by Stella Gray
“I like it when you’re possessive, Brooklyn.”
“You do?” I’m so breathless, I can barely get the words out.
He parts my lips and his tongue slicks across my clit. I cry out and have to brace one hand against the door to steady myself. Luka storms a crazy assault on my clit, his tongue lapping and swirling and flicking until I can barely control the volume of my cries. Clenching my jaw to keep from screaming, I sink into the sensations he’s causing and ride them as they flood my body, grinding my pussy against his hot, hungry mouth, until we find a rhythm.
The edge of my release wraps around me and I tense, ready to welcome it.
“I’m gonna come,” I moan.
Luka pulls away. I’m barely aware of anything except the sudden loss. I’m about to protest when I hear the sound of his zipper, and my heart rate doubles as I realize he’s about to fuck me. Yes. He grips my waist and hitches me up, urging my thighs around his waist. The fat tip of his cock nudges at my wet opening, and all the heady sensations come flooding back.
I want to come so badly, yet I crave the overpowering feel of his thick cock inside me.
“I want you to always be possessive of me,” he breathes against my lips. “Show everyone who gets to take this cock every day.”
“Yes,” I murmur against his mouth, in between kisses. “Yes, yes, yes. Give it to me.”
He thrusts up inside me, hard and deep, filling me completely in one strong move. I can’t hold back my jagged moan as I dig my nails into the fabric of his shirt to clutch his shoulders. Slipping a hand between us, he finds my clit and begins slow circles around it as he thrusts. His movements are careful, as if he’s gauging the level of my pleasure so he can build on it. And it’s working. He’s so good, he knows exactly how to jack me up, higher and higher, until the pressure inside me is so strong I need to scream or come, or both, to relieve it.
“Oh, God,” I moan. It’s definitely working.
His lips find the side of my neck, an intimate touch that he drags along the sensitive flesh as his cock and fingers drive me toward the edge again.
“Fuck me, Luka,” I pant. “Fuck me, fuck me.”
“You’re mine,” he growls, picking up the pace. “Your body is mine. This pussy is mine.”
“Yes. Yes.”
The tension between my legs is painful. I need…I need…
“Tell me I’m yours, Brooklyn. Like you’re screaming it so every woman in this building knows it.”
I loop my hands around his neck. “You’re mine…you’re fucking mine, Luka Zoric.” My voice is aggressive, feral. I’ve never heard myself sound like this before.
“And you’re mine,” he says. “All mine.”
Our mouths find each other in the dim light, hot and desperate and almost violent. I feel myself start to break apart and I can’t hold back. “Oh, God,” I murmur.
My release crashes over me, pulsing in deep shockwaves, leaving me shuddering. Luka groans softly into my neck, his body going tight as he pumps his final release into me.
We’re holding each other tight, our breaths mingling, our moans echoing each other’s. Emotions flood me, unbidden. I don’t recognize them as anything except…they’re something new. Something…different. My chest goes tight with whatever it is as Luka gently lowers me to my feet. My arms are still around his neck and I lean into him, closing my eyes as I listen to his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t speak, just lets me hold him, stroking my lower back.
Finally, I pull away. I have no idea what that was. I’m not sure I want to.
He finds some tissues and carefully tidies me up, even pulling my robe around me and tying it again. He’s gone from possessive, domineering asshole to tender lover so fast that I’m not sure what to think. But it’s done something to my emotional center, and I’m shaken. It hits me then: Luka Zoric isn’t actually the standoffish ice king that he wants me to believe he is. There are real emotions hiding inside him and they keep coming out and getting in the way.
“Let’s turn the light on and make sure you’re all in one piece,” he says.
He reaches beside me to turn on the light, but I stop him. I rather like the soft glow of his cellphone and the intimate haze hanging over us. The way he’d kissed my body and touched me with care was different from whatever sparked between us in the past, and I’m sure we both felt it. Once he turns the overhead light on, it’ll all go away.
“No, leave it. I don’t mind looking like I’ve been freshly fucked.”
