Playing For Love

by J. C. Grant

  Chance obediently came running through the living area. But not Austin.

  “Austin,” I called louder.

  “I'm coming,” she yelled irritated.

  She came around the corner, wearing one of my hoodies. I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face. She understood what I meant; she got that I needed a break.

  I held her coffee out to her, and she took it with one hand, the other looping around my waist.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I whispered, then pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “I love you, babe,” she murmured, leaning up on her tiptoes, sweetly pressing her lips to mine.

  It was unsettling how much I loved her. I would do anything for her, sometimes it was alarming.

  We climbed into the truck. As soon as I pulled out of our drive, I dialed Aaron.

  “David.”

  “I need a good painter. Today.”

  “For your house?”

  “Yep.”

  I explained what I wanted—what she wanted. I looked over at Austin as I spoke, catching her trying to hide her smile behind her coffee as she stole glances at me. She knew exactly what I was doing, and she seemed excited, which gave me a rush. Making her happy... that was all I wanted.

  When I disconnected the call, she muttered, “Oh, crap. I forgot clothes to change into.”

  “I think the bag I packed for us the other day is still in the back.”

  “You packed us a bag?” She sounded surprised that I'd do that. That needed to change. I'd gotten far too lax in my care for her with everything else going on.

  “Yeah, I'll do it from now on,” I assured her before dialing Elaine.

  I explained what type of furniture Austin wanted for the office, with Austin confirming as I went. Elaine tried not to laugh at us, or me. She said she would call around, find out what stores carried it and text me the addresses.

  As entertained as Elaine was with our conversation, this should have been done sooner. I needed to focus on my girl, not these other people. They were trying to fuck up our lives. And I was letting them.

  *****

  Much later in the day, I was driving down La Cienaga.

  “Where are we going?” Austin asked.

  “Lucked out. Three different stores. All on Beverly.”

  “That's good. It should be easy.”

  I parked the Tesla in front of the first store. Immediately, I recognized a few paparazzi standing near the entrance. I had a feeling Elaine set it up, since she was the only one who knew we were going furniture shopping today.

  The painters were faster than expected, and we locked up the room so Chance wouldn't wander in there while we were gone. But after the gym, and expecting a day at home with the painters, neither of us had taken the time to dress for a photo op. And while I didn’t care, Austin might. I had on black sweats pulled up to midcalf, a gray V-neck, and flip-flops. Austin was wearing a pair of her skinny sweats, beat-up converse, and my Nirvana tee. She was right, anything not fitted made her look twenty pounds bigger. It was a designer tee, but it was still mine. I didn't mind, but she probably wouldn't be happy if pics of her looking heavier went public.

  “You ready for this?” I muttered.

  She nodded, an oh, fuck it expression crossing her face.

  I quickly got out of the car and went to open her door. As soon as she stepped out, they started.

  “Austin, did you hear the rumors that your marriage isn't real? Is that true? Is it fake?”

  “Is it a publicity stunt?” Another asked.

  I shut the car door then tucked her under my arm.

  “It's as real as it can get,” I answered, shielding Austin from them as we walked toward the store. I had a feeling Zach had started that rumor.

  “It's real?”

  “Yes,” Austin said forcefully, surprising me.

  I instantly felt better, more connected to her, like she had my back, even if she had questioned the exact same thing a few days before.

  We entered the store and were immediately greeted. Austin spotted what she wanted before the door completely closed behind me. It was a low, pale pink, leather mid-century couch and the perfect office chair, but it was the wrong color. They quickly offered to cover it in any material she wanted.

  She declined my additional suggestions, adding to the bedroom and living room, insisting what we had was fine. I was more than a little disappointed. I wanted her to take some initiative with the house, make some changes, make it hers.

  But she refused.

  *****

  “Austin.” My unused voice was rough and thick as I entered our bedroom carrying our breakfast.

  “Mmmm. You're going to get tired of doing this. Cooking for me every day,” she rasped, sitting up, watching me.

