by Huss, JA
"A family," I say, a little breathless now because what he's doing, this serious conversation combined with the sensual lovemaking, is making my heart pound.
"Yes. I'm done, Rook. I can live off the money I've made for decades. I'm ready to do something else. Start something new."
"Well, how is that a problem for us?" I ask, lifting up and slipping down on him. It's his turn to become breathless. "I'm not against the idea, you know."
He smiles as his hand reaches up to cup my breast.
I shiver again, but this time it's a good one.
"Not against the idea is not the same as on board." His fingers stop and his hands wrap around my waist as he slides me back and forth across his lap. My whole body flushes with heat and I tip my head back and close my eyes.
"I'm looking for a partner."
I swallow. "I'd like to be that partner, but—"
He waits.
I open my eyes. He's watching me very closely, his hands still gliding over my body, slowly—so, so slowly. My clit throbs against his friction.
He waits.
"I'm scared too, Ronin. But of very different things."
He wraps his arms around me completely and buries his face in my neck, tasting the water on my skin left over from the misting shower spray. "I'll take care of you, Rook."
I take a deep breath and let it out. "I want you to take care of me, Ronin."
His palms slide up underneath my wet hair and then he fists it, just a little, like a claim. It makes me hesitate, but then he pulls me forward until my cheek touches his. "Then let me, just let me put it all together for us. I can make you happy."
Our rocking becomes thrusting, just small movements at first, and then more forceful. I lift up and then ease down on him, making him growl a little. I smile at that, do it again, then again. His left hand fists my hair just as the other slips down to my neck, not a squeeze, but a gentle full palming against my throat, soft and light.
I don't panic at this move. He's done it before and it's always this gentle.
I know him now.
His hand continues down to my breast where he squeezes my nipple until I turn into his mouth and his tongue flicks against mine. My whole body is aching with these small touches. My hips continue their movement, but now I lean forward and then pull back, resting my forearms on his muscular shoulders as I rub myself against him.
He knows me now, too. He knows what I want, what I like. His fingers leave my breast and trace down my stomach, stopping at my crease. He slides his thumb back and forth against that tender spot and I bite my lip as the pleasure rockets up my body.
His other hand drags down my back and slips under my ass, urging me to lift up higher and rock down with even more force.
I let him guide me because even though I'm on top, he's in control.
He's always in control.
He pushes his thumb against my clit, hard, then soft again, repeating the pattern, knowing it drives me wild. I can feel the wave building in me and he does too, so he pulls back and makes me whimper.
"No, Ronin. Stay where you are."
He laughs softly into my ear, his breath hot. My whole back arches, opening myself up to him and then his thumb is back, pushing and making the little nub pulsate against him. He leans down as my arching back thrusts my breasts up to him, and he responds to the invitation by sucking on a nipple.
I lose it. The pulsations turn into short bursts, then explosions. He rocks me up and down harder, more forcefully, then growls against my neck, biting me just hard enough to make me squeal when he releases into me.
We stay still for a second, breathing hard, our hearts hammering against each other.
"Mmmmm," I say.
"Mmm-hmmm," he responds. "I'll make you a deal, Gidget."
I push my face into his neck, my tongue playing with his earlobe. "What deal?" I say, my blow of breath just enough gets a tiny shiver out of him.
"You don't pose with anyone else but me and I won't pose with anyone else but you."
"Oh, I like that deal. That deal sounds like a deal."
"And after this contract, we walk away from modeling."
I sit up straight and look down at him. "Serious? But what about Antoine? Your job here?"
"I actually do have a degree, Rook. I didn't go to college to be King of the Closet, it was just too good of an opportunity to pass up. But we can talk about it after this contract is over, OK? Forget about everything and let me handle it. Can you do that?"
I let out a huge sigh of relief. After yesterday I'm not sure being in control of everything is the way to go. Sure, I still like making my own decisions, but I'm an amateur in this business. Everyone seems to be in on the joke besides me. It would be so much better to let Ronin deal with things.
