by Ana Gabriel
“He’s . . . not the easiest to work for,” I say.
There’s a pause on the other end. “Is it really bad?”
I sigh and throw myself on the bed. “Yes. I have no money and I gave up my apartment, which I couldn’t even afford anyway and now I feel like shit about myself all the time. I can’t get anything right. I can’t get a part, I can’t do this job without . . .”
“Without what?” asks Kate.
Without having sex with my boss, I think. I can’t bring myself to say it though. Kate’s always admired my refusal to compromise myself to get a role and I can’t stand the idea of her thinking less of me on top of everything else.
“I’m so sorry, Rose. I never would have suggested it if I thought it would make you this unhappy.”
“It’s not your fault at all,” I say. “I needed a job. And it’s not that I’m unhappy. I’m just mad at myself and mad at the situation.” It hits me how angry I am. I’ve been strung along on call-backs only to be told I’m not quite right for the part; I’ve been outright told to do things I’m not comfortable doing to get parts. I even had someone suggest I get surgery. I’ve been frustrated over and over again, and right now I’m furious about it.
Kate and I talk for a few more minutes, but I can’t focus on anything. I need to run ten miles or punch the hell out something. At the end of the call, I assure her I’m okay, when really I feel like smashing everything I can see.
I pace the room and it feels smaller and smaller until I want to scream. It’s getting late when I hear Cole walk past. All this started the minute I came to work here. No wonder Val couldn’t wait to offload all her problems on me and make a break for it.
His bedroom door clicks and my fists clench. It’s his fault. My head’s a mess and my life’s a mess and I was okay before I came here, but now I’m not.
I fling my door open, no plan in my head, no idea what I’m going to say as I storm down the hall and throw his door open without knocking.
He’s naked, standing a little way from the bed, a surprised look on his face. The mirrors. God, I’d forgotten the mirrors, and how much I wanted to see us in them. Now I can see every angle, every ridge of muscle on his body.
His cock twitches at the sight of me, though I’m fully clothed in what I suddenly realize is a yoga pants and stretched out T-shirt combo that is decidedly unsexy.
I’m not powerless. Not at this second when instinct kicks in and my rage channels itself straight at him. I haven’t moved. Haven’t said a word, and yet he’s getting hard. The knowledge of how in control I am in this moment sends thrills through my body, tensing my stomach and lifting the fine hairs on my arms. So much of my life has felt out of my control. People telling me what do, telling me “no”. I want to be the boss for once.
I stay where I am and slide my pants down slowly over my hips and thighs. As I step out of them, I lift my T-shirt and discard that too. Cole takes a step towards me.
“Don’t fucking move,” I tell him. The black lace on my body stands out against my pale skin. I’m about to take it off, but when I reach for the clasp on the front of my bra and Cole licks his lower lip, I toy with the fastening instead.
“Do you want me to take this off?” I demand.
“Yes.” His voice is rough and I can see the desire in his eyes. His cock is erect and his hand moves to it.
“Don’t,” I snap.
I leave the bra on and instead drop my panties to the floor. It makes him suck in a breath. Good, I think. I’m glad you want it so much.
I step over to the bed and perch on the edge of it, directly in front of him. Leaning back on my hands, I open my legs slowly until they’re spread wide. His chest rises and falls faster and he steps forward.
“No.”
There’s a dangerous look in his eye, but he stops. His hands clench and unclench as though he’s trying to restrain himself.
“Beg,” I say.
His jaw twitches. I wonder if Cole Dean has ever been told to beg for it before. I reach down and touch myself.
“Please, Rose,” he says.
“Not like that,” I tell him. “On your knees.”
My reflection comes into view as he steps forward and drops to his knees in front of me. My hair is down across my shoulders, my legs spread on either side of Cole. The muscles in his shoulders flex, and when I look at him, his eyes are on my fingers where they’re moving in circles.
“Please let me, Rose. Please.” His voice is so low I can barely hear, but his eyes are desperate and his hand hovers over his cock again.