He flashes me a wicked grin. “Really?”
“What better way to stake my claim, right?”
A low groan comes from deep in his throat. He kisses me lightly before moving me away from the door and opening it. Then he slips an arm around me as we head back down the hall, toward the shoot. I steal a glance at him as we walk. He looks almost happy. Almost content. He catches me looking, and smiles.
“You really impressed me back there,” he says.
“In the closet?” I tease. “Or back at the shoot?”
He laughs. “Both.”
My instincts were right today, I realize. The way I dealt with Heather was ultimately for the best. Everyone—including myself—will respect me more for owning my piece of this relationship. Even if it is a sham. And as long as I continue to stand up for myself, I don’t have to lose who I am. I can still be my own person. I can own myself.
Maybe Mateo was right. Luka’s domineering, possessive ways are kind of hot. Yet I can also see that he’s been an asshole during these photoshoots because at the end of the day, he wants what’s best for me, for both of us. He’s looking out for our professional reputations. And today, I’d been looking out too. Though I have to admit, I kind of enjoyed the shocked look on Heather’s face when I’d given her a verbal middle finger.
As I stroll back onto the set with Luka at my side, my body still tingles with the aftereffects of hot sex. Yes, I’d liked being that possessive woman. But Luka liked it way more.
And if it’s going to make both of us feel this good, I have no intention of loosening my claim on Luka Zoric any time soon.
Brooklyn
Chapter 22
Our penthouse looks like the set of a television show.
Lights and cameras are in position around the sofa, crew members with headsets and blaring walkie-talkies stroll back and forth with various types of equipment, and a team of sound people gather in a corner trying to troubleshoot a problem with the boom mic.
I force myself to take a deep breath and a long drink of water. It’ll all be over soon.
Stefan set up a last-minute interview for Luka and me with a reporter named Kyla Chung, a former supermodel who has kept a big name for herself by transitioning to entertainment news. She happened to be in town filming at another event and called Stefan to ask if Luka and I had time to do an interview before she left Chicago. Of course, Stefan couldn’t refuse.
He thought having the camera crew come to our home would give the interview an “intimate” feel, and also be a great way to show the public how wholesome Luka and I are. Emzee had even sent over a few framed pics from the engagement shoot so that we could decorate the place with some of our “happy couple” photos. Seeing them on the bookcase and the walls, I had to admit they looked pretty good.
Luka’s older brother had whipped everything together in an impressive amount of time, including an intensive session over dinner last night to coach Luka and me on how to respond to questions about Konstantin and the prostitution scandal. Up until that point, neither of us had realized it would be that kind of interview—we’d expected more of the usual fluff. But Stefan insisted it was time to step back from the engagement, work harder to clear the Zoric name and rebuild the family’s reputation as founders of the newly minted Danica Rose Modeling agency. While I understand that and agree, this interview is making me more nervous than I expected. Probably because the pressure is on me and Luka to be the bright new face of the agency.
; I glance around the penthouse again and feel my chest go tight with anxiety. I’ve never had to speak about my future father-in-law really, or about the things he’s done. I’d rather keep it that way. The truth is, he deserves to be rotting in jail—but I can’t say that on TV.
Over and over during dinner last night, Stefan had grilled us. How much did you know about the trafficking, Luka? Were there rumors in the industry, Brooklyn? How has this affected the business going forward? What about the effects on the Zoric family? It had felt a lot like a police interrogation, but by the end I finally felt confident I had my answers down perfectly.
After all that practice, there’s no way I should be feeling so off my game, but as a production assistant leads me to the sofa to sit next to Luka, and I catch a glimpse of Stefan pacing in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey in his hand, my jitters only get worse.
My fiancé looks dashing as always in dark pants, Italian leather shoes, and a deep green pullover with buttons open at the neck. It brings out the color of his eyes and the olive undertone of his dark skin. He looks like an exotic treat, his black hair glossy and perfectly styled. A hint of a five o’clock shadow covers his jaw—a change from his normal baby-smooth face, but I like it.
