by J. Kenner
“Jez…”
“I complained to him. Simpson, I mean.” She laughs harshly. “Isn’t that a nice way of putting it? I lost my shit. I ranted and screamed and I think I threw a book at him.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. I squeeze her hand, and when she squeezes back, she looks at me gratefully.
“He flat out told me that since everything in the book was true, I couldn’t do a thing about it. And then—” Her breath hitches. “And then he said that I was lucky he didn’t talk about how lousy I was in bed.”
She makes a noise like a gasp and leaps to her feet, her hand going over her mouth. I stand behind her, my hands on her shoulders. “If I ever meet him, I swear I’ll put him in the ground. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
Her shoulders start to shake, and I gently turn her so that she can press her face against my chest and cry while I hold her.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a while, as she pulls away. “And oh, man, I got your shirt all wet.”
“It’ll dry.”
She flashes a watery smile. “You’re—unexpected.”
“Am I?” I turn the word over in my head. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“Good.” She brushes a finger under her eyes, drying her tears. Then she nods, as if reassuring herself. “Yeah, good. Although why the hell I’m telling you any of this, I don’t know.”
“Because I brought it up,” I suggest. “Because you need someone to talk to. Because Simpson’s bullshit was part of the price you pay for celebrity, and so was that mess we ran into at the Crown the other night.”
“All true,” she says. “And all so goddamned unfair.”
I take her hand and urge her back to the sofa. “Stretch out,” I say, and when she does, I put her feet in my lap. Her toes are painted a pale pink, and she looks like she hasn’t gone a day without a pedicure. And when I rub my thumb along her arch, she tilts her head back and moans.
I want to hear that moan again—and not because of a foot massage.
“Why unfair?” I ask. “I mean, other than the obvious.”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t even—Hey,” she snaps when I take my hands off her feet.
“Truth,” I say. “Or no massage for you.”
She scowls at me, but nods. Then she tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “You read the book, so you know what happened. Our parents died in an accident, and instead of starting college, I stepped in as Del’s manager. I didn’t trust anyone else, and my mom had been doing it for years, so I sort of knew the ropes. And I knew Mom would want me to. Plus, I love my sister. I do.”
“But?”
“But I never had the chance to figure out what I want to do. And all I know is that I don’t like this life. I don’t like living in LA. I don’t like being in the spotlight.”
She opens her eyes and shrugs. “So that’s it. That’s my guilty secret.”
“Why don’t you stop?”
“I will, but not until Del’s ready. In a lot of ways she’s mature, but she’s also been incredibly sheltered. Leaving her now would be a recipe for disaster.”
“She might surprise you.”
“She might. But that’s not a risk I want to take. She’s too important to me.”
“So you have a plan,” I say, taking my hand from her foot and moving to massage her calves.
“That feels amazing—you’re so hired. And yes, I have a plan. And until then, I’ll just suck it up and live with the drama.”
“You can manage.” I’m barely paying attention to my words. Instead, I’m sinking fast into the feel of her. The smoothness of her skin. The heat of her body.
“And it’s crazy,” she continues, “because as much as I hate it is how much Del loves it. She thrives on this life. Even the scandal doesn’t bother her. She just wants to act.”
“What about you? What do you want?”
She sits up, then pulls her legs back and tucks them under her, as if the question has made her uncomfortable. “I honestly don’t know.”
Her voice is soft, barely a whisper. But I hear the truth in her words, and I want to pull her into my arms and hold her close.
“No? Not even a little thing?” I tease. “Dark chocolate with sea salt? More tortilla chips? World peace?”
“Honestly, right now I just want—”
“What?”
She sighs. “I just want to take a shower and crawl into bed. It’s been a long day.”
Her words shred me. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to stay until she yanked the possibility out from under me. “Sure,” I say. “Of course.”
