by Leslie North
Chris unbuttoned her jeans then and slid his hands into her pants. The heat of his palms cupping her butt prompted a long moan from her lips. Any doubts or questions about where she wanted this to lead were washed away.
She needed this from him. Now.
“You just want to fuck right here in the middle of the kitchen?” she asked, blinking away the fog of arousal as she tried to scope out the multipurpose room. Everyone had left for the day. They had the all-clear. She undid the buttons of his shirt.
“I don’t see why not.” A lazy smile crossed his lips, and for a moment he was still the charismatic, gangly teen heart throb from her past. The gorgeous boy she’d fallen for and made out with so many times behind bleachers and between classes. His pitch-black hair was mussed, his lips swollen from their overeager kisses.
Clarity returned to her in an overwhelming rush. “But what about the cameras? Are you sure they’re off? They’ll see us fucking. The entire country will know we got it on.”
Chris shook his head, his eyes never leaving her lips. “This isn’t Big Brother. Besides, even if one camera did happen to catch us, they would never air that for this show. It’s family-friendly.”
They shared a long, heavy glance. Chris squeezed her ass again, and she inhaled sharply. That had always been her weak spot. And he hadn’t forgotten. Her panties went damp, and as her eyes fluttered shut, she knew her decision was made.
“Let’s just be discreet,” she murmured, undoing his belt with a severe look. Which meant keeping it quiet, keeping this under wraps. Sure, America might not find out, but the entire crew didn’t need to know about their after-hours shenanigans tomorrow. They didn’t need to scandalize whoever might chance to walk into the multipurpose room tonight.
“Mmm.” Chris took her chin between thumb and forefinger, then captured her lips in another kiss. She abandoned her quest to undo his pants, sideswiped by the intensity of their make-out session. Why was he the best kisser? It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right. Tears pricked her eyes for some reason, but better not to dwell on that. She was so turned on she felt like she could snap. It was making her crazy. She just needed to get laid and be done with it.
Her resolve strengthened with the decision. Yes. Boning Chris in the kitchen was the solution.
She resumed her work freeing his cock, pushing his pants down, and then slipping her hand under the fabric of his boxers. He moaned when her hand found the hot steel of his cock, already rock hard in her grip. She fingered the bulbous head for a moment, flashing back to senior year when his cock had been the first cock she’d ever fondled. Then Chris pushed her against the countertop, his movement both fierce yet measured. Like he was just barely containing the passion.
“These need to come off now,” he growled, tugging at her jeans. They crumpled to her ankles a moment later, and then he hoisted her onto the counter. Her legs splayed open and he filled the space there. She couldn’t fight the grin.
He settled between her legs, the bulge of his boxers pressing against the damp crotch of her panties. His chest heaved as he fished his cock out of his underwear and then pushed aside the scrap between her legs.
She gasped when his erection slipped over the damp heat of her crease. She locked her arms around his neck and arched, needing more of it. More of him. He wet his bottom lip, his cockhead nudging her throbbing clit. She cried out. So much for being quiet.
“Chris!” She locked her knees around him, urging more of it. “God, I need it. Please. Come on.”
His breath came out in hot bursts at her ear. “Yeah? You want what I got?”
“Come on.” She dug her fingernails into his sides, jerking at his waist. He brushed his cock against her clit again, and she whimpered.
“I want to hear you beg for it.” His cock slipped along her damp folds, and she bucked against him.
“Fuck you,” she said with a laugh. In this moment, she felt almost delirious. Happy and eager and somehow relieved—she was finally going to scratch an itch that had been overlooked for ten years.
“Mmm. Fuck you,” he said and eased himself inside her.
Her head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut as he sank in, inch by inch. So slowly that she wanted to scream, but she was too enamored with the sensations to do anything but groan.
Chris gripped her by the hips as he pushed himself deeper. When he was buried to the hilt, he took a shaky breath. The heat in his gaze told her everything she needed to know.
This was just as awesome for him.
“God, Mara,” he whispered into her ear, wiggling his hips against her even though there was no more depth to find. “You feel fucking divine.”
She moaned, nipping at his earlobe. “Back atcha.”
Chris rocked against her, finding a quick and pointed rhythm, one that left her gasping and gripping tighter against him. The harder he fucked her, the closer she came to the precipice of an amazing orgasm. She pushed her hands under the front of his shirt, seeking the warm steel of his chest. He moaned when she scraped her nails over his abs.
“Careful,” he hissed.
“What?”
“I’m close,” he warned and then thrust inside her again. “Like, really fucking close.”
He leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss, and she smiled lazily. “Me too.”
He drilled into her again, prompting a moan from both of them. Her composure was fuzzy at the edges, the warning signal that the end was near. She arched against him and tossed her head back as he pushed himself as deep as possible. Electricity skated across her arms as she groaned, falling over the edge in a liquid, languid dive. She clutched his rock-hard forearms, trying to bite back the moan but failing. An animalistic noise ripped out of her, and all she could do was cling to him as the waves of pleasure rolled through her.
