Cover Model

by Devon Hartford

  “Totally. I want to ride your wave as soon as we get back to your place.”

  They turn away and fade into the crowd.

  “Fuck!” I grunt in frustration.

  I never planned on snapping the Sharpie in my hand in half, but I just did. It makes a huge fuckin mess when it spills all over the white table cloth and the headshot I was about to sign.

  The girl waiting for me to sign it for her gasps. “Are you okay?”

  I hold up my ink soaked hand, “Yeah. You got a napkin or something?”

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  CONNOR

  Two hours later, I’m finally finished with autographs. I have to sign more tomorrow, which is fine. I don’t want anyone who wants shit signed going away empty-handed. But I’m happy for the break.

  I cruise through the packed convention hall looking for Electra. I wish I hadn’t thrown my hat and shades into the crowd during the stage show. People keep staring at me and whispering my name. I don’t stop unless they chase me down, which happens a few times.

  Being famous is fuckin strange.

  Too late to do anything about it now. Hopefully, things’ll die down when I’m not in the middle of a fuckin romance convention. In the mean time, I really need to find Electra. I need to… Fuck, I don’t know what.

  Yeah I do.

  I need to talk to her. I don’t like how things fell apart when Romeo walked in on me and her when we were about to fuck. And that Surfer Douche needs to back the fuck off.

  I stop dead in my tracks.

  What the fuck is my problem?

  I’m chasing some chick.

  I don’t chase women.

  Ever.

  Get a grip on yourself, you pussy.

  I don’t need Electra. I’m surrounded by 45,000 women who would all be happy to jump on my dick. Or, I can walk up to Sunset Boulevard a couple miles from here where some of the hottest women on the planet will also try and jump on my dick. It’s just the way it is.

  But for some fuckin strange reason, I don’t give a fuck about any of them. All I want is to talk to Electra.

  “It’s him!” some random woman gasps. She waves to three friends behind her. “It’s Connor, you guys!”

  Shit.

  “Can we take a picture with you? Our book group will flip if we get a picture with you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I mutter.

  The next thing I know, I’ve got my arms around the three friends, ready to say cheese for the camera.

  “Wait!” one says. “You have to be in the picture too, Joanne!”

  I smile politely while Joanne gets a random person walking by to shoot the group picture for her.

  Shit twice.

  Now the random woman who took the pic for Joanne wants to take a picture with me too, so I do that one. Ten minutes later, I’m still taking pictures with other women who walked up while all this was going on.

  The whole time, all I can think about is Electra. Where the fuck is she? “Sorry ladies,” I sigh. “I really need to go.”

  “Ooooh,” they all whine like I’m breaking their fuckin hearts.

  I feel like an ass, but I need to go. “Call of nature,” I lie as politely as possible. I grin to myself. It’s actually true. Just not the bathroom kind of call of nature. More like the Call Of The Wild. Where the fuck is Electra? That Surfer Douche could be in her pants by now.

  I charge into the crowd, heading for the nearest exit.

  Once I’m outside, I realize I have no idea where Electra is. She could be in fuckin Mexico for all I know. Who would know how to find her?

  Gloria.

  She’s my only option. I call her office and her assistant Madeleine puts me on hold. After ten minutes of waiting, Gloria finally fuckin answers.

  “Connor,” she purrs. “Did you miss me?”

  “You know I’m always fuckin hard for you, G.”

  “Mmm. I like the sound of that. What can I do for you?”

  “I need the number for your guy at Trending Magazine.”

  “Why?”

  “I just need it.”

  “I would be more than happy to give it to you if you’ll tell me why.”

  I was hoping she would just give me the number. I sigh, “I need to get a hold of the reporter who did my interview.”

  “I thought you said you finished it already.”

  “Sort of. I had to cut it short for the reveal thing. I don’t think they have much to work with.” I avoid using the words she or her because I know Gloria will start asking questions.

