Costars (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance)

by Adams, Claire

  “You already took your first dose,” I say.

  She shrugs. “I’m impatient. What of it?”

  “Let’s try to get you in as soon as possible,” I tell her.

  She sighs and says, “Fine.” Her expression changes into that familiar smirk. “So, that’s your old lady, huh?”

  “That’s my girlfriend,” I answer, “yes.”

  “She’s pretty,” Grace says. “Not a lot in the ass department, but those tits have got to feel pretty good wrapped around your-”

  “Grace!” I interrupt.

  Yuri, who had been gathering her things and getting ready to leave, looks up at me. Then, with a smile, she turns to Grace and says, “They’re fake. I’m sure too much pressure and those things would pop like water balloons.”

  Grace apparently finds this utterly hilarious.

  “Yuri,” I breathe.

  “Yeah, boss?” she asks, joining in Grace’s merriment.

  “Go home, please.”

  “Right away, boss,” she says and finishes gathering her things.

  “So, you’re a boob man, huh?” Grace asks. “I’ve never really given it much thought, myself,” she says, “but I think if I were to go the other way, I’d probably be more about the ass.”

  “Me, too,” Yuri announces. “Isn’t that the weirdest thing?”

  “It’s uncanny,” I answer, deadpan. “Goodnight, Yuri.”

  “Goodnight, boss,” my loyal assistant of almost two years, the woman who has never, not once smiled in my presence says and, as the door’s closing behind her, I can hear her laughing her brains out.

  “You’re a bad influence,” I tell Grace.

  “I know,” she agrees. “Question is, how long is it going to be before I rub one off on you?”

  “I’m sorry, did you just say-”

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says as walks out of the office ahead of me.

  I wait a minute so as to avoid what would certainly be an awkward elevator ride with Grace and, when enough time has passed that I’m sure she’s out of the hospital, I head out.

  In the parking lot, I find Melissa’s car easily enough.

  She’s sitting behind the wheel, working another crossword puzzle, and she doesn’t notice when I walk up to the driver’s side door, so I knock.

  Melissa rolls down her window and says, “Get in.”

  “What about my car?”

  “We’ll get it later,” she says. “I really just want to get the hell out of here. You know how I feel about hospitals.”

  She’s been saying that for so long. The problem is, if she ever did explain exactly how she feels about hospitals, I must have missed it and too much time has passed for me to ask about it now.

  “All right,” I tell her and I walk around to the other side of the car.

  I get in and wait for Melissa to finish up her crossword before she starts the car.

  “So,” I say, “tell me about your day.”

  “Oh, you are not going to believe this,” she says. “Ty called me into his office this morning — I thought he was going to chew me out for watching House of Cards on company time, but he gave me a promotion! You’re looking at the new regional sales director for Symbio Industries.”

  “Congratulations!” I tell her. “That’s wonderful news.”

  “I’m going to be on the road a little bit more, but this is really a big thing for me,” she says, trying to preempt any possible argument that may arise from the fact that I’m about to go from seeing very little of her to seeing even less of her.

  For whatever reason, that eventuality doesn’t really seem to bother me that much.

  “I’ve got some plans for you tonight,” she says and she puts the car in drive.

  We’re on the road for about an hour before I start to get a little anxious.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” she says. “We’re almost there.”

  “All right,” I answer, but the drive just continues to drag on and drag on.

  Finally, she pulls off onto a dirt road and we park on the far side of a tree, next to an open field.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “I have no idea,” she says, “but that’s kind of the point.”

  I’m about to ask what the hell she’s talking about before her seatbelt is undone and she’s straddling me on the passenger’s seat, breathing deep as she kisses me.

  “Have you ever had sex outside?” she asks.

  “Does a sun porch count?” I return.

  “No,” she says and opens the passenger door.

  She climbs out, and I unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “I want you right here, right now,” she says and, before I can answer, she’s got me by the top of the pants, pulling me toward her.

  Somehow, I manage to keep my balance, and she’s already unzipping my pants.

  “Don’t you think we should find somewhere a little less-” I start.

  “A little less what?” she asks as she eagerly kisses my neck.

  “I don’t know,” I stumble, “a little less open?”

  “Who cares? We’re off the main road, and if anyone comes down this way, we’ll see them before they see us.”

  I’m not sure that that’s accurate, but she’s doing a pretty good job making her case as she takes my growing erection in her hand and starts jerking me.

  “Take my top off,” she says. “Tear it.”

  She never talks like this. When we do have sex, it’s usually timid and she’s just as likely as not to stop things before they really get going.

  This is a nice surprise.

  Not wanting to kill the mood, I do what she told me to do and remove her shirt, though I hardly tear it in the process. This doesn’t seem to matter much.

  A moment later, her skirt is up above her ass and her panties are on the ground. I have no idea whether I had anything to do with it or not, but she’s pressing me against her now as my tie flaps in the breeze.