I’m wearing wide-leg gray pants and a silk blouse with embroidered sleeves and a scoop neck. The thin wire of the microphone that’s clipped to my shirt suddenly feels uncomfortable against my back and I resist the urge to fiddle with it as Kyla takes a seat across from us.
“Last checks!” someone yells, and the hair and makeup crew dash over to pat down Kyla’s hair and dab her nose with a powder puff. A young guy leans over and tucks my hair behind my ear, and I almost jump at the contact.
“Try to relax, Brooklyn,” Kyla tells me kindly, in a low murmur. “It’s just TV.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I’m nowhere near calm as the director calls “Action.”
Kyla starts her intro, her words flawlessly rehearsed, but I have a hard time concentrating until I feel Luka’s hand on my knee, warm and reassuring. I smile, feeling a little more centered.
“Brooklyn, it’s safe to say your engagement to Luka took the modeling world by storm. Not only is he Chicago’s most notorious bachelor, but notably, the engagement comes on the heels of the KZ Modeling sex-trafficking scandal.” Kyla’s brows knit together in concern.
I nod and mirror her expression, anxious for her to ask the first question.
She goes on, “So I’m wondering, as a model on the outside, did you know about Konstantin’s actions? Was there a lot of talk in your inner circles about what he’d done?”
My face feels tight as I offer a small smile. “It was impossible not to be aware of the rumors, but I didn’t know anything for sure. No one did. The truth came out much later.”
Kyla tilts her head. “And yet, you chose to sign with the agency anyway…and become engaged to Luka, effectively binding yourself to the Zoric family and their questionable legacy.”
The hours of coaching kick in. “As you know, Kyla, KZ Modeling has effectively closed its doors for good. I signed with Danica Rose Management, the Zorics’ new agency, and the company is fully committed to upholding standards of transparency and integrity in this industry.
“Beyond that, Luka isn’t his father, and he and his brother have gone on record stating the majority of KZM staff had no knowledge of or involvement in the company’s illegal activities. With Danica Rose, Luka and Stefan are publicly moving forward to forge a legacy all their own. I’m proud to be a part of that. Professionally and also on a personal level.”
Though I know I’m performing my lines well, I feel like I’m on the witness stand, giving rehearsed testimony instead of a casual interview full of wit and cute banter. What if I’m coming across as robotic to the viewers? My face heats as I imagine how I look on camera. There’s another squeeze on my knee and I try to relax.
Kyla gives a nod, her eyebrows going up. “Before you signed on the dotted line, did you worry about long-term repercussions of the trafficking scandal, and how that might affect Danica Rose’s chances—your chances—of success?”
“I—” I look to Luka, then wonder if people might think I’m looking at him to coach me in some way. I mentally shake myself. Transparency, integrity, legacy. Stefan’s script echoes in my mind but I can’t form a sentence.
“That’s a fair question,” Luka cuts in. He lifts my hand in his own and kisses my knuckles. “To be honest, the shadow of KZM’s past was certainly a concern of mine with respect to Brooklyn’s career. A model of her talent has a world of possibilities open to her, and we did discuss how Danica Rose was just one option. But in the end, she chose us, and the agency is honored to have her. Brooklyn’s work speaks for itself, though, and she’s been in extremely high demand since signing with us. It’s clear the industry is embracing her.”
“That’s wonderful,” Kyla says. She sounds like she means it.
“I think the industry and the public are ready to move forward,” I tell her confidently. “We can’t hold the entire Zoric family accountable for what one man did.”
“So you’d go on the record saying you have full trust in Danica Rose Management?”
Trust? My stomach falls as I think about the huge lie I’m keeping. “Of course,” I say with a smile. “I absolutely trust DRM. And I trust my fiancé and the rest of his family.”
