Acting on Impulse

by Mia Sosa

  “Mr. Evans—”

  “Call me Gary.”

  “Gary, although the idea of securing a celebrity endorsement is a good one, Carter Stone isn’t a viable option. He hasn’t followed the program, and in fact someone like Stone actually wouldn’t be on brand. We’re trying to reach John Q. Public here.”

  “You could always put him through the program or fudge the details to make it appear as if he completed it. The key point is that you’ve worked with him. It’s a golden opportunity for you, isn’t it? Given his recent weight loss, if he transforms his physique, he’ll be the ‘it’ guy in Hollywood, at least when it comes to hot bodies.”

  Did he just use the term hot bodies? I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

  This must be what Carter experiences on an almost daily basis: people wanting a piece of him, people assuming they’re entitled to a piece of him. I’m angry on his behalf. But Carter accepts it and presses on, because he loves acting, and he’s willing to take the bad with the good. And I’m sure for him, the good outweighs the bad.

  Oh.

  Oh, damn.

  It pains me to be this dense.

  If I really want to be with Carter, shouldn’t I, too, be willing to take the bad with the good? And doesn’t the good, in fact, outweigh the bad?

  Yes, and yes.

  And if I had to choose between dealing with the intrusion upon my life that follows from being with Carter or not being with Carter at all, which choice would I make? The answer is a no-brainer.

  So what the hell am I doing here?

  “Mr. Evans, am I right in assuming the group isn’t interested in my proposal unless I can secure an endorsement from someone like Carter Stone?”

  Mr. Evans blanches, but he recovers within seconds and gives me a curt nod. “You’re correct, Ms. Alvarez.”

  I stand and offer him my hand, which he takes reluctantly.

  “Then I think we’re done,” I say in a clear and steady voice. “Thank you for your time.”

  Keep it moving, Tori. This is a minor setback. I’ll find another way to open the studio.

  For now, though, I’m going to visit my man.

  AFTER A FORTY-MINUTE taxi ride, I arrive in Carter’s West Hollywood neighborhood. The driver takes a wrong turn onto a dead-end street and swings around until he finds Carter’s home, which is situated on a surprisingly quiet cul-de-sac. The exterior is midcentury modern, its first level a wall of white with a gray front door. Windows span the second level, suggesting that the house has a spectacular view. The landscaping is minimal, but I spy two palm trees flanking the end of the cobblestoned walkway, and their presence makes me smile.

  The driver whistles. “Who lives there? Someone famous?”

  “Not sure. I’m just a dog walker.”

  A dog walker who flies from out of town and brings a suitcase with her? Ugh, Tori, your subterfuge skills are weak.

  I ring the doorbell, and the sound of padded feet tells me this trip wasn’t futile. After adjusting the straps of my oversized purse, I lick my lips and smile.

  The woman who opens the door scans me from head to toe and returns her gaze to the carry-on at my side. She’s young and pretty, with dark brown hair and golden-brown eyes, and she’s not unlike the women I’ve seen on Carter’s arms in gossip magazines. I don’t know what to think. But I don’t jump to conclusions. Yet.

  She places her hands in the air in surrender and grins. “I’m his sister, I swear. And you must be Tori-not-short-for-Victoria.”

  I like her immediately. “You’re Ashley?”

  She nods and swings the door open. “The one and only. I’m crashing. You planning the same?”

  “Yeah,” I say, pointing to my travel gear. “A weekend visit . . . but I guess I should have cleared this with him first.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. If anything, he’ll kick me out. Come on in. It’s so great to meet you.” Ashley picks up the newspaper outside the door before she closes it, and then I follow her past the foyer into the living area.

  “Great to meet you, too.” I pull my luggage up one step, walk through the short foyer, and scan the living area. “Wow, this is gorgeous.”

  It’s a study in light and space with floor-to-ceiling windows, vaulted ceilings, and hardwood floors. And sculptures. Lots and lots of sculptures. Which is the only clue I need to confidently conclude an interior decorator furnished Carter’s place.