  The way she unabashedly stared at me was addictive. That expression said a hundred different things at once, and all of them let me know how much she wanted me. It was pure seduction.

  “Well, you have a few years before that happens. So enjoy it,” I teased, setting the tray on the bed.

  There was no way I'd ever get tired of taking care of her.

  “What is this?” she asked picking up the light blue Tiffany's box.

  I wanted to get her something for our one week anniversary but that hadn't worked out. Before meeting with my manager Saturday, I stopped by Tiffany's and found a pair of diamond hoops that were a very close match to the bracelet I'd given her.

  “Just a little something. Open it.”

  I watched her try to hide her excitement.

  When she opened it, she went still then whispered excitedly, “I love them.”

  My breath rushed out, I hadn't realized I was concerned about her not liking them. But I didn't get to see her reaction to the bracelet.

  “This is too much,” she whispered, hypnotized by the earrings.

  “I'm gonna spoil you,” I promised leaning, capturing her lips in a heated kiss.

  She didn't disappoint. My hand slipped up to her jaw as she kissed me. God, the way she kissed me. She kissed me like she wanted to fuck. Her hand gripped my neck, holding me to her as we ate at each other's mouth, her sweet little tongue sliding along mine, her little hungry moans.

  When I let her pull away, we were both breathing heavy.

  “Damn,” I breathed. “Diamonds it is.”

  She let out the sexiest laugh I'd ever heard and put the earrings on her nightstand.

  When she started eating, I turned the TV on, buying myself time to prepare for today, getting in the right frame of mind.

  Today was not one I was looking forward to. We had guests coming for Austin and Chance’s photoshoot, but I was determined to make it a good day for Austin. I bathed Chance last night in preparation.

  Okay, fine.

  I just rinsed him off. What the fuck ever. He was ready for his close-up, and he looked damn good.

  As soon as they arrived at ten a.m., they started setting up down at the pool. I stopped the makeup artist, explaining our goals with these shoots, giving her instructions. So far, the reaction to our marriage—particularly Austin—was not overly welcoming. Seemed my agent was correct about losing fans, or at least pissing them off.

  When Austin finally came into the living room, she was wearing a black tank and ripped skinny jeans.

  Not the wardrobe I'd requested.

  That shit looked painted on, putting her tits and ass on display.

  Fuck me.

  She looked like sex.

  Why did the only girl I felt a connection to look like that? I mean, I loved it.

  For me.

  Not for other guys to look at.

  I didn’t want to share her with anyone. Unrealistic, but I didn't give a fuck.

  Giving me a mischievous, teasing smile, she introduced herself to our temporary, sort of guests. She was much more at ease now. I didn't know whether it was because this was the second one or because we were at home. I watched her enjoying herself, relaxed, givin
g me sexy, sweet smiles every time I caught her eye. I knew my obsession with her was something other than love, some deeper trauma I hadn't dealt with, but I didn't care.

  It seemed wrong for her to be happy with this situation. But I never wanted her to know what led up to this shoot.

  The magazine requested exclusive wedding photos, but I wasn't sharing the few we had. After much back and forth, they tripled their offer. I still refused, and they implied I'd never get on the cover again. I made it clear I didn't give a shit. Then they asked for a single article and shoot with Austin, which Elaine convinced me to agree to. For Austin's career. But if Austin knew, we wouldn't be doing this right now.

  She'd be offended.

  And I knew the photographer they sent, Steven. He was the type that would try for more, whether it be less clothes or ask her to put on her wedding dress. Neither was happening.

  Once she was ready, I took her down to the pool, unwilling to give her space even at home.

  After a few dozen shots, I asked, “You get it?”

  “I got a couple.” Steven seemed as annoyed with me as I was with the whole situation.

  That I fucking caused.

  They were doing the same thing to her they had done to me, turning her into who they wanted her to be, but in the opposite direction. They made me out to be the All-American Sweetheart. They were trying to turn her into a cheap, clingy gold digger.

  I followed Austin back up to the house, eager to get these people out of our home.