"I can do that."
He kisses me on the nose and slaps my ass, the smack echoing off the shower walls. That probably shouldn't make me giggle, but it does.
He grins at me with a knowing smile. "All right then, let's go get this job over with, then we can do this again when I wash all that paint off you."
Chapter Seventeen - Rook
Everything about this day is different. The mere presence of Ronin changes attitudes and actions. Ford never appears in the art studio and the camera and sound guys are never even supposed to get within ten feet of me. "They have zoom lenses for a reason, Rook," is what Ronin says. Plus, and this really makes me feel stupid, they're not even allowed to shoot me full frontal during painting, only when I'm on exhibition.
That phrase sucks, by the way.
Ronin knows all this stuff and I don't. Of course, I should probably be mad he didn't warn me, he is my manager. But whatever. It was my fault for not reading the contract properly. Pretty much everything about this contract is my fault for that reason alone.
Ronin sits off to the side as Spencer paints me up. Spencer is the same, he was never out of bounds during painting. And this outfit is quite interesting.
"Have you done this one before, Spence? You're quick this time."
He looks up from painting the sparkly sequins on the bodice and winks. "I painted Veronica up like slutty Elvis about a dozen times."
"Veronica, that's the girlfriend who didn't get the job?"
"Yeah, we did the Elvis Fest in Vegas last year. She won a pretty big costume contest, even though she's a girl and she wasn't even wearing a costume. That was hysterical, people were pissed. But hey, you can't deny the talent of these fingers."
I look over at Ronin and he's smiling and shaking his head.
"Do you miss her?"
He stops painting. "Little bit. But not enough to give her a job as the Shrike Girl just because she's my girlfriend. And it pissed me off that she wanted that contract so bad she'd fight with me over it. I liked her for her, she liked me for Shrike Bikes."
I have nothing to say to that. I doubt it's true because Spencer is very good-looking and he seems like a funny and easy-going guy, but what do I know? Maybe she's a total gold-digger and he's right?
"Anyway," Spencer continues, "I've painted this outfit more than any of the others. And the bike that goes with it is pretty fucking cool as well."
"Does the bike have a cape?"
He laughs. "No."
"Do I get a cape?"
"Yes."
"Oh, I like that. I'm like a super-sexy naked Elvis girl."
"Yeah, and thanks to your temper tantrum last night, I get Ronin the supermodel as your Elvis counterpart for free." Spencer looks over at Ronin, clicks his tongue, and shoots him with his finger.
"Right," Ronin replies. "But from now on the only lap super-sexy naked Rook will be sitting in is mine." He shoots Spencer back. "So I win."
Spencer mumbles under his breath.
"Are you guys friends again?"
Mumbles from both of them.
"OK, let's change the subject. Let's talk about Ford. Why don't Ronin and Ford get along?" I hear people muttering behind me, back where Director L
arry is with Ford. "What'd Ford do?"
No one wants to tackle that one because all I get is silence.
"OK, moving away from things that require you men to talk about your feelings. How'd you get started doing this painting stuff, Spence?"
"Took art since I was a kid. But you know how you were born looking like a model?"
"Yeah." That's true too. I didn't do anything to look this way. It's just how it is.
"Well, I was born to paint up naked girls. That's the only explanation I have for it. I know how to do it, I know how to mix up colors, and I see perspective. I've taken lots of classes and even did a fancy summer apprenticeship with a big-name trompe l'oeil body paint artist. She was pretty cool and she never took students, but my dad paid her well, and I wasn't too stupid—her words, not mine. Plus, she was French, and I already spoke French by that time, thanks to Ronin. But, mostly, I just always knew how to do this shit, Rook. Everyone has one God-given gift and painting naked girls is mine. Maybe I'm not curing cancer, but whatever. This is what I got, so I just needed someone to point me in the right direction and show me how to use the gift."
"So you majored in art at school?"
He almost snorts. "No, are you kidding? My old man is a filthy rich bastard, but private university prices for finger-painting was beyond even his wasteful tendencies."
