by MV Ellis
“Yep, it looks, um, okay to me. But yeah… I’ll have my lawyer look it over and get back to you. When do they need an answer?”
I think I’m pulling off the fake indifference act. I certainly sound convincing to my own ears, anyway.
“We need to get all the details for the rest of the tour nailed down like, yesterday, so we need any questions, queries, or changes ironed out, and the whole thing done and dusted by the beginning of next week—or so I’m told by the powers that be.”
“All right, that sounds good. Umm… yeah, no problem, I’ll do that. And Arlo?”
“Yeah?”
“Be honest with me. Do you really like my work, or is this just an elaborate ruse to get into my underwear?”
Now it’s his turn to look startled. Looks like I’ve shocked the unshockable Mr. Jones. I silently high-five myself. He recovers himself quickly.
“Newsflash, darlin’, I’ve already been in your underwear and beyond, so that’s a moot point.” He winks, of course.
“Touché, Mr. Jones, touché.” I return the slow round of applause that he gave me earlier.
“I’m not gonna lie—I like the idea of you being on tour with us a hell of a lot more than the thought of you knocking around here while we’re away, so that’s a definite bonus. Honestly though, I wouldn’t let just anyone shoot this, no matter how much I love being in their underwear. It’s really not about that, so stop second-guessing my motives, and your ability, and get packing.”
As he cracks out one of his fifty-billion-watt smiles, underwear all over the globe turns to cinders, including mine. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how devastatingly good-looking this man is, especially when he smiles. I need to get out of here so that I can decide what to do without being blinded by my attraction to him. I want to make this decision with my brain, not my libido.
“Okay, thanks for clarifying. And for the record, I was never questioning my ability, just your integrity.” More bravado on my part, but sometimes he’s so cocky, I just want to wipe the sexy smirk off his smug face.
“Well, I’m glad we got that straightened out, then.”
As I stand to leave, Arlo is behind me in a flash.
“Tog?”
“Yeah?”
I pivot and pretty much run face-first into that brick wall of a chest. I want to reach up and stroke it, but refrain. Instead, I stare ahead mutely, waiting for him to speak.
“Tog?” He's more insistent now.
I’m assuming the business part of our meeting is over, given that he’s back to using my nickname.
“Yeah?” This time I tilt my head to meet his eyes, and as I do, he moves quickly, lacing his hands into my hair and pulling my mouth firmly toward his. We’re immediately locked in a punishingly passionate kiss—lips and tongues ravaging each other’s. As the kiss goes on, our hands begin to roam.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to part anyone from their clothing as much as I want Arlo naked right now. Our lips separate momentarily while he removes first his own shirt, and then mine.
“Christ!” Arlo’s eyes widen as he catches sight of me standing in front of him in just my boots, bra, and short shorts.
His gaze sweeps my body several times before returning to meet mine again. That look alone is enough to stiffen my nipples to two firm pebbles.
“You’re incredible, L. Unbelievable.”
He reaches down and begins stroking my nipples through the sheer fabric of my bra. It’s ecstasy and agony all at once.
I suddenly understand what people mean when they talk about going weak at the knees—I’m starting to feel lightheaded at his touch, like my legs could give out on me. Lust sweeps over me, and I tilt my head back again, allowing Arlo access to my neck, which he hungrily accepts. He slides his hands back into my hair and gives it a tug back, raining kisses on my neck and collarbone.
“You always smell good enough to eat. When you left my bed that night, your smell was all over my sheets. I could have slept on them forever like that, just breathing in your scent, but then you changed them the next day. You’re too good at your job.”
“Arlo?”
“Yeah, babe.”
“Shut up and fuck me before I lose my mind.” Wait. Did I just say that aloud?
“I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
I definitely know what I want. I’ve never been this direct with a guy. Not that anyone could have accused me of being a wallflower before, but this is something else. Arlo seems to bring out animal instincts in me I didn’t even know I had.