  Behind me, I heard Steven mutter to his assistant, “The rumors are true, he's controlling, even decided her makeup. Bet he picks out her clothes too. Wonder how much she's getting paid.”

  Swallowing my response, for Austin's sake, I quickly got them out of the house while she went to our room. I didn't want that shit around us. Tomorrow was our two week anniversary, and so far, our marriage had been nothing but endless drama. Mathew. Dawn. Zach. Kelsey. Her steadfast avoidance of the media had offended me at first, but it made sense now—it had caused us nothing but problems. Everyone had an opinion and everyone thought theirs mattered. I was relieved she wasn't looking up anything about our marriage. These assholes jumped from “gold digger” to “prisoner” in minutes. It started shortly after the press announcement went out.

  “Failed Actress Gets Her Overnight Success”

  “Gold Digger Hits The Jackpot Just Before Her Expiration Date”

  They weren't all negative, but the ones that were... they were brutal.

  “Sweetheart, get changed,” I shouted when I shut the door behind the last departing guest, hoping she had already washed that crap off her face.

  Once the gate shut behind them, I went to the hall, leading to our bedroom and called,

  “Get changed. I'm making us some lunch.”

  “I'm not really hungry,” she said flatly. Her mood had shifted drastically and I didn't know why.

  Maybe she heard him.

  “Well, you're gonna eat,” I countered. I knew I was pushing, but I couldn't stop myself.

  Going to the kitchen, I started making our lunch, hoping she would just tell me what was bothering her. Then part of me hoped she didn't—if her mood was in reaction to mine. I didn't want to tell her I was stressed and pissed about all this shit, and I didn't want her finding out about the negative press.

  When the food was almost done and she still hadn't come out of the bedroom, I turned off the burner and went back to get her.

  “What's up? What's wrong?” I asked as she crawled off the bed.

  “Nothing.” She walked past me and out of the room. She hadn't changed or washed her face.

  I followed her, watching. I was going to find out what was going on with her, one way or another. She went straight to the couch and threw herself down, Chance right behind her.

  Getting our food from the kitchen, I braced myself for what might be next.

  “Okay. What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked, keeping my voice low, setting our food and drinks on the ottoman. I sat heavily on the couch and waited.

  She huffed out a breath but said nothing.

  “Austin, fucking tell me. If I'm being a shit husband, fucking tell me.” My voice was harsher than I intended.

  “It's not that. It's just—it's been almost three weeks.”

  I was thrown. That was so far from what I expected and I had no clue what she was referring to.

  “What's been almost three weeks?” I asked softly.

  “Since we had a date. I—” She paused. “I know what they’ve been saying about me.” Her eyes met mine. “Is that why you’re not taking me out in public?” she asked softly.

  My stomach sank, thinking about her reading all that shit.

  “Of course not! They don’t know what they’re talking about... Austin, no. I haven’t been taking you out because I’m a jealous, possessive, selfish asshole. I don’t even like when you talk to the guys at the gym.”

  A small smirk formed on her face, confirming why she was the perfect girl for me. She was okay with me being me.

  When she didn't say anything I asked,

  “Where do you wanna go, sweetheart? Anywhere you want.”

  “The Chateau. For our two week anniversary?”

  “The Chateau?” That wasn't public. “Okay. Tomorrow night.”

  She made a happy noise that made me laugh. And knowing she just had cabin fever relaxed me. I could handle that. As long as she wasn't asking for space from me or to see Zach, I could handle anything she tossed my way.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  As soon as she was done with her last set, I picked her up, tossed her over my shoulder—caveman style—and went to my office. She was so exhausted she didn't fuss. She just braced her hands on the small of my back as I walked.

  Her behavior returned to normal after we made the date for tomorrow, and she hadn't mentioned the negative press or the photographer's comments, which was a relief for me. But I needed to fuck her, push her past some limits, and get her focus back on me, on us.