"So what'd you major in?"
He looks up at me. "Business, what else? You can't run a business without knowing what the fuck you should do with it."
"Well, you're pretty good at this business stuff, Spence. You have a lot going on professionally. What'd you major in, Ronin?"
Ronin just smiles, like he's keeping a secret.
"What was it, Spencer? Accounting, right?" I look over at Ronin and wink. "Spencer the Businessman Biker and Top Model Ronin the Accountant. Seems about right."
"Marketing," Ronin says. "I majored in marketing. And that's what I'm gonna do when we quit after this contract."
"Quit?" Spencer is appalled. "You're not quitting, are you, Rook?"
"Afraid so. We're done. Gonna buy a minivan and get desk jobs."
Spencer looks over to Ronin. "Did you do this on purpose?"
"Do what?" I ask.
Spencer stands up and puts a hand towards my face. "Hold on, Rook." He walks over to Ronin. "Did you talk her out of the next deal I was gonna offer? That was confidential."
"I didn't talk her out of anything, Spencer. And as far as I know, she has no idea what the next deal is."
"What deal?"
Spencer ignores me. "I told you, motherfucker. I wanted her for all the deals."
Oh shit, what just happened?
"And I told you, she's my fucking girlfriend. She's not a goddamn toy to parade around your shop for the next few years."
"Wait, what?"
Spencer takes a deep breath and then comes back to me. "OK, Rook, since Asshole over there pretty much ruined the surprise, I might as well tell you. If they like how things go in Sturgis and we give them a compelling reason to believe this show will fly, they're gonna offer us a twelve-episode season contract and we'll start filming in September. What we're doing right now is the two-hour pilot. It's a test, really. So if we got that deal, I was gonna ask you to come work for me up in the shop."
"Doing what? Sitting in the showroom naked?"
"Not the showroom, the shop. Where I build the bikes."
"But I don't build bikes, Spencer, so what would my job be?"
"Parts girl. You're like a pick-up girl, drive around and get us stuff, drop frames and tanks off at the painters, answer the phone and talk to clients."
"Hmmm." I think about it. I picture myself doing all that normal boring stuff, then look over at Ronin. "It's not modeling. Are you against this?"
I can tell by the look on his face he is, but he's in professional mode right now. "We'll talk about it in private, Rook."
Spencer growls at that answer but just goes back to work on the belt. The rest of the session is very quiet and very tense, but he was almost done anyway, so we're ready for Antoine before it gets old.
This time Ronin is the one who walks me upstairs.
If Elvis was a bike, he'd be this bike. It's even got lights on it—all sorts of gold and white and blue lights, and of course it's painted white, just like the outfit I'm wearing. I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and I look so much better than I did yesterday in those bikinis. This outfit is like Elvis if he were a girl and he had on a sexy one-piece bathing suit covered in gems instead of a bell-bottomed jumpsuit. I have the huge sparkly belt, the long pointed collar wrapping around my neck, and just as I'm starting to wonder where the cape is, Ronin appears and shakes it at me.
"Sexy, huh?"
I nod. It really is.
"OK, Rook. Sit for Josie and I'll go change and get ready."
Oh, my heart flutters at that. Ronin in a costume. Josie is watching me as I approach and take my seat in her chair.
"Yeah," she says. "No offense, I'm not sure if you're the jealous type, but seeing Ronin dressed up for his jobs is like the best perk this place has."
I laugh. "Well, I probably should be jealous, but I'm too busy picturing him all up as Elvis!"
We giggle at that and suddenly I wonder if Josie and I could be friends. She starts brushing my hair and I decide to fill in the silence.
"Are you married, Josie?"
"Thirteen years now," she says brightly. "So when you finally meet my husband, hush on the fawning over Ronin stuff. All the boyfriends and husbands around here think us girls are secretly in love with Ronin." She winks. "But it's no secret, Rook. We are!"
