by Alexis Angel
Wait, what?
I’m trying really hard to reconcile the words coming out of this blonde bombshell’s mouth with their meaning. Especially when the only coherent thoughts I’m having about that mouth have to do with my dick and what those lips would feel like wrapped around it.
I shake my head. “FCC?”
Layla nods curtly. “That’s correct.”
I glance over my shoulder at Toby, who’s giving me an exasperated look. “I tried to tell you, man, but you were…”
Yeah, I was. I am. Totally and completely captivated by this woman. She’s fucking gorgeous. Long, silky golden waves that I can just imagine falling around her like a curtain as she sits on my face. Tits full and round as they bounce against my hands.
Fuck. Now I’m hard as fucking steel, and I’m pretty sure this suit isn’t doing a damn thing to hide it.
“Layla,” I say, my voice smooth despite the fact that my mind is full of filthy thoughts, “why don’t you step into my office and we can discuss this.”
She arches a brow, her dark eyes glittering in amusement. “Seriously, Jacob? ‘Step into my office?’ Let me guess. You want to play doctor?” She turns and heads toward the hallway leading away from the backstage area.
Well, well. I hurry to catch up to her and place my palm on her lower back to guide her toward my office. “If that’s what you like, who am I to argue? Everyone has their kinks. Or at least they should.”
“Some more obvious than others.” She tosses the barb at me like a pro.
I chuckle. I fucking love that sass.
“Is that so?” I lean closer as we make our way down the hall, lowering my voice to a gravelly whisper. “And what would mine be since you seem to know me so well already?”
She laughs and shoots me a disbelieving smirk. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head, totally intrigued by this woman.
“Voyeurism. Obviously.”
Huh. I cock my head and think about it. It’s not something I’ve ever thought much about before, but I guess she’s right. I mean, my expertise is in getting inside women’s heads, figuring out the things they want to hear to get so horny they can’t help but come once I get going. I don’t exactly psychoanalyze my own motives.
I like pussy. Motivation enough, am I right?
When we get to the door of my office, I push it open and watch as she takes it in.
Standing in the middle, Layla spins in a slow circle, finally stopping when her eyes land on me. “What, no bed?” she deadpans.
“Are you disappointed?” I step toward her, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.
She laughs, but then she shakes the papers in her hand. “FCC fine. Remember?”
“I was hoping you’d forget.”
“Looks like the depth of your ego matches the skill of your tongue. You thought I’d forget why I’m here the minute you got me alone?”
Her voice is teasing, but she’s still all business. It’s an intriguing combination. Suddenly I’m desperate to know what Layla’s sex life is like. She’s not lacking for confidence. That usually makes for a woman who’s up for anything. I’d love to see her drop the professional tone and let me see what she’s really like underneath that prim exterior. I’d bet my last dollar she’s a fucking freak in the bedroom.
My cock twitches, and I sigh in frustration. I want to get this shit over with and see if Layla’s up for some fun once she’s out of work mode.
I rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s do this. Why am I being fined?”
“Obscenity, Jacob.”
“Jake,” I tell her again. “And since when is helping people obscene?”
“Helping people? Is that what you call it? Because all I see is you helping yourself to an all you can eat buffet night after night.” Layla gives me a fake smile. “But don’t worry, Jacob dear, I’m sure you’ll still get plenty of dates once your show is canceled. You do have a reputation. It will get you somewhere with the ladies.”
I laugh incredulously. She’s serious. She actually thinks ACL is obscene? Maybe a little unconventional, but not obscene.
“Look,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and standing up straighter, “my show helps people. I fucking help people. Hell, it might even save marriages. It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe a couple tunes in one night and their sex life is changed forever. Maybe they were on the brink of divorce until I inspired them to greater things. If people don’t like the show, they can change the fucking channel.”
Layla looks taken aback by my tirade, so I try to soften my expression. “I don’t mean to be an ass, but I really care about what I do. It means something to me.”
It does. I’m not bullshitting her. Sex is fucking important. Good sex especially. Vital, really. I don’t know why she thinks my show is obscene, but I suddenly want to show her just how important my job can be. If she could only see behind the scenes, I know she’d come around.
Wait. Back up there. Was that just a genius idea or what? Fuck yes, that's exactly what I’m going to do.
“Layla,” I say, much calmer now that I know just what I’m going to do. About the fine. About Layla. About the raging hard-on I desperately need to attend to. “ACL is about to go on a 4-week filming hiatus. Why don’t you stick around for a while and see how we prepare for the next episode. If you still feel the same way about the show then as you do now, I’ll pay the seven-million-dollar fine.”
Seven million dollars is nothing to laugh at, but it’s almost a drop in the bucket compared to the money I’ve made on my show. It’s the principle of it that gets me. All these people who want to be so self-righteous about sex. Fuck that.
Layla considers my offer as she watches me, and I can practically see the wheels turning. She wants to know my angle. Thing is, there is none. I totally believe everything I’ve said.
“You realize the fine is per incident?” she asks with a smirk.
Fuck.
“Fine. Not a problem.”