His mouth has reached my breasts, which he’s freed from the flimsy confines of my bra, and is alternating between them, sucking each in turn as though eating a juicy ripe peach. He’s obviously noted that my nipples are my most erogenous area, and is making the most of that fact. What I don’t think he realizes is that he could make me come just doing this. I’m already so close.
“Come here.” He starts walking backward.
I walk toward him, and he turns me around so I’m facing the bench, then walks me closer to it, pushing my hands down onto the top. Then he quickly reaches around to the front of my shorts, undoes the button and zipper, and yanks them down along with my underwear.
It’s a shame he doesn’t get a look at my panties. For once they match my bra, and they’re hot with a capital K-I-N-K-Y—sheer all over with lace in all the right places. Oh well, next time. Wait. What am I thinking? There won’t be a next time. There shouldn’t even be this time, but I already know it’s a sure thing. There’s no way in hell I could stop now, even if I wanted to.
I register Arlo’s sharp intake of breath as he takes in the view of my naked behind. He obviously likes what he sees, with or without the matching underwear. He pushes my legs apart with his knees and strokes my wetness lightly with his forefinger. Leaning forward until his mouth is level with my ear, he whispers, “So wet for me again, I see. Hold on tight, babe, this is going to be hard and fast.”
Wet doesn’t even begin to describe what’s going on between my legs, and I’m quivering in anticipation. He pauses to reach over, pull a condom from the kitchen drawer, and roll it on—he’s nothing if not always prepared. When he slips inside me from behind moments later, my whole body is wracked with deep waves of arousal.
He wasn’t lying when he said it was going to be fast and furious. He places one hand on my shoulder, pulling me toward him, while the other massages my butt as he pounds into me, each thrust harder than the last. I need to brace myself, so I grab on to the edge of the counter for dear life. Even though his huge length fills me to the hilt, I crave more. I can’t seem to get enough of him. I reach around and grab his butt—it’s so tight, pretty much solid muscle. With each thrust, I pull him deeper.
“Arlo… Arlo…,” I pant. “Arlo… Arlo….”
It’s a chant—each word gasped out as he slams home. It’s the most frenetic sex I’ve ever experienced. Arlo stills every few thrusts, pausing while buried deep inside me. He’s trying to slow things down—I can feel him pulse and twitch inside me each time.
“Arlo… Arlo….” He’s biting and sucking along my neck now. Hard. It’s painful, but deliciously so.
“Arlo… I’m… I’m….”
“Coming!” he roars through gritted teeth as he drives into me one last time. I’m coming too, and it’s the orgasm to end all orgasms. I think I lose consciousness for a micromoment, and when I come to, Arlo is whispering against my neck, stroking stray strands of hair from my shoulder.
“I always get what I want.”
I can’t quite pick his intent from his tone, so it takes me a few moments to work out what he’s referring to, and then it clicks. Well crap, he’s right. He had me from behind, bent over the kitchen bench, just like he wanted to that first time, before I introduced the palm of my hand to his cheek. Part of me hates that he got his way, but another part of me (much bigger than the first) doesn’t give a flying fuck after the orgasm he just gifted me.
/> His mouth is still level with my ear, his voice a sexy low growl. “This was hotter than I could ever have imagined, though.”
Him and me both.
As I leave Rosemond House later that day, I grab my cell and fire off a group text to Marko and Nic.
Me: OMG! You’ll NEVER guess what just happened. We need a family meeting. PRONTO. Like yesterday or sooner.
Marko: Let me guess. You had blisteringly hot sex with a rock star? Oh wait, that was last week!
Me: Oh hahaha. Asshole. Yes I did, but that’s not it.
Nic: Bahahahaha, Marko. Too funny. I can’t guess. You need to tell us. Now!
Me: NFW. I need to tell you in person. Head to ours. Marko is cooking.
Marko: What? I can’t. I’m busy right now.
Me: “Busy.” FFS, you can tell us you’re with your girlfriend. We won’t mock you. Much. Tell Jordan you have important family business to take care of, and you’ll see her tomorrow.
