by Stella Gray
It flutters to my feet. I step out of it and stand before him in my sheer bra and high heels, pulling the elastic from my hair.
“Turn around and bend over again. All the way, until your face touches your legs.”
Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I turn away and run my hands down my sides, over my hips and slowly, slowly over my ass. Good thing I’m religious with my yoga. Lifting my arms above my head, I drop to a forward fold, working my ass back and forth in little rotations as I bend and take my calves in my hands, my leg muscles stretched tight. I could look at him from between my legs, but I don’t. I hold still for several seconds, letting him enjoy the view before slowly coming back up. My heart is racing, my skin flushed as I stand tall before him once again. Cupping my breasts in my hands, I strut over to him and stand with my legs spread, so close that he could reach out and touch me.
Our eyes lock and I don’t realize how hard I’m breathing until just then. My pussy aches for him. My nipples are peaked hard inside the fabric cups.
“You’ve made it to the second round.” Luka unfastens his belt and unzips his pants. “Now get up here and audition on my cock. Show me how good you can ride it.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I get on top of him, one knee on either side of his hips on the soft cushions. As I grip his cock and guide him toward me, he pulls down my bra, freeing my aching breasts. We both cry out as I slide down onto his generous length. I feel deliciously full, and begin to grind back and forth, helpless little moans escaping my lips. This is so good.
He brushes his thumbs over my nipples before pulling me closer and taking one in his mouth. I let out a whimper, and then he finds my clit with his other hand and begins to stroke agonizingly slowly—a tantalizing contrast to my fast, desperate pace. The sofa creaks on its wooden peg feet, sliding slightly across the floor as I drive myself down on him again and again. Luka strokes me harder, faster, until my pussy tightens around him, and the swirl of orgasm teases me. It takes everything I have to hold back. I’ve waited too long for this and I can’t let myself come after only two minutes. I force myself to slow down, really feeling him inside me.
“Fuck yes,” I groan. “Fuck me, Luka.”
His cock swells, and I’m both stunned and pleased at how fast I can drive him to the edge along with me. Suddenly, he reaches down and grips my ass, pulling me off his dick and up toward his face as he scoots down on the cushions. I find an awkward position with one knee bent against the back of the couch, the other on the side of Luka’s face. He pulls my hips forward and slides his hot, open lips against my pussy. His tongue darts against my clit. I buck and moan as the sensation becomes a delicious blend of pleasure and nearly painful intensity.
He won’t let me go, holding me firmly against his mouth as he plunges inside me with his tongue. Suddenly, I come against his lips, his strokes sending a shockwave through me that I ride out on his face. Before I can think straight, he pulls me back down onto his cock, both of us on the floor now. He thrusts into me hard, three, four times before he grunts, turning to stone. His fingers grab handfuls of my hair as he rams up into me, jutting his release into my wetness.
I collapse onto him, bracing myself against the sofa behind him until our breathing slows. My brain is in a daze, but the feel of Luka lightly pushing me with his hands grounds me.
He’s pushing me away.
“Get up,” he says.
I slide off him and he wastes no time putting himself together. Buckling his belt, he looks me over without an ounce of expression. My heart sinks.
“You aren’t the only one in the running for this. I need to see the other girls before I make my decision. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
He turns and walks away.
Luka
Chapter 12
The paparazzi are everywhere. I pull back the blinds from my office window and glance down at the sidewalk lined with loitering camera crews, reporters, and a few random gawkers. My mouth hardens into an angry line. I don’t know why I expected anything different.
My father’s trial has begun, and as his sins become more and more exposed, the court transcriptions continue to make villains out of all of us.
No matter how prepared I told myself I was for this, it was a lie. The media is laying out his heinous actions for the public in gruesome detail, tarnishing both the Zoric name and the business that our family worked so hard to build. I try to remember that the victims are getting justice, that my brother and I have done everything in our power to support the models who were subject to these crimes. But I still feel like I’ll never dig myself out of this emotional hole.
I should’ve realized what was going on sooner. Should have done more.
In my lowest moments, I wish I had someone to hold my hand through all of this like Stefan does. I don’t, though.
My arrangement with Brooklyn has been a lot more difficult than I anticipated. After Paris, I thought it would be easy to come home and go about our separate lives, staying out of each other’s way. So far, it’s just been a mess. And I’m taking it out on everyone around me.
The worst part isn’t even that I don’t trust my wife.
It’s that I still want her anyway.
Despite the fact that the feelings I had for her at the beginning of our marriage are dead, I’m still jealous and full of lust. I don’t know why I can’t put those instincts aside. I knew it would always be like this—a sham relationship. Nothing but a contract. Yet something inside me just won’t let go. It’s like she brings out the most primal parts of me just by walking into a room.