No fucking way will I pay that fine. I’m going to convince Layla one way or another that there’s nothing obscene about what I do. And getting in her panties sounds like the perfect place to start pleading my case. My cock couldn’t agree more.
Layla
“Mm-hmm,” I say into the phone as I walk around my temporary apartment, my mind not fully on the things Lori is saying. I’m too distracted by the opulence of this luxury apartment the FCC has put me up in while I’m working on the ACL case.
Lori continues talking about the importance of getting the show canceled. How she has to make sure the airwaves are safe for families. Blah, blah, blah. I love Lori, I do. And I respect her. But Jesus Christ, she really needs to get laid. Maybe she’s forgotten what it’s like to cum your brains out.
Grabbing my mug of coffee, I step out onto the balcony overlooking the Upper East Side. These people set me up with some of the swankiest shit I’ve ever seen. I’m literally looking out over Central Park while I have my morning coffee.
“Layla, are you even listening?” Lori says.
Shit. What did she just say? As I’m hurriedly replaying the conversation in my head, I hear the door buzz inside.
“Of course I am, Lori. Look,” I add, attempting to smooth this over so she doesn’t realize I zoned out a long time ago. “Someone’s at the door. Hang on a minute.”
I go back in and cross to the door, not bothering to look before I open it. This building has top-notch security, so the only people who could be up here are staff. Sure enough, a sexy bellboy type I’ve seen around the building has a package for me.
My eyes drop down to the very obvious boner he’s sporting. Two packages, it seems. That’s when I realize I’m wearing nothing more than a sheer little scrap of fabric that makes me look like I’m straight off the pages of Frederick’s of Hollywood. Oops. And yes, I wear sexy lingerie around the house. Don’t you? If not, you totally should. You’ve gotta set the stage, babe, if you want to get some.
“Tha
nks,” I tell him with a wink and a suggestive smile—because why not? He’s hot, and maybe later when I’m feeling a little hot he might be up for the challenge of cooling me off. Gotta look out for my needs, right?
I sign my name with a flourish on the clipboard he’s holding, then shut the door and carry the package over to my couch. It’s a large envelope, all official looking, with Jake’s studio listed as the sender.
Adjusting my phone between my ear and shoulder, I tear open the envelope and get back to Lori. “Okay, sorry about that. So, as I was saying. You have my word. A Cunning Linguist will be canceled by the end of the month. There’s no way Jacob Kent can get around these fines. Not when we’re going to slap him with one for every episode that’s ever aired. They won’t be able to afford to continue.”
“I sincerely hope so.” Lori sounds like she’s not so sure she should've given me the assignment now. For the last few days, ever since I told her I agreed to Jake’s request that I hold off on passing judgment, she seems even more uptight.
“Don’t worry.” My voice brims with confidence as I pull out the contents of the envelope. “I’ve got this. In fact, I have a brilliant plan to make our case against them airtight. I’m going to interview Jake’s past guests. You know, check in on them. See how being on the show has impacted them.”
“What’s the point in that?” I can tell she’s curious, even though she sounds skeptical.
I glance over the long list of names on the papers Jake sent. “Lori, I’m holding the key in my hand right now. Mr. Kent has sent over a list of all the guests—he’s being really cooperative. Once I interview these ladies, it can only make our case stronger. Think about it. All these women had their most intimate problems aired on live TV. That has to be humiliating, right? But it doesn’t stop there. No, no. Not only did the entire country hear about their sexual issues, but right after they aired their dirty laundry, they proceeded to bare it all. Literally. These women had orgasms on live television like they’re fucking porn stars or something.”
Lori’s snort of disgust tells me I’m on the right track to winning her over. I know she’ll love my strategy once she sees how effective it'll be.
“My point is they have to be humiliated. Once I have a stack of signed statements indicating how ACL impacted its guests so negatively, there’s no way Jacob Kent can stand by his claim of improving lives and saving marriages.”
Lori huffs. Oops. I forgot the mere mention of marriage is a hot button with her.
“Trust me Lori. Have I ever let you down?”
“Not yet,” she says crossly. “And you better not this time.”
This conversation is going nowhere. “Okay, well, I’m going into the office today to observe Jake and Toby’s selection process. It should be very...enlightening.”
I roll my eyes, unable to keep the snark from my voice. I can only imagine how this will go. I mean, how the hell do you screen women you want to go down on?
Another heavy sigh from the newly crowned queen of negativity. “Fine. Get back to me.”
I hang up and look at my phone for a minute, then shake it off and get up. Time to grab a shower and get dressed for the day. I think about the day ahead as I shampoo my hair, trying to focus on the professional reason for spending the day with Jake, but my mind keeps going back to the thrill that raced through me every time he smiled at me when I was at the studio the other day.
I know it’s not professional, but I can’t help wondering if he’s really as good as he seems—with everything. His brain, because he seems really intelligent. I mean the man did write an international bestseller. His heart, because even though I don’t buy his bullshit, the things he said about making people’s lives better were really nice. And, of course, his tongue, for obvious reasons. I don’t want to admit it, but Jake seems like the total package. It could all just be an act, though. You can’t trust a man who makes his living selling sex.
But still...something about him makes me want to trust him. Or at least find out how much of what I see is the real deal.
