by Lauren Rowe
Lucas flashes me a wicked smile. “Awesome, huh?”
“That’s not the word I’d use. If you’re already hard and feeling attracted to me, then let’s just have some awesome sex now. We’ll start the role-play tomorrow. Let’s seize the day.”
“Nope. Torturing myself is what’s going to make it so much sweeter when I finally break down.”
“Lucas, for the love of fuck! I’m not going to have sex with Camden more than once, no matter what. I want you. That’s the only reason I’m even thinking of doing this ridiculous thing.”
Lucas smirks. “God, you’re such a bullshitter. It’s really quite amusing.”
I glare at him.
“Just keep an open mind, okay? That’s all I ask. If at any point you’re not comfortable with what’s happening, you’ll say so and we’ll stop. But going in, let’s not say beforehand what we will or won’t do. Let’s let it unfold in the moment. If we stay in character and immerse ourselves in our roles completely, you might be surprised what turns you on.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep an open mind.”
“Thank you.”
“So walk me through what you envision happening after you’ve made your move on me, whenever that’s going to be.”
“Well, basically, I’ll fall head over heels in love with you, and then you’ll shatter my heart by telling me you don’t love me, that you love Cole. And no matter how much I tell you I love you and want to be with you, or how many love songs I write you, nothing changes your mind. Your heart wants Cole and that’s that. And then, at the end of all that, God willing, I’ll sit down and write the second coming of ‘Shattered Hearts’ and finally be free to do whatever the fuck kind of music I want.”
The tortured look on Lucas’s face is killing me right now. “Camden,” I say softly.
He looks at me quizzically.
“You said I’ll tell you I still love ‘Cole.’”
Lucas smashes his lips together. “Oh. Yeah. Camden. Freudian slip.” He looks wistful for a long moment, lost in a distant memory. “God, that sucked.”
“I’m sorry she broke your heart, Lucas.”
“I deserved it.” He shrugs. “So let’s talk about your fee, Assassin.”
“My fee?”
“Correct.”
“Lucas, you can’t pay me to do this for you. I’m not a hooker. I’d be doing it because I want to help you.”
“And because you’re secretly a kinky little thing.”
I smirk. “Yeah, that, too.”
“Look, I get it, okay? But paying you is non-negotiable.”
“I won’t take your money.”
“Abby, it’s for your own good. Making this a business transaction will help you distinguish fantasy from reality when at the end of all this you’ve convinced yourself the emotions you’re feeling for me are real and you don’t want to break my heart after all.”
I stare at him in disbelief. I can’t believe my ears. He’s fully expecting me to fall in love with him…for real?
“Think of yourself like an actor hired for a movie,” Lucas continues. “Actors feel all kinds of emotions that seem real to them while they’re filming. They cry, laugh, get turned on, whatever. That’s why so many actors hook up with costars during a movie shoot and then quickly break up when it’s over. They realize their emotions weren’t real after all, even though it seemed like it at the time. If I pay you, your brain can explain the situation to your heart after the fact, and you’ll have a much easier time moving on.”
I’m flabbergasted. He’s fully expecting me to fall head over heels in love with him for real at the end of this. And yet he’s asking me to do it, anyway? That’s just plain inhumane. I should walk out. I should tell him to forget it, that the stakes are too high for me, that I’m not the kind of girl who can come out of something like this unscathed.
But I don’t say any of it.
Nope.
Because, whether I like it or not, he’s reading me exactly right. I want him any way I can get him. Even if it’s just for pretend, and no matter the risk to my fragile heart. I want him because he’s Lucas Freaking Ford and I’ve loved him since I was fifteen. I want him because he’s beautiful and a genius and the sexiest man alive. And, yes, I admit it. I want him, even like this, because I’m secretly a dirty little thing.
“So how much do you want?” Lucas asks. “Name your price.”
“I don’t want your money,” I mutter.
“Duly noted, but payment is non-negotiable. I pay you or we don’t do this. And we both know you want to do this as much as I do.”
