Double Take: A Leading Man Romance (17 page)

I like sex. Love it. But I’m realizing that I don’t
need
it in order to be satisfied. In fact, I’ve never been quite so quenched before.

Eventually, Kylie yawns and stretches both up and down like a cat. She knows my meeting is today, too, and she seems as absolutely nervous as I am. I can tell in the way that she glances off when she climbs out of bed, shuffling into the kitchen to hunt for my coffee pot. I manage to swing my legs out of bed, but I head into my bathroom. I don’t want to appear to be any more appealing than I have to. Not for today.

By the time I’m out, Kylie’s got a cup of coffee and a piece of toast waiting for me. “Before you say anything about the carbs,” she says, “it’s about all I’m qualified to make. Have you ever heard of burning water? Because I’ve done that. I have
actually
burned water.”

“Who needs water when you can have coffee?” I pull the mug and the plate closer, touched by the gesture of it, even if the meal has no substance. I ease onto one of the tall stools by the kitchen island.

“I don’t know if you want eggs or anything else, but you had a toaster and bread, so…”

I reach out and take her hand, and use it to pull her into my lap. I kiss her shoulder once. “This is perfect. I’m too nervous to eat anything else.”

Kylie tips her head against mine and sinks down into my lap, relaxing. It’s like she knows that this might be the last chance she gets to be comfortable, without worrying about who I’m going to be fucking and if we’re going to survive it. I know I will, but I also know that Kylie might not. It’s a lot to ask of a woman, and it’s not something she deserves.

Kylie’s the one to break the silence quietly. “It’s going to be fine.”

The funny thing is, I actually believe her. I swallow a bit of coffee; the bitter taste soothes me a little, along with the warmth from Kylie’s body. My thumb runs along her waist, drawing circles, and I work through the toast slowly.

But I’m distracted. Kylie knows it. She can sense it in me, as if it was spelled out for her with a thorough analysis.

“Hey.” Kylie sits up and turns in my lap so she can wind an arm around my shoulders. She leans in and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. I close my eyes and lean into her, comforted. She places a line of kisses up until she reaches my ear where she purrs, “I want to remind you what you’re fighting for.”

It’s so inherently sexy that my cock responds immediately, stiffening in my black boxer-briefs, pressing up against her ass. My hand moves from my plate to the side of my chair, shaking off any crumbs, and I find her thigh shortly after.

She’s wearing a white pair of cotton panties with little pink polka dots, one of my t-shirts--ironically, it reads,
Porn is Cheaper than Dating
--and as a result, my smell is all over her. It’s a strange kind of animalistic arousal, pleasure that she’s mine, and anything who comes near her today will be able to tell.

As my hand moves upwards, her legs move further apart, and she’s soon spread beautifully for me, her breath already light. I push her panties to the side and my forefinger strokes her vulva, making her shiver.

I’ve never been so addicted to someone before.

“I need you,” she whispers, and it’s such a soft sound that I barely hear her. But I can feel it, and I react instantly, pressing my finger inside of her.

Her breath suspends at the sudden intrusion, and she hangs her head so that it presses against mine. I feel her inner walls clamp down, and before too long, she begins to rock her hips forward into my palm. The heel of it presses against her clit, and she is desperate.

So am I, but I’m not interested in my own pleasure at the moment. I want to leave her reeling. I want to carry her scent with me. I want to have the memory of her gorgeous body and luscious lips and wet pussy all day.

And Kylie is completely vibrant. Her dark hair hides part of her face as she pants and grinds into my hand, but I can’t push it away without taking an arm from around her or pulling out of her. Neither of these is something I want to do. Instead, I urge, “Look at me, Kylie.”

She does. She turns her eyes up to greet mine, and the honey hazel of them seems so cloudy.

I did that. I’ve fucked hundreds of women, but none have satisfied me quite as much as Kylie does right now. It’s the way that there is no one else in the world but me right now. It’s the way that her thighs tremble and her breasts swell. Her hair looks wild as she struggles to keep her eyes open.

I pump my fingers in and out of her, a rhythm that picks up with her gasps. She’s so wet and tight, and so delicate in my arms, but she jerks against me in a fever pitch. I know I’m getting her closer.

