by Lee Savino
“Not one bit, Mr. Fuck God. Your reputation precedes you. You made your bed. You can lie in it.”
“As long as I can lie in it with you.”
I roll my eyes. “Calm down, Casanova. You’re not going to seduce me tonight.”
He traces the design on the blanket, his finger straying dangerously close to my boob. “Can you blame me if I try? You’re hot.”
I give him a look.
“Oh, come on. Not even those glasses hide it. Though they do give me tons of sexy librarian fantasies.”
“Your books are overdue, Mr. Kensington,” I say sternly.
“Fuck me,” he groans, rolling to his back.
“No. Not gonna happen. I don’t fuck boys who are prettier than me.”
“I’m not boy. I’m a man.”
“Then act like one. Skateboarding? Really?”
“I like it. I won a competition—”
“When you were a teen. You’re twenty-eight.”
“How old are you?”
“None of your business.”
His eyes glitter. “I can make it my business. I’ll call down to Evans right now—”
“Twenty-six.”
“You’re young.”
“Age is just a number. I’ve got experience.”
He smirks.
“As a media specialist,” I clarify. “My last five clients—”
“I know about your clients. I read your file.”
“You read?” I snark back, and he makes a face.
I hit him with a pillow, and he grabs it from me, putting it behind his head.
This is nice. This is comfortable. At least, as comfortable as we can be with all this sexual tension buzzing between us. The air is charged, like just before a storm.
“I guess your glasses make you look older. More... experienced.”
I smile at this.
“So what made you want to be a fixer?” Theo asked.
“Everyone has secrets.”
He tilts his head closer. “You gonna tell me yours?”
“What do you think?” I pull the sheet up under my chin.
“If you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
“Too late for that, Mr. Fuck God. Your dick is all over the internet. You don’t have any secrets.” I plump my own pillow, sink into it with a sigh. “Not that you’ve ever had much privacy. Billionaire, son of a princess. You’ve lived your whole life in the spotlight. Must get old.”
“It does,” he says softly, and there’s a sad note in his voice, a hint of the man I saw before. Much older and more serious than the usual playboy the world knows. Soft and open, able to be hurt.
I might be the only one who’s ever seen the real Theo.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, and my heart stops. There’s nothing flirtatious about his tone, none of the irresistible charm. He serious, stating a fact. But I am very aware of his hand resting on the bed between us, five inches from my hip. It would take nothing for him to slide it forward, to pull down the covers and find my bare skin under the baggy t-shirt. His touch wouldn’t even be shocking. It wouldn’t be wrong.
Us, lying together without touching, that is shocking. Being in bed with Theo feels inevitable.
It doesn’t make it right.
I press my lips together and stare at the ceiling.
“When I first saw you, I thought you were, I don’t know”, he shakes his head, “a model or something. A pretty face sent here to sell something. Then you opened your mouth and—”
“What? Beautiful women can’t be smart?”
“I don’t usually hang out with women because they’re smart.”
“Pepper Spice is smart. She turned one night with you into media attention and a book deal.”
He says nothing.
“And I am a pretty face sent here to sell something,” I continue. “I’m going to sell the world Theodore Kensington: fine, upstanding citizen. And you know what? It won’t even be a lie.”
“My whole life is a lie.”
“What are you talking about? You live in a mansion in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the world. This place is practically a palace.”
“This? I hate this place. My father built it for my mother. Ten years after she died.” He scoffs. “He never stopped loving her. Never stopped…”
“Trying to prove himself?”
“Yeah,” his voice kicks with a mirthless laugh. “I guess so.”
“So you had a hard childhood. That’s not unusual.”
“What about you?” He turns that deep gaze on me and I flick my own down. I want to shrink into myself, a hermit crab in a shell. Don’t look at me.
But he does. There’s no hiding from the dark depths of his gaze.
“Tell me something about yourself, Vesper Smith. Something real.”
“Truth or dare?” I joke, and wish I could take it back. Theo lies on his side, his dark gaze soldered to my curves under the blanket. And I’m wet and ready, body just waiting for him to make the first move. At this point, a dare would be very, very dangerous.
I swallow. “I’m from a small town. Only child.”
“Parents?” he probes, more intent than I’ve ever seen him. His sexy aura is turned way, way up. This close, it’s overpowering.
“Just my mom. She worked a lot.”
“So did my dad.”
“Yeah, well, at least you weren’t on food stamps.” I grimace at the ceiling.
“So no modeling career?”
“No. Pretty girls in my town ended up at the strip club.”
“What got you out?”
“Work, desire. A bit of luck. I had a teacher who believed in me. She was the school librarian. I befriended her. I thought all the books were hers. She was nice to me. She told me I could go to college, and I believed her.”
“Did you go?”
“Bachelors and masters.”
“Smart girl. Scholarships?”
“And loans. I also worked.” I touch my glasses. “Got an internship with a fixer who taught me everything she knew. And here I am.”
“In bed with me.”
“This is not going on my resume.”
He laughs, and I wriggle around to face him. The heat between our bodies is potent. Electricity leaps from his tanned skin to mine. Even covered in a white sheet, I can feel it.
