LIKE (Social Media #2) (13 page)

She eyes me suspiciously with a sidelong glance. “If I tell you about my day, then you have to tell me about yours.”

“Deal,” I say quickly.

“All of it. Even secret stuff.”

“What kind of secret stuff?”

She lets out a long sigh and then smiles. “I don’t know.” She laughs and the tension releases. “Personal things, so I don’t feel so… impersonal.”

I drag a stray length of hair out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. “I can do that. Every time we meet, I will tell you something no one else knows. Will that make you happy?”

She nods. “Tell me something now. Something that happened today that no one else knows.”

“Hmm.” I lie all the way down next to her and fold my hands over my stomach. “No one knows how happy you made me today.” I look over at her and she’s shaking her head.

“Nope, that’s not gonna work. It can’t be about me.”

“OK, I have this adopted daughter—”

“Daughter?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, she’s not my daughter, but I think of her as one. Felicity’s a senior in college. I adopted her when she was sixteen. So anyway, I hired my brother to hack her phone today so I can keep track of her.”

I look over at her and her mouth is gaping open. “Oh my God, that is so wrong.”

“I know. It’s a secret. You wanted one, so there. You got one. I’m spying on Felicity because I’m a controlling asshole who can’t let go. I wish she’d been mine from the beginning. It makes me sad to think that she had all those important moments in life and I missed them. I get torn up inside when I think about how many shitty birthdays she had before she came into my life. Or how many Christmases she had to endure with no family to love her.”

We sit there in silence for a few seconds and I wonder how she’ll take this.

“I think,” Grace says in a low whisper, “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Good,” I say with genuine relief. “I’ve redeemed myself. I just hope Felicity doesn’t find out, she might not think it’s so sweet. Now,” I say getting to my feet, and then pulling her up as I sit in my chair. “Come back here and tell me about your day while I feed you.”

And she does. Pausing every few sentences to take in the food I feed her, but then picking up right where she left off after she swallows it down. I take that time to feed myself, cutting my own steak and enjoying her conversation as I listen with an attentive ear while I chew. And then I tell her about mine. About lunch with my agent. About production schedules, and other mundane things that people talk about at dinner. We trade off that way, her talking while I eat, me talking while she eats.

We’ve already found our stride.

By the time we’ve finished everything on the plate, she looks exhausted, but I don’t want to deny her dessert if she desires it, so I let her choose. “I have berries, sweets. Do you want some berries before you go to bed? Or are you too tired for dessert?”

She sighs as she looks at the door to the building. “I am tired, but I don’t want to go to bed just yet, so berries, please.”

“Here, come closer. Place your head on my thigh. Rest and let me feed you some raspberries.”

She does as I ask, situating herself snugly between my legs and placing her cheek on my thigh. I can feel her hot breath though my trousers and it’s turning me on again. But we’re done fucking. She’d be too tired to enjoy it properly.

I take a raspberry from the bowl and bring it to her nose, “They smell delicious, don’t they?”

She inhales and closes her eyes. “Mmmm, they really do.”

I place the berry against her lips but she does not open her mouth, so I trace the soft fruit along the thin line. The berry bruises easily and the juice bursts forth, staining her lips with a few drops before her tongue darts out and licks it off. I place the berry on her tongue and she closes her mouth, chewing slowly in a way that lets me know she’s enjoying herself.

“Are you happy with our evening, Grace? I don’t want to spoil this, but I want you to sign the papers tonight. I think this date sets our standard. If you agree, you can expect more nights like this. Although how often, that I can’t promise.”

I offer her another berry, but she tightens her lips and gives me a small shake of her head. Having her mouth in my lap, so close to my cock—well, that’s something I could get used to. And I have to admit, I haven’t gotten so much pleasure from a date in a very long time. Maybe ever. Tonight, after all the sexual frustrations were put behind us, we melded together like a key in a lock.

“I’ve had the best time tonight, Vaughn,” she says as she opens her eyes and gives me a smile. “Really. All of it was perfect. But I’m still not sure what you want from me.”

“This, Grace. Tonight. That’s what I want from you. Why is that so difficult?”

“It’s not what we’re doing that’s difficult. It’s how I feel about what we’re doing that’s difficult.”

“I understand. You might feel used, or degraded, or out of control. But you’re looking at it the wrong way. You just need to trust me to take care of you. Give in, let me lead, and I swear, I’ll make you happy. I’ll take you places beyond your wildest expectations. Both figuratively and literally. We can travel, if you want. We can stay here. You can come see me in LA. We can meet on Saint Thomas again. Whatever. All that is up for negotiation.”

She sighs and closes her eyes again, staying silent as she thinks things through. I play with her long golden hair, picking up the strands and letting them slip through my fingertips. I stroke her head a little, petting her like one might a small kitten. Her breathing deepens and for a moment I almost fear she’s fallen asleep.

“I’ll sign,” she finally says, easing my fears about slumber.

It’s almost unfair to ask her now. She’s too tired. But her capitulation elates me. I lean down and kiss her on the head and then send off a text as Grace resumes her silence in my lap. A few moments later the rooftop doors open and the notary steps into our magical world. Grace stiffens and begins to rise out from between my legs, but my hand, firm on her head, tells her to stay put. She’s either too tired to argue or is playing out her role as my sub. Either way, I’m happy when her cheek remains on my thigh as I talk.

“Grace, this contract”—I reach out and take it from the woman standing a few paces off—“states that everything we do together, from phone calls to text messages to Twitter conversations, every single interaction we have, is private and you agree not to discuss any of it with anyone unless given explicit permission to do so. Do you understand and agree?”