Nic: GIRLFRIEND!!!! WTF people! WHO the fuck is Jordan???
Me: I’ll tell you when you’re on the couch with a glass of wine. Too much happening at the moment to spill here. We all need wine first.
Nic: Okay, heading over now. Marko, this dinner better be good, I’m fucking starving. Also, wine.
Marko: Her name is Jourdan, not Jordan, and she’s not my GF. Not even close. AND how come I always cook? Why can’t one of you two do it for once?
Nic: We don’t cook, we’re feminists. You know that.
Me: Anyway, if I cook it will take longer and taste worse. If you’re not cooking, we might as well just order pizza right now.
Marko: No more goddamned takeout. I’ll fucking do it then, like the good little housewife that I am. This had better be worth it, Wifey.
Me: Don’t worry, it IS. And even if it's not, you love me, so it's totes okes ;-)
Marko: PS - KMA you bishes
When I get home, I fill three wine glasses, then fill my two best friends in on the events of the last few hours. They’re as shocked as I am at the offer on the table. When I bring out the contract, Marko snatches it from my hands eagerly, and pores over it. He’s had a lot of experience with contracts over the years. Being as sought after as he is, he’s constantly being made offers he “can’t refuse,” though more often than not, he does exactly that.
Marko is not only an outstanding dancer, but like Arlo, he’s also shrewd financially, and a master negotiator, which is why he owns the amazing apartment we live in, and several others, while I live with him for well below market rent. He wouldn’t be taking any rent at all if I hadn’t insisted. He says it’s because he likes to know someone’s there when he’s traveling (which he does often), but I know it’s because he can’t bear the thought of me renting the kind of place that I can actually afford, now that Danny is gone and I only have one income to live on. Plus, I don’t think he likes the idea of me living alone—so this way he gets to keep an eye on me also—not that he’d ever admit it. It’s kind of funny that Arlo thinks Marko’s trying to get into my pants—he’s more like a protective big brother than anything.
On first glance at the contract, he declares it to be an essentially sound deal, but says it would need to be looked over by a professional before we could be 100 percent sure. I was totally bullshitting when I told Arlo I’d have my lawyer look at it. Not being anywhere near as senior or in demand as Marko, I’ve never needed one, so Marko says he’ll pass it on to the same firm he uses. In any case, we unanimously agree that this is an offer I can’t refuse. I’d be fool not to take it. That established, we decide to celebrate by getting thoroughly and epically wasted.
Ten
I don’t know if Arlo is avoiding me (again), but our paths don’t cross over the next few days, which is kind of a relief. While my mind is 99 percent made up that I need to take this offer, I’m glad of the time to think about it while the contract is with the lawyers, without being distracted by what’s going on in my underwear—and his.
There are some minor details to be ironed out, but once they’re dealt with, I’m ready to seal the deal. When I finally do run into Arlo, I have the signed contract in my hand. I seriously doubt that this is a coincidence—his lawyers must have told him, so he came looking for me. After a quick exchange of pleasantries, he cuts to the chase.
“What’s that in your hand?” He nods toward the contract.
“Paper. It’s the best thing for cleaning glass without smudges. I’m about to do the kitchen windows,” I deadpan, motioning toward the kitchen.
My joke is met with a blank stare and dead air. I continue hastily.
“It’s the contract, as I’m sure you could have guessed.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I could have, but it’s more fun this way,” he says with a cheeky grin.
I turn and hand it to him, and he immediately flicks to the signature page. His grin broadens.
“So my point still stands.”
“What point?” The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me—I’m already frustrated with him, and we haven’t even left the house, let alone toured the world together. Lord knows how I’m going to get through the next few months of being his shadow without throttling him.
“That I always get what I want.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go blowing your load before the porno starts, Arlo. You should know that I’ve had the lawyers add a sexual impropriety clause.”