Chris grunted and stilled, his eyes squeezed shut. His belly turned to stone, and he pulled himself out of her quickly, his cock spasming a perfect white arc through the air.
He breathed heavily for a moment, his icy eyes riveted on hers. And then he grabbed for a nearby towel, wiping himself off before he tucked himself back inside his boxers.
Mara watched in a daze. Part of her even wondered if maybe it was a fever dream. Some sort of first-day-of-filming insanity that had pushed them both over the edge.
But the tendrils of lingering pleasure were all too real. And as she slid to the floor on wobbly legs and almost fell over, Chris’s sturdy arms around her were definitely real.
“I might not be able to walk anymore.” She laughed weakly.
“Me neither.”
She tugged up her pants and smoothed her hair, looking around at the kitchen workspace. The place was still a disaster from Chris trying to get set up, and now? The countertops were smeared with flour and a very obvious ass print from her own derriere.
“Oh my god,” she groaned, clamping a hand over her mouth. “We made a real mess.”
“We should probably sterilize everything,” he said with a laugh.
She looked up at him, the humor in his gaze sparking a giggle fit.
This whole thing was absurd. But now that she’d gotten it out of her system, she could continue forward.
All the way to winning the competition.
5
Chris wasn’t dumb enough to think that sex with Mara was going to continue.
That didn’t mean, though, that he didn’t want it to.
When he showed up on set the next day, he shared the world’s most awkward post-sex greeting with her. He’d even offered her a handshake, for God’s sake. But what did he really expect? After ten years apart, their impromptu sex the night before was more of a victory lap than anything else. Old sexual tensions died hard, or something like that.
But when she went about her day as though nothing had happened between them—like she hadn’t gotten her ass absolutely caked with flour the night before—it irked him.
He was enough of a pro to not let it bother him. She wanted to play
that game? Then he was more than happy to play it too.
Even though part of him wanted to cast the game aside and just get back to that sizzling connection he and Mara had always shared.
When they paused filming for the mid-day break, the director herded him and Mara toward the lobby for a mini press conference. There were several of these peppered throughout the two-week schedule. A few reporters hovered near a long table, where both Chris and Mara took a seat.
The questions started immediately, and most of them had little to do with the contest. Chris smiled wide as one question after another came his way, covering everything from what his main show’s schedule would look like in the coming year to whether or not he still planned on opening his own bakery in Brooklyn, as he’d once mentioned years earlier. One reporter even asked him if he had any comments on his cousin’s epic Christmas party scheduled for later that month, the one that Mitch’s wife Jules had personally helped send into the stratosphere since she’d joined the family the year before.
A late arrival jerked at his attention, a man in a bomber jacket and trendy sunglasses. As soon as the reporter approached the table and took off his glasses, Mara gasped. The newcomer beckoned for her to step aside and greet him.
Chris was mid-thought as she stood and went over to the receive the newcomer, but he didn’t interrupt his sentence. He watched as she glided toward the reporter, arms out, and then hugged him. Hard. Chris swallowed once he’d finished his thought, sitting back in his seat before another reporter jumped in with a question.
Mara was flushed as she returned to the table, still smiling over at the newcomer. Chris watched as he took his place among the reporters, and then something about his beady eyes and stupid smile clicked into place.
Dan Montey had arrived.
Mara’s ex-boyfriend who had been the whole cause of their senior-year falling out.
Chris rolled his head in a slow circle, forcing himself to look away from him and focus on the incoming question. Finally, someone had asked something that included Mara, all for the better. He needed to figure out why his neck had gotten so hot and why his hands were balled into fists.
It wasn’t like Dan mattered. Clearly he and Mara were seeing each other for the first time in a long time, so that answered the whole Did she marry that idiot? question. But still—maybe they had something going on anyway. Mara wasn’t the type of woman to greet just anybody with a big hug and a flushed smile.
Dan eased his way into the reporter flow and stepped forward for a question. “Mara, once you win, what are you planning on doing with the earnings from the contest? Have you thought about that yet?”
Mara quirked her lips into a private smile, and Chris felt himself scowling.
“I’ve got some big plans,” she finally said, shrugging. “I don’t want to talk about them quite yet, but the earnings will be going to a very exciting project.”
As the interview wore on, Chris’s head was flooded with thoughts about the secret on-again, off-again relationship that she and Dan had been maintaining over the past few years. The weekend trips he’d make from wherever he lived, the scandalous getaways they’d probably been having. Hell, Dan was probably married with kids and kept Mara as a girlfriend. That seemed his speed. Especially with that bomber jacket.
Once the question-and-answer session was over, Chris stormed away, more than ready for his lunch break. He’d originally planned to eat with the crew, but after this display, he needed some alone time.
Dan meant nothing. Not to Chris or his career.
So why did that asshole still bother him so much?
It was something he thought about for a full hour as he cruised Glenford in his car and ate a chicken burrito in the park. Coming home spurred a whole host of emotions, a lot of which he hadn’t been counting on. But Dan and Mara? That shouldn’t bother him.