“Yes, Mr. Asher, I agree.”

“Good girl. Here you go, sweets. Sign your name and then Mrs. Lancaster will fill out her book and sign after you. May I send in a server to get your identification from your apartment, Grace? An ID must be presented to make the contract legal.”

She sighs again, but she agrees.

And fifteen minutes later, we have our documents. Two originals, both signed, both binding. I dismiss the notary and pet Grace’s hair again. “Are you ready for bed?”

“Yes,” she says sleepily. “I’m ready for bed.”

I scoop her up in my arms and carry her down the stairs. She’s fully asleep by the time I get her inside and strip off her bra and skirt. The new luxury sheets on her bed, along with the fluffy down comforter, envelop her in a puff of white cotton. I had a team of workers come in and transform her bedroom while we were on the roof, fucking and dining.

I kiss her on the head one more time and then pen her a quick note and leave it on her bedstand on top of her copy of the NDA.

I look at her one more time before I flick the lights off and make my way downstairs to the waiting limo that will take me down to the Centennial airport where my private jet awaits.

I’m not sure when I can come back,
that note said. But I’ve taken liberties to ensure she’s well cared for in my absence.

I smile all the way to the airport. Grace Kinsella is mine.

All. Mine.

Buy Book Three

Read other books by J.A. Huss

End of Book Shit

Just so you know, looking for cover models is long, hard, grueling work. First, you have to stalk them. Like hard. You have to do endless Google image searches and look them over and that, in and of itself, is enough to make you sweat buckets from the exertion. But then, after all that fun shit is over, you have to find the photographers—hunt them down and relentlessly pursue them. Email them, ask for prices and all that good shit. Because they are the ones who own the copyright of the images.

I never really had a dog in this cover model game for Social Media. I wanted someone sexy. But Jana had an image in her mind and it turns out, that image was pretty much Steve Boyd.

I mean, after she scrutinized all those other dozens of models, of course. ;)

She wanted that Follow picture pretty bad, so that’s where she started.
Rick Day
is the photographer of that image, as well as the image on Like. So Jana set about to get us a price for these two images. I actually do not remember what we paid for licensing, but whatever it was, I was OK with it.

And I’m one hundred percent happy with these photos. Sometimes I buy the rights to a photo and I can’t make it fit. I actually have a picture from the Dirty, Dark, and Deadly series that I’ll probably never use because the lighting is just all wrong. That series was our first attempt to go outside the stock art sites and try a more customized approach. It is, in all seriousness, not easy to choose these photos. But luckily Rick Day is a superb photographer and I had no issues manipulating the photos of Steve Boyd for the Follow and Like covers.

When Jana and I were deciding on the number of books neither of us were sold on the novella idea until we came up with titles. This is really what made this whole story come together. We had all these “things” that we wanted to happen in our story. But there were so
many
things. And some of them were just very small things, like a few lines in a conversation. But others were major revelations. So once we decided that each of these major plot points should get their own book, we came up with the titles. And it really wasn’t until we got those titles down that we felt like –
Yes, this is right
.

I love the titles. And I really don’t know if people pay attention to my titles or not, but they all have two meanings. A literal meaning – like for Tragic it’s about the actual modeling campaign Rook is doing called Tragic. But it’s also about Rook’s tragic circumstances. Or Panic is really about a literal panic Rook is having about the shitstorm that’s raining down on her, and Ronin telling her not to panic. Panic - Don’t Panic. That’s what the cover says.

And Slack and Taut are probably my favorite because I’m sure people looked at that Slack book and went WTF? But once you get to the title drop in Taut, yeah, it all makes so much sense. It’s very satisfying.

So for Social Media all these titles are the same way. Follow is about Twitter, but it’s also about Vaughn willing to go after someone he wants. Like is the same – “Do you even like me?” he asks her. But of course, like is a social media term too.

The rest of the books are also quite literal. Block, I’m sure you can imagine. Status… I’m not even gonna go there, but you will love it. Profile is the one you won’t see coming and Home is obviously about how these two manage to come to terms with all that’s happened.

So once we got the titles down Jana went looking for more pictures. We had already looked at what Rick Day had and decided none of those gorgeous photos would fit our books. So she went looking for more photographers who had images of Steve Boyd and we came upon
Ryan Orange
.

And that’s where we got the images for books three through six. And dayum. Those two together – Steve as the model and Ryan as the photographer… just yes. I don’t even think I can choose a favorite.

And even though I’m still getting nasty messages about writing serials, I don’t care anymore. This is our project. We’ve spent many months working on this. We handpicked each cover photo. We plotted it all out meticulously. We have put a lot of hours and money into making it as perfect a series as you can get.

Especially the editing, which is the next thing I want to talk about. Just briefly. I have an editor. You don’t know her. Probably don’t care, but she’s a fucking rock star and her name is RJ Locksley. And while my books are never perfect, they are near-perfect because of her. She has been with me since my very first book. We’ve done it all together. Of course no book is error-free and mine are no exception. But I rarely get comments about my editing. That’s a good thing. It means people don’t notice it. They aren’t supposed to.

Every once in a while I get some troll or some would-be grammar Nazi who says I need an editor and I laugh. Because like I said. Rock. Fucking. Star. She’s got a master’s in this shit. I could care less what other people think about how we place commas—and yes, I occasionally get these nasty, nasty remarks about commas—she knows her shit, she knows how I like my shit, and anyone who feels the need to write about our comma placement in a review needs to get laid.

Anyway, I don’t give RJ enough End of Book Shit credit. So this is my public thank you to RJ for being professional, never being afraid to tell me the truth, and making me better at pretty much everything.