“Ew.” She slaps my chest. “No!”
I squeeze her side. “Come on, don’t lie to me. We should always be honest with each other. How many times did you pleasure yourself to my picture?”
“None,” she states, offended.
“You mean twenty, right?”
“No, I mean none.” She laughs.
“And why not?”
A wicked grin spreads across her face. “Because, I was already worn out from touching myself while looking at pictures of Bodi Banks.”
Ouch.
Double fucking ouch.
Bodi Banks, my one and only rival in the pool
and
in the looks department.
“Damn.” I pull away, faking extreme and utter betrayal. “That hurts, Paisley. I think you should probably go back to your hotel room.”
“Okay.” She shrugs her shoulders, calling my bluff, and starts moving off the bed.
“Don’t even fucking think about it.” I stop her and bring her back into my chest as she giggles. I press my lips to her ear and speak to her in a gruff tone. “Now tell me, Paisley, whose pictures were you looking at?”
“Bodi’s.” She laughs some more when I tickle her side.
“Whose?”
She’s out of breath as she answers. “Bodi. He’s so fine.”
“That’s fucking it.”
I roll on top of her and pin her hands over her head with one of mine. Her chest heaves. I lower my head to her nipple and bite down, just hard enough to get her attention.
“Whose picture were you looking at?”
Her hips rub against my erection but I pull away, making her pout. Normally, I don’t find a pouting woman attractive, especially Bellini but for some reason, Paisley’s pout makes me want to pull on her bottom lip with my teeth.
“Don’t get upset with me, you’re the one causing trouble.”
Lowering one of her arms, she rubs my jaw again in a smooth caress. I then rest my weight on her. I frame her face with my arms, setting up on my elbows.
“Do you want to know why I was stalking you?”
I think about it for a second and answer, “Because you like to stare at human perfection?”
She rolls her eyes, making me chuckle. “No, because I wanted to see what you looked like without your beard. I wanted to prepare myself.”
“Oh yeah? And what did you think?” I kiss her nose lightly.
Her eyes close from the affection and then open, sparkling at me. “I thought you looked hot. Makes me wonder what you would feel like between my legs.”
I can’t even try to hide my thrilled smile. “All right.” I nod. “So, I have to ask. Am I hotter with or without the beard?”
“What would you do if I said without?”
“Never grow it out again,” I answer honestly.
“Well, good thing I’m a rugged beard kind of girl.”
“Is that so? Your boyfriend Bodi Banks doesn’t have a beard.”
“He doesn’t need one. He’s just the epitome of sex, so he doesn’t need little tricks like a full-grown beard to make him look sexy.”
I know we’re joking, but a part of me wants to rip Bodi’s dick off right about now.
“You’re about two seconds from getting spanked,” I warn.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”
Quickly, before she can move out of the way, I roll her over and pin her against the bed. She’s laughing . . . that’s until my hand falls with a slap across her ass, quieting her before a low, erotic moan is heard.
My dick grows to exponential length. Out of curiosity, I slip my hand between her legs and press my fingers against her tight hole. I glide right in from her arousal.
“Fucking hell, baby. Did that turn you on?”
Her hips move against my hand. “More than you know,” she whispers.
Shit.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
**PAISLEY**
I feel like I’m going to throw up. Reese left this morning, after thoroughly exploring my body with his tongue . . . with a giant smile on his face and more confidence than I’ve ever seen. He wasn’t at all nervous, not even a tiny bit. But here I am, about to walk into CenturyLink Center in Omaha, sweating profusely and with a pile of nerves in my stomach.
This is his last chance at the gold, and this is only the trials. I don’t follow swimming. I know, shame on me. I should at least for the bare-chested men prancing around in spandex, that’s an added bonus. With my lack of knowledge, I’m unsure who the top contenders are and if Reese has a definite chance of making it or if he’s going to slip in by the skin of his teeth . . . or should I say fingertips?
Dressed in white shorts, red Converse, and a blue USA shirt, I clench my purse at my side and walk to the venue. The steel and glass structure of the CenturyLink Center is quite impressive, standing at an extraordinary height, almost intimidating. From the outside, you can tell this is a venue where dreams are made, and where dreams are crushed.
My goal is to find Bellini and Reese but the media room is deep in the depths of the building, causing me to flash my badge to everyone who asks just to get to where Bellini is interviewing with Reese. Last night, Reese was irritated with his commitment to show up with Bellini today. He felt cheap, like a sellout, and hated every aspect of it. I wasn’t going to tell him that he was a sellout. I didn’t think it would go over well. I understand his reasoning for signing; he was preparing for life after the pool.
Luckily, I wasn’t needed right away so I slept in while Reese prepared for the day. He left before I even tried to unglue my eyes. He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek and left me a note on the bedside.