My cock is painfully hard, and her shifting in my lap does nothing to help that. My balls tighten, and I realize that I’m about to come in my boxer-briefs without so much as a touch.

Holy shit
.

No direct stimulation, just Kylie, her eyes, and the way that she whimpers and thrusts against me.

I work her faster, the heel of my palm beating mercilessly against her clitoris, a second finger working inside of her. I coil both so they catch her inner walls in a way that makes her pussy tighten even more and her breath suspend.

“Brett
…” she whimpers, and her eyes grow heavy, her body more still. She’s on the edge.

I push her over it with my lips on hers. I taste her with a muffled groan, appreciative of the sensation. When she comes, it’s completely catastrophic. She whimpers into my mouth, squirms in my lap, and my palm is soaked with the feeling of her. I feel ripples from inside of her that I draw out with the pounding of my hand. I slow down as her body does, matching its pace, and it’s not long before I can’t take anymore either.

It’s her final sigh that does me in. I don’t seal the kiss as much as leave a guttural groan in her throat. My balls draw up, my abs quiver, and I come, too, into the fabric of my boxer-briefs. I’m panting heavily by the end of it, and I draw my fingers out of her to recover.

She looks flushed and stunned. Gorgeous. “Did you just…” she starts, and her voice is sweet, honey-kissed. “Did you come?”

I let out a laugh and nod, before sealing the kiss I left so open before. “Yeah. You on top of me like that? I couldn’t help it.”

Kylie takes my face in her hands and looks at me, saying firmly, “You are fantastic. Holy hell.”

I’m smiling, and it feels genuine. I don’t smile a lot anymore. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’ve been forcing smiles and glances for so long that it’s hard to remember what anything authentic feels like. “You’re perfect. And I should shower.”

“Yeah,” Kylie agrees. “Wouldn’t want you sticky in your meeting.”

I press a small kiss to her cheek as I rise, careful so she can find her footing. I’m halfway back to the bedroom when she stops me. “Brett.”

I turn to look at her, and she looks vulnerable for once, like she just opened herself completely bare to me. She takes her glasses from the counter and shoves them on, and she looks so small and pitiful that I want to kiss every fucking negative feeling right out of her. “Kylie…”

She shifts nervously. I blink a few times. I’m not used to seeing her like this, and it worries me. I take a step closer, but she takes a step back.

This is it. This is when she leaves
.

To my credit, I’m doing a great fucking job of pretending to be stoic, but I feel the blood rush away from my face. Fucking hell.

“Are you…” Kylie wrings her hands together. “Am I your, uh… am I your girlfriend?”

I’m sure my expression doesn’t help her at all. There’s so much hope and innocence in the question, and I’d been so worried that my jaw is slack and my eyebrows are lifted. Blood rushes back into my face and I go to her, taking her face in my palm. “Kylie…”

“Got it,” she says, trying to sound casual. She’s a terrible actress. “No girlfriend. We’re good. Just wanted to—”

I silence her with a kiss and she gives, softening in my arms. I pull back so I can look right at her. “I want you to be. But…”

“But.”

“But… you don’t have to be so shy asking me for things. If you want something,
tell me
. I don’t want to be the guy that intimidates you. I also…” I hesitate, and though I don’t tear my gaze from hers, I’m sure it’s obvious in my eyes. “I also want you to know that this meeting… it might not work in my favor. And then I’ve got a really tough decision to make.”

Kylie nods, her hand slipping over mine at her cheek. “I know. About whether or not to keep filming porn, or do the lawsuit, or whatever, I get it.”

“Yes. Exactly.” The last thing I want to do is disappoint her. I’ve prepared her for the worst, but even then, it feels like it’s not quite good enough. There is no way to prepare her for what could come next. It seems fine in theory, because it’s
just a job
, but when I’m worn out, sweaty, and smell like another woman… things are going to be different.

“We’ll make it work,” she says, reassuring me. “Now go shower. Boyfriend.”

I go, after giving her one last glance before I slip back into my bedroom. I’m not going to set myself up for failure. I’m just going to say what I need to say, and that will be the end of it.

