Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  “You flatter yourself, Lee.” She tries to keep her voice cool and calm, indifferent, but I can feel her nipples harden again against my chest as I reach to untie my other shoe. I grit my teeth and somehow once again refrain from palming my poor, suffering cock. I yank at my laces even as I purposefully shift my chest against her nipples, causing her to hiss in my ear.

  “I’d be willing to bet that you’ve dreamed about me once or twice, little Jenna Harrison.” My other sock follows its partner and I ghost my lips against hers before leaning back to work at my belt buckle. “I’d bet you woke up drenched in sweat with soaking wet panties from all the nasty, filthy things I did to you in your dreams. In the dark of night, in your bed, all alone, I’d bet your nipples were hard just like they are right now.”

  A dark chuckle escapes my lips as Jenna frowns and crosses her arms defiantly over her chest. “From the look of it,” she says as her foot slides along my leg and presses firmly against my erection, “you quite like the thought of all that yourself.”

  I can’t stop my hips from flinching forward. It’s Jenna’s turn to grin.

  “From how hard you are right now, Lee,” she coos, her voice like black silk, “I’d guess it’s your fantasy that I pinch my nipples wishing it was your teeth, squeeze my own throat wishing it was your fingers, fuck my fingers wishing it was your big, fat cock.”

  Her foot rubs up and down my straining length and my breath hitches.

  “But the truth is, Lee,” she whispers, eyes dark in the haze of the bathroom, “I don’t think of you at all.”

  We stare at one another, breathing heavily, skin steaming, bodies hot and ready. My fingers wrap tightly around her ankle and I pull it up to kiss her leg. Her thigh quivers. I grin and lower her foot to move my hands to my waistband.

  “Well, sweetheart,” I whisper, half making a promise, half making a threat. “After this I guarantee you will.”

  Before those smart lips of hers can come up with some witty remark, I yank down my jeans just far enough that my cock springs free. Urgency is riding me now. We’ve been wasting time, teasing one another. Giving each other shit. I can’t wait any more. Can’t keep my dick out of her any longer.

  “Condom?” I grit out, meaning to ask, Do you have a condom in here?, but unable to get out more than the one word. She shakes her head. “I’m on the pill, so if you’re clean—”

  I’m fucking clean, and she knows it now, but not because I say it to her, because I suddenly yank open her legs with one hand, brace my other hand on the back of the tub, and despite the water and our awkward positions, thrust deep inside her. Her mouth falls open on a gasp as I pull out and push back in. Water splashes over the edge in bucketfuls, but neither of us seem to care as I fuck her.

  The tight heat of her pussy, the sting of her nails as they dig into my wrists, the water that splashes up against tits—it’s all so fucking right, so deliciously right. Her legs wrap around me and she locks her feet against my ass, pulling me tighter, deeper, harder into her. The bathroom floor is flooded and I glance for just a second at the pool of water leaking into her bedroom, but then Jenna drags her nails down my back and I lose the ability to focus on anything but her.

  “I have,” she groans, gasping for breath as she looks up at me with hooded eyes. “I have thought about this, about you.”

  “Tell me.”

  I feel myself nearing the edge and from her high pitched whimpers and the way her thighs are contracted against my ribcage, she is too. My hips are losing their rhythm as I chase release.

  “I’ve dreamed about seeing you naked.”

  Her feet kick desperately against my ass as I thrust in faster, deeper.

  “I wanted to see your cock, hard and leaking for me,” she moans and her back arches out of the now shallow water in the tub. “I wanted to see how big you are and I wanted to know how much my pussy would have to stretch to fit your whole length.”

  I groan and my head falls back as I clench my eyes shut, focusing on how she takes me so good.

  “I fantasized about sucking you off, seeing how much I could take before I choked.”

  “Fuck,” I grit my teeth. “Fuck, fuck, Jenna. I’ve wanted this, I’ve—fuck, I’m gonna—”

  “Come on my tits. I want to see your big cock come on my tits,” she gasps.