Really, it would only be smart for me to find out. Maybe these are things I need to know in a professional capacity. For research. Yeah. That’s it. I need to know just how good Mr. Jacob Kent is off camera so that I can make a stronger case.
That’s all it is. Just business.
Layla
Jake opens the door to his office a few hours later and greets me with a smile that definitely doesn’t make my heart speed up. The way he looks me up and down as if he wants to memorize every inch of my body doesn’t make my breath hitch, either. And when he reaches out his hand and slides it around my waist to guide me into the room, his touch absolutely doesn’t turn my pussy into a total gusher. Nope. Not at all.
And I’m a fucking liar.
Holy shit, how could I forget just how strong this man’s raw sex appeal is in the few days since I’ve seen him? I’d chalked it up to the intensity of the moment. The fact that we met only moments after I watched another woman face fuck him. Of course the testosterone was pouring off him in waves then.
So why do I feel just as turned on now as he walks me across his office toward a high-end coffee machine that looks so complicated I’m not even sure a barista would know what to do with it?
“Coffee?” he murmurs, his smile slipping into more of a knowing smirk, and I wonder if he knows what kind of effect he’s having on me.
“Sure.” I watch as he expertly punches in a sequence of buttons, then the most delicious aroma fills the room within seconds. “Wow, you really know how to work that thing.” I mentally roll my eyes at the dumb comment.
Jake chuckles, and the low sound sends shivers straight from my stomach to my clit, which is practically quivering with need now.
What in the actual fuck is he doing to me? Making me forget how to speak and act like I’ve never been around a sexy man before?
The sexy smirk that has me remembering all too clearly just what those lips are known for grows larger. “You could say I’m an expert at knowing what buttons to push.”
Apparently. He’s pushing all the right ones with me. If I don’t get my body under control—like right the fuck now—he’s going to have me so wet that my juices will run right down my legs. Not even joking.
Holy fuck. No wonder he calls himself the Cunning Linguist. I wouldn’t be surprised if this guy could make a girl come with nothing but his words.
“That is the general consensus,” I toss back as he hands me the steaming mug of coffee. Thank God I have something to do with my hands now. At the rate things are going, I’m likely to reach down and pull his cock out.
“You say this as if there’s a question.”
Laughing, I shake my head, hoping to clear out some of the lust-induced haze that’s making me want to behave like a fucking nympho. “All I’m saying is that I adhere to the principle of innocent until proven guilty.”
Jake’s eyelids drop to half-mast in what has to be the cockiest look I’ve seen on him yet. “I plead guilty, baby. Every single time. It’s way more fun that way.”
Someone clears their throat from across the office, and that’s when I realize for the first time that Toby’s already here.
“Have you started already?” I ask, looking between the two men.
“Waiting for you,” Jake says, his hand resuming the position on my back as he leads me toward one of the two chairs facing his desk. Toby’s taken up residence behind the desk, and Jake pulls the other chair closer to the desk, and closer to mine, ready to get to work.
I clear my throat and pull a tablet from my handbag. “Sorry to keep you waiting then, Mr. Kent.” Jake gives me a look. “I mean Jacob.”
He narrows his eyes. “My friends call me Jake, remember?”
“Sure thing, Jacob.”
Toby busts out laughing. “I like you, Layla.”
Grinning, I sit back in my chair. “Why don’t you two just pretend I’m not here, and I’ll try to get a completely objective i
dea of how this goes?”
“Objective?” Toby scoffs. “If you say so.”
“Okay,” Jake rubs his hands together, “let’s dive in.”
“Nice one,” I laugh.
Jake catches my eye and winks, and my blood starts to simmer as I imagine him diving in—right in between my legs.
Luckily, the two men get to work and I’m soon able to push most of my dirty thoughts aside.
Toby’s clicking through email after email on the computer while Jake tears open envelopes and scans the contents one by one. Yeah. Letters. Women are sending actual physical letters to Jake. After a while it’s almost as if they forget I’m here. Both men sum up each applicant—that’s how I’m thinking of the women who want to be on Jake’s show—as they work their way through them, categorizing them into yes, no, and maybes.
“So how are you determining who goes into which category?” I can’t stop myself from asking after thirty minutes of this. I’m not quite sure what I expected, but it’s not what I’m seeing. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s not to understand?” Jake says simply. “We’re finding who I can help the most.”
“Yeah, but…” I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking, and I fumble through it. “There hasn’t been a single picture. None of these women have talked about what they like or don’t like when it comes to sex. I guess I just don’t get what you’re looking for.”
If I had to guess based on what I’ve gathered, I’d say the women ending up in the yes pile are ones who seem smart, funny, interesting. Women I might like to hang out with. And then there are the ones who fit the bill of what Jake said—ones who really need help.
Because some of these applicants? Holy shit. I can’t even imagine being so miserable with my sex life. I love sex. I see it as a vital and vibrant part of my life—something to appreciate and revel in. But some of these women look at it completely differently for a variety of reasons. It’s something they’re embarrassed about, or insecure. Some even sound ashamed. Then there are those that desperately hope there’s more to sex than what they’ve known because their experiences can hardly be called great.
