Fractured Fairy Tales: A SaSS Anthology

by Amy Marie

  To be fair, it probably is.

  I hold out my hand. “Shall we?”

  Somehow, I resist pulling her against me as she places her small hand in mine, forcing myself to lead her toward the set. I know what’s coming, but as skittish as she seems, I think it’s best to let Victor tell her rather than flip her onto her back and climb on top of her.

  Huh.

  Maybe I’m a gentleman after all.

  “Okay, this is the kiss.” Our connection is severed as Victor’s round body crashes through us, his hands flailing in the air as he spouts off instructions. “It’s after your romantic night out, and you’re at Kellen’s house. Kellen, I want you sitting on the pillows, your back to the fireplace. Cyn, I want you on your knees, straddling Kellen.”

  Cyn’s face pales. “Um, what?”

  Victor cocks a bushy eyebrow. “Did I stutter?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Good.” Tucking his clipboard under his arm, he claps his hands. “Places, people.”

  I’m used to being a show pony, so I flop onto the floor. However, Cyn doesn’t budge. She’s standing like a statue, those pink cheeks now deathly pale. In fact, she looks like she’s going to throw up, and I have to admit, it’s bruising my ego a little.

  “I promise I don’t bite,” I offer. “Well, not unless you ask nicely.”

  Her eyes widen, and I mentally kick myself.

  Nice one, Knight. Beat a drum at the scared kitten.

  I need to help her forget about the camera. That’s the only way either of us is getting out of here before next Tuesday.

  I tilt my head toward the fire while pointing at her outfit. “I don’t suppose you have any marshmallows tucked inside that thing.”

  Her eyes trail down her exposed body, and I hold my breath. She’s either going to laugh or kick me in the nuts. Seeing as how the latter would put a damper on production, I’m hoping for the former.

  After a couple of beats, a bright grin breaks across her lips. I try not to think about the pride I feel at being the one to draw it out of her. Because it’s ridiculous. It was a stupid joke.

  A line.

  That’s what I tell myself as she shakes her head and laughs. “Nope. I’m fresh out.”

  “You didn’t prepare very well for this fire. What kind of Girl Scout are you?”

  “One that liked eating cookies way more than selling them. Besides, what about you? I don’t suppose you’re hiding any wieners in there?”

  I raise an eyebrow, and Cyn’s jaw drops at the double entendre. “Oh, shit, that’s not what I… I didn’t mean your… I was talking about real wieners, not your… uh, you know…”

  “My what, Cyn?” Tension crackles between us as I lock eyes with her, those innocent, big blue eyes filling with conflicting emotions.

  Fear. Hate. Lust.

  I’m being a bastard, but acknowledging it won’t stop me. She knows it, and I know it.

  “I thought I said ‘places.’ ” The moment is broken by Victor’s impatient demand. We both turn to see him glaring, his eyes shifting between us.

  Cyn nods and starts to lower herself to the floor.

  “Lose the robe, honey.”

  She freezes midair. “Excuse me?”

  Victor scowls. “Where the hell did you find this girl, Maria?” I don’t know who the hell Maria is, but if it’s the woman forcing the guilty smile beside him, she’s a soon-to-be ex-employee. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he casts a hard stare at Cyn. “You’re supposed to look like you want to rip each other’s clothes off. We need to see some skin.”

  Not gonna lie, I’m ready to rip that robe off her myself, but when she looks to me for guidance, I find myself smiling and nodding encouragingly.

  I want to kick my own ass.

  Who the hell am I, and what have I done with Kellen Knight?

  However, it must do the trick, because Cyn inhales and pushes the robe off her shoulders. My mouth goes dry. She’s standing in nothing but a skimpy black teddy, and all that gentlemanly bullshit goes out the window. All I can think of is getting my mouth on her.

  Now.

  In my lust-filled haze, I hold out my hand again, and I think she takes it. I’m pretty sure she takes it. Hell, I don’t know. I might have just grabbed her and pulled her on top of me. The how is just a blur. All that matters is that those toned thighs are hugging my hips. Somewhere off to the side, Victor yells for her to wrap her arms around my neck, which is unnecessary. She doesn’t have much of a choice after I circle an arm around her waist and tug her against me.