  Going straight to the shower, I turned on the water, quickly adjusting the temperature. I held her despite her protest as the water warmed, enjoying the feel of her body draped over me, her ass under my palm. My fingers dug into her crack.

  “David,” she yelped, starting to struggle.

  My fingers dug in deeper, harder, a sharp warning, and she stilled. My desire to bury my cock in her tight hole was becoming overwhelming.

  I set her on her feet, and watched as her hair and tee darkened under the warm spray. My cock stirred at the sight.

  “I'm so tired.” Her eyes closed as her head tilted back, letting the water wash over her. Her clothes clung to her skin, showing every delicious curve.

  Fuck, I loved her body.

  I ached for it, for her. I'd never wanted anything the way I wanted her. It damn near drove me insane.

  “I know,” I rumbled, dragging my knuckles over her breasts.

  Her head came up, watching me as I teased her nipples to hard spikes. Her breath hitched, then sped up, her lips parting as she arched, wanting more.

  “Feel good?”

  She nodded, sucking in a sharp breath.

  Her reaction to me, to my touch... I needed it. I was addicted to it; it was the only time I knew I affected her as much as she affected me.

  “Don't I always make everything feel good?”

  She nodded, her breathing harsh as I worked her nipples through her wet clothes.

  “Good,” I rasped. “I'm gonna play with your tits until you're horny as fuck. Then, I'm going to eat your pussy, until you come in my mouth. After that, I'm going to fuck you. Bathe you. Then get you dinner... Okay?”

  She nodded, watching me with a half-lidded gaze—her fuck-me look. God... that look. It said I'm yours, do anything you want. Fuck any hole.

  My cock turned to steel.

  A hunger surged inside me, my intentions turning to blind lust. I pulled her shirt up and off, letting it fall to th
e tile floor with a slap. Gripping her hips, I yanked her forward, pressing my rigid length against her soft stomach. The wet clothes between us tormented me, I wanted my cock rubbing against her wet flesh.

  “You got your fuck me look on... Feel how hard that look makes me? That look is for me,” I reminded her harshly, getting pissed at the memory of those strippers grinding on her, running their hands and mouths all over her. Remembering having to bathe her to get their fucking smell off her before I could fuck her. “Don't you ever fucking give anyone else that look again.”

  She made a purring appreciative noise, enjoying my possessive jealousy. My lips were on hers, my tongue pumping into her pliant mouth in time with the crude thrust of my hips, trying to make my point.

  The helpless, surrendering noises she made went straight to my cock. Those noises made me feel like a god, knowing she'd never willingly relinquished control to anyone before. Only me.

  Unhooking her bra, I yanked it down her arms. A deep groan rattled through my chest as my hands closed around those swollen tits. Heavy and hot. She moaned into my mouth as I kneaded them softly, then harder. Pinching, rolling, and tugging her nipples, firmly. Giving her a taste of the pain I knew she craved.

  Her body bucked and bowed, begging for more. Her hips shifted against me, trying to get friction as her hands fisted in my hair, sending a savage need burning through me.

  I wanted to consume her.

  I wanted to own her.

  I wanted to fuck her so bad I could barely breath. Sink into that tight cunt...

  But I needed to taste her. Every time I smelled her pussy I had an overwhelming desire to bury my face in her cunt, lick, eat, and suck her to orgasm.

  Dropping to my knees, I tugged her shoes and socks off, then my tank. Her little hands braced on my shoulders, moving along the muscle there as I worked her wet pants down. Her touch always conveyed how much she loved my body, how much she wanted me. I loved having her hands on me. When the soaked leggings fell to her ankles and she kicked them off impatiently, I breathed, “Open up,”

  She didn't hesitate, spreading her legs wider.

  I took a moment to appreciate the sight of her smooth, pretty, little pussy spread open for me. Leaning in, I inhaled her sweet scent before parting her folds with my tongue. She sucked in a sharp breath when I settled on her clit. The way it throbbed under my tongue made my balls ache as the pressure built, turning my hunger ravenous. I massaged, licked, and sucked like a man possessed.