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“Me.” My mind registers the single-word answer as a caress because goosebumps are popping up all over my body.
“You?” Marsha practically yells.
“Yes.”
“Are you still a member of the guild?” Marsha whispers.
“Of course.”
“Okay. This is highly irregular.”
“Is it?” I ask, still staring at Tyson.
“Yes. Tyson hasn’t acted in…” Marsha begins.
“Three years,” I finish for her. I have always been a Tyson Lord fan. His poster fromJunkyard Throwdownmay or may not have graced the wall above my bed. He spent most of that movie shirtless and in a boxing ring.
“Right.”
“Jason and Maverick will be in shortly. Do you have something you can change into?”
“No, why?”
“We can, uh, see your breasts quite clearly,” Marsha says. I can feel my face immediately burn in embarrassment. I look down and see that she’s absolutely correct. I look at Tyson, and he’s staring at my chest. I watch as his tongue darts out of his mouth and licks his bottom lip. It might as well be my skin for the way I can feel it. It clenches in my core.
“I have leggings on underneath this, but no shirt. I might have a sports bra out in my car.”
“I have a shirt you can borrow,” Tyson says, still staring at my chest. Hmmm…. Why do I like that so much?
At this point, all I can do is nod. I leave the room, and as soon as I do, I lean against the wall outside of it, dressed like a pirate princess, and just breathe. It takes me several deep breaths before I can even think about moving from where I am now rooted. I dash out to my car, grab my bra from my gym bag, and go back inside. I am standing outside the restroom when Tyson comes to me and brings me a t-shirt.
Without a word, I move to stand in front of him. I turn my back to him, and l look back at him over my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is unprofessional of me, but can you unlace me?” I had my sweet old lady neighbor, Gladys, tie me into this thing this morning. He nods and begins to untie my dress. I cup my boobs to keep the dress from falling. His knuckles graze my spine as he moves slowly. So slowly. I can feel every brush of them in my core. Fuckkkk. “Thank you,” I reply, my voice husky and foreign.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, his voice harsher than I’ve heard it. His words wash over me, and I duck into the bathroom. It’s a single, so I drop the dress.
I stare at myself in the mirror and wonder briefly if I have enough time to frantically rub my pussy. I need release so badly. Fuck it. I know I’ll never get through the rest of the day if I don’t. I rush into the stall and put my hands into my pants. I think about Tyson. Looking at me. Touching me. Breathing on me. It doesn’t take more than two or three minutes before I’m gasping his name and moaning as softly as I can, but my free hand hits the stall door loudly. Oh well. It was probably quiet enough.
I feel so much better, but I know it would be even better if he were in here with me. I pull on my bra and his t-shirt. It smells like fabric softener and cologne. I wash my hands and open the door, giant dress in hand. He’s standing right where I left him. Why did I assume he’d go? He looks pained, and it is then that I know he heard me. He knew I thought of him when I made myself come. Shit. I smile brightly and sail past him, pretending that it never happened.
Yeah, that will work.
ChapterOne
Tyson
Three Months Later
Do you have any idea what it’s like to fuck your own hand night after night thinking about the woman of your dreams? With her being so close and you can’t do a fucking thing about it. You can’t do anything about it because your asshole brothers and your business partner remind you every fucking day that you can’t. That it’s illegal? That one more allegation will actually ruin me. Ruin the company and ruin Stacee too.
One is a fluke; two is fucking pattern.
Well, I’ve decided that I don’t give a good goddamn anymore. While I won’t let my feelings for Stacee, and yes, at this fucking point, it’s more than that initial lust I felt for when I met her, ruin us, I am taking what I want from her. I won’t be taking anything she doesn’t want to give me. Her soft moaning of my name lives in my motherfucking head. I hear it all the time. I imagine her on the other side of that door, pants down, finger fucking herself, thinking of me. Thinking of what I can give her. No other man she’s had will ever compare to me and what I will do for her. Hearing her come in my mind is not good enough anymore. I need to hear it when I’m buried balls-deep inside of her. Pounding in and out of her before spilling my seed inside of her. Fuck, I gasp as my orgasm takes over, and I cum all over my chest and hand. God, I have a lot of time to make up for, and I should stop wasting my seed, but it’s fucking uncomfortable walking around with a hard cock. I get up from my bed and head into the shower to clean up. It’s morning and night of this shit. In the last three months, I’ve jerked off more than I ever did when I was a teenager. I need the real thing. I need her. How the hell is it possible to be so head over heels in love with a woman I haven’t even kissed yet?
At exactly eight-fifteen, I’m waiting outside my condo for my Uber. I sent my driver to pick Stacee up and bring her to the private airport in Santa Monica, where our jet is. She thinks she’s flying commercial out of LAX, but we need privacy for my plan to work. I didn’t tell Marsha or my brothers that I was doing this. I don’t need them to tell me I’m insane.
Principal photography in Sydney is done, and the director Stella Arnett is already there doing scenes that don’t require Stacee or me. That’s right. Marsha decided, and I went along with it because no one else was playing this role once we gave it to her. I let her think it was all her decision that I was better for the role of Geoffrey due to my age and the chemistry we share. She didn’t have anything like we have, effortlessly, I might add, with either of those two little idiots. They were way too young to play him anyway. What was central casting thinking?
We are due on set the day after tomorrow, and I’ve ensured Stacee, and I will fly to Sydney alone. Totally alone, except for the pilots.
