The Sham

by Stella Gray

  I decide that I kind of love it. It’s sexy, different, and totally glam. And the perfect party outfit for a club opening with my bestie.

  Luka still isn’t home by the time my Uber arrives. It crosses my mind to let him know that I’m leaving for the evening, but he never extends me that courtesy, so fuck it. I give myself one last look in the entryway mirror—the same Luka and I had stood before not long ago—and smile. I look positively slutty. Raising my middle finger, I pretend it’s him I’m giving it to.

  Take that.

  Mateo meets me with a hug at the door of the club.

  “Look at you, little miss Studio 54!” he teases.

  “Is this okay?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. “I look like a disco ball.”

  “Okay? You look fucking amazing,” he says, and ushers me in like he’s got VIP access—which it turns out he does.

  “How’d you get in on opening night?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the mile-long line of hot young things still waiting behind the velvet rope. “Is this a paid appearance, or…?”

  “Sleeping with both the club manager and CEO at the same time has it benefits,” he laughs, nudging me with a swish of his hip as he pulls me inside.

  Music thumps straight through me, strobe lights bursting into shards of color all over the darkened room. I head for the bar, but Mateo shakes his head no and pulls me out onto the dance floor. We’re immediately swallowed by swaying, gyrating bodies as the music shifts to an even louder song with more bass. The crowd cheers and I forget about alcohol long enough to dive into the music with Mat. We used to go dancing often in LA and then head home to crash on the couch and eat tacos we picked up from a parking lot food truck at 3 a.m.

  What I wouldn’t give for those good old days.

  The crowd suddenly parts and the flash of a camera takes me by surprise. I spin to find two photographers working the room, snapping pics as they mill through the crowd.

  “Hey, is that the model who’s marrying the younger Zoric?” someone yells.

  “Uh-oh,” Mateo drawls. “You’ve been recognized.” He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in.

  “Brooklyn, can we get a picture?” someone else is shouting now. “Brooklyn, over here!”

  I initially freeze because I’m not sure what to do. Mateo nudges me. “Do you want the pictures to look terrible? You’re a professional, girl. Smile!”

  Suddenly on autopilot, I manage to paste on a huge grin just as the photog snaps a few rapid-fire pictures. Mateo spins me around and pulls me back into his arms. We bump chests and I laugh. He kisses me on the cheek, clearly loving the media attention more than me. He’s a pro. I’m used to being in front of the camera, but not out in public. Luckily, the photographers snap a few more pictures of Mateo and me and then work their way back through the crowd.

  I sigh in relief when they leave. “Okay. I really need a drink now.”

  We head to the bar, order, and find a spot at the end to sip our drinks in peace while watching the crowd.

  “I really needed this tonight,” I say over the noise. Mateo moves closer to hear what I’m saying.

  “Continued trouble in paradise?” he asks around a drink, lifting his brows.

  “You could say that.”

  The club gets more packed by the minute, and soon bodies are pressed in all around us. Disappointed at the lack of privacy, I move away, thinking Mateo will follow. But he’s watching the crowd, moving his body to the beat of the music, totally oblivious to my exit.

  He probably wants to dance and mingle and find his hookup for the night. My need to vent about my personal life is obviously holding him back. I hug a wall and sip the rest of my drink, and he finally makes his way over to me after getting another drink and double fisting it.

  “So tell me what the hot asshole is up to now,” he says.

  “Luka?” Silly of me to ask. Who else would he be talking about? “Well, what do you want to hear about first? How he humiliated me at the Danica Rose launch party, or ruined my first ever national shoot by being a raging dick to the photographer and the stylist?”

  “Ooh, raging dick. My favorite. That one first.”

  I tell him how he acted in front of Hans and Ady and the assistant. “He refused to let me wear the vintage lingerie. And then he flipped out when the photographer suggested I go nude.”

  His eyes flash. “Nude, huh? Sounds like he’s a bit jealous at the thought of you stripping in front of someone else.”

