“I have people to answer to at—”
“At the moving company, of course.” He smiles. “Let me sweeten the deal even more. I’ll talk to all my friends — client, other managers and talent people. Directors. I’ll talk to them and let them all know how thorough and fantastic a job Sofa King Movers do. And I’ll get you more lucrative new gigs than you and your little moving company know what to do with.
I pause. It’s too long a pause, and Danny smiles.
“That’s a deal, isn’t it?”
I glance out the window, watching Alyssa Campo page through that magazine. Her tongue darts out again to wet her lips. She shifts again, her back arching and pushing those tits up against the tiny squares of her bikini once again. Her legs cross and re-cross, and I feel my pulse jump and my cock pulse.
This is a bad idea.
My cock, aching in my jeans, says it’s a terrible one. The fact that all I want to do is go out there, bend her over that pool chair, and feel that hot little cunt slide down every inch of me says this is a horrible idea.
I’ve been a strong man. But that resolve is weakening.
Fast.
“Do we have a deal?”
The resolve crumbles, and I nod.
Danny smiles. “Good. So, listen, I have to run.” He glances at his expensive looking watch before nodding out the window at Alyssa. “But, go say hi. Let her know you’re around and here and all of that.”
I frown. “Wait, what?”
“You start now.”
My eyes narrow. “No I don’t.”
“Yes you do,” Danny tosses back with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Or I don’t tell my friends about the business, and there no one-hundred thousand. Sound like a deal?”
I growl, my jaw clenching. Danny just keeps grinning.
“Keep in touch, Diesel. Let me know what's going on and keep me up to date this week.”
He claps me on the shoulder, making a face at my being so sweaty before he turns and strides out the side door of the house to the driveway.
This is going to be trouble.
She’s going to be trouble. Big fucking trouble, with a capital B-R-A-T. The girl has “spoiled princess” written all over her. And it’s not just the big-ass house that she lives in alone, which is absurd for a girl her age. It’s not just the gleaming red Ferrari with the pink princess crown on the dashboard sitting in the driveway — hers, because of course it is.
It’s not the pure-white, designer bikini clinging to every single tight, tempting, totally off-limits curve of her soft, supple body. Not the five-thousand-dollar Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses that scream entitled, or the diamond-studded bracelet fit for a damn queen on her wrist. It’s not the fact that earlier, I watched the beautician drive off after coming here to do her manicure and pedicure.
And it’s not even that she’s famous — that her face is all over billboards and tabloid papers and her voice all over the fucking radio.
Nah, it ain’t any of those things, though they play a part. Not the fame, not the money, not the entitlement. It’s that she just oozes brat from every pore. It’s that looking at her makes me crave her. It’s that the sight of her makes my cum boil and my cock ache.
It’s that the beast inside of me that I’ve kept locked away for years and years is rattling its cage, looking to finally break free.
…It’s knowing that with her, I’m going to let it.
3
Alyssa
Heat explodes through me, and I can feel my body tingle at the feel of him. My head spins, and not just because he’s carrying me across the yard upside down over his shoulder. My head spins with all sorts of conflicting feelings. One is indignation at being carried like this, like he’s a caveman stalking off with his claimed woman. But the other part is… Well…
The other part thinks that thought about him storming off with his claimed cave-girl is all sorts of hot. And wrong, and fucked up, and dirty.
But hot.
I sputter, kicking at him and squirming against him.
“Put me the fuck down!”
He ignores me, of course, and we’re still moving. I squirm again, blushing as my near-naked body writhes against his bare muscles. God, he’s so big. So freaking strong. So built. Heat rumbles through me as I feel those thick muscles ripple against my bare skin.
I shake my head. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I so warm? So tingling.
…Why am I getting wet?
He storms into the house through the big glass side doors that lead out to the pool area.
“Here,” he growls, and I gasp as he swings me off his shoulder and sets my bare feet down on the hardwood floor.