I bite the inside of my cheek for a while considering my reply. “Thirteen thousand, in cash,” I finally say, expecting him to call me a greedy little bitch and cut the number in half.
But he doesn’t.
“Done,” he says. “A non-disclosure agreement will be waiting for you in an envelope at the front desk when you get into work tomorrow night. Bring the signed contract with you when you come up to the suite.”
“I’d never tell anyone about this, whether I’ve been sworn to contractual secrecy or not.”
“Then you should have no problem with signing my NDA.” He waits for my response, his eyes trained on mine.
I sigh and nod.
“Good. I’ll give you the first half of your fee tomorrow night and the second half toward the end of the week. I’ll make the second half an incentive for you to follow through on your promise to crush my heart like a cockroach.”
I don’t reply. This is some fucked-up shit.
“So are you in or out, Ass-kicker? I need your final answer now. Time’s up.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something? Even if I’m in, there’s no guarantee Camden will be.”
“Camden already said yes. I asked him before I called down to the lobby about your blazer. Oh, speaking of which, it’s over there.” He points to my blazer on the back of a nearby chair.
“How’d you explain this insanity to Camden?”
“I just told him the deal, straight up, and he laughed and said it sounded fun. He asked what you look like, so I sent him a little video I made of you when you were chewing me out at the door.”
“What the hell?” I blurt. “You made a video of me? When?”
“When you turned toward the door midway through your rampage, I pressed record.”
“Why?”
“Because you were turning me on. You were so damned pissed at me.” He chuckles. “I was getting hard watching you yell at me and I figured you weren’t done with me yet. So I thought, ‘Hey, I might want to watch this little cutie kick my ass again later and jerk myself off.’ So I pressed record.”
Heat spreads throughout my body. “And did you…watch the video and jerk yourself off?”
“Yup. Twice. And I’m planning to do it a third time the minute you leave today.”
My crotch is pulsing. “Lucas, this is crazy. Why jerk off to a video when you have the live version of me here with you now? You’re turned on. I’m turned on. Forget about Camden. Forget the role-play. Let’s have some fun. Touch between my legs and see for yourself how much I want you.”
His eyes blaze. “Fuck, Abby. Don’t do this to me. I want to fuck you right this very minute, I swear to God. But I can’t do it. I can’t lay a pinky on you.”
“Why?”
“Because the game’s already started. You’re Camden’s girl, not mine. And he’s my best friend.”
I throw up my hands. “Oh, for the love of fuck. This is insane.”
“‘There’s a fine line between genius and insanity.’” He puts his empty glass down on the coffee table. “So what time are you coming tomorrow? Around the same time as tonight?”
I nod. “For the next two nights I can only come up during The Dead Zone, but the following two nights I’m off work, so I can stay as long as you please. I hope that’s acceptable to you.”
He flashes me a beaming smile. “Very acceptable. I’ll plan to order some f
ood tomorrow night so the three of us can eat and break the ice before you and Camden get down to bonin’.”
“No, don’t order any pre-bonin’ food. I don’t want to break the ice. Tell Camden the minute he opens the door, the role-play starts. He and I are in love and can’t keep our hands off each other and you’re his best friend with a secret woody for his best friend’s girl. That way, there’ll be no chance for me to get cold feet. Tell Camden he opens the door and the Hunger Games begin.”
Lucas chuckles. “I’ll let Cam know.”
I get up from the couch, my head spinning. “All right. It’s settled then. I’m officially a hooker.”
“Yup. Practically a streetwalker.”
I head toward the door and Lucas follows closely behind.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I say. “Tell Camden I look forward to…fucking him…for cash.”
Lucas snickers. “I’ll be sure to tell him.” He opens the door of the suite and waves politely like I’ve just finished selling him solar panels. “’Bye, Assassin.”
“’Bye, Pimp.”
Lucas leans against the doorjamb as I walk past him, his bare torso taut and his eyes absolutely smoldering. “Thanks, Abby. I know this is going to work. I can feel it.”