  I glimpse Ashley’s bare feet and toe off my sandals before I go any farther into the room.

  “Yeah, the views are amazing,” she says. “Do you want a tour? I’m not sure when Carter will be back.”

  “That would be great. Could I, uh . . . use the restroom first?”

  Her eyes widen. “Yes, I’m so sorry. You must be exhausted. The powder room’s down this hall to the left. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water would be great.”

  I drop my purse on a kitchen stool and walk down the hall.

  I’m not sure why one would need a double vanity in the powder room, but I’m not complaining. I trail a finger against the marble counter, admiring the intricate tile backsplash surrounding the massive mirror. It’s the kind of mirror that reveals every imperfection, and I stick my tongue out at myself because I will not let this soul sucker kill my joy.

  When I return to the living area, Ashley hands me a glass of water.

  “Would you like me to get him back here somehow?” she says with mischief in her eyes.

  I swallow and shake my head. “No, no. I don’t want him to change his plans for me. If it’s okay, I’ll just hang out here until he gets back.”

  “Sure. Let’s get you that tour, then.”

  We both freeze, however, when the lock on the front door clicks and Carter walks in. He has his phone to his ear, and his mouth is set in a scowl. The moment he sees me, he smiles and his eyes brighten. How I wish we were alone so I could have my way with him.

  He ends the call and places his phone on the kitchen counter. “I thought you weren’t able to come this weekend.”

  “I left as soon as I could. It didn’t feel right to be away from you.”

  He lowers his eyelids to half-mast. “I’m glad you’re here.” His voice deepens a notch. “Really glad.”

  Oh. Whatever he’s communicating, I’m here for it. Because I’m certain it involves a bed and a mind-numbing orgasm—maybe even two or three. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

  Ashley waves her hands between us like an NFL referee. “Oh my God, you two. I’m right here. Get. A. Room.”

  Carter and I laugh.

  “Sorry, Ashley,” I say. “We’re in the easily-carried-away stage.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s just . . . he’s my older brother.” She covers her eyes. “I can’t look.” She scurries away. Seconds later, a door clicks shut.

  “Come here, you,” he says as he tugs me close. I fall into his arms easily and snuggle against his chest. I breathe him in, his familiar scent clean and crisp, like a towel that’s been air-dried near the beach. I place my hands at his waist and drag my hands over him, my fingers traveling over the dips and swells of his powerful back. Someone’s been keeping up with his exercise plan.

  He threads his hand under my hair, drawing my head back, and plants an openmouthed kiss on my neck. With his mouth still pressed against my skin, he bends and lifts me by my ass so that I have no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. Okay, I have a choice, but I choose to do this. In truth, I want to climb him and rub myself against every inch of his body until we’re fused together for the next hour.

  “Oh shit, you guys. Wait until I leave at least.”

  I scramble off Carter, and we spring apart like two teenagers caught necking in the back of a car. Ashley gathers items in the living area, avoiding eye contact with us as she does. She slings her purse over her shoulder. “I’m out. Julian took pity on me and is letting me crash there. Says he won’t be home anyway.”

  C
arter swipes his hand down his face. “Ashley, you don’t have to go.”

  Even I can tell it’s a lackluster protest. The man does this for a living. What happened to his acting skills?

  She raises her brows. “I assure you, I do. And don’t worry about me. I have the rental.” To Carter, she says, “I’ll check in with you before I leave.” Then she waves at us from the door. “Have fun, kids.”

  The front door closes, and Carter again lifts me off the ground. “I missed you.”

  I thread my hands around his neck and hang on for the ride down a long hall to his bedroom. “I missed you, too.”

  “I have an idea,” he says in between kisses to my neck and jaw.

  “Tell me,” I say as I squirm against him.

  “Let’s stay in bed for the rest of the weekend.”

  “You have the best ideas. A think tank would be lucky to have you.”