“You can’t just manhandle people!” I spit at him. My eyes slide up his huge, perfect body, and I blush.
“You weren’t listening. And it’s not secure out there.”
“Which gives you permission to just pick me up like that?”
“Yep.”
He doesn’t even blink, and I shiver as those piercing blue eyes lance into me. He looks smug, like he’s enjoying this.
Prick.
He’s gorgeous, in this rough, wild, untamed way, but that’s not going to do a single thing to tame the fire blazing up inside of me.
“Listen, asshole,” I hiss. “I’m going to have you sued so hard your—”
“I’m your bodyguard.”
“The hell you are.”
He smiles that smug grin again. “Yeah, princess, I am. For the next week, I’m your damn shadow.”
“So for the next week I can’t go outside? Do you know how crazy you sound?”
“Says the girl getting death threats and worse from some crazy stalker?”
My mouth snaps shut.
“Yeah I know all about it. That why I’m here, princess. You wanna pan that off, fine. But not under my watch. And outside, it ain’t safe. You’ve got lines of sight all over. That piece of shit could’ve been watching you out there.”
I shiver. The notes we’ve been getting…they’re not good. They’re horrific, actually, detailing all the horrible things this creep wants to do to me.
“So, no,” he growls in that rumbling voice. “You’re not going outside, not dressed like that, that is.”
My brow furrows as I scowl at him. “What do you mean like this?”
He just looks at me, arching a brow. His eyes drop to my tits, and I smirk.
“Want a closer look?” I say sarcastically
“Sure.”
I blink as my lips shut quickly, taken aback. But I can see from that smug look on his face that that was exactly the point of him throwing that back at me.
“So, what, you’re one of those guys who thinks a girl can't go outside showing some skin?”
“No, I’m one of those guys who thinks it’s not smart to do it when there’s a creep out there who’s made it well known that he wants to hurt you.”
I shiver, arms crossing over my chest.
“But that's not going to happen,” he growls.
“I thought you were the mover.”
“I was.”
“And now you’re my bodyguard?”
“Appears that way, doesn’t it?” he mutters, turning and scanning the big living room.
He’s still not really looking at me, at least, not like other guys. I mean even Danny stares at me like he’s taking my clothes off. But this guy…he’s like a monk or something.
This guy.
I frown.
“What’s your name, by the way?”
“Diesel.”
I snort. “Well that sounds like prison name.”
“It is.”
I swallow, shivering as he turns back to me. God, those eyes. That jaw. That freaking body. And Jesus, does he ever wear a shirt?
…does he even have to for this week?
He moves to the alarm system on the wall, and starts to poke around.
“What are you doing?”
“My job,” he growls,
his tone like I’m an annoyance. A nuisance. And it gets under my skin as I watch him move to the window and start checking the sensors.
He glances back at me. “This might take a while. It’s a big house.”
No shit.
I roll my eyes to myself. My big house in the Hollywood Hills. God, I can’t even say that without rolling my eyes. Eighteen years old, and I’ve got a mansion in the Hills all to myself. But trust me, I started at the bottom. And trust me, the road to where I am now is one paved in shit.
It was a silly YouTube video that got me noticed. I was thirteen, and I sang a cover version of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” just for…well, just for fun. And then it went viral. Twenty million views later, I had a manger, an agent, and a talent agency. A year after that, I was recording a record full of absolutely garbage, plastic pop songs, and being dressed like a girl five years older than I was. Some parents might have objected, but not my mama. My dad was long gone, and mama saw me as her golden ticket out of the sticks of Georgia.
And, well, I was.
The first movie gig was a small part, but they just kept growing. But like a bad prophesy, that first YouTube song seems to have set the tone for me in this town. For whatever reason, I got labeled as the bad girl — the bratty one who acts out. That whole sassy bitch face thing is part of it, but my publicists are also to blame. Setting me up with bullshit press stories about acting up.