  I grunt and swiftly sit back, pulling out of her. Chest shaking, I fuck my fist as I use my other hand to rub fast, tight circles over Jenna’s clit. Almost immediately, long strings of cum shoot from my dick, falling across the heaving swells of her breasts. My gaze shoots from that beautiful sight to the even more beautiful sight of her face creased with the pleasure of her own orgasm. Yes. Fuck yes!

  Spent, I sit back on my feet as her whole body shudders then finally relaxes.

  For a minute, we don’t move and simply struggle to catch our breaths.

  Finally, she grins up at me.

  She’s so damn beautiful it kills me.

  I grin back and lazily paint circles around her nipples with my cum. “Well,” I ask, “was it everything you ever imagined it would be?”

  She rolls her eyes and tries to splash water up at me, but by this point there’s hardly any water left in the tub at all. And I have to say I’m pretty damn proud about that fact. Jenna clearly sees that pride written all over my face because she reaches up over her head and twists on the shower head which douses my back with a stream of cold water.

  Perhaps it’s meant to serve as a reality check. But I’m not quite ready for reality yet so I lean over and cup her face under the shower of water and kiss little Jenna Harrison.

  Jenna

  I kissed Lee Bowers.

  I mean, yes, I also fucked him. And he fucked me. And we fucked each other. Multiple times. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that I kissed him. And he kissed me. But as I lay here in his arms and try to worry about this problem (which is most certainly a very dire problem indeed) my mind won’t seem to focus the way I think it should.

  At work, when I need to figure out a problem, I simply close my eyes, assess the issue, and come up with a rational and straight forward solution. But when I close my eyes now, with Lee in bed beside me, his arm wrapped around my waist, his legs tangled in mine, his cheek nestled in my wet hair, all I can think about is how, after fucking me, Lee had guided me out of the tub and reached for a towel. Only I hadn’t been ready for reality to intrude so I’d jumped up to sit onto the edge of the vanity, and when I was sure he was watching, spread my legs.

  His eyes had immediately turned dark and like a predator lurking his prey, he’d stalked toward me. His thumb only had to slap my clit three times and I was ready. I gripped the faucet handles and braced my feet against the vanity as he squeezed my tits and fucked me.

  God it had been so fucking amazingly good.

  Every time with Lee had been so fucking amazingly good.

  Warmth and wetness bloomed between my legs and I squirmed in Lee’s arms. Focus, Jenna. You were worrying about how you and Lee had royally fucked up by fucking. And how you’re able to focus on stuff at work.

  When I’m having a hard time focusing during trial it usually helps me to watch the lips of the person speaking. But if I think about Lee’s lips I think about the shivers that traveled down my spine as Lee laid me down on my bed and kissed his way from the tips of my toes to my quivering folds; I'd been so eager for the heat of his tongue.

  My hands entwined in his hair. His nails digging into my thighs. The scent of sex heavy in my room. The way he flicked his tongue—

  I’ll just sleep. That’s it. I’ll just sleep. That’s always the last resort to solving a particularly prickly problem: a good night’s sleep. But the moment I try to close my eyes and let sleep take me, Lee shifts and his palm skims over my hard nipple.

  “Someone’s ready again,” he whispers in my ear and I can feel his grin. “I had no idea how horny you are.”

  I reach my hand back to caress his hard cock. “I already k
new you were a horny motherfucker,” I reply.

  “Play with my balls,” he murmurs and I giggle before dutifully complying.

  He tugs at my sensitive nipple, making me laugh, and he laughs darkly in my ear. “Don’t like it rough, Jenna?”

  I respond my pulling playfully at his ball sack and he groans. I scrape my nails against his sack with force just past the line of ‘gentle’ and his teeth sink into my earlobe. My chest stutters and I feel myself immediately growing wetter.

  “See,” he whispers, licking where he surely left teeth marks, “you do like it.”

  He twists my nipples until I moan and squirm, navigate myself on my stomach, and raise my hips. When he thrusts inside me from behind, I moan his name before I even realize what I’m doing.