  I roll my eyes. “There were three people there, and they were all professionals.”

  Mateo shivers. “Sounds like my kind of fun. So, what did you end up wearing?”

  Setting my empty glass on a table, I say, “After my hair and makeup was done, Luka wrapped me in a silk robe, like one of those old-fashioned Oriental ones, and set me on the couch. He opened it just enough to bare one of my shoulders. How scandalous, right?

  “And then?”

  “Nothing. That’s it. I got to bare one shoulder.”

  “What about later? Did you bare anything else when you got home? The caveman thing can be a pretty big turn-on…” He takes a long suck on his straw, eyeing me with hope.

  I laugh. “You’re terrible. No, Mateo, nothing when we got home. I was too pissed to even think about it. I wanted to punch him in the face.”

  I want to tell him about angry limo sex, but I don’t. His eyes are glassy, and he’s got that excited edge he gets when he’s on the prowl. Just like with Luka, sex is Mateo’s main motivator.

  “I bet he likes it when you’re mad.” Mat winks at me. His eyes narrow as if he’s reading my mind about angry limo sex. “I also bet Luka is a beast when he’s pissed. Probably just throws you down and fucks you silly until he gets all that hot rage out.”

  Okay. That’s the end of my night. When Mat gets like this, I turn him loose to go have some fun before his balls explode, or else all that sexual energy of his gets directed at me. Disappointment fills me. This was fun, and I’m glad I got to blow off a little steam on the dance floor, but it wasn’t quite the one-on-one time I needed.

  “I’m gonna ago,” I tell Mateo, gesturing toward the exit.

  “Hey,” he says, grabbing my shoulder. “Let me just throw this out there. I am all in to be the filling in an angry Luka-and-Brooklyn sandwich. I’ll do the filling; I’ll take the filling. Whatever, I don’t care. Just let me know if you ever want to open things up for a third party.”

  “Seriously, Mateo? God!” I spin on my heel and take out my cell, opening the Uber app. “Call me when you’re sober.”

  “Brooklyn—”

  I whirl back on him, still angry. “I’d rather be holed up in my room alone than have to listen to this. I came out tonight because I needed my friend, and instead I get…this. Thanks for nothing.” I give a last, halfhearted wave and weave my way through the crowd.

  “I’m sorry!” I hear him holler as I make my way to the door.

  I sink into the seat in my Uber, picking at the hem of my silly shiny dress. I can’t wait to take it off and bury myself in a pile of bubbles in a bubble bath. I check my cell for anything from Luka. Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing. It’s really late, and I wonder if he’s finally home.

  The penthouse is quiet when I walk in and put my clutch on the entry table. Turning on a light in the living room, I’m startled to find Luka standing at the living room windows. He turns and holds out his cellphone to display a photo of Mateo kissing me on the cheek, both of us grinning like maniacs.

  Luka’s eyes are steely and cold.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t my soon-to-be wife, sneaking back in after a night out with another man.”

  Luka

  Chapter 18

  “Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?” I growl, using every ounce of my self-control to keep my hands at my sides.

  I’m so angry—no, enraged—that I can barely think straight. Imagine my surprise when my phone started blowing up with social media not
ifications about my fiancée whoring it up on the dance floor of some club with another man’s lips all over her.

  I know it’s her friend Mateo. But the rest of the world doesn’t.

  Besides, no man’s mouth should be anywhere on her body.

  Only mine.

  Mine.

  “You don’t own my body,” she says, copping an attitude and throwing a hand on her hip.

  She thinks I don’t own her? She’s about to learn otherwise. I storm toward her. She lifts her chin and holds her ground, watching me approach. How can she be so calm in the face of the storm I’m creating? I want to punch something. To take her in my arms and show her just how much I own every inch of her skin. I stop before I touch her, keeping enough space between us that I don’t do something stupid, like tear that damn silver dress off her perfect body.