  “And why is that, Connor?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. We didn’t get into much depth. I think more time with—” I almost said her “—the reporter might be good.”

  “What aren’t you telling me, Connor?”

  I run my hand through my hair. “I’m telling you I didn’t finish the interview. If you want me to have a great article, I need to get a hold of that reporter.”

  “What’s the hurry, Connor? You can finish the interview tomorrow.” She’s suspicious.

  “They need it for their deadline. Something about getting it to the printers.” I’m making this up.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why don’t I believe you, Connor?”

  “I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not, G. But if you want me to finish the fuckin interview so I can look good, which means more cash down the line for both of us, get me that number.”

  Money is Gloria’s one weakness.

  She doesn’t say anything for a long time. “Fine, fine, Connor,” she sighs. “You’re lucky I have a dinner thing tonight with my friends over at Warner Brothers, otherwise I’d sit in on the rest of your interview with you. I’ll have Madeleine get the number for you.” She puts me on hold.

  I wait.

  And I wait.

  Turns out Madeleine doesn’t have Electra’s number. She has to call Trending Magazine to get it from them. It takes forever. While I wait, I wander over to the tennis courts behind the convention hall and watch people smack balls around. The waiting drives me nuts. I haven’t smoked in years, but all of a sudden I really need a cigarette. Right as I’m about to head into the hotel to find a pack, Madeleine texts me Electra’s phone number.

  I thank her by text and fire off a message to Electra: Saw you at the booth. I was busy signing. Back at the hotel. Do you want to finish the interview?

  I stare at my phone and wait for a response. When I don’t get one, I start thinking about those cigarettes again. My hands shake and I realize I’m cracking up. I fist my hands at my sides and force myself to stare at the tennis game on the court in front of me.

  Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

  I’m not going to get—Back—a fuckin—Forth—cigarette.

  Back. Forth.

  The bouncing yellow ball manages to hypnotize me. I zone out on it for who knows how long. I jump when my smart phone pings with a text from Electra.

  Do you have time? Or are you too busy with your fans?

  I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.

  My first thought is to text back something ballsy. But I don’t want to piss her off. For all I know, she’ll refuse to meet up with me. I don’t know why it’s so fuckin important I see her again today, but it is. I got time right now.

  My skin crawls while I wait what seems like thirty minutes for a response, but in reality is only thirty seconds.

  Electra: Where do you want to meet?

  Me: Unless you want fans asking me for autographs the whole time, we should meet in my room.

  Her: If I do that, we need ground rules.

  Me: What?

  Her: No Truth Or Dare. I ask questions. You answer them. NO questions from YOU. Agreed?

  Me: Sure.

  Her: I’ll be there in ten minutes. Let’s get this over with.

  Me: Cool.

  Her: If you’re naked I’m kicking you in the balls. You’ve been warned.

  I gri
n to myself and haul ass up to my room.

  Chapter 7

  ELECTRA

  “Did you bring a ruler?” Connor asks, fully clothed.

  I half expected him to be naked again. I’m a tad disappointed he’s not. No I’m not. I need to finish this godforsaken interview. “What do I need a ruler for?”

  “To hit me across the knuckles if I misbehave.”

  “Huh?”

  “You were such a ball-buster in your texts I thought maybe you wanted to play out some hard ass school teacher fantasy. Make me clean the chalkboards and erasers and shit. I didn’t realize you were kinky like that, Warmoth.”

  “You wish. I don’t have time for games, Connor. We’re doing this interview. Then I’m leaving. Got it?”

  “Whatever you say, Miss Warmoth.”

  “Don’t call me Miss.” I stride into the room. “You sit there.” I point at the chair by the window.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I frown at him. “Don’t call me ma’am.”

  “Yes, Miss Warmoth.” He drops into the chair.

  “Quit it, Connor!”

  He chuckles and hangs his muscled arms on the arm rests. “Anything you say, Miss Warmoth.”

