Celebrity Playboy: All American Boy Series

by Readnour, Kimberly

  “I’ll repeat my question. Why did you use me?” It’s the slight crack at the end, revealing his vulnerability that makes me want to recoil inside myself.

  Regret slams into me hard. “I penned that piece five years ago. There hasn’t been anything written recently, nor are there any plans to.”

  “Oh, well, isn’t that noble?” He tosses his hands up at his sides in frustration, and I flinch more from his harsh tone than by his actions. He takes notice and mutters, “Shit,” more to himself. Letting out a low growl, he steps forward, but I match his movement with a backward step. He stares at me with an intensity I feel deep in my bones. I see the pull in his eyes—the tug of wanting to believe what I’m saying battling with the hurt I’ve caused. But then anger clouds those beautiful blue irises as he slides his shield in place. “Were you ever going to tell me that you wrote the article?”

  “I wanted to.” My voice is barely audible, but I don’t want to lie. The truth? I need to be completely honest if I’m going to regain any kind of trust.

  He scoffs. “I take that as a no.”

  “I wanted to tell you back at the cabin, but then I figured why? We weren’t going to be there long, and I’d never see you again. It’s not as if our paths ever cross.”

  “Then, why didn’t you tell me after I came here.”

  My heart races. This is the part I’m not proud of. “I, uh, didn’t want you to think less of me.”

  “Too late for that, sweetheart.” The bite to his tone cuts a little deeper, rendering me speechless. The vein on the side of his head pulsates, seemingly fueled by my continued silence. “That first day, I specifically asked if you were a reporter.”

  “I’m not, remember? I’m unemployed.”

  “That’s not an excuse.” His voice rises in anger, stirring the horses inside the barn. “Jesus, that piece you wrote did a lot of damage to my career. Don’t you have any remorse?”

  “Damage?” I scoff, finding my backbone because let’s face reality, Mr. Hollywood hasn’t missed a beat. His bad reputation hasn’t derailed his career in the least. He’s one of the most sought-after actors. An A-lister. “You’re going to blame me for not keeping your dick in your pants?”

  “Half of what you wrote wasn’t true.”

  “Everything I wrote was true. How people perceive the facts is where it gets skewed.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better, knowing you distorted reality to make a better story?”

  “The article came out five years ago. You haven’t had a serious relationship since. You’ve slept with plenty of people, including your current director’s wife. I’m hardly to blame for your lack of knowing who you stick your dick in.” Pulling my hands to my hips, I fight the urge to stomp my foot while I waffle between being infuriated and understanding his point. But as he closes the distance between us, another urge springs to surface. A dangerous one that I need to ignore but find extremely difficult.

  “You fucking lied to me.” His chest heaves as he stares down at me with eyes darkened by so much betrayal and pain my heart hurts. I can’t take it any longer and step back, trying to gain some sense of neutrality.

  When my backside hits the barn door, I mutter, “I-I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do to erase what I wrote.”

  “I trusted you.” He steps forward, placing his hands on the barn siding, those prominent, defined arms caging me in.

  But I don’t feel trapped. Not in the least. Instead, my body betrays me as need and want soar to new heights.

  “I thought you were different. How stupid was I?” His gaze falls to my lips that part on their own accord. He leans closer, placing his mouth next to my ear. The movement presses our bodies closer, and oh God, it seems my body isn’t the only one betraying its master. He’s every bit as turned on as me if the growing erection is anything to go by. The difference? The bastard possesses way more self-restraint than me. My hands have already left the barn siding and somehow landed on his hips, my fingers hooking around his belt loop.

  “Why did you turn out to be like everyone else?”

  His words cut deep, snapping me back to the ugly reality. I don’t want to be like everyone else. Not when it comes to him.