  He smiles against my neck, and then he deposits me in the center of his bed. I’m in an unfamiliar place, so I survey the room, just to get my bearings. It’s dominated by windows, and his furnishings are sparse. The most significant décor is the sunlight filtering through what I’m sure are ridiculously expensive blinds.

  Carter toes off his shoes and unsnaps his jeans. My gaze darts to the sliver of skin above his boxer briefs before it returns to his face. Next, he dispenses with his royal blue T-shirt, pulling it overhead so that I get a first-row seat at an entertaining display of flexing muscles. I want to clap my hands and cheer, because it deserves a standing ovation and an encore. But Carter wants me to play a part in the show, too.

  With his unbuttoned jeans still hanging from his hips, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. My feet hit the cold marble floor, and I spread my legs. He drops into the space I’ve created for him.

  “Sit up,” he instructs.

  Oh, this is different. I was usually the one telling him what to do in the gym. I like being on the receiving end of his bossiness here. He pulls up my top and lifts it over my head, but he doesn’t remove it completely, which binds my arms. With a single finger, he pushes me back down and massages my breasts until they pop out of the cups of my bra. “There they are,” he says with a smile. He traces my nipples with his index fingers, drawing circles around them, and then he pulls them gently, lengthening them. “So swollen,” he whispers.

  I rock my hips in response to Carter’s ministrations, and my movements draw his gaze to the junction of my thighs. “Let’s get these pants off you. I want to see your bare pussy.”

  With a whimper that shall never be acknowledged again, I raise my hips off the bed. He unzips my pants and tugs them down my body, throwing them behind him and returning to rid me of my panties next. But he doesn’t pull them all the way down my legs. Instead he pulls them off my mound and ass and leaves them around my thighs. Then he bends over and breathes me in. “You smell like you want me to fuck you so badly.”

  I quiver in anticipation, already picturing his cock filling me to the hilt. In the meantime, he’s left me a mess: shirt secured around my arms; bra cups resting below my breasts; and panties binding my legs. I want to touch him, but my shirt is constricting me, which is just what he wants. It leaves me vulnerable to his desires, and I like that, too. My position should make me feel helpless, but not for a second do I worry that Carter will take advantage of me. This is just as much for my pleasure as it is his, and the continuous roll of my hips, along with my soft moans, tells him he’s succeeding.

  “Carter, please,” I beg him.

  He stands and steps back, admiring his handiwork. “Look at you,” he says. “I’m honored.”

  “And I’m horny,” I say after taking a harsh breath.

  He unzips his jeans slowly, revealing a hint of pubic hair and the underside of his rigid dick. “Do you want me to take it out?”

  “Yes, that’s how this usually works.”

  He curls his hand and then slides it up and down his cock. “I don’t think you’re ready.”

  I can’t do anything but shift my ass and hips and squeeze my core. The pressure is deliciously frustrating. But I need more. So I lick my lips. “Carter?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m warm, wet, and tight, and I’d love you to fuck me into next week.”

  “I don’t think I can trust your assessment of the situation. I should confirm it with my own hands.”

  He gets on the bed this time and pulls me to my knees. “Let’s see, now,” he says as he slips a single digit inside. “Oh, that’s warm. Very warm. I think we can get you wetter, though.”

  I collapse against him and cry out. “Yes, please. Do whatever you want.”

  Carter kisses me and draws my bottom lip into his mouth. “Do you need a second finger?”

  “Oh God, yes. Please.”

  He adds a second finger, and my gut clenches from the dual tension of being pleasured and having limited mobility.

  “I can’t quite determine how tight you are. Two fingers aren’t a reliable guide. How about four? Can you take four?”

  “I’ll take whatever you give me, damn you.”

  He fills me with four fingers and twists them. “Oh shit, you are tight, Tori.”

  My wetness coats his fingers as he slips them in and out of me. He groans against my ear, apparently appreciative of the slick heat between my legs. It’s not enough, though. My body tightens from the pressure of being on the brink of orgasm, and I desperately need relief. With his fingers inside me, I raise one leg and press my foot onto the bed. That tweak in our positions allows me to ride his fingers as though they’re his cock. I use his hand to feed my need to be filled—and his mouth drops open as he stares at the place where my pussy and his fingers meet.