  “Your image is owned by me, in case you’ve forgotten, and I have the contract to prove it,” I tell her. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re out at a club or on a set—the same rules apply.”

  Brooklyn’s jaw clenches. “Mateo asked me to go to an opening with him, so I went. It wasn’t an official public appearance.”

  “Oh really? Because it looks pretty official to me.”

  I flip through the images of her on the dance floor, holding them at an angle so she can see. They’re still popping up all over social media, one after the other. She’s not looking at the photos, though. She’s looking at me, as if waiting for my next move.

  I thrust the phone closer so she has to look. “I didn’t give you permission for this.” A picture of Brooklyn laughing, drink in her hand, half of her perfect breast exposed, has me especially angry. “And what about this, huh? Did I approve this?”

  She glares at me. “Did you approve what? I don’t need your permission to go out with a friend, Luka.”

  “You put yourself in a public space without any of my input into your creative choices, or the setting.”

  She scoffs at me. “Creative choices? You’re being ridiculous.”

  I take a step back and gesture to her dress. She looks down at herself, then back at me with confusion. I know that I’m being a dick, but I don’t care.

  “Image is everything right now,” I insist. “Your image tonight was all wrong.” I lean in toward her, but she shifts back, diverting the touch she thought was coming. Her aversion only flames my anger.

  “The club choice was a mistake,” I go on. “Did you even think to research the place before you made a public appearance? I’m guessing not, or you would have known that the owner recently got out of prison for running cocaine in the pockets of underage girls. How’s that for DRM’s stellar new image?”

  Her face pales a little.

  “And what about this outfit?” I say, gesturing at the dress. “Do you really think this was the best choice? Don’t get me wrong, Brooklyn, you’d look stunning in a paper bag, but silver isn’t your best color.” I tap a finger to the base of her throat. She eyes me but doesn’t move. Her cheeks color with anger. Good. Let her get pissed.

  “I would have put you in gold, to show off your burnished skin. Play up your golden glow.” I look at the photos again and shrug. “The background was fine, your co-star? Less so. Mateo might be hot shit right now, but nobody’s going to remember his name in five years. He’s second-rate at best and does nothing for your image.”

  Her eyes flash knives at me and I smirk, knowing that I got under her skin. Professionally speaking, Mateo is a very attractive man—he didn’t skyrocket to fame for no reason. I’m straight as you can get, but it’s part of my job to know good looks.

  The truth is, I’m lying. Brooklyn’s best friend looks great beside her. Almost as good as I do when she’s on my arm. They’re happy in these photos, their body language demonstrating how much they’re enjoying each other, how comfortable they are together.

  It burns me to see her so damn happy in another man’s arms. They clearly have an effortless, undeniable chemistry between them—hell, the huge smiles on their faces as they dance together would be very appealing if this photo was a shampoo advertisement, but that’s beneath Brooklyn’s talent.

  Besides, I can think of much better ways to have her posed. With me. I should have been on the dance floor with her, behind her while she grinded that round, tight ass against my cock. In front of her, holding her tight enough that I could feel her nipples through our clothes. I should be on top of her right now, commanding and dominating her body.

  Heat ripples through me, making my cock twitch. Her eyelids flutter, the flush on her face fading from angry red to soft, aroused pink. I know that color…I know that expression and the set to her lips. She cocks her head and takes another step back. The wall is directly behind her and she leans her ass against it, placing one hand palm down on the wall next to her. Her other hand slides up the center of her body before going up and over her head.

  “Maybe I’m not the model you’re looking for, then,” she taunts. Her breasts thrust out as she moves her arm higher and pretends to relax with the wall supporting her. “Maybe I’m not the right image.”

  She knows exactly what she’s doing by redirecting me from my anger with her body. My temper starts to wane as I wander toward her. “Oh, you’re definitely the right model.” I pull my cellphone out again and open the camera, snapping a few pictures as she gazes into the lens. “You just look better here. In this light. In front of my eyes.”