I rise. “I’ll let you rest. Tomorrow’s a night shoot, right? I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk time and logistics. In the meantime,” I add as I head for the door, “you know the protocol. Don’t leave this floor without coming to get me. “I’m going to crash in the room on the end.”
“Pierce?”
I hesitate, my hand on the knob. “Yeah?”
“I lied.”
I turn, something in the tone of her voice firing my senses and making my cock grow hard. “Did you?”
She stands up, then takes a step toward me. “I don’t want to sleep.”
I take a corresponding step toward her. “No? Then what do you want?”
I hear the tremor in her breath. Then I watch as she comes one step closer. Then another and another, until she’s just inches away from me. She meets my eyes, and her gaze never wavers. “I want you to kiss me,” she says.
Her words ignite inside me, and I have to shove my hands into my pockets to keep from yanking her into my arms. And it just about kills me to say what I have to. “I told you. I don’t sleep with clients. And you don’t sleep with anyone on your payroll, remember?”
“I’m not asking you to.” She comes closer, and I can smell her vanilla scent. And that’s not good, because right then, I want to devour her. “I just want a kiss.”
“Jez…”
“Here,” she says, pressing her index finger to the corner of her mouth. “Just one little kiss.”
Her eyes are locked on mine, and right then I’d swear she had super powers, because I have no will to fight. I can only lean in, my lips brushing softly over the corner of her mouth.
“Good?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, but she’s shaking her head no. And her eyes tell me that she wants more.
I lean back, my pulse pounding as I look at her. Her parted lips. Her heavy lids. Her tousled hair.
Her chest rises and falls with each breath, and I’m certain that she’s as turned on as I am. She swallows, and I watch the way her throat moves, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss that little indentation at the base of her neck.
I let my gaze dip lower, taking in the curve of her breasts and her nipples, hard beneath the thin material of her bra and T-shirt. It’s hemmed at the waist and not tucked in, and I know that if I were to reach out, I could press my hand against her abdomen and feel her muscles tremble as she sucks in a breath.
And if I went lower…
Well, I can’t help but wonder what she’s wearing under that skirt. A thong, I imagine, or nothing at all, because the material clings smoothly to her hips and legs. And if I slip my hand between her thighs, would I find her already wet?
I think I would, and the thought makes me hard.
I should walk away—I know that. But when you get right down to it, I’ve never been one to follow the rules. And sometimes, doing the right thing is highly overrated.
“Jez,” I whisper, and then I don’t even give her time to respond. Because, dammit, I can’t risk her saying no. So I swoop down, claiming her mouth, holding her close. She tastes like wine and sin, and I want to get drunk on both. Intoxicated by her touch. Her taste.
“Kisses,” I murmur, holding her chin as I look deep in her eyes. “That’s what you want? Like this?” I ask, brushing my lips over hers. “Or like this?” I demand, trailing a line of kisses down her neck
to the soft indentation at her collarbone.
She trembles under my touch, and the only sound she makes is a soft, breathy, “Yes.”
“Jez,” I murmur, but her name is muffled by my mouth on her breast, over her bra and shirt. She arches back, her shoulders resting on the wall behind her, the angle of her body now giving me better access. But I want to taste her, not the shirt, and I slide my hands up, taking the shirt with me, until I’ve exposed her white, cotton bra.
It’s unlined, and her nipples are like pebbles against the thin material. I close my mouth over one breast and suck, then use my teeth to tease her nipple. She cries out, then whimpers when I pull back, releasing her.
But I’m not letting her off that easily. On the contrary, I’m still on my quest for skin, and I use my teeth to pluck up the edge of the bra and yank it down, freeing her breast.
She’s gasping, her fingers sliding into my hair as she presses me closer, forcing my mouth where she wants it, and I use my tongue to tease her nipple until I feel her start to tremble and I know that there is no way—no way—that I am going to let her come without tasting her sweet pussy.
She whimpers when I pull away, then blow a stream of air on her now-wet breast. “Please,” she begs as I brush a line of kisses right at her bra line. “Pierce, please.”