And Chad, my ex, doesn’t help either. Yeah, that Chad. Chad Love, the teen heartthrob who also started as a young YouTube sensation. We dated briefly a year ago, and ever since then, he’s been talking to the papers telling them how “wild and out of control” I was, and how he just needed to “settle down and think about his fans.”
Barf. That’s his look, his image. The pretty farm-boy with the heart of gold. And somehow, I’m the vixen — “the bad influence,” the papers called me.
Whatever.
After a while, I guess you just start playing the part. Or you do what you need to do to survive in this crappy town of Hollywood.
I follow Diesel through the house quietly, watching him as he checks my security system. It’s out of date, I’ve been told. But apparently, Danny has a new security team and some experts coming out next week to get everything in order. Until then, it seems Diesel is my protection.
…I mean, he’s certainly big enough. Certainly scary-looking enough.
At some point, he takes an undershirt that was tucked into his back pocket and slips it on. It’s weird, because I really am so used to men just ogling me, but he’s not. But God do I want him to. Which I know is wrong and weird, but, it’s there in the back of my mind like a dirty little wish. I’m alone with this rough, purely masculine guy who’s probably twice my age. And all I want to do is jump him. Or maybe it’s that I want him to jump me.
The idea of this beast of a man just pouncing on me while we’re alone like this and just pinning me down and doing whatever he wants to me is as thrilling as it is wrong, but nonetheless, it brings a heated flush to my cheeks as it plays on repeat in my head.
Diesel is so rough, and nothing like the boys I know. Nothing like Chad, that’s for damn sure. So real, and so masculine. So manly and dangerous. Those tats, those big, strong hands, those muscles.
…I shiver.
Suddenly, I realize I’ve been standing there daydreaming in the hallway, and he’s gone upstairs. I chase after him, and when I see him headed down the hall to my room, I frown and run after him.
“Hang on, where are you…” Diesel pushes my door open and steps right inside, and I scowl.
“Get out of there!”
He ignores me, of course, and I purse my lips as I storm in after him.
“My room is fine.”
“And that’s what I’m checking for.”
He turns, and I suddenly blush furiously. My clothes are everywhere, including a suitcase-full of my lingerie tossed across my bed. Bras, panties, thongs — all of it spread out in all its lacy, skimpy glory for his eyes.
I groan, my face going hot, but he ignores it as he goes to the windows to check the sensors there.
Suddenly, I remember something else, and my face pales.
Oh fuck.
See, it’s been a while. And actually, it wasn’t ever much anyways. Despite all the gossip of me being a bad girl and a vixen and all that, and despite many tabloid stories about which pop star or rock icon I was fucking for all those years, it was all bullshit. I’d go to some function or awards ceremony and get photographed next to some director, and the next day’s tabloid story would be how I was fucking him and breaking up his marriage, and ruining his family. And all of it was total. Fucking. Bullshit. All just to sell some stupid gossip magazines.
Chad was actually my first. Regretfully. And the whole farm boy charm and sweet smiles? Yeah, that was all gone the first time I let him take me to bed. Sweet, pretty, album-cover Chad would vanish, and instead I found the real him. Rough, and mean, and selfish.
He also had a tiny dick. I mean, I don’t even have anything to compare it to, but I feel like if you’re honestly wondering if it’s “in yet,” that’s a problem.
“It” only happened a handful of times, and then we broke up.
So like I said, it’s been a while. And a girl has needs.
You know… Needs.
Needs like when it’s her first few nights in a huge empty mansion in the Hills, and she’s maybe had a drink or two. Needs like when it’s dark in that big empty house and she maybe uses the toy she discreetly bought with an alias name credit card online. The toys that if the paper got wind of, would be ruinous.
…Vixen or not, if word got out that Alyssa Campo had a pink, realistically detailed, eight-inch dildo? Well, my career would be ruined, I know that. The realistic, pink, eight-inch dildo that I forgot to put away back in the secret locker I keep it in. The one that I know for a fact is just haphazardly stuffed under one of my pillows…
Diesel turns from the window and goes right for my bed.