  I groan and sit down in one of the other chairs, facing him. “Let’s get one thing straight,” I growl. “I’m not your teacher, I’m not your mother or whatever other sick fantasies you have in mind. I’m here for the interview and then I’m leaving.”

  “Mother? I hadn’t thought of that one.” He fakes a shiver. “That kind of turns me on.”

  I grimace. “That is disgusting, Connor.”

  He nods knowingly. “I get it. You want me to be your daddy.”

  Angry, I stand up from my chair and flash my eyes at him. “Bye, Connor.” I march toward the door.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” It’s half command, half a statement of fact.

  “I’m not? Watch me.” I grab the door handle. Then I hesitate.

  “You push the handle down to make it work,” he chuckles sarcastically.

  I spin around and stare him down. “Fuck you, Connor! I’ve had it with you!” I shake my fists and take a step forward. “I’ve had it with your filthy mouth!” I take another step toward him—“I’ve had it with your childish behavior!”—and another step—“And your rude comments!”—and another—“And the insulting way you’ve always treated me!”—and a final step until we stand toe to toe.

  He smirks at me with that dirty fucking grin of his.

  I shout in his face, “And I’m sick and tired of your god damn cooler-than-thou attitude!!”

  “Yeah, well I’m over your sexier-than-thou attitude.”

  “My what?!” Did he just call me sexy?

  “Face it, Warmoth. You want me.”

  “No I don’t!”

  “You’ve always wanted me. Admit it.”

  “I do not! I never have! Do you want to know why? Because I HATE you, Connor Hughes! I’ve hated you since the day we met! I hated you all four years of high school! And I’ve never stopped hating you!” I shout so loud I’m red in the face.

  He chuckles. “You want me.”

  “Fuck you!” I whip my hand up to slap him across the cheek—

  Except he grabs my wrist blinding fast and twists me around, pinning my arm behind my back, and forcing my chest down against the table top. His hips press right up against my ass.

  I can’t move. “Let go of me, Connor!”

  “Not like this, I won’t.”

  I claw behind me with my free hand and grab for him. All I get is a handful of hard muscle on his side. I barely have any nails, but I dig my fingers in as hard as I can. “Let go!”

  “You tried to hit me, War Mouth! I’m not letting go until you calm the fuck down.” He’s amused by this. He’s also totally overpowering me.

  “Get off of me!” I growl and squeeze harder with my fingers.

  “Ow!” he chuckles. “You have strong hands!” He leans his weight onto my back.

  “You’re damn right! Now let go of me before I tear your skin off!”

  He grabs my free arm by the tricep and squeezes back. “Let go, Warmoth.”

  “No!”

  “Fine.” He forces my free arm onto the table top with ease.

  Now I can’t move either arm. I growl and push back against him with my ass, trying to throw him off balance, but he’s made of bricks. I can’t budge him.

  “What are you doing, Warmoth? Are you trying to grind on me?”

  I squirm beneath him. “I’m trying to—get—you—off—”

  He laughs. “You’re trying to get me off?”

  “Of! Me! Move it, Connor! Get off of me!”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You’re dangerous.”

  “You bet I am! Now move!” I bang my butt into his hips. What can I say? It’s the only body part I have left to work with. That’s when I notice my knitted skirt has climbed half way up my ass. My cheeks are pressing against his jeans.

  “What. The fuck, woman. Are you wearing a thong? I never pictured a tight ass like you wearing a thong. How the fuck do you get it up that tight ass of yours?”

  “Same way as anybody else.” I strain against him, arching my back. This inadvertently positions my center of passion directly against his denim covered crotch. I bang at him again. This is humiliating. Or something else entirely.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he laughs. “Are you trying to fuck me, Warmoth?”

  “No! Let me go, Connor. I’m serious.”

  “Promise me you won’t hit me and I’ll let you go.”

  “I’m not promising you anything!”

  “Then I’m not letting go.”

  That’s when something inside me flips.