  Her breath fans against my cheek. “Mr. Knight…”

  “Kellen,” I remind her.

  “Kellen.”

  “Cyn.” I slide my other hand up her back and weave it through her hair. Dipping my face in the crook of her neck, I inhale deeply, the scent of lavender crossing all kinds of wires in my head. I drag my lips up to her chin, and she shivers.

  I hear a not-so-discreet clearing of a throat. “Kellen, this isn’t in the script.”

  “I’m ad-libbing.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Victor’s heavy footsteps shuffle back to his director’s chair, and I smile against Cyn’s soft skin. “Keep rolling. Make it good, Knight.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  Good is an understatement. I’m not particularly into voyeurism, but there’s a first time for everything. I can feel Cyn’s heartbeat thumping against my chest, and it only fans an already raging fire. She has no idea what her resistance is doing to me.

  But she’s about to.

  My fingers twist around the thick strands of her hair. “Do you know what happens when an angel tempts the devil, Cyn?”

  “No.”

  “He claims her.”

  I know what’s expected. One kiss. A stage kiss. Open mouth, no tongue, press the lips together, and cut. They’re done all the time, and if done right, look pretty damn realistic.

  Bing. Bang. Boom.

  That’s how it starts. It could end there, but the minute my lips touch hers, Cyn gasps, and I dive off a damn cliff. I brush against them once, twice, three times—just long enough for her to feel safe and for me to sink deeper into her sweet scent.

  I’m not the one behind the camera, but I’d bet half my net worth that what we’re giving them is convincing as hell. Hot enough to raise a few eyebrows but still chaste enough to not anger the censors.

  Like I said, it could end there.

  But it doesn’t.

  A man given a sample of the finest champagne he’s ever tasted doesn’t just walk away from it. He turns the bottle up and drinks his fill.

  So, I do.

  Pressing my lips harder against hers, I do what comes naturally to me—conquer and consume. Ditching the sweet and soft, I push my tongue past her clenched teeth and seek hers. She stiffens at first, and there’s half a heartbeat where I have no idea if she’s going to slap me or kiss me back. Then her arms tighten around my neck, and she makes the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

  It’s a cross between a sigh and a whimper, and the game suddenly takes a very sharp turn.

  I tug her closer, my onslaught relentless as I work my mouth against hers. My kisses are hard, but hers are just as frantic, our tongues battling back and forth in a duel with no end. Lightning shoots through me as her fingers dive into my hair, tugging at the strands.

  I’ve kissed a lot of women. So many that I don’t remember most names or faces.

  But I’ll remember this one for a long time.

  “Cut! Cut!” Victor shouts, barreling toward us, and I swear if I had a knife, I’d cut out his tongue right now. “Kellen, what the hell was that?”

  I don’t bother to look at him. “A kiss.”

  “I direct commercials, not porn.”

  That earns my attention. Victor is a friend, but I’m still the owner of this damn company. I cut my eyes at him. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?” Without waiting for a response, I turn back to the woman in my
arms. “Sex sells. It’s fine.”

  “That was too passionate. It will never air. Do it again.”

  Best idea he’s had all day.

  So we do the kiss again. This time the way it’s scripted, all safe for daytime TV. By the time we’re done, Cyn’s face is beet-ass red, just from kissing.

  If she only knew what else is in my head. The filthy things I want to do to her. She’d probably go screaming to the nearest confessional.

  She’s probably a virgin.

  Wouldn’t that be fun?

  Cyn shifts on my lap, and I clench my teeth. By the time I force my body into submission, she’s standing over me, wrapped up like a lace burrito in that damn robe again.

  “Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Knight.” She offers me an awkward smile. “That was—”

  “Erotic?”

  “I was going to say ‘tolerable.’ ”

  I smirk. “No, you weren’t.”

  “You’re such an ass.” Her forced grin fades into a scowl.