  I kiss his chest, obscuring his view. But I don’t care, because we need to move this along. “Do you feel that all over your fingers? That could be me pulsing around your cock.”

  “Fuck,” he cries. “I surrender.”

  He squeezes his eyes closed, groans, and pulls out his dick, fisting it tightly. For a minute, he appears disoriented, and then I realize he’s searching for something. He shucks his jeans, crosses the room, and flips open a black case filled with condoms.

  “If you release me from all this, I’ll put it on for you.”

  “Nope. You stay right there. You’re a devious orgasm extractor, and I have to last.”

  I snicker at his earnestness as he makes quick work of putting on protection.

  Once sheathed, he climbs on top of the bed and releases me from my constraints, tossing my shirt, bra, and panties on his side table.

  “Turn around. Ass in the air.”

  I do so without delay, using my elbows to support my upper body. Carter rubs his cock over my pussy and pushes inside. There’s a second of discomfort as I adjust to his size, and then he grinds into me slowly.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yes, Carter, yes. Don’t be sweet. Just fuck me hard. Please.”

  He caresses my shoulders and gathers my hair in his hands, and then he tugs on my curls as he folds his body over mine. He pulls out, leaving only the broad head of his cock inside, and then he pounds into me, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “Still okay?”

  “Unless I say otherwise, you can assume I’m okay.”

  My advice pushes him to action. He rises off my back, digs his fingers into my waist, and strokes me wildly. And oh, I don’t know what I love more: Carter’s groans and moans, or the way he’s filling me.

  Over and over he sinks into me, his cock creating the friction that makes me teeter on a deliciously precarious edge. I’m almost there, and the push and pull between us, the tingling that fuses my nerve endings into a continuum of pleasure, is as satisfying as the climax we’re trying to reach.

  He releases my waist and massages my back as he pumps. “That’s it, Tori. Tighten around me. Let me feel you.”

  “Like that?”

  His answering groan shoots to my achy clit. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Touch
yourself, baby. I’m going to come.”

  I slide my arm under me and rub two fingers against the nub. Round and round in circles I go until my arm shakes from the pressure of it. Carter spreads my ass, achieving a deeper penetration I didn’t think was possible, and plunges into me with abandon.

  My mouth hangs open as he works me from behind, and it’s so intense that I can’t do anything but drop my hands to the bed, grasp the sheets, and rock my hips back to meet his thrusts. His hands knead my shoulders, and then he guides my torso lower so that my face and breasts are pressed against the mattress. Holy shit, this position tilts my pelvis just so, and each successive thrust brings me one step closer to a body-numbing orgasm.

  When I reach my peak, it crashes into me without warning, and my entire body trembles in response to the waves of pleasure spreading through it. And then a deep groan rumbles from Carter’s chest, joining my high-pitched cries, followed by a stream of fuck, shit, and that’s so good.

  We are loud. And I love it so much.

  Carter collapses against me, and we drop to the bed in an inelegant heap.

  Still on my stomach, I swallow several times. My throat is parched, and my lips are chapped, but I don’t care because that orgasm wrecked me in the best way.

  Carter pulls out of me slowly, rolls off the bed, and tosses the condom in the trash. He slides back into the bed and pulls the covers over us, turning me to face him. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this pretty face.” He takes a section of my hair and twirls it around his fingers.

  I nuzzle his neck. “You were focused on my ass.”

  He pushes me away, and I pull back.

  “You’re ticklish,” I observe, my mouth agape.

  He plants a soft kiss on my parted lips. “Am not.”

  As I contemplate how to uncover the truth, he pins my arms behind my back. “Okay,” he says. “I’m ticklish. Please don’t use it against me.”

  I drop my head to his chest. “Never.”

  He takes a deep breath, his face surrounded by a cloud of my curls. “Hey, Tori.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m so glad you’re here.”