Not if he was being rational about things.
Which meant that last night had officially pushed things over into irrational territory. Chris had somehow let his feelings get mixed into the batter, and now he had the hard task of cleaning himself off and continuing forward.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized this was probably one of Mara’s revenge tactics. She could be petty—proven by how she’d cheated on him right in front of him—and what could be pettier than hate-fucking somebody only to flaunt her relationship with her ex in front of him again?
He dwelled on it for far too long, and by the time he got back to the set, he was officially boiling over.
Which meant that whatever the thing between them had been last night…it was officially over.
6
Mara spent the rest of the second full day of filming feeling like a disjointed string puppet. Nothing clicked into place no matter how hard she tried. Things kept slipping out of her hands. The camera lenses seemed to sizzle on her instead of merely focus.
And Chris’s barbs had gone from snark to venom.
It was like their sex the evening before had merely solidified his resolve to be an asshole to her.
And in a way, it was good. Because it helped her not get moony eyed about their incredible sex on that very countertop over there. If she squinted, she could still see the outline of her butt cheeks in the flour. If only the cameras had been on, so that they could have immortalized one of her only insanely enjoyable sex experiences in life.
Sad but true. Chris was, and continued to be, the only man who’d ever gotten her off. Even after trudging through her twenties and dating as many respectable men as she could get her hands on, it seemed Chris was the only one who’d gotten the memo about female pleasure.
Whether or not it involved white flour was an entirely different matter.
She rolled her lips inward to stop a laugh. This was not the time to break into laughter about their secret fuck fest the night before. Nobody had said anything to them about it, so maybe they were in the clear. No scandalized janitor tattling to the director. It wasn’t like Mara was going to share the information freely. Or perhaps, in all his infinite celebrity wisdom, Chris had already taken care of it.
It was hard to tell with him. This was his world, truly. She was just a lone baker competing in it.
“Damn. Your foundation is looking good.”
Mara snapped her gaze up to find Dan standing in front of the countertops, smiling down at her first layer of gingerbread. “You think? It’ still pretty basic.”
“Nah. Nothing about what you make is basic.” Dan flashed her a toothy grin. The man was just as handsome as he’d been back in high school. But the time apart had left her feeling dull about him. Yes, it was nice to see him. But her heart didn’t skip a beat when his gaze flashed her way.
“I appreciate your confidence.” She sighed, propping her hands on her hips as she surveyed her totally-encroached-upon workspace. Chris was shouting orders to his team just a few feet away, and his barking bass made it hard to concentrate. “It’s nice to have somebody believe in me, honestly.”
“Oh, come on. This contest is in the bag for you.” Dan stuffed his hands in his pockets, glancing around before taking a step closer. “What are you doing later?”
She blinked, focusing on the gingerbread seam she’d been doctoring. He’s asking you out. The realization made her throat tighten. “Uh…”
“I want to take you out for dinner. So we can…you know…catch up.”
Something in his tone made it clear that “catching up” had more to do with sex than recounting where the last ten years of their life had gone. Probably a lot like the way she and Chris had “caught up” the evening before.
But that was too much catching up with one too many men. If she caught up with anybody…dammit, she still wanted it to be Chris. Besides, at least as of ten years ago, Dan had firmly been in the camp of unsure about female orgasms.
“I’m going to be working late this entire week,” she said, grimacing. It was true. She just omitted the part about not wanting to “catch up” wi
th him. “Maybe some other time?”
Dan tutted. “I’ll be heading back to New York in a couple days. I just came out for this coverage and another piece.”
Mara sighed and tilted her head back and forth as if she were trying to find a solution. “Just let me know when you’re back in town, okay?”
Dan sent her a smile and rapped his knuckles on the countertop. With a hard glance at Chris, he headed toward the far edge of the multipurpose room.
Mara sank into thought as she collected the baked pieces of gingerbread prepared by her team. Saying no to Dan was easy, but she didn’t like how ready she was to say yes to Chris again. Not that he’d asked her—not that he even wanted to.
It was better that he was being cold to her today. Mara didn’t like mixing business and pleasure. Last night had been a weird fluke, spurred by her recent dry spell and old feelings for Chris. But that was it—nothing more. She needed to keep this what it was—a clear competition.
And nothing would be clear if they started having regular sex.
A few reporters lingered on the sidelines for a little while as Mara and Chris continued working. Every so often, she’d hear a sharp swear word from Chris, or a condescending “Come on.” It was like he was getting sourer by the minute, and when they bumped into each other, back to back, Chris unraveled.
“Jesus Christ, watch where you’re going,” he spat.
“Excuse me! It’s not like this is my space or anything.”
“Yeah well, it’s not like I wanted to be using your extra ten inches of countertop,” Chris returned.
“Must be hard for you to concentrate and watch where you’re going,” Mara said. “With all the cameras and reporters here. All that attention makes you jumpy. Mr. Will Do Anything For Media Coverage.”