  “Hmm,” he whispers as he fucks me slowly, lazily. “I like the sound of that. I want to hear that again.”

  Just to tease him, I try to keep silent, but when he pinches my nipples and thrusts harder, I moan his name, just like he wanted.

  “So pretty,” he whispers. “I want to claim every inch of you.”

  He tugs at my hair and squeezes my tits and nips at my earlobe until my hands are clutching desperately at the edge of the bed and I am begging him to fuck me faster, harder. In response, he deliberately slows down and I cry out in frustration.

  “I’d love to see you with nipple clamps,” he whispers and I come without warning.

  He fucks me through it as I scream into the pillow and rut my ass against his crotch. He continues to pound into me, grunting in time with his thrusts, and then abruptly pulls out to come all over my back. For a moment, he hovers over me, then shifts so he’s half lying on my side. He caresses my back, and I know he’s spreading his cum on me. When he reaches around and caresses my lips with his cum-soaked finger, I suck his finger into my mouth.

  “So we definitely learned you like nipple clamps.”

  I bite down on his finger and he laughs then gently spanks my ass.

  “What a surprise you are,” he mutters to himself.

  He sounds sleepy, and we both shift to our sides so that he’s spooning me.

  Almost immediately, I start to do what I hadn’t been able to focus on doing before.

  I start worrying. About what just happened. And why it just happened.

  After all these years, what had prompted Lee to come storming in my apartment, my bathroom, and step inside the tub with me?

  “Lee?”

  “Hmm,” he grumbles sleepily into the nape of my neck.

  “Lee, hey, you had wine tonight, right?” I ask. “On your date?”

  “Course.”

  That was it. An explanation that made more sense than thinking Lee had always wanted me, maybe even loved me, and hadn’t been able to hold back any longer.

  “You shared a bottle?” I asked.

  “A very nice vintage Chablis from France.” He pulls me in tighter, like a sleepy child with a teddy bear. “Very pretentious. Very expensive.”

  So half a bottle of wine. At least.

  “And she didn’t even like it,” he complains. “You would have liked it, Jenna.”

  Right. If she didn’t finish the bottle, he certainly did.

  So fine. He’d been drunk, which explains why he’d come here and fucked me.

  Mystery solved, I think to myself.

  In the morning we’ll laugh about this, drink a cup of coffee with red cheeks, avoiding each other’s eyes, and go right back to the way things were. He’ll tell me he was drunk. That he’s sorry. And I’ll insist it’s fine.

  But until then I allow myself to enjoy the protective embrace of his arms around me. I pretend like this is real, that this is the fulfillment of everything that I’ve ever wanted in life.

  I allow myself to believe he is really mine.

  8

  Lee

  I wake up to vanilla-scented hair tickling my nose. Jenna lays on her side, facing away from me in her bed. I'm surprised to see myself cuddled up next to her, when there's plenty of space on the mattress behind me to spread out. But her skin is so soft, so warm.

  I had sex with Jenna.

  Jenna.

  Jenna, whose pigtails I’d tugged on the playground. Jenna, who Bryce and I had locked out of the tree house. Jenna, who’d locked me out when she decided to make her own tree house. Jenna, who was so smart and independent and driven. Jenna, who was so untouchable.

  And here I was, finally touching her.

  I’d done more than touch her. I’d fucked her. Hard.

  She’d loved it just as much as I had.

  But what was going to happen now?

  Was what we’d done a one-night thing, or would she want more?

  Would she want to keep things casual or would she be open to seeing where things went?

  Would she give us a chance to see if she could develop feelings for me?

  Because I wanted it all. Not just her body but her heart too. I’ve wanted them for a long time. And maybe it was time I told her that. Put myself out there. Stopped being so fucking scared that she didn’t reciprocate my feelings and give her the chance to decide whether we could be more.

  Her brother Bryce wasn’t a factor. Hell, he’d pretty much told me at her birthday dinner he was okay with me finally taking my shot with her. So no more fucking excuses.