“Don’t you dare touch yourself.” I run my fingers into his hair and pull him to me. Inches away, I tilt his head up to make him look me in the eye. “Slowly.”
I let him go and he leans in. I feel his breath, hot over my skin, then he runs his tongue, unbearably softly over my clit. I shudder, leaning back on my elbows. He groans onto my skin, sending delicious vibrations through me and then his mouth keeps moving, kissing, licking, teasing at me. I watch him in the mirror, watch my own body tense, breathing hard.
He reaches under my thighs, cradling my ass and pulling me into him and I cry out. It makes him work faster, his tongue dancing over hypersensitive skin. I fall back, breathless, all the pent up rage working its way into the coiled tension in my body. Cole sucks me into his mouth and my back arches off the bed, tensing, tensing, until I orgasm incredible waves of release.
When I open my eyes, Cole is kneeling over me on the bed, his muscles tight, his hair a sexy mess.
“Rose.” His voice is ragged now. “I want you.”
I push up onto one elbow and we crash together, his mouth hot and urgent on mine. I run my hands hard over his back, his arms, his ass, his chest, everywhere except where I can feel his body begging me to. And I want to touch him and I want him inside me, I’m burning with the thought of it.
He slips a hand between my legs and groans.
“Please,” he begs. His body is straining to mine and he digs his fingers into my hips, pulling me close.
I let him get just near enough that he can feel how wet I am. His cock is hot and hard against me, pressing at my entrance until he cries out, “Rose, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Good,” I whisper. I push him away onto his back and kiss and bite my way down his chest. My mouth hovers over his dick and it pulses with how much he wants me. I smile his own wicked smile back up at him and when he realizes I’m not going to do it, he pushes himself up again. His muscles shift under me as he moves. I push my hands into his hair, kissing him hard, moving away every time he tries desperately to get inside me.
Over his shoulder, my reflection stares back at me, hair mussed, eyes filled with desire. I’ve never seen myself like this.
The image of my naked back and ass bounces back from the mirror wall behind me. Cole’s hands are on my hips, his skin dark against mine and I can see what I’m doing to him, the sheen of sweat on his body and the way he’s tensed under me.
“You like that?” he says in my ear. “You like the mirrors?”
He suddenly wraps an arm around my waist, lifting me up and moving me around so he’s behind me. It takes my breath away how strong he is.
“Watch,” he says, tilting my head to the side as he moves my legs apart. He’s frantic with wanting and I’m so wet I can’t hold him back any more. I see his hard length slide into me at the same time as I feel it.
“Fuck, that’s so good,” he chokes out.
Cole’s eyes are wild, his hands pulling me back into him. I moan and he thrusts harder and harder until I can hardly hold myself up anymore. He leans forward, pulling me upright, his hands on my breasts as he adjusts his angle, fucking me over and over.
When he pushes me up against the mirror, my nipples touch the cold surface and I watch myself come, my hands clenching into fists as I explode.
I twist away from Cole and slide off the bed fast, sparing one look back at him as I walk away. His cock is hard and slick, his expression shocked.<
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“What’s the problem, Cole?” I say, as I open the door. “It’s just sex.”
Chapter Seven
Turns out that press junkets are utterly manic and totally exhausting, and that’s just from my point of view as Cole’s assistant. I never realized what it must be like for the journalists, never mind the actors and director. But today, I’m learning. While I’ve been running around fetching water and coffee or standing at the back of the room trying not to get in the way, at least a hundred journalists have been herded through the room, where they then get three minutes to hurl the same questions at the screenwriter on Cole’s right, Cole himself, Kenzie on his left and the director sitting next to her.
They’re doing promo for the second film in the trilogy while they’re filming the third instalment. And I’ve seen Cole unleash his devastating charm approximately ninety times so far this afternoon. I’ve been trying not to stare at him, but as I glance around the room, it’s obvious that no one’s giving me a second look so I give in to it.
