Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  Whoever Jimmy is, I’m kicking his ass if I ever meet him. I was one second away from feeling those sweet pouty lips crashing into mine.

  Brianna puts away her walkie talkie and grabs ahold of the cart, her eyes finding my face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Adams . . .” There’s a flush to her cheeks that extends down her neck. A neck that I want to devour.

  “Gavin,” I correct her. I’m expecting her to chew me out for being so bold and pressing up on her like that. Or to call me a cocky asshole. But she doesn’t.

  “Gavin,” she says. Fuck, I love hearing her say my name. I want to hear her screaming it, though. “Sorry to disappoint, but I have duties to attend to. It was nice meeting you.” Before I can reply, she practically runs away like a bat out of hell, pushing her cart up the hall.

  I watch her until she disappears around a corner, enjoying the sway of her luscious hips as she moves, fire burning in my blood and one thought on my mind. This is starting to be a problem. She got away from me again.

  I’ll get her eventually, I tell myself confidently as I turn away and start making my way to the vending machine room, feeling a dull ache forming in my pelvis. On top of a drink, I’m going to need a bag of ice to numb my aching balls.

  And when I do, she’s fucking mine.

  Brianna

  The next morning, my fingers are shaking as I check my uniform in the mirror, my heart pounding like a war drum. He was so close to me. I could practically feel the heat radiating from him. As I stood there, sandwiched between his hard body and the wall, every bone in me screamed for me to run away.

  But I didn’t.

  It’s only by chance that Jimmy interrupted at that exact moment. He saved me.

  I would have let Gavin do anything he wanted to me had Jimmy not interrupted.

  And I’d be out of a job as soon as someone found out.

  I shiver as I remember the intensity in Gavin’s eyes, his warm breath on my face. It scares me how much I wanted him in that moment, how I almost lost control. No guy has ever been so aggressive, and normally, I would have slapped anyone who was. But I found myself frozen, unable to even say a word, much less move.

  My fingers clutch my neck as I suck in a deep breath. I’m mad at myself for not standing up to him. The guy is nothing but a player, and I should’ve let him have it. I don’t care if he’s a celebrity with a huge cock. He definitely deserved to be called out on his bullshit, brazenly pushing up on me like that. But I just choked up, caught up in his good looks that I’m sure he’s used to getting him whatever he wants.

  Ugh. Anxiety squeezes my stomach as I gaze at my reflection. It’s time to start my shift. And I’m worried that he is going to be up there. And I don’t think I can handle him coming up to me again. Not after that.

  And certainly not after spending half the night tossing and turning in bed with a burning need I haven’t felt in a long time.

  I want to believe that I can tell him no, to fucking get lost. But I know it won't be easy.

  I’m not easy, I tell myself, trying to build my self-confidence in the face of my desire, and I don’t want to give in to temptation just to become some cocky jerk’s one-night fling. Even if Mindy says there’s nothing wrong with it. I say there is, especially with someone like him.

  Vowing that I’ll be strong if I encounter Gavin again, I close my locker and make my way to the lobby. It’s the first on my list today, and I want to get it out of the way so I can hopefully avoid Vandenburgh.

  I’m just getting the vacuum out of the janitorial closet when I’m interrupted by an officious cough behind me.

  “Miss Sayles,” says the voice that always sets my teeth on edge.

  Speak of the damn devil.

  I turn and see Mr. Vandenburgh standing there, glaring at me with his perpetual scowl. “You’re out of uniform,” he growls. He looks up at me, puffing out his stomach. “Where’s your name tag?”

  I glance down at my blouse, cursing my luck. My name tag has been missing since yesterday, and I’ve been so engrossed in my thoughts with Gavin, I forgot all about it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vandenburgh. I guess I lost it yesterday on shift. I’ll put in for a replacement immediately.”

  “I see,” Vandenburgh says disdainfully. “Well, you can fill out the paperwork for that at the same time you sign your write-up form. Follow me to my office.” He begins to turn away.

  “Write-up?” I ask, barely keeping my voice down, causing him to perform a dramatic spin about and fix a nasty scowl on his face. “You’re writing me up over a name tag?”

  “The employee conduct guide is very clear on this. Nobody is to be out of uniform when in a guest area,” Vandenburgh says through gritted teeth. “Your name tag is an important part of your uniform.”

  Not as important as that uppity stick up your ass, I think angrily. I want so badly to tell him that he could go to hell with the high horse he rode in on, but I need this job.

  When it’s clear he’s won, Vandenburgh turns with his nose raised high, and I follow him into his office. Inside, it’s antiseptically clean, his cherry wood desk so polished it practically gleams. “Mr. Vandenburgh, I understand that I lost my name tag, but please . . .” I close my mouth when I see him arch his eyebrows. Well screw him. I’m not going to beg. It’s actually what he wants to hear.

  He pushes a sheet of paper across the table to me along with a pen. “If you’ll fill this one out, Miss Sayles, for your new name tag. It’ll be ready by your next shift, and you’ll, of course, be docked the ten dollars for the cost of the tag. After that, you can sign your write-up form.”

