Acting on Impulse

by Mia Sosa

  “You sure did.”

  I snap my head up at that.

  She floors me with a quirk of her lips, and the tightness in my chest loosens.

  “Welcome to my life,” I say.

  Her gaze on me softens. “A small price to pay to do something you love, I’m sure. But I didn’t choose this. In fact, if given a choice I’d never have to deal with this again.”

  I have so many questions about her reluctance for media coverage, but my brain snags on the consequences to her job. “Your bosses. Have you talked to them?”

  “Yes, they were good about it, but it was a painful conversation.” She wedges her hands between her thighs. “Essentially, they told me they didn’t need to know what was going on between me and you if I could assure them we were proceeding as consenting adults.”

  “What did you tell them?” I ask in a low voice.

  She leans forward and stares at the floor. “I assured them we were two consenting adults. And I came here intending to do something about it.” Sighing, she lowers her chin to her chest. “But we shouldn’t. It’s inappropriate.”

  “Is it?”

  She raises her head, her mouth open. “Yes, it is.”

  “Because you’re my trainer?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No, because I’m your urologist, Carter. Jesus, what am I missing here? Of course because I’m your trainer.”

  “I think you’re using that as an excuse.”

  “I’m not,” she says weakly.

  She is. Dammit, I know she is. And in a minute, she’s going to know it, too. “What if I told you my audition’s been bumped up a couple of weeks, so I’m happy to consider your work with me done. What would you say then?”

  Her eyes widen, and she gulps.

  Yeah, that’s what I thought. Gotcha, Tori.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tori

  WE WON’T BE working together anymore? Shit. What do I say now? “Is that true?” is all I manage to say in response.

  “It is. Julian called me about the change less than an hour ago. So as much as I’d love to keep working with you”—he stands and lifts his T-shirt to show me his flat abs—“this is as good as it gets.”

  Oh, it’s good all right. Like lick-the-contours-and-suck-on-his-skin good. Still. “I’ll work with you until your audition. Another few days can make a world of difference.”

  “I can continue to work out on my own in that time.” He waggles his eyebrows. “And keep those few days open for more interesting activities.”

  I huff at him. “Carter, this isn’t funny and doesn’t solve anything.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Yes, it solves everything. You claim a relationship with a client is inappropriate.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “It is.”

  He tilts his head and regards me with a suggestive grin. “So now I don’t have to be your client.” He pretends to dust off his hands. “Done. Problem solved. And before you get upset about it, consider this. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do within the time frame I’ve been given. Ending our business relationship now only means we can enjoy each other the way we both want to. Do with me what you will. You have my permission. This should be good news . . . unless being my trainer never was the reason you didn’t want to be with me.”

  Balling my hands into fists, I jump up from the sofa and push him out of my way. “This conversation is ridiculous.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous,” he says behind me.

  Whirling around to face him, I am momentarily stunned by the view that greets me. His inky-black hair is in disarray, a victim of his fingers. The effect is so compelling I want to be their accomplice. With his hands jammed into the pockets of the jeans that hang loosely from his trim hips, he tries to exude an easy confidence, but his ice-blue eyes are trained on my face with an intensity that matches the tension in the room.

  “I know you want me as much as I want you,” he continues. “But you refuse to take the leap.”

  I throw up my hands. “Yes, I refuse to take the leap, because I don’t know what this is. Where should I jump exactly? And how high? Are we jumping into bed, or into something else? You’re an actor, Carter. You live in California. And you have a life that’s incompatible with mine.”

  He tilts his head, and his tight expression relaxes. “You’re scared.”

  Well, duh. “Hell, yes, I’m scared.”

  “Would it help if I told you I’m scared, too?”

  My mouth hangs open. “You are?”

  He nods and removes his hands from his pockets. “For as long as I can remember, acting has been my life. It’s consumed my time, my attention. It’s made me who I am. Other than my family and Julian, I don’t open myself to anyone. I’m scared because how I feel about acting pales in comparison to how I feel about you.”