I glance down at his crotch. It’s bulging like crazy. “Are you going to watch that video of me after I leave?”
“The minute I close the door.”
My clit is throbbing. “Have fun.”
“Oh, I will. Nighty-night, Assassin.” He winks, flashes me a cocky grin, and slowly shuts the door.
I stand frozen in the hallway for a moment, staring at the soft yellow light shining through the peephole in the door, feeling like my very molecules are vibrating. Holy shit. I’ve agreed to have sex with a dude I’ve never met while Lucas Ford watches and tries his mighty best to resist pulling me aside to screw me himself, all so I can ultimately have the privilege of having sex with my teenage fantasy before heartlessly rejecting him…and he’s going to pay me thirteen thousand bucks for my services? How the hell did I get here?
I’m just about to turn away from the door and drag my ass down the hallway toward the elevator when the light streaming through the peephole abruptly darkens.
Oh, hello, Lucas.
Well, gosh, as long as my favorite perverted rock star is peeping at me, it would be rude not to give him a bit of a show, right? I lean my back against the wall, slide my fingers underneath my skirt and into my panties, and begin to touch myself, all while staring directly at the darkened peephole and imagining Lucas standing behind the door, his eye trained on me, his hand sliding up and down his hard shaft. And not a minute later, my body begins rippling and clenching from deep inside.
When the waves of my orgasm have subsided, the light behind the peephole is still darkened and I’m pretty sure I can hear heavy breathing on the other side of the door.
I pull my fingers out of myself and lick them slowly with a full, extended tongue, making sure my audience of one can plainly surmise my lingual assets.
I hear a deep, muffled moan behind the door, followed by a light thudding noise, and my blood begins to simmer.
Still leaning against the wall, I pull my skirt way up, yank my G-string down, spread my legs, and open my delicate folds with my thumb and index finger until my hard, pink clit is fully exposed in all its swollen glory.
“I want you to lick it,” I say, staring into the peephole. “And when you do, I’m going to come for you like a rocket.”
There’s another slight thud behind the door and then a strangled moan.
I dip my fingers into myself one more time, making sure they come out well slathered, cross the hallway, and smear the physical evidence of my arousal onto the peephole glass.
I stare for about ten seconds at the smeared peephole, my breathing labored, my heart pounding in my ears. Finally, I wink, lick my lips slowly like they’re covered in Lucas’s cum, and strut down the hallway toward the elevator, swinging my hips like a James Bond vixen as I go.
Chapter Fourteen
“What happened?” Danica asks when I slip behind the front desk.
“It was incredible,” I reply. “Lucas wrote a song about me. Well, I guess, a song inspired by me. He played it for me and I gushed about how brilliant it was—because, oh my God, it was brilliant—and then we ate BLTs and talked and talked.”
“Shut. Up. What’d you talk about?”
“I told him the basics about myself. You know, about law school and where I grew up and stuff. And then he told me about his band and friends and record label. And then he told me the story behind ‘Shattered Hearts’!”
“He did not. Tell me everything!”
“I can’t. Sorry. He swore me to secrecy.”
“Bitch!” Danica whispers, but her tone is affectionate.
“I felt like I’d won a date with a rock star in a contest or something. And you want to hear the craziest part? He said I inspired him so much to write that one song, he wants me to come up to his suite every night this week during The Dead Zone to chat with him. He said I’m his ‘muse’! Ha! So I said, ‘Well, it might be kinda tough for me to get away every night while I’m on duty.’ So he said he’d pay me to do it!”
Danica’s face bursts into flames of jealousy. “Lucas Ford’s going to pay you to sit there and talk with him?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”
“Of course not. Dani, come on, you know me. I’m a prude, remember? We didn’t so much as kiss.” It’s a true statement, technically. Yes, I masturbated for him, licked splooge off his abs, and smeared my lady juices onto his peephole after he watched me masturbate for the second time, but I never actually kissed him.