He’s leaning back in his seat, relaxed and slouchy in front of his current interviewer, a woman who obviously never met a can of hairspray she didn’t like. The lights are bright, the air-con is up high, and there are cameras everywhere. Cole smiles, like he’s smiled at the exact same question all day, and I can see the effect he has on everyone in the room. They’re all leaning in towards him. The interviewer touches the back of her neck, her hair moving in one solid mass as she trails her fingertips down the side of her neck. I can’t tell if she’s self-conscious or flirting, nervous about her job or just plain unsettled by how good-looking Cole is.
It could be all of the above.
I watch as Cole talks with easy grace and the interviewer laughs. Next to him, Kenzie is leaning in too, her legs crossed towards him. She has the most impossibly immaculate skin I have ever seen. Seriously, it’s inhuman. Her teeth are perfect and so white I never want to open my own mouth again. She laughs and reaches over, touching Cole’s leg when he says something, drawing her into the conversation.
I’ve now seen them run through this little act ninety one times. And yes, I’m counting, because it feels like a little twist of a knife in my gut every time for no particular reason that I care to identify.
The interviewer gets her last question in and they all laugh, Kenzie’s hand resting loosely on Cole’s leg now, with her beautiful nails and her stupid beautiful skin. In the few seconds between Hairspray hustling out and the next guy moving in, Kenzie leans in to Cole, saying something low in his ear. Her swooshy salon hair falls long and curling over his shoulder and he smiles at whatever quick comment she made before she flips her hair back. A genuine, warm, unbearably great smile.
This is quite literally the last thing on this earth I want to be subjected to watching. If I die and go hell, it will be an eternal press junket with Kenzie and Cole.
There’s a quick flurry of movement at the front of the room and I snap up from my slump against the wall as Kenzie moves past me and out of the door. Her assistant trots after her and they both disappear into a ladies room while the rest of the guys at the front stretch their legs and swig from water bottles.
I go to step forward, speak to Cole, ask him if he needs me to do anything, but he’s staring after Kenzie with a look on his face that stops me dead. He looks intense. Absorbed. As though he’s thinking hard about something.
His glance darts up to me. I look away, pretend to be digging in my bag.
~
The shower curtain whips open.
I scream.
“Where’s your passport,” Cole asks.
“God, Cole,” I exhale, my heart racing. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Passport—do you have one?” His eyes are wide and bright, and he’s tensed like he’s ready to run a marathon. Not even glancing down at my wet, naked breasts. “Quick, Rose,” he adds.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Yes. It’s in my nightstand. Why?”
He whips the curtain closed and disappears. The shower hisses in the sudden silence. Disappointment and regret fight a war inside me. Last night, I felt completely justified in my revenge. Even this morning, I woke up with a smug smile on my lips before the press junket wiped it off. Now, I just feel . . . worried.
I hurry to rinse the soapsuds off my body and turn off the water, wrapping myself in one of the plush towels hanging on the rack outside. Steam floats out of the bathroom as I step into the hallway. Cole’s booming voice carries from downstairs. I wind down the steps, but pause outside of the kitchen, realizing that he might be meeting with someone and that I’m wearing next to nothing.
“That’s Rose Weatherston. W-E-A-T-H-E-R-S-T-O-N,” he says, spelling it out. A jolt goes through me. “January 12th, 1992,” he adds.
My birthday.
Who is he talking to? And why is he telling them my information?
At least I know he’s on the phone—I can only hear his end of the conversation. I slip into the room. His eyes flick up when he sees me, then move down to the curve of my breasts that I’m not at all purposely propping up by crossing my arms. But before I can feel any sort of satisfaction that he noticed, his eyes return to the open passport in front of him. He clears his throat. “Sorry, what was that?” he asks. “Passport number. Yes, it’s 5682—”
Sourness fills my gut. He’s more interested in business than the fact that a towel is the only thing between me and complete nudity. Maybe blue balling him last night was going too far. Maybe he’s going to finally give me what I asked for and leave me alone for good.