I’m careful to keep my smile schooled, though the butterflies inside me keep growing. I think back to the other day at the photo shoot when Luka and I hooked up in the supply closet. He’d been so gentle with me afterward, and the good vibe between us had followed us the rest of the day. In fact, he’s been extra attentive ever since then, including an impromptu dinner at my parents’ house where he seemed totally in his element. It’s like we’re finally connecting in a way we haven’t before. And…I like it.
I enjoy the side of Luka that asks how my day went, or what I want for dinner, or if I’m warm enough. I like it when he opens the door for me or holds my purse while I get into the car. Over the past few days, we’ve been acting like any real couple would.
“Luka, did you really have no idea what your father was up to? Was there no indication that something illegal was going on?”
The question makes my smile fall. Which isn’t a bad thing given the question, so I don’t plaster a new one on.
Luka shakes his head, his face grim. “If I’d known, I would have turned him in. No one in the family knew about it. You hear people talk about criminals leading double lives, and I guess my father was a textbook example of that. It was a shock for all of us.”
Luka may have practiced his interview questions, but the emotion in his voice is real. Suddenly, I realize I’ve never asked him how the scandal affected the rest of the family or their relationships with each other. They’ve certainly presented a unified front to clean up their image, but the news that their father was a predator must have shredded them.
“I can’t imagine what you’ve all been through,” Kyla says gently, showing some real humanity. “How would you say the scandal has affected the new modeling agency?”
Stefan is standing off to the side near one of the large windows now, observing the filming from a closer standpoint, and I catch the barest glimpse of him stiffening at the question.
But Luka remains cool and steady. “Even with the rebranding and the new company name, the bad press created a ripple effect. There’s no denying it. But the majority of our clients and models were willing to talk things through with the new management—Stefan, mainly—and give us a chance to prove that we have their best interests in mind. We’re thriving now.”
I try not to stare at my fiancé. He’s on fire. He answers so calmly and smoothly, as if giving interviews about hard topics is just something he does. From the corner of my eye, I spy Stefan nodding along approvingly. I wonder if he’s proud of how his younger brother is doing right now. The Luka in front of this camera is certainly different from the playboy, part
y-all-night version of himself that the media is used to seeing.
Kyla shifts in her chair, her face lighting with an animated smile. “On to something more fun. Tell me about the two of you. Where did you and Brooklyn meet, Luka?”
I snap to attention at the question. Where did we meet? Oh boy. My mouth goes dry as our eyes catch. Luka gives an adoring smile and by God, it looks genuine. As if he’s truly remembering the sweet moment he knew that I was the one and not making something up.
“We met at a runway show a few years ago,” he answers. “I knew the moment I laid eyes on Brooklyn Moss that she was special. Other models were storming down the catwalk, glaring and posing, but then Brooklyn walks toward me with this Mona Lisa smirk, like she had a secret that nobody else knew. I was a total goner.” He pauses, and Kyla smiles dreamily at him. “Then we ran into each other at the afterparty and spent the whole night together. We just…clicked.”
“People talk about love at first sight for a reason,” Kyla says with a wink.
Luka smiles and pulls me close. “We lost touch soon after that, but when we finally reconnected, I knew I couldn’t let her go again. I proposed almost immediately.”
“And I said yes,” I say with a giggle, playing my role.
Part of me is wistful, though. If only Luka meant it. If only that was the way it had really been. We’d spent the whole night together, all right. After he’d promised me that modeling contract just to get me in bed. And I’d eaten up his every word. God, I’d been so stupid then.
“Brooklyn, what’s it like to live with a former hardcore bachelor?”
I hear the question, but I don’t know how to answer. All I can do is hope that I’m not still that stupid girl, making stupid mistakes. Luka laughs and takes my hand in his own, making a show of our fingers twined together.
“It’s so good, she’s speechless.” Everyone laughs, including me. Luka continues and I’m grateful he’s taking the attention away from me. “Look, relationships are tricky no matter what, and living together is definitely an adventure. But this place has never felt like more of a home than it has since Brooklyn’s come into my life.” He gestures around the room and Kyla nods.