My mistake was prioritizing Brooklyn’s feelings over the business. DRM was the whole reason I agreed to go through with this marriage to begin with, so I need to keep my head straight and remember that the agency always comes first. The less time I spend around my fake wife, the easier it will be to compartmentalize—and it’s the only way I’m going to survive both the tension at home and the PR nightmare that this trial is causing.
The crowd of photographers below is swelling by the minute, until the street is swarming with them. I came in through the underground parking lot today, having an inkling that we might get overrun with tabloid media trying to nab a quote or a picture. But I’m going to need to come up with some new strategies, because this kind of shit is going to go on as long as my father is on trial. No one knows how long that will take. There are witnesses to put on the stand. Evidence to present. Counterarguments to make. And then there’s the question of my father’s health. We’d received word that he wasn’t doing well in incarceration. He’d been to the hospital a couple of times for general complaints of weakness. I don’t know if his doctors found out anything.
I’m not sure I care.
Stefan, meanwhile, has been working tirelessly to fight the stigma attached to the Zoric name. I’m waiting on him to finish up a meeting now so we can discuss our next steps with PR. My marriage was supposed to help the Zoric family clean up its image, give DRM a fresh start. What a shitshow that turned out to be. My backstabbing wife isn’t batting an eye at collecting on her compensation for taking my last name, judging by her proposition the other night over dinner. Brooklyn Moss, the face of Danica Rose Management? I silently scoff, even though I know she’d be the perfect fit. It irks me that she’s grabbing for the top of the ladder after what she did to me. No conscience, I guess.
A hard laugh puffs out of me. Funny, lack of a conscience was always my issue.
How the tables have turned.
I consider bringing up Brooklyn’s request when I meet with my brother, but I don’t want to involve my family in my marital issues. We have bigger things to worry about, thanks to my father. Besides, my priority isn’t what my wife wants. My family business is back in the middle of a sinkhole and my focus needs to be on keeping it from going under.
Letting the blinds go, I step away from the window and check my watch. My brother is running late, so I refill my coffee and sit at my desk. Then I make
the mistake of googling “Zoric scandal” on my computer and fall into a media black hole akin to the nine circles of Hell.
The door to my office opens and I startle out of my trance as Stefan strides in.
“It’s about damn time,” I snap, and immediately regret it.
Stefan doesn’t miss a beat as he sets his laptop on my desk and sinks into the plush leather chair across from me.
“Grab me a cup, would you?” he asks tiredly, nodding to the coffee pot on my sideboard. I pour him one, feeling guilty about my outburst, then take a seat behind my desk and prop my feet on the top edge.
We make eye contact, neither of us knowing where to start. I look to my older brother to be the initiator in all major things in my life. Always have. It’s not just that he’s older, either. He’s just such a go-getter. Nothing is more natural for him than taking the reins and pointing me in the direction I need to go. In fact, that’s what led me to marry Brooklyn. But I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s been an epic failure, and that my heart is taking a fucking beating.
We sip our coffees in silence a moment longer before I can’t take it anymore. “What’s the plan, man? I know you have something brewing in that big brain of yours.”
He grins wryly and sets down his mug. “Honestly, I can’t get past the fact that the trial has actually started. It’s surreal and fucking god-awful. I wish it was done and over with.”
Lord, don’t I know it. “I thought I was ready for this day to come, but I’m not. Have you talked to Emzee?”
I feel a pang of guilt for not reaching out to our little sister myself, but she’s closer to Stefan—and honestly, I’ve been too preoccupied with my wife to play the part of good brother.
He nods. “She said she’s doing okay. She’ll be in the office later.”
“Of course she told you she’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s not okay. And neither are we.”
There’s part of me that feels like, in the grand scheme of things, this is par for the course. Because our whole lives, with our mom gone and our father at the helm, us kids were all in a constant state of “not okay.” There was always some drama to worry about with our dad. Not only his temper, but his unpredictable behavior. How he didn’t sink KZ Modeling years ago is a mystery. I suppose because he always had a competent team behind him, including my brother.
Stefan sighs and sits up straight, his fingers steepled. “But we will be. We can control some of this, Luka. We can all do our part to keep up the company image. In fact, we need to, more than ever. We might not feel okay at this very moment, but this will pass. I promise.”
Some of the tension leaves my body, and I can feel my shoulders sag a little. I believe my brother in the way I’ve always believed him. I can tell by his steadfast expression that he has at least a semblance of a plan. There was a time in my life when I’d let him take charge completely, but something has subtly shifted. I don’t want to just sit back and watch anymore.
“What can I do to help?” I say.
He raises a brow. “I, or we? You’re part of a team, Luka. You have a wife, a partner, and you’re going to need her to get through this.”
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, nodding along.
My brother will never know how hard it is to smile and feign comfort at those words. He tilts his head with a knowing set to his lips. That’s one thing about me and my siblings. We can always read each other, so there’s no point in hiding anything.
Not for long, anyway.
“Hmm.” He makes an annoyed little sound. “Do I want to know what’s going on with the two of you?”