I laugh at that too. I can see why. Ronin is a total catch. "Do you have kids, Josie?"
"Four."
"Really? But you look so young and I'd never be able to tell, you're so tiny and cute."
"You have the model genes and I have the baby-making genes." She shrugs. "I like it, so I'm not bitter about starting out as a teen mom. My husband was my high-school sweetheart. We weren't all that bright and well, let's just say I wasn't partying on my graduation night, I was seven months pregnant.
"We got married, and you'd think we were doomed, but it all worked out. I went to beauty school and landed a job here with Antoine and Elise almost right away. And we own a tow-truck business. That's how I met Elise, actually. She was the night dispatcher for us around the same time she was trying to decide if Antoine was the right guy for her. She said she'd give him a chance if he gave me a chance. I was just getting ready to graduate beauty school, no experience or references. And, well, the rest is history."
She's standing in front of me doing makeup and I can just tell she's thinking about her life. All the years that she's spent here in this studio. How Elise changed her luck, maybe.
"Elise is a good person, isn't she?"
Josie smiles. "She's the best, Rook. The absolute best."
I knew this the day I met her. Before she offered me the fake shampoo girl job and saved me from homelessness. I knew Elise was nice by the way she talked to me when she took me into her salon and washed my hair.
But it would've been so great to get a second opinion from someone I trusted. It would've been nice to go grab coffee with a best friend or a mom so I could run everything by them first.
Since I don't have a mom—and even if she was still alive she'd be the last person to ask for advice—and since I have no friends to double check my decisions with either, I decide to trust Josie's opinions instead. Almost everyone who works for Antoine and Elise has worked here for a significant amount of time. I think that counts as a reference.
Chapter Eighteen - Rook
Ronin is hot.
Ronin is so fucking hot dressed up as Elvis, I can't keep my hands off him as we sit here on the amazing Shrike Elvis bike. The lights are blinking, Antoine's camera is going crazy, the shutter snapping like wild as he captures this mood we're in, and I'm about to abso-fucking-lutely lose control.
My fi
ngertips trace down Ronin's chest, then begin unbuttoning his shirt.
"I never knew you had a thing for Elvis, Gidge," Ronin says playfully.
I lick my lips as his hands slip inside my cape and grab my ass. I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing on this bike, but no one seems to care that we're just sitting here flirting. The camera keeps clicking and the one time I managed to pry my eyes away from Ronin I-am-sexier-than-Kurt-fucking-Russell-in-3000-Miles-to-Graceland and glance at Spencer, his teeth are practically glinting in the sunshine, that's how big his smile is.
He catches my gaze. "Now this, Rook, is what I'm talking about. I'm gonna sell a shitload of bikes with this shoot!"
I continue my task of undressing Ronin, ignoring Ronin's question about Elvis and Spencer's remark about sex selling bikes, but Ronin's still talking. "I mean, shit, Gidge, I might have to wear a costume everyday if this is what it does to you."
I laugh a little, but nothing will deter me from getting him out of this shirt right now. The last button comes undone and I slip the shirt down his shoulders a little. I suddenly notice Antoine's positive remarks. Of course, I don't understand them, but his tone is pretty clear. He's happy with my performance today as well.
I go for that big belt next, unclasping it and letting it drop to the floor with a thud, then drag the shirt down his arm, the pads of my fingertips caressing his biceps as they fall with the shirt sleeve.
He withdraws his arm and then I repeat this move on the other side, so the shirt drops to the floor next to the belt.
Now we're both naked on top, but being dressed up in paint makes it hard for me to consider myself nude. I feel dressed.
Overdressed, in fact.
As is Ronin.
When I look up Ronin's eyebrows are lifted up to his forehead. "What?"
He stretches out, easing himself down on the back fender, blue and yellow light flickering against his face. "Go for it, Gidge."
I lean down on his chest, moving forward just a little, just enough to tease myself, then sit back up, the palms of my hands dragging along his chest, across his abdomen, and then to the snap on his Elvis pants.