  “On the hood of the car,” she instructs, and I walk her backward, laying her on the dark fiberglass. “Fuck me. I want it hard.”

  I chuckle. “You must really be happy about this new position.”

  “It’s not just that,” she says between deep kisses of my mouth and neck. “If things pan out all right, I’ll get another one in six months. Almost double the salary I was making before today.”

  “That’s wonderful-” I tell her.

  “Shut up and fuck me,” she interrupts, grabbing my cock and putting it against her wetness. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

  I slide myself inside and we both gasp lightly with the feeling of it. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how long it’s been.

  “Yeah,” she breathes, “just like that.”

  She grabs my tie and pulls me down as she lies back all the way on the hood of the car.

  The slight breeze catches her hair, blowing strands around our faces as the setting sun lends its warmth to the moment.

  She’s biting my lower lip, harder than I’d prefer, but not so hard that I pull away or ask her to stop. Her breasts heave in her silken bra, and I try not to think about Yuri’s assertion that Melissa has implants.

  Of course, I know she has implants, but that doesn’t bother me. It wouldn’t bother me if she didn’t have them. It’s something she wanted to do, and I’d find her sexy either way because her cup size has no bearing on how I feel about her.

  How do I feel about her, though?

  This feels so great, but it’s also strange, foreign. We haven’t really connected, sexually or otherwise, in quite some time, and I’m not sure what to do with this.

  Get the fuck out of your head and just enjoy the moment.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asks.

  This is one of those questions for which there is no actual correct answer, there are answers that sound corny and answers that would quickly put an end to what we’re doing right now.
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br />   “I’m thinking about you,” I tell her, going with the corny option as it does also bear the virtue of being true. “I’m thinking about us.”

  “Yeah?” she asks, breathless. “Wanna know what I’m thinking about?”

  “What’s that?”

  She lifts herself a little, just enough to smack me on the ass, but she doesn’t say anything more. If she’s trying to communicate something to me, I’m totally missing it.

  “Tell me you want me,” she whispers, lifting herself to a near-sitting position.

  “I do want you,” I tell her.

  “Tell me you can’t imagine being without me,” she says.

  “I can’t,” I answer.

  She kisses me on the mouth, her eyes open, staring deep into mine.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” she says.

  With that, she pushes me backward, and I pull out of her as she puts her feet back onto the ground and, leaning forward over the hood of the car, she lifts her skirt a little further.

  The cool breeze chills and dries the wetness on me, but as I put myself back inside her, the contrast of her heat sends shivers through my body.

  “I want you to film me,” she says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Where’s your phone?” she asks. “I want to see what it looks like when you fuck me.”

  Still moving in and out of her, I look around.

  My pants are about five feet behind me, gathering prodigious amounts of dirt from the road as the wind continues its mild assault.

  “Now?” I ask.

  “Now,” she says. “Don’t put yourself back in me until the video’s rolling.”

  It’s almost like I’m with a completely different person, but I’m not complaining. If anything, I’m trying to figure out how I can help her get that additional promotion in six months.

  I pull out of her again and quickly pull my phone out of my pocket.

  As I return to Melissa, one hand is flipping through my apps, trying to find the camera while, with the other, I’m teasing her pussy.

  “Make me come,” she says. “Are you recording yet?”

  “Almost there,” I tell her.

  “You’re talking about the camera, right?” she asks.

  I just laugh.

  Finally, after a protracted search, I find the camera app and start recording watching my hand in the third person now as one finger and then two disappear inside of her.

  “Is it on?” she asks.

  “It’s on,” I tell her.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asks, and I guide my tip to her opening as I pull my fingers from inside of her. “How does it look?” she asks as I glide back in, slowly at first and then completely, watching the screen as if it were a clear window, simply capturing the direction of my eyes.

  “It looks pretty amazing,” I tell her.

  “Give me the phone,” she says. “I want to see both of our faces when I come.”

  It’s a slightly strange request, but who am I to deny it?

  I hand her the phone and, apparently, she’s a lot more skilled with it than I am as she stops the video, switches it to selfie mode and starts it again before another second has passed.

  We’re both looking at the screen now, and I’m trying to avoid the feeling of depersonalization. Being able to see her furrowing brow and the way her breasts are pressing into the hood of the car, barely contained by her bra, is more than enough to keep me in the moment.

  My face is just out of the frame, but that’s okay. I’m more interested in looking at her.

  Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear any of the words.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  She finishes whatever the statement was and turns her head to look back at me, saying, “I was telling you to fuck me harder,” she says. “You couldn’t hear me?”

  “No,” I tell her. “I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Well then,” she says before turning back around again. “Fuck me harder.”

  I grab her hips and watch the screen while a smile crosses her face and she jerks back and forth.

  She never talks like this.

  I’ve never heard her say the words “Fuck me harder.” Hell, I’ve never heard her say the words “Fuck me” at all.

