of gray marble and through a glass door into a shower composed of white, black, and gray stone that could possibly be bigger than my apartment.

  The shower turns on, and he presses me up against the cold wall as water streams between us. I lift my arms, and he peels the wet material from my body. His head dips, and he kisses the mound of flesh along the lace of my bra.

  Heat shoots right to my core, an insatiable need to feel him inside of me, to feel us move together as one, takes over. I slide out of his grip and he pins me against the wall, capturing my lips again. I reach for his pants, yanking his zipper down and fighting with his belt until the expensive strip of leather is on the shower floor.

  “I need you now.” I try to shove his pants down, but with his body tight against mine and his throbbing erection standing at attention, they don’t go very far.

  He shakes his head with a laugh. “Not yet.”

  I let out an annoyed sigh, but his lips on my neck turn the sound to an erotic groan.

  His fingers release me from the restrictive confines of my bra, and he pulls each cup away like he’s unwrapping a present. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lip just as he bends and takes me into his mouth.

  I moan at the yummy assault and arch my body into his, ravenous for more, desperate to take whatever he’s willing to give me, unafraid to let go of my inhibitions and let him have total control.

  With skilled precision he snaps the button of my shorts and lets them fall to the tile in a puddle of cotton followed shortly by my tights, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

  His eyes rake over me with lust and desire, washing any insecurities down the drain. Water cascades down his chest illuminating every hard ridge. I can’t help but stare, taking in every curve and every chiseled feature of his body and face.

  This beautiful, frustratingly complicated man wants me, and while my brain tells me to walk away, to keep work and my personal life separate, my body ignores it.

  He snakes his hand around my waist and yanks me back to him, pressing his mouth to mine, hot and heavy.

  Every nerve-ending in my body sparks to life as his fingers find my center, and he parts my slick folds, thrusting inside of me. I bite down on his shoulder, but it barely softens the cry that spills from my mouth.

  Pleasure devours and drowns me in pure unadulterated bliss. His mouth works a path from my lips to my neck as his fingers threaten to push me over the edge. Pressure builds, and just as I feel myself on the verge of my release, he slips out of me.

  I mutter a whine at the loss, just as he lifts me up and thrusts his cock inside of me, sending me spiraling out of control into a black hole of ecstasy. Bright white stars flicker through the darkness, shooting across my eyelids as I absorb every luscious stroke of his fingers, flick of his tongue, and thrust of his hips.

  Tremors wrack my body, and I dig my nails into Ethan’s back to keep from falling. He holds me tight, riding out my orgasm with slow deliberate movements.

  “Holy shit,” I say against his neck, my breath coming in short, rapid gasps.

  “Ready for round two?”

  I muster enough energy to shake my head.

  A smile touches the edge of his lips, and it’s so bright and playful it warms my heart. “I need to prove I’m not a minute man.”

  I laugh. “You already did.”

  “I can do better.”

  “What about Reg?” I manage through my delirium.

  “Like you said, he’s used to waiting.”

  Ethan brings my face back to his and kisses my swollen, wet lips, keeping his promise to bring me to another release.

  ***

  After we got down and dirty again, we helped each other shower. Ethan washed me with a loofah filled with soapsuds that smelled of him, and now his scent clings to my skin. Clean, fresh, and so damn delicious.

  I towel dry my hair and look over at him. “I have to say that was the best job interview I’ve ever had.”

  He laughs, but just like last time, tension marks his pretty face and weighs heavy on his shoulders. I go to him, pressing my hand to his chin and urging him to look at me.

  “Don’t do that.”

  He meets me with those intense gray eyes that should be considered lethal. “Do what?”

  “Beat yourself up for letting your dick take control.”
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  He pushes his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes briefly. “I’m currently in the middle of a scandal, and I just took part in another.”

  “This is in no way a scandal.”

  “You’re my intern.”

  “We’re two consenting adults.”

  He motions his hand toward the front of the house. “They won’t see it that way.”

  “Then they don’t need to find out. I’m not telling anyone, are you?”

  He shakes his head, then runs his hands through his hair. “We should get back.”

  “My clothes are kind of soaking wet.”