  “Oh really?” she asks, her voice throaty and turned on.

  I don’t take time to overthink it. “Put both hands palms down against the wall by your hips and lean forward. One shoulder higher, and look up.”

  She blinks twice and slowly moves her hands along the wall to do as I ask. With a little push, she leans slightly forward and tosses her hair over one shoulder, then flicks those smoky eyes up toward the ceiling. I keep the camera clicking the whole time, moving closer so I can get a better shot of her cleavage. God, her tits are fucking perfect. I want them free so I can see her hard pink nipples on my screen.

  “Untie the straps of your dress and let the top fall down.”

  She lifts her chin, eyeing me with a combination of defiance and lust. A long beat of hesitation passes before she pushes away from the wall and slowly reaches behind her neck. She unties the knot and the silvery fabric slips down loose over her breasts. She catches it with one arm across her chest, waiting for me to take another photo, and then she lets it fall.

  “Perfect,” I breathe, ignoring the tightness in my pants. “Now lean back.”

  She does, her bare breasts bouncing as her back hits the wall. “Like this?”

  I nod, snapping a few more pictures.

  “Bend your right knee and put your foot on the wall,” I go on, directing her. “Arms above your head.”

  She complies, the blush on her face deepening. I know that if I thrust my hand between her legs right now, I’d find her soaked and swollen for me. I’m strung so tight that I can barely work the camera as I take a few more photos.

  “Now look at me,” I say. “Like you want to fuck me.”

  She looks directly at me and I reposition the camera to catch what I’m seeing, her big, dark eyes so telling of her desire. Then she moves her head a touch, lining up better with the angle, and then flashes me a look so hungry it makes my breath catch.

  “Take the dress all the way off now, and hold your tits in your hands.” My voice is ragged with lust, but she never breaks eye contact as she complies.

  Suddenly, gorgeously naked, Brooklyn spreads her legs apart and squeezes both breasts into one hand, exposing her entire body to me as I capture her image.

  I walk toward her, taking a few more until I can’t go any further. Taking her chin in my hand, I direct her gaze to the last picture that I took.

  Her cheeks are perfectly pink, her eyes heavy with desire.

  “Did Mateo make you look this good? Did he make your cheeks glow like that?”

  She lets out a breath as
I run my hand down her body and cup her between her legs. She jumps with a little moan. It’s exactly what I expected. She’s perfectly soaked. I lean into her until I’m whispering in her ear. “Did he make your pussy this swollen?”

  She moans again and I pull her away from the wall and gently push her to her knees. “Remember when you said I don’t own your body? Your pussy just admitted otherwise.”

  I unfasten my button and pull down the zipper so my jeans hang open. A small grin tugs at the corners of her mouth as she looks up at me, but it fades fast as if she didn’t intend for me to see it. Too late. She loves this game as much as I do.

  “You’re going to suck me off,” I tell her, angling the camera just so. “And I’m going to show you how good you look doing it.”

  Her throat moves as she swallows, and then she turns her attention to taking my cock out of my pants. The phone is unsteady in my hand as she wets her lips and takes me between her lips, wrapping her tongue around me.

  Clenching my eyes with the first roll of pleasure, I enjoy the hot suction of her mouth for a few minutes before I focus the camera again. She pulls back, the tip of my cock on her tongue, the shaft glistening as she looks up at me. I take the picture, then another. And another. Until she’s working fast and hard, with long, wet pulls that have my balls tightening faster than ever and I forget all about taking pictures.

  “Fuck yeah,” I groan, gripping her hair in my free hand and pumping my hips, thrusting back and forth in her mouth. The light scrape of her teeth against my shaft is a fine line between pleasure and pain. She sucks hard, bobbing her head as I push in deeper and hit the back of her throat. I glance down and see she’s taken me all the way to the balls, moaning softly. Fuck.

  “That’s good,” I encourage her. “So good.”