  “I don’t know what to say, Westlyn. After I learned the guy I had spent most of my tween years crushing on turned out to be nothing more than some celebrity playboy, I was devastated. I channeled that anger toward the article. You were supposed to be like Teflon, nothing sticking.” I sound breathy as my breasts brush against his chest with each inhalation. The friction alone is enough to turn me on, but as he tilts his head and narrows his eyes, my thoughts jumble again as desire slams into me. I want to yell at him. I want to kiss him. Most of all, I want that impressive male appendage—the one currently pressing into my lower abdomen—deep inside me. He has me so turned on it wouldn’t take any effort for him to slide inside. I’m shamelessly ready.

  “The article was pretty damning. I hope you got rewarded.” His voice is more like a moan rather than a growl. Those perfect lips stay parted as his gaze dips to my mouth again. The horses scuffle louder in the background, but I’m too caught up in him to care about disturbing their slumber.

  “If I could take it back, I would, but I won’t lie. That article boosted my career. It also made my ex notice me. So, it looks as if we both got screwed.”

  His jaw tics as something sinister moves through his gaze. That is all the warning I get before his lips slam into mine, demanding and greedy—a punishing act I gladly take. I clench his hips and grind against him, which earns me another moan. One filled with desperation. His hands cup my face as he pulls back a fraction.

  “I’m so goddamn mad at you.” He searches my eyes, and I pray he finds what he wants because Westlyn, not River, is here with me. I have no intentions of stopping what we started.

  “I know.”

  “I can’t seem to stay away from you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  We hold each other’s gaze, and the look he gives me is as intense as I feel. His mouth is back on mine. It’s a bit gentler but still strong enough to let me know he’s in charge. I give myself over to him. Our tongues dance. Our hands roam. His hard body feels so incredible beneath my touch. I can’t get enough. He nudges his knee between my legs, spreading them apart as he sucks my skin along the crook of my neck.

  “I need to have you.” His gruff voice vibrates my skin, shooting tingles across every nerve pathway. I nod, not caring if I’ll regret this later. How can I regret something that feels this right? If anything, I’ll regret not doing this.

  “I’m yours, Westlyn.” To drive the point home, I wrap my leg around him, the hem of my dress hiking up. His hands skim along my sides and land on my ass. He picks me up and carries me over to the padded bench before setting me down.

  “I’d say let’s go back to my room, but if I don’t have you now, I’m going to explode,” he says while lifting the dress overhead. I lie beneath him in nothing but my lace thong. His eyes darken with a salacious look as heat consumes every fiber of my body. A moan generating deep inside him slips out. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

  “Then, why aren’t you inside me already?”

  His body shakes with quiet laughter. “Greedy girl.”

  I run my hands over my breast, tweaking my nipples, which makes him very happy. I file that information for later. The corners of his mouth lift to that cocky grin as he tugs his shirt off and removes his jeans at warp speed. I spread my legs wider when his cock springs free, but he doesn’t allow enough time for me to fully appreciate his body.

  “I fucking need to be inside you.”

  “I need you inside me.” Maybe I should be ashamed for practically begging, but I’ve never wanted anyone so badly in my life. I have no shame. This tingly sensation currently consuming my body needs to be filled.

  Westlyn reaches in his jeans pocket. I have to contain myself from yanking the damn condom out myself. My body is hot with need I know h
e can fulfill.

  “Fuck.” He reaches for his wallet and rummages through it.

  I lean up on my elbows and ask, “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t have a condom.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  There’s no way I’m waiting. My body needs him now.

  “I’m on the pill, but have you ever…”

  “No, never.”

  “Same. I never trusted my ex.” Thank God for my hard-fast rule. Who knows if he ever skipped wearing them while cheating on me? I gnaw my bottom lip while Westlyn’s hooded eyes peruse over my body. It doesn’t escape me that I’m willing to bend the rule so easily for Westlyn, a practical stranger. But he’s a stranger I feel totally comfortable around. Fuck it. “I’m okay with it if you are.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I can’t wait any longer. I need you inside me.”

  “Thank fuck because I don’t want to stop.”

  The next thing I know, Westlyn straddles the bench as he rips my underwear off. He runs his hands along my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist as he leans forward and cups a breast, swirling his tongue around my nipple. “You’ve been teasing me with this body ever since stepping into that cabin.”