  “Shit. I’ll throw them in the dryer real quick. I have to check in with the office anyway.” He scoops up the pile and walks out of the bathroom without another word.

  I know what this is, but it still stings when he is filled with so much regret afterward. I try to ignore the disappointment rearing its ugly head and turn to the mirror, ready to attempt the impossible: tame the red beast. I search for a brush and find a comb in the top drawer. My hair will snap that thing in two, so I decide to let it dry naturally and deal with it later.

  With a towel secured around my body, I step out of the bathroom and am greeted by an oiled-up dog.

  “Oh no, we forgot about you, buddy.” I bend down and pet his head only to get slimed up again. I can’t leave him like this. “Come on, good boy. Come on.” I guide him to the shower and hose him down.

  It only takes a second to realize he is not a fan of the water. He whimpers and fights me, making every attempt to escape. Two wet paws smack against my chest as he pushes me under the stream of water with him.

  The two of us flop on the shower floor, and I wrestle this adorably upset dog. Somehow I manage to clean him off the best I can before he darts out of the shower. He stands in the middle of the room and shakes, sending droplets of water flying everywhere.

  A laugh bubbles up inside of me as he takes off for the door, slipping and sliding on the tiles. Leaving a path of wet footprints, I follow his trail to where he’s doing the backstroke across what I’m assuming is a very expensive Oriental rug.

  “We can meet tomorrow to discuss.” Ethan’s voice travels up the stairs, and he has his Mr. Fancy Tie tone in full force. It amazes me how he can slip from one to the other so effortlessly. I wonder why he keeps the real him hidden so far away.

  I glance up and see a table with picture frames. I walk over to it, ignoring Pepper, who is now immersed in full on sidestroke, and drag my eyes across each picture. There are pictures of Ethan with friends, rock climbing, sailing, and white water rafting. He looks happy and free. A smile wide and bright prominent in every shot.

  Then in another picture he’s at some graduation with who I assume are his parents. I take one of the frames in my hand, his high school graduation, or so it appears. His mother, a beautiful woman with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes looks at her son lovingly, and his father, forcing a smile, holds a cell phone against his thigh, like he can’t wait to pick it back up.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan’s voice booms behind me, causing me to jump and almost drop the picture. I place it back in its space and turn, heat spreading across my cheeks.

  “I was just looking.”

  He laughs with a shake of his head. “Not you. Pepper.”

  “Oh!” I look down at the dog, who has flipped back over and is sitting, his tail wagging uncontrollably behind him. “I gave him a bath.”

  “You?” His eyebrow cocks in amusement. “It takes two people to hold him down.”

  “We managed. Though, I think I should go clean your bathroom.”

  I go to move past him, and he grabs my wrist, sending a new wave of heat shooting through me. “Leave it. My cleaning lady will be here in a few hours.”

  I nod, unable to speak with his hand on me, his touch burning through my skin and making me unsteady on my feet. Even after all the pleasure he brought me, my body still reacts to his touch, still craves him, still wants more.

  Whether he thinks I’m too over qualified for the position as his assistant or not, I’m relieved I won’t be getting the job. I can’t sit outside his office day in and day out. It would be a slow, brutal torture that I’m strong enough to handle.

  I break my eyes away from my wrist and meet his gaze. The same desire I feel burns darkly in his eyes. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing and drawing my eyes to his long tanned neck mere inches from my mouth, waiting to be tasted again.

  “Ethan?” I whisper.

  “Your clothes should be ready.” He steps back, dropping his head and avoiding eye contact completely.

  He disappears down the stairs again, leaving me with the Olympic carpet swimmer and a million thoughts about how I should have listened to my brain and avoided another potential fallout. But I… I think I can trust Ethan.

  Then again. I trusted Kevin, too.

  “…we’re unsure of what to plan on next, but the upcoming weeks should be interesting for the community.”

  I take a deep breath, clutching the remote for the office television in my palm and tapping it against my upper arm. With the news vans parked outside the office and a field reporter fixing her hair in front of a camera, I have no doubt Broken Records will be making another appearance, even following a less interesting story on dog shows stopping traffic on Main.