  “You love it.”

  “At least the worst is over, right?” That’s rhetorical. She’s talking more to herself than to me, so I sit back and let her ramble. “In the next scene, I’ll be in a ball gown, and then we can happily go our separate ways.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maria’s face contort like she just bit into a rotten lemon. Apparently, Cyn sees it, too, because her jaw clenches and her hands fist at her sides.

  I could tell her the truth, but, like I said, I’m a bastard. So, instead, I lean back on the pillows and enjoy the show.

  “What?” Cyn snaps. “Maria, what the hell does that face mean?”

  Maria winces. “There’s one more scene before the ballroom shot. I’m sorry, Cyn. I’m really, really sorry.”

  I’m not.

  Red is my favorite color, and Victor didn’t disappoint.

  Neither does Cyn, although if looks could kill, I’d be in a wood chipper right now, minus a few essential body parts.

  I knew I would consume her, and it appears as if I have. In that deep-red getup, she looks more like the devil’s queen than a fallen angel. Which is fine by me. I like the contradiction of the sweet girl soiled by the dirty prince.

  And hell if she doesn’t look soiled as fuck.

  There’s no robe this time to hide behind, and honestly not much else either. A lace bra, panties, and stockings are all that protect her from me, and that’s not saying a lot.

  I can have the bra and garter clips unsnapped in less than three seconds.

  It’s a gift.

  “Was this your idea?” she accuses, gesturing around the penthouse hotel room, fifteen floors above the original set.

  It wasn’t, but I’m giving whoever thought of it a raise.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because it has ‘douchebag’ written all over it.”

  I press a hand to my chest. “You wound me, Cynthia, sweetheart.”

  “What makes you think my name is Cynthia?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She narrows her eyes. “No.”

  “What is it, then?”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and I think she’s going to crack. It’s a good thing, too, because it’s taking far too long to break this defiant streak of hers. But then a slow smile creeps along her lips, tugging the corner of her mouth up on one side.

  “It’s just Cyn.”

  “Like Madonna, Cher, Beyoncé?”

  She grins. “Like Cyn. Just plain Cyn. You know all about that, don’t you, Kellen?”

  God, I’m starting to like this woman too damn much.

  “We’re running behind schedule, people. I want these last two shots wrapped up in twenty minutes,” Victor bellows. People scatter like rats, and Cyn jumps as he sneaks up behind her like a damn ninja. “Get in the bed, Cyn.”

  “With him?”

  “No, with Maria.” He rolls his eyes. “Yes, with him!” He gives her one of his famous death glares, and Cyn drags her feet toward the bed like she’s walking to her own funeral. She climbs in beside me, and I’m pretty sure rigor mortis sets in.

  “You’re killing my ego here, sweetheart.”

  “Good,” she mutters. “You could stand to be knocked down a few hundred pegs.”

  We lie there like two rejects from a ’50s sitcom, when Victor comes barreling over again. “What is this?”

  Cyn blinks. “What do you mean?”

  “I need passion. I need desire. I need lust. You’re acting like he’s about to attack you in a back alley. Loosen up, Cyn, or I’m going to have to reshoot this whole damn thing. Like I said, time is money, and if you force it out of me, I’ll make sure you never work again.”

  Her face blanches. It’s getting to be a habitual thing with her. “No, sir, please. I’m fine. I can do this.”

  Victor doesn’t answer her. He just grunts and stomps back to his director’s chair. Plopping down, he narrows his eyes and screams for everyone to take their places. “Kellen, you know what to do.” I nod, and he throws his finger in the air. “Action!”

  Cyn rolls toward me, and I take her in my arms. She’s still tense, but I can fix that.

  “Follow my lead,” I whisper.

  For once she doesn’t argue, and I’m too turned on to question why. Within seconds, I have her on her back, and we pick up right back where we left off downstairs. As predicted, she melts in my hands, our slow kiss turning to fire in a single exhale. Everything fades away—Victor, the cameras, the stagehands, the microphones, everything. It’s just me and her and this inexplicable chemistry between us.