But what any of this has to do with my passport, I don’t know. All I do know is that I can’t leave until I find out.
I lean against the counter, but I’m too curious to stay still and pace around the kitchen instead, twining my fingers together. Minutes drag out, and my hair starts to dry into loose curls around my shoulders. The whole time, Cole determinedly watches the counter, not sparing even a single glance up at me.
Early morning sunlight slants in through the patio doors, frosting the hair that curls around Cole’s ears with a golden halo. His brow is knit with concentration, and I can’t stop looking at the way the muscles in his arm shift when he jots something down on the notepad open in front of him. God, he’s sexy. I want him. I want him, even if it’s just casual sex, and now I’ve ruined everything. What did I think—that just because he fucks his assistant it means something? He probably fucks all of his assistants. It’s like he said—it’s just sex. And now it’s over. I fight the urge to grab the phone out of his hands and ask him what the hell is going on. Anything to make him put me out of my misery already.
Finally, he ends the call.
“What was that all about?” I ask. And my acting skills must be better than I thought, because my voice barely cracks when I say it.
He swings his gaze toward me. “My agent needed your information to book your flight.”
“My flight?” I straighten, panic slicing through me. Where’s he sending me?
Before I can stop it a thought flits into my head: he’s sending me away.
A hot surge of adrenaline shoots through me. Who the hell does he think he is? As if he can banish me from a whole city because we got in a fight.
“The flight is in three days,” Cole continues.
I curl my hands into fists and take deep breaths in through my nose. Forget about his frosted hair and shifting muscles. I am going to absolutely lose it on him.
“Rose, is something wrong?” Cole asks. “If it’s the late notice, I should remind you that I said you’d need to be available twenty-four seven and able to travel when I hired you. I don’t always take my assistants when I travel but I’ll need you to handle a few things for me.”
Shock slams into me and I shake my head. “Wait, you’re . . . you’re coming with me?”
“Of course.” His brow creases with confusion.
“Okay, I’m so confused. Where are we going?” I ask.
“Prague.”
“Prague?” I repeat. “As in . . . Prague in the Czech Republic?”
“That same one.”
I make a noise at the back of my throat.
“Where did you think we were going?” Cole asks.
My mind whirs. He’s not firing me, and we’re going to Europe. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. A smile creeps over my lips. I’ve never been to Europe before, let alone somewhere as exotic as the Czech Republic.
“Prague,” I squeal. “I’m going to Prague!” I can’t help it: I scream, twirling and fumbling to hold up the towel. And the whole time, Cole watches me with a grin pulling up his lips. Then a thought stops me short.
“Oh my God. Three days. I have nothing to wear. I need to call Kate. I need to go shopping.”
Cole chuckles and pushes up from his stool, circling the island.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he says. Then he grabs my wrist and pulls me roughly toward him. I gasp. His smile is gone now, and all that’s left is a dark hunger.
“Cole, what are you doing?” I ask.
He yanks my towel off. Cold air rushes up at me, prickling my skin and making my nipples instantly hard.
“I’m showing you who’s the boss.”
He spins me around and pins my arm behind my back so that my stomach is pressed up against the island. A moan escapes me. The brutality, his power, the rawness of it all—it’s unbearably hot. And then in one fluid motion, he shoves himself inside me. I’m not ready for it, and I gasp as he fills me, his cock somehow even bigger when I don’t have the time to get used to the idea of it being inside me. He reaches one hand around and grabs my breast roughly, using the other to pull my hips back and drive my ass into him. There’s nothing romantic about it, and it makes liquid heat rush through me, starkly at odds with the pain of his rough entrance and my stomach grinding into the kitchen counter. And before long, I’m wetter than if he’d spent hours priming me. I don’t want him to stop. I want this man to dominate me. Use me. Fuck me.
My head rolls forward and a groan escapes me. He responds by changing his angle so that he drives deeper into me, filling spaces I didn’t think were possible to reach. Waves after wave of pleasure rock through me, building, soaring, cascading.