All I know is that I can’t go back. Not now, not when I have so damn much to lose.

I go with Brett to the Kinked Up offices. I’m expecting something seedy, like someone’s basement or a rundown warehouse with lichen covering the door. But it’s big and it’s nice, a legitimate business.

That surprises me. I always figured that porn was something that could be done with forty bucks and a handheld digital camera. But attached to the office building are soundstages. And from the length of the structure, it seems like there are a lot.

“Lori built this thing from the ground up,” Brett tells me as he pulls into a parking spot. There’s a sign there.
Brett Buckhurst
. Of course there is. It’s good to be the king.

“It’s nice,” I say, but my disdain for Lori is, unfortunately, obvious.

He puts the car in park and takes my hand, and his is cold and clammy. “You don’t have to come in with me if you don’t want to. I know that this hard for you. But it’s just a meeting. And
fuck
Lori, honestly.”

“Fuck Lori like she wants to fuck you?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

He’s smiling now, so I feel a tiny bit triumphant. I can feel his nerves in the way his hands are shaking, and I know he’s doing this for us. He’s having this meeting that he really doesn’t want to have
in order to make a life for us, and I find myself in love with him all over again.

“I’m coming in,” I tell him definitively. Brett nods and he swallows. He looks at the time on his car’s dashboard and, with a breath sucked in tight, he climbs out. I follow suit. He takes my hand as we start into the building.

It’s like the freaking Prince of Wales walked in. Women who are far too thin and way too plastic squeal and kiss Brett on the cheek, welcoming him back. A man with shoulders almost as broad as Brett’s steps forward to clap him on the shoulder and ask him how filming went.

It’s obvious that Brett hasn’t told anyone
about his intentions for coming here today, and that Lori hasn’t either. It’s clear that she’s hoping this meeting isn’t what she thinks it is, and at the very least that she’ll be able to wiggle her way out of it.

Brett is gracious as he leads me through the hallways. He introduces me to a few people as, “Kylie, my girlfriend,” but I must look terrified and doe-eyed because no one tries to shake my hand. Truthfully, I’m pretty glad about that. I’m trying to reserve judgment about the people working here, but given that every eighth person is wearing little more than a towel, there’s no telling where their hands have been only moments earlier.

Stop judging.
I sigh. I try, but I’m only human.

We take an elevator and Brett drops my hand in order to fold both of his together, his fingers lacing. He’s scared. I’ve never seen him coming apart like this before.

When that stance doesn’t do anything for his nerves, he folds his arms completely across his chest and stares straight ahead. His expression is set, he’s stoic, and I can see him putting on his battle armor. We’re silent most of the way up, until the ding of the elevator announces our arrival to the required door.

“You’ve got this,” I say quietly.

He nods. “If you don’t mind waiting…”

I step out of the elevator into the waiting area of the office, and I know Brett has a lot on his mind right now. The last thing I want him to do is worry about me hanging around and impacting things for him. “I don’t mind at all,” I say, and I try to sound reassuring.

I don’t even squeeze his hand once we’re under the watchful eye of those around us, like the receptionist, potential actors waiting for their chance, and marketing personnel.

Brett smiles at the receptionist, a brunette woman with her hair pulled back too tightly and obvious implants, and says, “Hey, Candi.”

Of course her name is Candi. Of course
.

Candi smiles back, a dazzling smile, warm even with her front teeth completely crooked. “Lori’s waiting. Head on back.”

Brett turns and gives me a look and his eyes are wild, even though the rest of him is nice and calm. I smile, and it’s all he needs before he disappears further into the offices, heading for a meeting he doesn’t want to have.

I wish there was some way that I could make this easier for him, but I’ve got no sway. I’m the girlfriend, not the lawyer, and as far as I know, there’s no easy way out of this.

Brett and I realized when we were driving in that there wasn’t an easy solution, or an easy way out, and we’re just going to have to deal with the consequences of his career. Hope is more real than anything else I’m feeling right now.

I settle down in one of the chairs, glancing at the magazines scattered on the table in front of me. A pretty young girl reaches forward and grabs one of the
People
magazines, flipping through it nervously. She looks up at me and whispers, “I think that was Brett Buckhurst.”