  “I’ve got Tara Bradshaw on line one,” Josh says from behind me. He’s been given instructions to wait till after the report to talk to me, but since Tara is one of our platinum album artists, I’m glad he’s using his brains and letting me reconsider my silence.

  I give him a quick glance over my shoulder. “Apologize to her that I’m currently unavailable, but I’ll give her a call back within the hour.”

  He nods and heads back behind his desk. So far he’s lived up to his promising interview; hopefully, he’ll convey the message with less malice than his predecessor.

  “More in entertainment, from our contact at Broken Records…”

  “Speaking of…” I mutter, trying to calm the weight I feel drop into my chest. I put the remote up to my lips to keep myself from belting out obscenities they’ll most likely catch across town.

  “It seems he’s not the only concerned member of the staff. Since our initial report, half a dozen more have come forward expressing their apprehension. Many think this is the beginning of a company about to go under, and with the young CEO showing no signs of interest in keeping the label afloat, staff is looking elsewhere for employment.”

  The camera flips to Jerome’s original interview, and my back teeth slide off each other, forming a crater in my cheek. I force myself to take a deep breath and unlock my jaw so I don’t cause any more damage.

  “He’s more concerned about looking the part than acting it.” Jerome’s expression is smug, bitter, maybe a bit amused. The suit I’m donning suddenly weighs more than it did two seconds ago. “In the month and a half under his direction, I set up two appointments with new artists and a handful for ones under contracts. With Mr. Cameron Davis, I’d see that many in a day.”

  The camera splits between the anchors and the field reporter outside our building.

  “It’s concerning and disheartening to see such a successful label have problems this early under new ownership, Karrie,” one of the anchors says. “Do you think Davis Jr. will go on record any time soon to discuss these allegations?”

  “At this point, he’s refused to comment. Whatever is going through his mind, he seems firm on keeping that to himself. Any face-to-face time I’ve personally gotten, the CEO seems very capable and knowledgeable, but whether that’s a façade like his assistant has said or a genuine attitude, we won’t know until he goes on record.”

  I let out a derisive snort, if only to alleviate the embarrassment creeping up the back of my neck. Unfortunately, none of this report is false. I’ve been too preoccupied with what the people think of me that I haven’t been keeping up with the artists my father foug
ht for. I uncross my arms and let the remote swing down by my hip.

  “…we know the employees aren’t happy, but what about the artists? Any word from them?”

  The field reporter nods, and my breath locks in my throat. I pray it’s not Tara, who I just blew off to watch TV.

  “The members of Kingstown, a band that signed with Broken Records early last year, said they haven’t experienced any red flags since Ethan took over, but if he’s neglecting staff, that doesn’t sit well with the band.” The reporter lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. “Personally, I believe these upsets are more likely caused by a man who hasn’t quite figured out how to balance. He has big shoes to fill, and while most would give him the benefit of the doubt, in this business, it’s either fly or flounder. There’s talk of investors pulling out, stocks going down, and if Mr. Davis Jr. doesn’t take this seriously, I think selling or closing down will be his only option. And that will be a hard hit for the music world.”

  I watch the woman’s eyes as she thoughtfully gazes behind her at the building. She’s a music lover—I can already tell. I see that look on a daily basis, from artists, from staff… from Paige. For a moment, I consider selling. I won’t ever please these people; I can’t. That look disappeared from my eyes a long time ago, and all I’ve done since is tried to avoid it.

  My father and I never had a relationship to write a book about. Yet, here I stand after his death, with the thing that meant the most to him. I wish he’d left a note, a video, something, anything to tell me why, out of all his options, he gave me the label. To keep it in the family is ridiculous; he really didn’t express any interest in family.

  My thumb slides over the power button, and I shut off the TV.

  “Josh,” I call out. “Call a staff meeting. It’s mandatory.”

  “Right now, sir?”

  “Conference Room A in ten minutes.” I turn around and toss the remote down on one of the overly priced magazine tables. “And get Tara Bradshaw back on the phone.”

  “Every member of the staff?” Josh asks, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “Everyone,” I say, realizing the size of the group I need to address. “Get takeout ordered for the artists recording and offer them an extra hour of recording time.”