  I haven’t—not intentionally anyway—but I bask in this form of torture as Westlyn’s hands leave no skin untouched, his lips caressing every inch. I squirm beneath him while he continues this sensual assault. If his goal is to have my body aching for him, he’s succeeding. I’m practically begging for relief.

  “Westlyn, please.” I guess there’s no practically about it. I’m full-on pleading, but I have no shame. These flames licking the inside of my body need to be tamed. I need him inside me now.

  “Please what?”

  “Make me come.”

  His growl comes out part predatory and part anguished, as if he’s fighting himself. As he slips one hand under my hip and the other on his dick, it’s clear his own needs win out. He closes his eyes and runs the tip of his cock against my wetness. I capture the pure bliss in his expression. If he’s going slow to punish me, his plan backfired. It looks as if he’s punishing himself.

  “Damn, Loni. You’re so wet for me.”

  His next movement catches me off guard. It’s swift and unrelenting. I gasp from the feel of his bareness as he drives into me. We both moan in pure ecstasy because this feels so fucking good.

  “You feel incredible,” he says, teeth clenched.

  Then, he moves. Oh God, does he move. His fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts inside me. There’s nothing sweet as he takes his frustration out on my body. His moves are a punishing act—unrelenting and unguarded—nothing but pure lust and determination.

  Watching him move while he stares at me is both erotic and intimate. I cling to him as if I’m starved, emotionally and sexually. But every withdrawal followed by each forward push, I realize I have been for years. He doesn’t slow. He continues to drive into me as if he has something to prove. As if the world tilted and his only goal is to right it.

  That increased burn in my thighs, the deep heat in my core continues to build until my body can’t take anymore. The orgasm slams into me as I surrender to the pleasure. My body writhes beneath his hold as he thrusts into me with his own release. When we come back down to Earth, he leans back and stares at me as we heave the much-needed air.

  Then, he shifts, angling his body to lean down and kiss me, the earlier anger missing. This kiss is filled with pure passion and affection. My heart swells with emotion I don’t want to think about.

  Warmth follows as he rubs his thumb along my cheekbone. “Come back to my room with me. I want to fuck you properly.”

  Well then.

  “There you are, sleepyhead. I wondered when you were going to join the living,” Aunt Lynette says as I step out onto the patio.

  “Ha-ha.” I scope the spread on the table and smile at the spinach quiche and cinnamon rolls. Man, I’ve missed the ease of these late mornings. Settling in the chair beside her, I say, “Time got away from me this morning.”

  “Did you have a good time last night?” My aunt tries to hide her nosiness behind the glass of mimosa as she takes a sip, but she doesn’t fool me any. Her eyes are alight with the curiosity of a kitten discovering a new toy.

  “We did.” I feel the blush heating my cheeks as last night replays in my mind. I’ll never be able to walk by the barn and not think of Westlyn ever again. He’s ruined the stables for me. Although, after the multiple orgasms he gave me when we got back to his bed, he may have ruined all other men for me as well. I pour myself a glass of mimosa. Screw the eleven-o’clock hour. I need a drink.

  “How’s the job searching going?” my uncle asks, officially dousing any good mood.

  “It’s going.” Although, I can’t say well. I take a deep breath and debate whether I should tell them I’m looking for jobs in New York. My aunt complained about me living in Los Angeles, stating the distance. But things have changed. They’re the ones selling out and skipping town. They no longer have a say where I live. I dive in. “I’ve applied to a few fashion magazines in New York.”

  My aunt places her wineglass down and openly gawks at me. “New York City?”

  “The one and only.” I take a sip, hoping to bypass the reasons fueling my decision.

  “But that’s so…far.”

  Yeah, I should’ve known better than to think she’d let it drop.

  “It’s where most fashion magazines reside. Besides, you’ll be traveling. The east coast will be fun to visit.”

  “You loved L.A. Why wouldn’t you want to stay there?”