  This is entirely new in almost every way imaginable, and I’m finding it hard to keep from triggering immediately with her overwhelming enthusiasm.

  The sun is going down, but neither of us are cold as she hands the phone back to me, switching the camera off of selfie mode.

  She must feel the shudder moving through me, as she turns her head and says, “Come on my skirt and on my back. I want something more to remember this moment than just the video.”

  I’m not sure whether I’m confused by the way she’s talking or if I’m just delirious from pleasure, but with those words, I can’t hold it back any longer.

  Doing my best to keep the camera steady, I pull back and angle myself, exploding over her back and, yes, on her skirt. The camera is shaking in my hand as it comes out in thick ropes of pent-up desire.

  I lean forward, putting my free hand on the hood beside Melissa and she asks if I’m done.

  “Yeah,” I tell her, more breath than voice.

  She stands up and slips her skirt down below her feet, making sure it doesn’t touch the ground.

  Handing me the fabric, she asks me to clean her off, which I do gladly.

  “All right then,” she says in a businesslike manner, her only clothing at the moment being that silk push up bra of hers. “You’re driving.”

  I find my pants and shake as much of the accrued dirt off of them as I can while, behind me, I can hear the sound of the trunk popping.

  When I turn around, pulling my pants up, Melissa’s almost completely dressed in clothes she must have packed into the trunk of the car.

  “You planned this out pretty well, huh?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, anyway, it’s getting cold. We should get back to the house.”

  “All right,” I answer, more confused than ever at her change in demeanor.

  I get in the car and we’re almost back to the city before I realize I’m not wearing any underwear. The wind must have caught my boxers.

  Laughing, I say, “So, you’re not going to believe this-”

  “Yeah,” she interrupts, “would you mind if we talk about it later? I’m trying to get this video sent over to my phone and it’s not going through for some reason.”

  “I have location turned off,” I tell her. “It won’t pick up the network unless we’re around Wi-Fi.”

  “Ah,” she says and, after another minute, she hands me my phone, saying, “I think I might have accidentally deleted the video from your phone in the process of sending it to mine.”

  “That’s all right,” I tell her. “I’ve got a pretty good memory.”

  She just sighs and looks out the window.

  “We should stop by the hospital so we can pick up your car,” she says.

  I’m starting to get the feeling that something’s wrong.

  Chapter Five

  Making Friends

  Grace

  Jace was supposed to be here half an hour ago to get me in for my MRI, but his assistant says she hasn’t heard from him.

  At first, I was worried that I’d showed up late, but it looks like I’m off the hook. Still, there are better things I could be doing with my time.

  “Is there any way I could have you give me a call if or when he shows up?” I ask her. “I’ve just got to step outside and make a phone call.”

  “Sure,” Yuri answers. “He won’t be much longer.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her and walk out of the office.

  I’m not feeling that great right now, thanks to my new round of chemo, but I take the stairs. My phone has trouble in elevators.

  I dial the number.

  “Grace?”

  “How’s it going?” I ask.

  �
��It’s going fine,” Andrew, my contact in Ohio says.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” I tell him. “Are we good?”

  “We’ve hit a bit of a snag,” he says. “It shouldn’t amount to much, but my boss is on one of his down home values kicks and I want to shoot myself.”

  “Is there a reason I’m supposed to care about that?” I ask, taking a break on the first landing and staring down at the Escher-esque view of the remaining stairs to the ground floor.

  “Yeah,” he says, “when he’s in a mood like this, it’s hard to convince him to take on new out-of-state commercial clients. I don’t think he’s really in the frame of mind right now to even consider selling out to anyone.”

  “I’m not asking him to sell out,” I tell him. “I’m not even asking him to change that much of his programming. I just want M.E. on the bottom left of the screen. We can worry about the programming later.”

  “You’re going about this the wrong way,” Andrew says. “If you want a takeover, you’re going to have to come up with a firmer position than that.”

  “Do you know how Romans used to pacify the countries that fell to them?” I ask.

  “How?” he asks.

  “It didn’t always work and God knows there were plenty of insurrections, but the Romans found that if they allowed a conquered people to retain their culture, their religion, everything but the basic allegiance which the fallen group was required to shift toward Rome, taxes and all, that they could keep more of the people from rebelling most of the time,” I tell him. “Haven’t you ever wondered why Greek and Roman gods and goddesses seem to be so interchangeable?”

  “I have never wondered that in my life,” he says.

  “Well, first off, much of Roman culture itself was devised from earlier Greek sources, but the two remained relatively stable in a lot of ways for a pretty significant amount of time because it was enough for Rome, during that time, to conquer. They didn’t care so much that people worshipped different gods or had other forms of entertainment. They got what they wanted: they got more land, more trade, more taxes, more citizens to fight in their wars, and more innovation than they would have if they came in only as a conquering force without any regard to the basic culture of the people they conquered,” I tell him.