I lick my lips. “You know what would make me very, very happy?”
“I think I can guess.” The devil lurks in his grin.
I hold up a finger. “One interview. Prime time. I can make a call—”
“No.” He jerks away from me, only a few inches, but I feel the wall go up between us.
“All right, then. How about this? The kids you met today, the ones going to the event tomorrow? Comp them some rooms. You own a hotel a few blocks away.”
Now he’s lying on his back staring at the ceiling and I’m leaning into him.
“It’d be a great gesture. It’d make their year. I promise not to leak it to the press. Although, it’d be great if you made an appearance. Just show up, make the kids feel special.”
“Is it really good for these kids to be seen with me? My reputation…”
“You are not your sex life, although you’ve done a good job trying convince everyone that. But is that all you want to be? You’re a fucking billionaire. I know it doesn’t mean as much to you because you were born to it, but remember Billy and Kenny? Their mom works double shifts as a waitress at Denny’s. Their father’s in jail. You of all people know what it’s like to have a parent working all the time, and one gone.”
He flinches.
“You could make a difference in their lives, if you wanted to. You just have to get over yourself.” I flop onto my back, rant over.
There’s a long stretch of silence.
“I don’t mean to ride your ass,” I add. “I want you to realize the good you can do. It doesn’t have to crimp your party life. Or sex life.”
“You can ri
de my ass anytime.”
I give up, rolling away from him and setting the alarm on my phone before turning off the light.
Behind me Theo shifts, and presses his body against mine, lining it up behind me.
His arm comes around, wrapping around me over the blanket.
My body is alive, holding its breath. I wait for him to pull me to him, to kiss me and do all manner of naughty things that would shock a porn star, not to mention Miss Mavery.
But he doesn’t, so I fall asleep.
I jerk awake when my phone buzzes like an angry bee.
I grab it, squinting to check it. Three a.m.
“Do you have to keep that thing on?” Theo asks. In sleep he threaded his legs through mine, tangling us together.
I power the cell down, and let Theo take it and set it aside.
His cock probes me as I settle back. He says nothing more, but from his breathing I can tell he’s wide awake.
“Theo?”
“Mmm?”
“Why didn’t your grandmother want to meet you until now?” It’s a blunt question, but the darkness softens it.
“I’ve always wondered that,” his voice is muffled behind me. “My dad told me she hated him. Hated that her daughter ran away and abandoned everything she’d been raised to do.
So she shunned her own grandson? How sad.
“He went to work to prove himself. Built an empire. And then he died.” Bitterness laces Theo’s tone.
“I’m sorry. You deserve to have family.” You deserve to be loved.
He holds me tighter, and I find his hand, stroke his wrist. His fingers squeeze mine, and then slide downward.
“What are you doing?” His hand brushes my stomach, breaching my baggy t-shirt before slipping under my yoga pants. I hold my breath as he cups my hot, throbbing pussy.
“Theo—”
“Shhh,” he mutters. “You need this.” I need this, I hear his unspoken thought. Diverting from difficult emotions to promiscuous sex. Story of Theo’s life.
At the moment, I don’t care. His fingers stroke up and down, the lightest of touches. The coil of arousal tightens. I whimper and he delves deeper, soothing the ache even as he makes it worse.
This is a bad idea.
“No, it’s a not,” he says, and I realize I spoke aloud. “Let go. Let me take care of you.”
I relax, all but my hips, which cant back and forth against his touch. His index finger finds the spot next to my clit and flicks it until l shift, restless. Pleasure builds in me, threatening to take over. It’s too much. I want to shy away. Theo drapes his leg over mine, capturing me, keeping me still so my orgasm can catch me.
My climax blooms slowly, spreading through my breathless body, blanking my mind. Theo keeps up the light, fluttering touches until my inner muscles clench and spasm, begging for more.
I sigh and sink further into his body. God in the sheets.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he kisses the back of my neck.
“Go to sleep.”
I do, wondering if I’ll be able to keep Theo’s dick out of the press—and my pants.
The Kid’s Olympics is at the stadium downtown. We leave the mansion at eight a.m., in a convoy of Escalades. Theo opted to ride with me. I frown at my phone the whole time, scrolling through newsfeeds, but I feel him watching.
The dirt on Pepper Spice Mina found yesterday has done its work, deflecting attention from Theo. Between his demure statement (crafted by me) and his positive photo op at the skate park, he’s looking a lot better in the news. People are willing to forgive a rich, handsome guy and his sexual exploits a lot faster than they would anyone else.
Sexist, but it’s true.
“We’re here,” Evans announces when we pull up to the stadium.
“No press,” Theo mouths as we walk in, and I nod.
He accepts a complimentary volunteer shirt, and my hand itches to grab my phone, take a picture, and send it to my friend at Good News, America.
Instead, I accept a shirt as well, and plunge in.
The day whirls by. At one point, Evans calls me over to tell me the Wall Street Journal wants to do a write up of Theo’s dad and Kensington, Inc. and they want a quote from Theo.