  “That’s not a possibility.”

  “Why not?” The surprise in my uncle’s question makes me squirm. I’ve never lied to them. I don’t want to start now, but this is extremely embarrassing.

  “No one is going to hire me.”

  “You’re being dramatic. You’re a great worker. You can’t let some guy run you out of a city you adore,” this comes from my aunt.

  “It’s not that. Tate has shut me out from every magazine he has contacts with. Believe me. He has a lot of contacts. His smear campaign must work because not one agency has contacted me back.”

  My aunt gasps. “Surely that’s not true. You were up for a promotion.”

  “I was, but it didn’t mean I’d get it. Besides, it’s a moot point. Amanda overheard her boss talking, and long story short, Tate’s blacklisted me. It’s not a big deal if I move. New York will be a new adventure.” The lie almost sounds convincing. I don’t want to leave California. I’d miss this place. It’s my home.

  “What about San Francisco?” my aunt asks.

  “I’ve been scoping out a few places. There’s a literary agency that is looking for editors. I’ve broadened my field to include other avenues.”

  “Is there anything I can do? I’m not beneath pressing charges.”

  I love my uncle. He’s always had my back. “No, there aren’t any grounds.”

  “Slander. I can get my lawyer to file—”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” I interrupt. It will make me look even worse. Being blacklisted in L.A. is bad enough. I don’t want the entire industry to shun me.

  “What does Westlyn think about you moving to New York? Is that where he lives?”

  My mouth gapes from my aunt’s question. “Why would he have an opinion? We’re not a couple.”

  My aunt shoots my uncle a knowing look before focusing on me. “Come on, dear, we see the way you look at each other.”

  Heat flames my cheeks. “What? There’s no look.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, don’t fool yourself. You two look as if you can’t get enough of each other.”

  “It’s true. The way he eyes you…” My uncle shakes his head. “Tate never looked at you that way.”

  I blink in astonishment, completely caught off guard. There’s no point in denying it. Once they’ve made their mind up, I’d have to summon the entire energy
field of the Force to change it.

  “So, I take it Westlyn doesn’t have those shifty eyes?” I peer at my uncle with a raised eyebrow.

  “No.” He chuckles. “Not in the least.”

  Movement from the corner of my eye draws my attention to the man in question. I want to feel mortified because who knows how much he overheard, but his coal-black hair framing those definite non-shifty blue eyes stare back at me, disintegrating all worries. The only thing flitting through my mind is how incredible we were together.

  “I thought I heard voices out here.” Westlyn steps through the french doors.

  “Just in time for brunch. Are you hungry?” I grab the spare plate and scoop a heaping of quiche.

  “Ravished.” His gaze catches mine, and that tiny smirk sends my body spiraling. Oh, how I want a repeat of last night. That was certainly not a one and done kind of thing. Or, in our case, multiple ones and done. No way.

  “And there’s that look,” my aunt murmurs as he settles in the chair beside me. I fight the urge to kick her leg.

  “Have you thought about the Bollingers’ offer?” My uncle shoots me a knowing smile, and I silently thank him for the reprieve. Although, he could’ve picked a better topic to discuss. As much as I enjoy my aunt’s quiche, I’m no longer hungry.

  “Honestly, I think they’re lowballing us. And they know it, too. They’re exploiting the problems the winery suffered over the past few years and taking advantage.”

  “You’re right. I have the word out to entice other buyers, but so far, they’re the only ones who put up an official offer.”

  My lips flatten. I don’t like it at all. I take a few breaths and ponder why I dislike the offer. Is it because of the bullshit price or the family offering to buy it? Having the Bollingers run my family’s winery makes me physically ill.

  “Can we wait a while before letting them know?” I ask, wanting to buy as much time as possible.

  “Certainly. We can give it a month and see if any other offers come in.” My uncle’s eyes soften. He only agreed to placate me—defeat is written all over his face—but we have to try. It isn’t good business practice to jump on the first offer. The winery hasn’t been for sale that long.