“Wait, don’t—”
He yanks the blankets and then the pillow back, and suddenly, the room goes quiet. I groan, my face going bright pink.
“That— That’s not mine,” I say lamely, my voice quavering.
He raises his eyes and gives me that smug — gorgeous, but smug — smile. “If it’s not, we’ve got bigger problems.”
He reaches down and picks it up, and I just want to melt through the floor. My hot, way older, way dangerous, way gorgeous new bodyguard is officially holding my freaking dildo.
It’s mortifying.
Diesel just grins at me though.
“And here I thought you were such a good girl,” he purrs quietly, his eyes locked on mine.
I snort, blushing. “Clearly, you don’t read the gossip magazines.”
“I don't.”
“Well, I’m not sweet and innocent.”
I stare back at him defiantly, trying to ignore the fact that my gorgeous new bodyguard is holding my freaking sex toy in his hand. I jut out my chin, trying to will the blush away from my face as I shrug. My lip curls as I arch a brow at the big, imposing, stony-silent man.
“Aww, what,” I coo sarcastically. “Never knew girls needed toys?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just arches his brow, like he’s amused. And of course, the smart thing to do here is to just grab it out of his hands and maybe just hide in my room for the next week. But instead, because it’s me, I just double down. Like an idiot.
“Big man like you all tongue-tied now?” I move closer, sassing him as if that’ll get the fiery blush off my face. “What, didn’t expect to find that, huh?”
Slowly, as I move closer to him, trying to figure out if I can just snatch it from his hands, Diesel just starts to grin. Hungry. Amused. Smug.
My lips purse and my brow furrows.
“What?” I snap, walking right up to him and jabbing a finger into his chest. I swallow, suddenly ever more aware that I’m sti
ll just wearing a tiny white bikini and a pair of sunglasses perched on my head.
“Never thought you’d find a big fake dick under my pillow, did you?” I purr.
Diesel’s eyes lock with mine, and he smiles that gorgeous, infuriatingly smug grin down at me. His body uncoils, like somehow he’s getting even bigger as he towers over me, making my pulse skip a beat.
“No, princess,” he drawls out. He leans down, and I gasp, my lip catching between my teeth as he bends down and lets his lips brush just shy of touching my ear.
“I just think it’s amusing that you think this is big.”
Something hot, and fierce, and wild, pulses through me. And suddenly, I whimper at his words. He stays right there, looming over me, with his perfect lips millimeters from the skin of my neck under my ear. Lightning crackles through me, and every single millimeter of my skin tingles with filthy need and forbidden want before suddenly, he moves back.
“Here’s your little toy back,” he growls quietly, pushing the fake cock into my hands as I stand there dumbly, panting.
“Have fun, princess.”
He brushes past me and out the door, leaving me panting, shivering, and maddeningly on edge. My nipples strain at the front of my top, and slick, wet heat floods my bikini bottoms. And suddenly, I’m wondering how on earth I’m going to survive sharing a roof with him for the next freaking week.
4
Diesel
I shut off the shower, sighing as the water runs down over my skin. My muscles are still a little sore from the move earlier, and I can feel the tension slowly seeping out of me.
But then, that ain’t just from lifting boxes. That’s for damn sure. And lifting boxes isn’t the reason my cock is still rock fucking hard, glistening as the water runs down it in rivulets.
I groan, jaw tight as I glance down at the thickness pulsing between my thighs. Heat flashes through me, and I let my hand drop, my fingers wrapping around it.
I growl.
Earlier… that was bad. That was real fucking bad. I almost lost complete fucking control back there. I almost shoved her against the wall and tore her fucking clothes off. God, my cock wanted to. I wanted to throw her down on that bed pull off her panties and plunge every inch of me deep between her pretty thighs and fuck her right there.
Sofa King Wrong Page 2