“Tell them we’re preparing for an audience with the Queen, and that we’ll have something to them by Friday.” I can only hope Theo will commit to cleaning up his act by then. At least today he seems to be having fun. The kids flocking him don’t bother him at all. Plenty of parents are here, too, and ask for pictures. Apparently, Theo’s skateboarding prowess is enough to make him popular with the kids, and his status as a scandalous public figure—on level with the Kardashians—is enough to make him a minor celebrity with the adults.
And Theo? He just hangs out with the kids, and enjoys himself. Biceps flexing as he lifts one up to make a slam dunk. Tattoos peeking out from under the volunteer shirt he wears. Sexy smile drawing yoga-pant wearing moms like flies to honey. And these women’s yoga pants are skin tight.
“I thought you weren’t doing pictures,” I grouse to him at lunch.
“I said no press. I don’t care if the kids want pictures.” He offers me his water bottle. I shake my head and he caps it. “Why, you jealous?”
“No.”
He throws an arm around me. I push at him, trying to get free, but he’s too strong. His manly scent washes over me, sexy cologne mixed with the smell of the popcorn they sell at the stadium. He smells like a teenager on a first date.
My cheeks heat, remembering how he held me all night. And then gave me an orgasm.
“Hey,” he calls to his new ten-year-old buddies. “Take a picture of us?”
“Theo—”
“Smile,” he orders, so I do.
Theo has a limo pick up the Bronx kids to take them to the hotel. They’re all wide smiles, brimming with excitement. Mr. White shakes Theo’s hand, thanking him again.
“Come on, V-card,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand. Energy zings up my arm, as if I’ve hit my funny bone. My body fills with a not quite painful ache.
In the backseat of our own limo, I lean into Theo, resting my head against his shoulder until my glasses dig into my face. I don’t ever want to move. The white volunteer shirt sets off his tanned skin perfectly. I want to crawl into his lap and curl against his chest.
Instead, I distract myself with my phone, checking my social media sites, and because I’m on the clock, his public pages.
“Hey, look at this,” I say, and show him his Lookbook page.
His hair tickles my skin as he leans closer. I clear my throat and scroll through all the pictures of him with the kids. There’s one with him kneeling beside an adorable boy in a wheelchair. Theo’s grin makes my heart ache.
“You’re getting a lot of great comments,” I say.
Theo squints at the screen. He plucks my glasses off my face before I can say anything, sets them on his nose. I open my mouth, but the black frames highlight his beauty and, for a second, I can’t breathe. Nerd Theo is fucking hot.
Brow furrowed, he tries to read the screen before jerking his head back, pulling the glasses off and staring at them. “Vesper, these are—”
“Fake,” I say, and give him a sheepish grin. “You caught me. Do you need glasses to read?”
“I don’t read, remember?” He frowns at the glasses.
“You can though. You just won’t. You avoid anything that makes you look responsible or smart.”
“Is that why you wear these?” He offers me my frames. “Do you think they make you look smarter?”
“Maybe.” I take them, turn them over in my hands. The black lines. The clear glass. It all seems so stupid now. I slip them into my purse with my phone.
“Why don’t you tell your doctor you need glasses?” I ask Theo. “Or just get Lasik surgery?”
He slides away from me on the seat. “I told you. I don’t read. I barely passed high school. Flunked out of college. It didn’t interest me. What I don’t unde
rstand is why you wear fake glasses. You don’t need anything to make you look smart.”
“I put myself through college,” I blurt. “I worked at a bar. I got great tips.”
“I bet you did.”
“Theo...” I turn away. “Never mind.”
He catches my hand. “No. Tell me.”
“I kept my hair long. I was afraid to cut it in case I wouldn’t get as much attention. Wouldn’t make as much money.” I realize I’ve pulled my ponytail over my shoulder, and am stroking it. I stop. “One day, a guy comes in. Big spender. I flirted with him. He told me he owned a club, and was looking for a new bartender. Offered me a job.”
“Did you take it?”
“I went with him to his business in the big city. It was a club. Membership only—fifty-two thousand a year. Lots of girls in tiny dresses, and older men.”
“Sugar babies with their sugar daddies.”
“Yep,” I swallow hard. “That’s what people see when they look at me. Long legs, blonde hair. They think I could be a model, or a stripper, or…”
“That’s not all they see.” He finds the glasses and slides them back on my face. “Just because you’re hot as fuck doesn’t mean you’re not intelligent.”
That’s not what people see.
“And look at you now. Vesper Smith. Fixer. You make the bad boys good again.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You’re reforming me,” he insists. “And later this week, you’re gonna meet the queen of Sweden.”
I still. “You’re going?”
Theo shrugs. “Why not? She’s just a person.”
“She’s your grandmother.”
“Yeah, she’s been a fantastic grandmother so far.”
I put my hand on his knee. “Losing your mom must have hurt her.”
“It hurt me too. My dad never recovered.”
I wait, but he says no more. I move my hand from his knee. I should probably stop touching him so much.
But then he puts his hand on the back of my neck. Slowly pulls the hair band out, sifts his fingers through my hair. I close my eyes in pleasure.
“I like your hair. Though, I wouldn’t mind if you cut it.”
“Thank you.”
“You better come to Sweden with me. You look more like Swedish royalty than I do.”