  When Jenna wakes up, we’ll talk.

  And in the meantime…

  I stifle a groan.

  With everything that had happened with Jenna, I’d managed to block out the fact some anonymous blogger had thrown down and, in doing so, had possibly fucked things up for me with the potential investors for a new restaurant. They’d emailed me and texted me and blown up my phone yesterday, as had my agent Owen Kiss, who was probably wondering why the hell he’d taken me on as client in the first place, but I’d wanted to talk to Jenna about my legal options before I dealt with them.

  I need to at least touch base, though.

  I start to reach for my phone on the bedside table, until I remember my phone isn't there. My phone is in the pocket of my pants. The pants I soaked in bathwater.

  Jenna's laptop is on the floor next to the bed. I figure she won't mind me using it, since she’s let me use it before. The mattress creaks when I lean over, and I pause to make sure Jenna doesn't wake up. Her breathing remains the same, so I snatch up the laptop and wiggle up against the pillows.

  Flipping the screen up, I move the cursor and am about to open a new tab when I see the food blog. Maybe Jenna was reading it over again for a laugh. But no… It’s different. It's not the published blog. Everything looks like it could be editable. And there's administrator privileges, which means ...

  I gawk at the tangle of hair sprawled out on the pillow next to me. Jenna sighs in her sleep.

  What the fuck?

  Jenna is the anonymous food critic who tore me a new one?

  Anger bubbles up inside me as I look from the screen to Jenna and back again, trying to add it all up. How could she do this to me? She made me a laughing stock. She opened me up to a wave of criticism and placed a spotlight on my personal life.

  She did all that with just the click of a button.

  My heart starts to pound, and my chest gets tight. A vein in my neck is pulsing and throbbing.

  I just don't get it. She’s so damn smart. She must have known all the embarrassment it would bring to me and my life's work. Had she been trying to hurt me?

  Should I shake her awake and confront her with the damning evidence? Should I just leave? Should I yell and ignore whatever lame excuse she tries to dish out? What would I say?

  Perhaps a bit of biting humor to start out with?

  Well, I guess we both got to fuck and get fucked, Jenna. Is that what you wanted?

  How could I make her feel the most terrible? The sad angle?

  I thought we were friends, Jenna. They always say the ones you love cut the deepest.

  The silent treatment? Maybe I won't say anything at al
l. Or I'll just shake my head. The 'I'm so mad I can't even speak' approach?

  I… I mean… Just what… I can't…

  The vengeful take?

  Maybe the world wants to know who this anonymous food critic phenom is, huh, Jenna?

  I'm brimming with anger and hurt and, yes, still a boner, because she just turned in her sleep and the covers just slipped from her chest and her tits are so delicious.

  I’m just about to confront her when I spot a saved draft on the menu bar. Curiosity, as well as the excuse to stare at her naked skin one more minute before laying into her, wins over. I'll just check out this draft really quick. After I read it, I'll paint a mental picture of her hair falling against the fullness of her breast to jack off to later.

  And then I'll bring the wrath of the gods down upon her like I'm Zeus flinging lightning bolts. With the youth and body of Achilles, of course. Basically, that actor Brad but better.

  I click on the little icon and a Word document pops up, filled with red zig-zags highlighting spelling errors. I listen to Jenna's even, peaceful breathing for a second, then start to read.

  This draft is also about me, my food, my life. It includes those vivid descriptions of my body. It also stings.

  But it’s much more personal. It's clearly written by someone who knows me closely. Someone who cares. Jenna wrote that she believes I can be so much more. It's harsh and critical, but behind it is a supreme hope for me and my potential.

  I’m an acclaimed chef. I'm used to flattery and praise and nonstop ooh-ing and aww-ing. I’m not used to having people push me. But Jenna sees not just who I am, but who I could be. And as I read, I realize that's who I want to be.

  I return to the original food blog page and close the screen and place the laptop back on the floor, adjusting it a little bit to get it in the exact spot. I slide back under the covers and pull her into me.