It’s not easy to shock Arlo, but it looks like I’ve just scored an ace. The look on his face is priceless! I use the few moments of stunned silence to drink in his appearance again. Those startling emerald eyes floor me, especially at times like this, when they are alight with shock, anger, or lust. Today, his usually wavy hair is slicked back again, showing off his gorgeous features perfectly, and making his cheekbones and chiseled jaw stand out even more. That view never gets old.
“What do you mean, an impropriety clause? What the fuck?”
“Actually, it’s no fucks.” I can’t keep the smug grin from my lips.
He looks aghast. It seems his lawyers, the publisher, and his management haven’t mentioned that point to him, and he hasn’t been given the final contract to sign yet, so I know he’s not going to like what I have to say next.
“Arlo, you know my situation. This project is important to me. You said yourself that it could make or break my photography career, and as epic as it’s been so far, I don’t want a few rolls between the sheets with you to threaten its success. Despite evidence to the contrary recently, I don’t believe in mixing business and pleasure, so while I’m really going to miss the pleasure, I think it’s best that we keep it strictly business between us from now on. As you said, this isn’t about getting into my underwear, it’s about my skill as a photographer, so you should have no problem keeping it in your pants for a few weeks.”
I really wish I had my camera right now. His mouth is actually agape, jaw hanging slackly open. It’s kinda comical and kinda cute, all at the same time.
“You can’t do that,” he mutters in disbelief.
“I can, and I have. It’s for the best, trust me. This way I can just concentrate on taking great photos.”
I don’t know what I said that was so wrong, but Arlo looks as though I just shat in his sandwich.
“I also want my own room at all times.” I might as well bring out all the bad news.
“What? Of course you’ll have your own room—in some of the best hotels in the world. What do you think this is, Scout camp where we’ll all be bunking in together in dorms? Now you’re just being ridiculous!”
“No, actually, I’m not, Arlo. If you’d have given me half a chance to finish, I could have explained what I meant. I want my own space—completely separate to yours. That means no sharing suites, even if I’d have my own room within the suite, and definitely no interconnecting doors.”
I want to be able to go back to my room to escape and chill when I need to, and I can hardly do that with Arlo strutting around in all h
is perfect glory in the adjoining room. Not to mention that I absolutely do not want to be overhearing his bedroom antics. We might not be a thing, but that doesn’t mean I want to listen to him dipping his pen into someone else’s ink.
“I’m surprised you’re agreeing to this at all, given that it seems like anywhere near me is the last place on earth you want to be.”
I can see how it would seem that way to him, but this isn’t about punishing him, or even avoiding him. It’s about protecting me.
“But while we’re on the subject, if you’ve got a no screwing rule, I want a no booty shorts rule, too.”
“Don’t look like that,” I interject. “You can have sex until your doodle falls off, just not with me.”
“Whatever.” His tone is dismissive, but his manner is anything but, his poker face seems to have deserted him for once. Man, he’s pissed.
“What? You don’t even wear booty shorts.” I grin. Okay, I’m having way too much fun with this now.
“Not me! I’m talking about you not flaunting your fine ass cheeks for all to see in those tiny shorts you wear. Tour crews are about 1001 percent testosterone, especially after a few weeks on the road. Those animals won’t be able to see straight, let alone think straight with you looking like that 24/7. So I want an ‘appropriate attire’ clause put into the contract also.”
He’s deadly serious, which is a shame. I can’t stifle the peal of laughter that slips out as he stands there pouting.
“Firstly, my shorts aren’t that short,” I start.
“Yes, they are. Not that I’m complaining, but if I can’t have you, I don’t want the guys looking at what you ate for breakfast, either.”
Gross.
What a hypocritical double standard. He had no issues with my shorts when he was the one perving on me in them. This coming from a guy who seems to see his own clothing as optional most of the time.
“Secondly, and more importantly,” I plow on, despite his remarks, “I’m sure your lawyers will advise you that as a contractor, I could sue for sexual harassment and/or or sexual discrimination for comments like that, so watch yourself.”