  I’m kissing her lips, her neck, the top of her chest, and her hands are clawing at my bare back, flirting dangerously close to my ass. I’m a master of control, but for some reason, I can’t stop myself from grinding my hips against her. She’s making those soft sighing sounds again, and I’m about to lose it.

  “Cut!”

  No!

  “Vic, I don’t think—”

  “We got what we needed, Kellen.” His gaze is sharp. Shit. He knows. He knows, and that asshole is cockblocking me. The look on his face says it all.

  Stay professional.

  But, I’m way past professional. I’m hard and horny and want to kick everyone out so I can finish this my own way.

  Then I think of the tabloids. Not everyone in this room is my employee. Some are independent contractors who wouldn’t hesitate to sell me out to some trash mag. I can see the headline now.

  Tech Billionaire Kellen Knight Interrupts Commercial Filming to Defile Ingénue.

  Not very flattering. Accurate, but still…

  So, cursing under my breath, I take my hands off the temptress underneath me and stand up. Immediately, everyone in the room averts their eyes, and I smirk. It’s not out of fear or respect. It’s because I’m hard enough to take down an entire petrified forest. I don’t try to hide it. I’m not ashamed. Besides, my dick is famous in its own right. It even has its own Twitter page.

  Knight Rider.

  That shit’s funny. I don’t care who you are.

  Cyn is still in bed with the sheet wrapped around her when I walk by everyone, a wicked grin plastered across my face. “Vic, you might want to drop the temperature really low for the next scene.”

  I’m a man of refined taste, but when it comes to women, I couldn’t care less about designer labels. Give me a beautiful woman in nothing but a pair of fuck-me heels, and you’ve got my attention.

  That’s why when Cyn emerges from wardrobe in a floor-length, strapless, baby-blue ball gown, I almost forget how to breathe. She’s stunning, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I prefer it to the sexy lingerie.

  She looks refined. Classy. Like a princess.

  Everything I avoid in a woman.

  She sees me staring and groans. “I know. It’s over the top.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Heat flares in her eyes as she scans my body. “You’re not so bad yourself.�
��

  I glance down at my tux. It’s pretentious. I mainly only wear them to charity galas where pompous blowhards spend the night pretending to be philanthropic saviors.

  But today, I don’t mind so much.

  I’ll dissect that personality hijack tomorrow.

  Victor calls out commands, and we take multiple spins around a makeshift dance floor. Cyn steps on my feet more than a few times, but I cover her stumble flawlessly.

  She peers up at me through those thick lashes. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Making me look good. You’re an incredible dancer.”

  “Was that an elusive compliment from Plain Cyn?” She tips her head back and laughs. The melodic sound draws a smile to my lips. “Lucky for us that my parents forced ballroom dance lessons on me at a young age. I wanted to play the guitar but learned the foxtrot instead. It’s an equal payout.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Me? Not at all. Ballroom dancing has helped me gain some of my most lucrative acquisitions. Haven’t you heard that all deals are made on the dance floor?”

  “I thought that was the golf course.”

  “Depends on who’s playing the game, sweetheart.” She giggles as I spin her in my arms and dip her low.

  Dip. Spin. Waltz. Laugh. Repeat.

  We must be doing something right because Victor lets us run without interruption for another fifteen minutes, a full half hour past production schedule, before he calls, “Cut!”

  “Oh.”

  Oh. It’s all she says. Maybe it’s all she can say. I do have her pressed rather tightly against my chest. Then again, maybe it’s because she doesn’t want this shoot to end any more than I do. It’s not because I like her. Definitely not because I want to see her again.

  Hell no.

  In fact, the only thing on my mind is peeling that dress off her.

  That’s it.

  My mind’s made up. I’m taking her home after this and getting rid of all this tension between us. Once I get her naked and satiate this damn lust, I can get her out of my head and get back to work.

  “One more thing,” Victor calls out, interrupting my plotting. “Kellen, I need you to propose.”

  “What?” Cyn and I ask in unison.