  I can’t control the gasp that escapes my mouth. “Carter,” is all I say.

  “I’m not going to pretend it’ll be easy. Hell, I don’t even know the questions, let alone the answers. But we can figure it out together.” He steps closer. “I’m not playing games, Tori, and in my mind, this isn’t temporary. If you want me, you have me.”

  If I take this step with Carter, I’m opening myself up to so much more than even I can imagine. But God, I want to. I’d like to tell him that his feelings are reciprocated, but the words never come. They’re lodged in my throat, refusing to leave the comfort of being inside me. I do know how to show him my affection, however, so I lunge at him and cover his mouth with mine.

  Yes, I know. Very subtle.

  Carter chuckles against my lips and deepens the kiss.

  After I’ve sufficiently reacquainted myself with his mouth, I draw back. “I took a leap, because I want to be with you, too.”

  He cups my cheek and ghosts his thumb across my bottom lip, after which he straightens and rubs his hands together. “So what would you like to do next? Watch a movie? I could throw some popcorn in the microwave.”

  The change in his demeanor causes me to blink furiously. “What?”

  “We should take this slow, right? Get comfortable with the idea of being together, huh?”

  He flashes me a smile.

  I shake my head in response. “Cute.”

  He walks backward, removing his T-shirt and tossing it at my feet. “Or I could give you a tour of my bedroom.”

  I scan him from the top of his silky hair to the toes that peek out from the hem of his jeans. This is going to be so good. Screw my bones, I can feel it in my lady bits. So I follow him like a panting puppy begging for a treat. Yes, yes. Kibbles and dicks! Kibbles and dicks! And because I’m an excellent facilitator, I raise the hem of my dress and pull it off, my gaze never leaving his.

  Carter stumbles. “You can’t take off your clothes without warning me. It’s dangerous.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind for the future,” I say with a wink.

  Before we cross his bedroom’s threshold, he stops me with a raised hand. “Hang on. I need a minute to soak this in. You in a bra, panties, and Chuck Taylors. Fuck me, that’s hot.”

  “I’m even hotter with absolutely nothing on.”

  He drags me inside and palms my ass to draw me to him. His chin makes a new home in the crook of my neck, while my hands make quick work of the top button and zipper of his jeans. Out of the corner of my eye, I note there’s a view. I won’t be paying attention to it anytime soon, though. Instead, I delve inside his pants, my hand seeking his erection, and he hisses when I cup him.

  “Tori, I want to do this right,” he whispers against my ear.

  “I don’t want this to be right, Carter. I want it to be all kinds of wrong. Show me what you’ve been holding back this whole time.”

  Swallowing hard, he leans back. His chest is heaving, and goodness, his pupils are dilated to three times their normal size. Not even the adrenaline generated by our training sessions brought Carter to this state.

  He circles me and presses a ki
ss at the nape of my neck. I shiver at the brief contact, wanting much more. His fingers are hot against my skin when he unsnaps my bra. With the lacy material discarded at my feet, he reaches around and cups my breasts, alternating between massaging them and tweaking my nipples. As he caresses me, he grinds his sex against my backside, and there’s no mistaking his thickness.

  Content to temporarily play his trusty assistant, I toe off my sneakers and reach for the side strings of my bikini underwear.

  Carter swats my hands away and growls against my ear. “Leave that to me.”

  The front of his body is flush with the back of mine. In that position, he walks me to the wall and slides my hands up and over my head. I register the rustling behind me and gasp when his lips meet the small of my back. Then his hands glide over my ass before he tugs my panties down my legs. I step out of them, and Carter places his hands on my waist, spinning me to face him. I look down, and my heart races. He’s on his knees at my feet and licking his lips in anticipation.

  He taps my thigh. “Put your leg over my shoulder.”