I haven’t said anything to anyone about what Brooklyn did. Certainly not to my family. They’re counting on this marriage to help pull our family business out of the ashes. We’d been doing a good job of it, too. Until suddenly…we weren’t. It’s difficult to be seen publicly with my wife now, because I’m afraid the media will see right through us the way my brother does.
One good reporter and our façade will be shattered. That’s my biggest fear. Then I’ll be a failure in my family’s eyes, as always.
“Nothing is going on with us,” I lie. “We’re fine.”
“Don’t tell me it’s some immature shit that you pulled.” Stefan’s eyes are half-amused as he looks at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
The back of my neck tingles as I fight the urge to throttle him. It fades fast. My family always assumes I’m the reason behind any and every bit of trouble. Considering my past, they’re not often wrong. But this time it was all Brooklyn. “It’s really not. And I said we’re fine.”
He shrugs. “Good to hear. Because we’re gonna have to ramp up our social and public presence. Remind people that at the heart of it, DRM is a family business. Dad blindsided us with his crimes, too. But he’s gone now and the Zorics are still going strong, as a family.”
“So that’s the plan? You expect us all to just…put on a happy face? Ride it out?”
“Yup. And that includes your wife,” he adds.
Irritated now, I work my jaw to the side. “I’m not disagreeing, but we need to be more proactive about this. Launch a full PR campaign. Don’t forget, I busted my ass to help us rebrand when this all went down originally. I brought in a pile of diverse new talent and promoted DRM’s commitment to inclusivity, and I had press releases go out every time we signed somebody new—”
“What’s your point?” Stefan asks, tapping his foot impatiently.
I stand up and start pacing. It helps me think. “The point, dear brother, is that the public is only as aware of our moves as we make them. Smiling in public isn’t going to be enough. We’re gonna have paparazzi in front of the building every day, hungry for dirt on us, as bad as it was after the arrest. We need to get granular. Let’s talk specifics.”
Stefan is nodding. “Okay. So how do we increase our publicity? Charity events, visiting the local fire and police stations to make donations? This is where I need your help.”
“I’ve got ideas,” I tell him. “We need a media blitz.”
We discuss contributing funds to women’s shelters, food banks, maybe offering incentives to our models if they’re interested in serving meals at soup kitchens. Then I suggest getting Emzee to hold a one-day photography workshop for high school students and having our company name engraved on some local park benches through the Chicago Parks Foundation’s donation program. Stefan is amenable to all of my suggestions.
“But,” he tells me, “this isn’t just about the company. We also need to remind people that we’re valiantly trying to rebuild our own lives, with the loving support of our friends and family. So I think you and Brooklyn should do something a little radical, a little more flashy. Something to make the media warm up to you more as a couple.”
“Like what?” I ask. “We’re already married. I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”
He grins. “What about skydiving for cancer, or helping with the construction of the new animal shelter on the East Side by pounding some nails?”
We talk some more. I’m open to his ideas, but my hesitation about performing my marriage with Brooklyn for the public must show, because Stefan lets out an irritated sigh.
“Take this seriously, Luka, please.”
“I am.” I stand, hands in my pockets, ready to face off with my brother if I need to. I’m no stranger to having to constantly defend myself against his onslaught of criticism.
“Every single suggestion involving Brooklyn made your face twist up the way it did when you ate brussel sprouts as a kid,” he points out.
Shit.
“Look, for what it’s worth, Tori and I didn’t have the easiest start to our marriage either. We were good at hiding it, but in private, we were miserable. It took me a while to realize that we were both making mistakes, but I was the one holding a grudge.”
Boom. It’s like I’m made of glass. “Thanks for the unsolicited marriage advice, bro.”
“I hav
en’t given you any yet, bro, but I’m going to,” he says sharply.
We stare at each other again. Admittedly, I am curious about what he has to say. I’ve wanted to talk to someone, but I don’t dare let what Brooklyn did leak or it will create a piggyback scandal that my family doesn’t need right now. Or ever.
“Look, any marriage is a series of ups and downs and learning experiences, and sometimes that means fights or misunderstandings. But you get through it. Together.”
“What if you can’t?” I ask, letting my walls slip down a fraction of an inch.
“You can. Always. And I’ll tell you something else: my own arrangement with Tori started working a hell of a lot better once I let her in. Regardless of what’s going on with you two, shutting Brooklyn out is only going to make her act out. You don’t want that.”
The thing is, I did let her in…and she kicked my heart with a four-inch stiletto.
“Thanks,” I tell him breezily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
His eyes flash and I tense, expecting I’m about to be informed that I’m doing something whether I want to or not.
“Listen. You can close off your heart, if that’s how you want to play it, but just remember: no one can see that. We’ve just gone more public than ever before, so you have no room to make mistakes out in the open. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” I say, gritting my teeth.
I’ll play my part with Brooklyn for the media, and I’ll play it well.
But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive her.