  Anger burns my chest as I grip the pen and fill out the form. A write-up. For my name tag. How stupid.

  It’s just his way of getting one step closer to firing me, I think angrily. He knows I already have one write-up, and now he only needs one more to get rid of me for good.

  The hotel runs a three-strike system. If you get three write-ups within a rolling twelve-month period, you’re fired. It doesn’t matter what they’re for. This is my second strike, having been written up several months ago due to being late during a thunderstorm.

  I finish the form, making sure my name is spelled correctly before I slide it over to Vandenburgh.

  He smiles icily, taking the form, and I get up to leave, barely hiding the anger I feel.

  “Oh, and Miss Sayles,” he says, causing me to pause in the doorway.

  “Yes?” I say cautiously.

  “The marble floors in the lobby have been looking quite dull lately. I believe they could use a good coat of polish.”

  I almost lose my shit right then and there. Waxing floors? This has got to be a joke. Though I know it might cost me, I say through gritted teeth, “Mr. Vandenburgh, that’s a job for Maintenance. They use the big motorized buffer.”

  “Yes, and the buffer is far too noisy and disruptive for me this time of day,” Vandenburgh counters, clearly enjoying the frustration I’m displaying. “You’ll need to do it by hand.”

  This man has got to be out of his mind. Never mind, I know he’s out of his fucking mind. But as I look into his smiling face, I know he’s just waiting for me to unleash. He gets off on this shit.

  I swear to God, as soon as I get home, I’m gonna look online for another job. I don’t have to put up with this.

  I turn to leave again, but I’m stopped once more when Vandenburgh adds, “A hint, Miss Sayles. Go in small sections, or else you’ll leave streaks and have to do it all over again.” I swear he’s about to burst into gales of maniacal laughter.

  I don’t know how I manage to leave his office without cussing him out to the moon and back, but I do it.

  I even manage not to slam the door.

  Gavin

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I groan as I wake up, the sound of an annoying alarm going off in my ears. Grabbing my pillow, I place it around my ears to muffle the sound. But after several moments, I toss the pillow to the side and mutter in annoyance, “Shut the fuck up,” whi
le grabbing my cell off the nightstand and silencing it.

  I glance at the time. It’s early still, 8:45. Rehearsals are supposed to start at 10:00. But I hardly got any practice in last night, my mind filled with thoughts of Brianna. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her out of my head and focus on my lines for more than a minute.

  As if summoned by thinking Brianna’s name, my cock swells, straining against my boxers, stretching to its limits. Fuck.

  Just another problem I have to deal with.

  Groaning, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, my cock throbbing painfully, begging me to take care of it. I clench my jaw, trying to ignore the urge. I don’t need this shit right now. I’ve got to be able to perform today.

  It should be easy. I’ve always been good under pressure. I’m used to being the best at what I do. But I feel off my game.

  It pisses me off. I’ve always been about control, dominating situations and those around me. But Bunny is resisting my charm, taunting me with her sweet pouty lips. She can’t keep it up for long, though. She wants me. I can see it in her gorgeous eyes.

  A soft groan escapes my lips as I slip my hand down my abs and under the elastic band of my boxers. With a surge of discipline, I stop myself before I grab my dick, and I scowl up at the ceiling.

  Fuck that.

  I’m not doing this. If anyone’s going to make me blow a load, it’s going to be her. She’s playing hard to get, but it’s only a matter of time. What’s that saying, good things come to those who wait? I can hold out a little while longer. I grit my teeth, ignoring another pulsing throb. Nope. My hand just won’t do.

  I roll out of bed, ignoring the dull ache in my balls, and make my way to the shower stall inside the bathroom. I make sure the water is as cold as I can bear, shivering as the dual showerheads pound into my chest and water cascades down my washboard abs.

  I stay in the cold stream until my erection finally subsides and then I jump out, quickly drying off.

  Chime. My eyes are drawn to my cell when I step out of the bathroom. Voicemail. I hold in a groan, already knowing who it is. But I know I have to listen to it anyway.

  Gavin, it’s Miranda. Just a quick reminder, you’d better be on your game today. I saw the sheet for today, and there’s a ton of work to be done. See you on set.

  My excitement dims somewhat as I grab some black dress pants, pulling them on. I’m not looking forward to living up to Miranda’s expectations when I know I haven’t been giving my lines—or any of the script, for that matter—my undivided attention.

  You’ve got to get yourself together, man, I tell myself as I slip into a white dress shirt and polished shoes. You can’t let this girl ruin your acting career before it even gets started. She’s not worth it.

  I’m lying to myself. I know it as soon as it enters my mind.

  The truth is, Brianna has awakened a fire that I haven’t felt in a long time by running from me. More than that, there’s something about her, something I can’t put my finger on, that draws me to her like a moth to the flame.

  Brianna’s not like the other women I’ve been with. She doesn’t seem to care that I’m a sports star with all the trappings money, fame, and good looks can buy. Or that I have a huge cock that would have her coming so hard she’d forget what her name was.

  And that makes me want her all the more.

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