“Shhh.” I lift my mouth from her skin long enough for a single command. “Not a word,” I order as I slide my hands down to the waistband of her skirt. It’s a pull-on style, but I don’t push it down over her hips. Instead, I inch the material up—higher and higher until the skirt barely covers her, and I press my hand against her inner thigh and slowly stroke my way up.
She’s trembling, and her soft noises are making me crazy, and I’m so fucking hard it’s painful. But right now, all I care about is touching her. I want to feel her, hot and slick on my fingers, and I’m so, so close.
Mostly, I want to taste her. To flick my tongue over her clit. To suck and kiss and tease until she explodes against my mouth.
Just a kiss, just like we said.
But it’s the most intimate kiss of all.
Slowly, my fingers rise. She’s wearing a barely-there thong, and I impatiently yank it down, uncovering her slick heat. And at the same time, I keep my kisses coming, lower and lower, until there’s no more skirt, just flesh, just her, and she’s waxed and smooth and wonderful.
“Please,” she begs as I close my mouth over her. As my tongue finds her clit. As my fingers thrust inside her in time with my intimate kisses, my tongue laving her. My lips tormenting her.
Her hips start to move, and she’s riding my mouth, her hands in my hair guiding me. And I’m getting harder and harder as I hear her raw, passionate noises. And all I want to do is make her come. Make her explode.
And know that I’m the man who took her over the edge.
“Yes!” she cries, and her body trembles, her pussy clenching tight around my fingers.
I’m already on my knees, but now her legs give out, and she tumbles to the ground, pulling me down with her.
My hands are all over her. Touching her. Stroking her. Listening to her soft sounds, her needy murmurs. “I can’t get enough of you.” And it’s true. I’ve tasted her—now I want to claim her. Hard and hot and fast, then softly. Tenderly. I want to feel her break into a million pieces, and I want to be deep inside her, her body tight around my cock, when I come.
“Good,” she says. “Because I want more, too.” Her face is buried against my chest, but now she rises, her face and torso lifting as she meets my eyes. “I want so much more.”
She unbuttons my shirt, then brushes a kiss on my breastbone. She starts to kiss her way down, lower and lower until my already stiff cock is so hard against my jeans it’s almost painful. Her hand cups me through the denim, and I arch back, trying to steady my breathing. And when her fingers unbutton my fly, it’s a goddamned miracle that I don’t come right then.
She shifts her position, and I know she’s about to pull out my cock and take me in that hot little mouth, which sounds like a slice of heaven. Except it’s not enough. Dammit all, it’s just not enough.
I reach down and cup her face. Her eyes flicker in confusion. “More,” I say.
She licks her lips, looking so damn tempted. “We both have rules.”
“I think we’ve bent those rules so much, they’re twistier than nautical knots.”
Her teeth drag over her lower lip, and I chuckle.
“A woman with integrity,” I say. “I can’t fault that.”
“Pierce?”
“Hmmm?”
“You’re fired.”
Chapter Nine
You’re fired.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard such magical words.
The kind of words that set me free. That open up all sorts of wonderful, decadent, intimate possibilities.
The kind of words that fire my blood and make me hard.
The sound of her voice has barely faded when I have her arms above her head, her wrists crossed, and my hand holding her in place. Her T-shirt is still awry, her bra all twisted up. Her skirt is around her waist, and her panties are around one ankle.
She looks wild and ready and absolutely beautiful.
“I’m a free agent now,” I say. “Imagine the possibilities.”
“I want to do more than imagine,” she says. “I want to be so sore I can barely walk tomorrow. I want—”
“What?”
“I want tonight. I’ll hire you again in the morning, but dammit, Pierce, right now, I want you inside me.”
I’m still mostly dressed, too, but I don’t care, and from the way she’s begging me, neither does she. “Now,” she demands. “Pierce, please. Now.”