Danica throws her head back dramatically. “Why, oh why, couldn’t it have been me who told Lucas Ford not to smoke in the lobby? Gah! So how much is he going to pay you to sit there and ‘inspire’ him?”
“He offered me ten grand, but—”
“Ten grand?”
“But I figured, ‘Hey, if he’s that out of touch with reality, why not ask for a bit more and get the whole kit and caboodle for Danica’s mom?’ So I demanded thirteen. And he agreed!”
Danica looks like she’s about to have a stroke.
“Thirteen grand is how much your mom owes on her medical bills, right?” I ask.
Danica clutches her chest and nods. “Are you sure?”
I touch Danica’s hand. “One hundred percent.”
“But what about your tuition and books?”
“Bah. I’m so in debt for school by now, thirteen grand wouldn’t even make a dent. So why bother?”
Danica throws her arms around me and nuzzles her nose into my hair. “Thank you so much, Abby. I’ll repay you some day, I swear.”
“No repayment necessary. All I ask is you cover for me during The Dead Zone when I go up to chat with him, okay?”
“Spend as much time up there as you want,” Danica whispers into my hair, still squeezing me tight. “I’ve got your back ’til the end of time.”
Chapter Fifteen
After a full morning of classes, I haul my exhausted ass into my tiny apartment, toss my backpack onto my couch, and drag myself into my kitchenette to make some scrambled eggs before heading off to bed. As exhausted as I am, though, I’m not holding out hope sleep will come quickly for me. I’m just too wound up with a thousand thoughts about what’s going to happen later tonight. As willing as I am to have sex with Camden once to turn Lucas on and seduce him to seduce me—and, yes, admittedly also to experience a bit of kinky fun—I certainly don’t want to make a career out of screwing Camden. This is a zero-sum game, after all. The more time I spend having sex with Camden, the less time will remain for my “relationship” with Lucas. And that’s the realization that makes me ask myself on a running loop: What sneaky something can I do to light a fire under Lucas’s ass to ensure he makes a move on me after only one go-around with Camden?
<
br /> Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer to that question yet, despite how obsessively I’ve been pondering it all day. But I’m sure as hell planning to have one before I walk into Lucas’s penthouse tonight.
I finish scrambling my eggs and settle myself onto my couch to eat and unwind. First things first, I partake in my guilty pleasure. I grab my laptop and check the numbers on my secret blog—Penelope Pleasure, Miss Pleasure to You!—and I’m thrilled to see my latest entry has attracted my best numbers yet. I started my anonymous weekly blog of musings about life and sex with a humorous bent almost two years ago as a means of blowing off steam during law school, and I’ve been blown away at how it’s steadily gained an army of loyal readers during that time.
I quickly write a short stream-of-consciousness post about the human emotion of coveting and how, it seems to me, it pretty much never ends well for either party—the coveter or the coveted. And when I’m done writing, I read my entry and feel almost high with pride about the finished product. There’s literally no other place in this world where I can be unrelentingly honest about who I am and what I think than when I’m Penelope Pleasure. Truly, it’s a lifeline for me.
Next on the agenda? Well, Lucas Ford, of course.
I head to YouTube and run a search for his name, and, of course, that brings up eighty gazillion video links, the first of which is, not surprisingly, Lucas’s now-iconic music video for “Shattered Hearts.” I personally adore it but haters always slam it as an extended Abercrombie & Fitch ad.
Even though probably one million of the over two billion views of the video were racked up by yours truly, I watch the thing again. And as I watch, my heart melts and flutters and leaps the way it always does when I behold the breathtaking beauty of an eighteen-year-old Lucas Ford pouring his shattered heart out for the entire world to witness.
When the video ends, I scroll through several more “Lucas Ford” links and wind up watching a clip posted by someone in the front row of Lucas’s concert in Denver a few days ago. At the start of the clip, Lucas is playing his electric guitar and singing a song I don’t recognize while his full band—including Camden on drums—rocks out behind him. The song is really good, whatever it is, and by the passionate way Lucas is singing it, it’s clear it means something special to him.