  Oh. My. God. He expects me to stand against the wall? I will crumple into an embarrassing heap at his feet. He swipes a finger against me, groaning as he tests my wetness. My knees buckle. “Yes, Carter, yes. Please put your mouth on me.”

  His fingers massage my folds, and then his tongue flicks against my clit.

  I shift against his mouth, chasing his tongue, needing more, but he doesn’t suck on me the way I want him to, and I bang my hand against the wall because I’m going to die if he doesn’t give me what I need.

  “Is this what you want?” he asks before he lays his tongue flat against me and slides up to my nub.

  Pleasure courses through me like a never-ending circuit of sexual energy, and I don’t ever want it to stop. “Yes, yes, fuck, Carter, yes, more.”

  He pulls back and places a finger against my clit, teasing it. “There it is. So fucking pretty, Tori. I’ve been dreaming about having this in my mouth.” He licks his lips. “Soon you’ll be all over my face.”

  Oh God. My clit pulses with each flick of his finger, and my stomach tightens in response to the onslaught. “Please, Carter,” I say in a pained voice.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” he says.

  And then he draws my clit into his mouth, sucking it softly and then more aggressively, until my legs shake from the pressure of holding myself up while he ravishes me. But it’s not enough. Somehow, he senses I need more, and he slides two fingers in and out of me while he laps at me with long, strong strokes.

  I don’t recognize my voice or the sounds coming out of my mouth. Some of the words are intelligible, but mostly I’m moaning, and wailing, and hissing. And it feels so good I want to shout.

  “Carter, I . . . I need to ride you. Right now.”

  He looks up at me, the hunger in his gaze pinning me to the spot. “Baby, you can have anything you want.”

  I’m not hiding from this anymore: This is happening.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Carter

  AS TORI RIDES me, her eyes closed, her breasts bouncing in tempo with her gyrating hips, the surrealism of the moment overtakes me. My brain processes the tingling in my cock just fine. But the fact that Tori is the woman inducing that tingle is hard to grasp.

  Tori is riding me. I repeat. Tori is riding me.

  And what a magnificent sight she is. Her long curly hair brushes against the tops of her tits, and her brown skin glistens, damp from her efforts. Her lips are wet, slick from the constant press of her tongue against them. Each time she raises her body, the strain in her facial features disappears, only to return when she bears down on me.

  Again and again.

  Over and over.

  So fucking perfect.

  I’d like to do more than groan and grunt. I’d like to tell her that there’s no need to break me, that repeatedly bringing me to the brink constitutes a special brand of torture I’d be happy to repay, but the part of my brain that regulates my ability to form coherent sentences has shut down.

  I need to regain control of the situation, although somewhere in the recesses of my mind I question whether that’s even possible. I squeeze her waist, urging her to ride me faster. Harder. She opens her eyes, widening them to baby-doll proportions. “Oh God . . . yes . . . Carter . . . yes, that’s it . . . I . . .”

  When she leans over and presses her lips to mine, I breathe in the scent of vanilla that kisses her skin.

  Nuzzling her neck, I whisper, “Hang on. Let’s switch places.”

  She raises her torso, an unfocused gaze contributing to the sexy image that imbeds itself in my brain for safekeeping. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. You wanted me to show you how much I’ve been holding back, and to do that I need to fuck you hard.”

  Her eyes blaze with desire, and she shifts, stretching out her legs so we can roll over and swap positions. Sweat drips from my face as I lift her legs into the air and place them on my shoulders. Her legs are smooth to the touch, distracting me from my mission. I can’t resist leaning in and pressing my mouth against her inner thigh, stretching her body to accommodate my weight. The result is that she’s open to me, and I drive into her like a man possessed. And I am. Possessed by her.

  I have enough sense to choke out, “Is this too much?”

  She shakes her head from side to side. “No, no. Keep going.”

  My arms burn from the effort of holding myself upright, but I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I’m close, and she is, too, our bodies vibrating against each other. Her cries of encouragement grow louder with each thrust, and I watch her dazed expression for signs that she’s approaching the summit. But then she reaches up and caresses my face, her soft hands slowing the moment, taking ownership of its significance. “I can’t believe this is us,” she whispers.