  I can’t decide if I feel exhilarated or humiliated. Maybe both at the same time. I’m caught on a high wire between giving up and letting go. No matter which way I lean, there is no net to save me. One way or the other, I’m going to fall into the unknown. When in doubt, look at the facts at hand: An ultra hot man who I’ve known for years is pressing up against me. I have intense feelings for this man. They may be feelings of hate, but they are very real. Somehow, it drives me wild. I’m ashamed. Embarrassed. Literally bare-assed. And insanely turned on. I whisper, “Fuck me, Connor.”

  “Is that an order, Miss War Mouth?”

  I hiss. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Connor Screws. You know you want to.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “I didn’t. It’s an order.”

  “You’re not in a position to give any orders, Warmoth.”

  “Stop being such a pussy and fuck me, big man. Or can’t you get it up for a real woman?” I almost laugh. I can’t believe I said that. I’ve never said anything like that. I have zero experience with dirty talk of any kind. My vanilla bedroom experience involved only grunting and moaning.

  “I can get it up, Warmoth.”

  Something jingles behind me. Sounds like his belt buckle.

  “I’ve been waiting to do this forever,” he grunts.

  My drenched thong is pulled away from my folds. Something hard and stiff parts my slick channel, the backs of my legs spasming and my thighs quivering as it slides up and down, up and down. “Is that your finger?”

  “Yup.”

  “Where the fuck is your cock? What are you doing?”

  “Inspecting the fuckin merchandise.”

  “I’m not your fucking merchan—” My words are cut off when his finger wetly circles my clit. Pleasure pours into me and I moan long and low.

  “You like this, don’t you,” he mutters in my ear, his chest hard against my back. My breasts are pressed against the table top. The cups chafe against my nipples, which are swollen and tight.

  “Mmmm,” I moan. His finger fills me again, probing deeper. This is the first time a man has touched me downstairs in years. I never realized a fucking finger could send me to the moon. When he releases my other arm, I throw both
hands on the table top in front of me. “Take me, Connor. Put your cock inside me.” I push my hips back against him.

  His other hand grabs me by the hip while he caresses my clit. Every muscle in my pelvis starts to squeeze as a powerful orgasm begins to build. Breathless, I gasp, “I’m going to come, Connor. I’m going to—”

  “No you’re not.”

  Suddenly his finger is gone and he pulls away.

  The tinkling sound of his buckling belt.

  “What are you doing, Connor?” I look behind me.

  “Leaving you hot and bothered. Let’s do this interview.”

  “What? No! Finish what you started, you piece of shit!” I glance over at the pristine king size bed, which was obviously made up by the maids since this morning.

  He laughs. “What happened to the all important interview? I thought this was your job.” He’s mocking me. Standing there fully dressed while I’m bent over a table with my ass in the air and my skirt around my waist and he’s mocking me.

  I twist around and yank my skirt down. “Screw you, Connor! I’m leaving!” I grab my purse off the floor and glare at him.

  “You don’t know what you want, do you?”

  “I—” Deflate. He’s right. I don’t. “I hate you, Connor,” I pout.

  “Me too. Weird, isn’t it?”

  “You hate yourself?” I quip.

  “Yup. And you.”

  I frown. “I don’t hate myself.”

  “You sure?”

  “I don’t know. Stop asking so many questions.”

  “Me asking so many questions? Are you hearing yourself, Ms. Interviewer?”

  I stare up at him, unable to stop myself from smiling. “You know what’s funny?” I ask it with mild amusement.

  “What’s that?”

  “My job is to get people like you to admit things they would never tell a soul, then it gets printed in a magazine and on the internet so the whole world can read about it. Then I get paid. And what do they get? I mean, really?”

  “Is this a serious question?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin know. Validation? Publicity? Notoriety?”

  I snort. “I don’t know either.” Today has been confusing from beginning to end, to say the least. I flash a smirky smile at him.