I release her wrists so I can unbutton my fly, and it’s only then that I realize I don’t have a condom. Which is ironic, since I always use a condom.
“I don’t either,” she says when I tell her as much. “But I’m clean, and I’m on birth control.”
“I’ve been tested,” I tell her. “I’m safe. Do you trust me?”
I watch her eyes as she answers, and damned if her soft, sincere “yes” isn’t the most erotic sound ever.
“Good,” I say, “because I can’t wait.”
“Me neither.” She reaches for me, pulling me on top of her and claiming my mouth with the kind of intensity that makes a kiss feel like a fuck.
“Baby,” I say. “I don’t think I can go slow.”
“Don’t,” she begs. “Don’t you dare go slow.”
I meant what I said. I couldn’t go slow if I tried. I’ve wanted her since I first saw her at Thyme, and now that she’s half-naked and beneath me, I can’t hold back. Not the first time, anyway.
I ease my hand between her legs, stroking her. Opening her.
She arches up, meeting my movements, body lithe and warm and ready.
She’s slick and beautiful, and I ease over her, then tease her pussy with the head of my cock, just to make us both a little more crazed.
But Jez is having none of it, and she reaches down, her hand closing around my shaft as she guides me to her center. “Now,” she demands. “Dammit, Pierce, I want you inside me,” and her words are so hot and desperate that I can’t hold back. Can’t even take it easy. And I thrust inside her. Once, twice. Deeper each time, until I’m so deep and tight that it seems like I’m going to lose myself.
I piston inside her, my weight on my hands against the floor, her hips rising up to meet me. And her eyes—her eyes are locked on mine.
I’m close, so damn close, but I’m not ready to come yet. “Over,” I say on a gasp. “Get on top.”
With my hands on her waist, I roll us over, and it’s so fucking sexy watching her ride my cock that I still may not last.
“Clothes off,” I order, flicking my eyes over her clothes as I reach between our bodies and tease her clit with my fingertip. “There you go,” I say, as her core clenches around me, tightening with her coming explosion.
She rips her shirt and bra off, then yanks the skirt over her head as well. She’s fully naked now, and I’m still completely dressed except for my open fly, and it’s so damn sexy that I know I’m going to lose it soon. “Come on,” I urge her. “Come with me.”
“Yes,” she says as I stroke her. “Oh, God, yes, don’t stop.”
But I wouldn’t dream of stopping, and I play with her pussy as she rides me—and then, as she cries out that she’s coming, and she clenches tight around my cock—I empty myself inside her, the orgasm rolling over me with the force of a goddamned tidal wave.
And then, when I’m spent, she collapses on top of me, her breasts against my shirt, her lips brushing just above my collar.
I take her chin and guide her mouth to mine, then kiss her long and deep. “Baby,” I say, when we come up for air, “you feel like heaven.”
“Funny. I thought that was you.”
I chuckle, then slide out from under her. “Come here,” I say, as I pick her up. She curls against me, naked and soft, and I carry her to the bedroom, only then realizing how lucky we were that Del didn’t decide to leave her bedroom to go get a snack.
I put Jez in bed, then strip and slide in next to her. She’s wiped me out, but unlike my usual encounters, I’m not inclined to leave. On the contrary, I want to stay. I want to spoon against her. Which, right there, tells me something about the way I feel about this woman. Because I’m not a guy who spoons.
Except with Jezebel, apparently I am.
She’s warm and her ass is nestled against my crotch, and despite the fact that I’m both spent and exhausted, I want her again.
I can wait, though. It feels too good just holding her.
I know I should move. Should get up and go to my own room. Make a cup of coffee. Do something.
But I can’t quite manage, and the longer I stay like this the deeper I slide down toward sleep.
“Pierce?”
The sound of my name pulls me back with a jolt. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off.” I sit up, groggy and confused, and kicking myself for not having gotten out of here sooner.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” I say, as I push myself upright and sit on the edge of the bed, my back to her as I try to locate my clothes in the dark.