  My body tenses in response to her words, and I fall fast. Hard. Long. I freeze as the orgasm crests and washes over me, a riot of sensation that hits my body like an earthquake, my dick at its epicenter. A heap of a man reduced to nothing by the force of his orgasm. But she isn’t there with me. And although my arms begin to protest, I push through the discomfort, grinding into her, until her cries mingle with my heavy breathing. A few seconds more and she practically sings her release, her back arching in abandon as she tightens around me.

  Fuck. That was good. Like mind-bendingly good. Like I-want-to-do-this-with-her-every-day good. Only her. She’s wrecked me for anyone else, and I’m not worried about that fact at all.

  Minutes later, we lie across each other in silence, a tangle of body parts amid the rumpled sheets. Raising my head to gauge her mood, I kiss her shoulder and wait.

  She turns to me and gives me a lazy smile. “I’m going to need that popcorn now.”

  Hollywood Observer

  9:00 a.m. PDT 6/4/2017 by Lisa Gibson

  Los Angeles, California

  Early Review Special

  Hard Times suffers from a case of trying too hard, and not even its all-star lineup could save it. The latest casualty among major studio (melo)dramas masquerading as indies, the movie chronicles a week in the lives of a married couple whose previously successful daughter (Emily Garamond) succumbs to heroin addiction. Maggie Boyd is convincing as a mother undone by the rapid deterioration of her previously perfect life, while Dennis Satch struggles to connect with the broader themes of the story or his role as a father wracked by guilt for pushing his daughter beyond her limits. Unfortunately, the film manages to come across as a long public service announcement with stereo surround sound and haunting (read: dark) cinematography. Newcomer to film Carter Stone, who plays the daughter’s drug-addicted classmate, wows the audience with his emaciated physique and deathly pallor, but his performance is otherwise uninspiring and emotionless. My advice? Don’t quit your day job, Carter. Oh, wait . . .

  WE SAY: You shouldn’t leave the house for this one. Catch it on Netflix on a rainy day instead.

  Chap
ter Twenty-Seven

  Carter

  MY CELL PINGS with the ringtone I’ve downloaded and assigned exclusively to Julian: the opening bars of the Mission Impossible theme song. He hates it, which is why I love it.

  I reach over, grab the phone, and lean my back against the headboard. Beside me, Tori shifts, her arms winding their way around my waist. I use my free hand to brush back a few strands of her hair so I can fully see her sleeping face.

  “What’s up, Julian?”

  “Just wanted to let you know that Hollywood Observer published an early review of Hard Times.”

  “No shit?”

  “It’s not good, Carter.”

  My heart pounds, and my stomach clenches. “They trashed my performance?”

  “They trashed the entire movie, but yes, you’re a part of the trashing.”

  Fuck. Hearing about a bad review hurts just as much as reading one. “Do I want to read it?”

  Julian sighs into the phone. “Is not reading it even a realistic option for you?”

  “No, you’re right. Let me take it all in, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Before I can disconnect the call, Julian stops me. “Carter,” he says with hesitation in his voice.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about this, man. But remember, it’s a single review, and another critic will love it.”

  It’s then that I remember this can’t be easy on him, either. His reputation suffers when his clients bomb. “Thanks, J. And I’m sorry about this, too.”

  He chuckles. “We’ll be fine, Carter. I’m not worried. And don’t beat yourself up about this. It’s a hiccup in the scheme of things.”

  “Yeah. Later.”

  After ending the call, I disentangle myself from Tori, who turns on her side with one eye open and asks if everything’s okay. “Yeah,” I tell her. “Go back to sleep. I just have to check something.”

  She grumbles an unintelligible response and closes her eyes.

  I slip on a pair of jeans and walk barefoot to the living room. A simple search produces the review in question.