Good morning, baby. Can’t wait for you to watch me secure a spot on the team today. I plan on having multiple celebratory fucks with you tonight so make sure you eat some protein today. Your tits will be pictured in my head as my end goal, first to the wall means first to your sexy-as-fuck nipples.
xxxx--->o (That’s me kissing you and then fucking your hole. You’re welcome) - R
Not the most eloquent man, but it sure as hell got me excited for tonight.
Lucky me.
I didn’t have to get to the venue early, but unfortunately, Melony did, being the one who had to do Bellini’s hair and makeup for the event. Poor girl. Aww. To live the rich life where you sit in a chair and everyone else does the hard work around you. On the plane, Melony shared that Bellini is the worst person to do hair and makeup for. Not because she won’t stop playing Candy Crush Saga on her phone, and not because she has to work around Pope Francis. No. Apparently, Miss Prim and Proper is not quite the classy debutante she tries to portray herself as. Bellini has some serious morning gas. When I heard that, I could not stop giggling.
I walk down a narrow hallway, full of bustling people with many jobs to do. Shoulders bump into mine, people cut me off, and camera flashes go off in my eyes, shooting off test shots. From a distance, I can see a white backdrop and a plethora of media correspondents huddled around, including Bellini’s camera crew.
Bingo!
I approach the set-up but am quickly stopped by a large man with no hair but enough tattoos on his head to make up for the cue-ball look.
“Ma’am, only authorized personnel are allowed.”
I flash him my badge and start to walk past him but he stops me again.
“That doesn’t grant you access into this room.”
“What?” I say, looking down at my badge. “I’m Bellini Chambers’s personal assistant. I’m pretty sure that should grant me access to anything.”
“Not in here it doesn’t.”
“Are you kidding me?” I say, a little frustrated. This is all I need, to not be allowed into the room where Bellini will call out for a Tic Tac and then fire me because I’m not around to toss one in her mouth like a trained seal—by no fault of my own of course.
“No, you don’t have the media box checked on your pass.”
“But it says all access. To me, that means all access . . . to everything, including the media room.”
“But the box isn’t checked.”
“But it says ALL ACCESS.” I raise my voice in frustration.
Right before me, I swear he grows two inches taller as he puffs his chest out. He is actually quite intimidating. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside.”
Not backing down, I puff my chest as well, hands on hips and say, “Or what?”
“Or I will strip you of your badge and ask security to escort you outside so you miss the entire meet.”
“You can’t do that.”
Giving me a smarmy look, he brings the walkie-talkie that’s attached to his belt up to his mouth and presses down on the button.
“She’s with me.” Behind the man stands Reese with a stern look on his face.
“Mr. King. I’m sorry but she doesn’t have the media box checked on her badge.”
Being the amazing man that Reese is, he says, “Thank you for doing your job properly, sir, but I assure you, Miss Maccaro is with Bellini and me. Please let her by so she can do her job, and also punch the hole on the media box so she won’t run into another problem in the future.”
“Yes, sir,” the security man says, quickly grabbing my badge and punching a hole in it and then letting me by.
Reese puts his hand on my lower back and guides me through the crowd, talking closely to my ear. “You look fucking adorable in that shirt, baby.”
“Reese . . .” I warn, garnering a laugh from him. The last thing I need is for some reporter to catch on to our relationship. One slip up and it will be all over the news.
We step up to the backdrop where Melony is primping Bellini. Her ensemble for today: a pink sweater set, white cami underneath, a short khaki skirt, and her signature pearls. Where’s her American spirit? She looks like she’s about to get drunk at a tennis match rather than attend a swim meet.
“Ugh, look who decided to roll out of bed and join us. You could have at least brushed your hair. What did I tell you about that?” Bellini says with a roll of her eyes. For the record, I brush my hair, every day, multiple times a day. She then points to her mouth with her finger and looks at me. “Hey, fabric pattern, why don’t you pop a Tic Tac in my mouth, I’m starving.”
I’ve become accustomed to carrying around Tic Tacs for Bellini. In fact, the rattle in my purse has a new norm, practically my cadence to follow while walking down the street. When I don’t hear the little sugar tablets jingling, I get slightly freaked out now. This is what my life has become: Tic Tac-carrying donkey.
Mumbling to myself about her trying to actually eat something for breakfast like every other normal person instead of relying on sugarcoated droplets to replenish her, I fish out the pack in my purse, trying not to think about how I spent a decent amount of time on my hair this morning. I tamed the waves and made it piecey and sleek. In my opinion, it looks really good.
“Here,” I say, holding the pack out to Bellini who instantly sneers at me.
“Do I look like I want to get the orange coating on my fingers? Place it in my mouth, for heaven’s sake, Mauve. Do your job.”
Assistant sound technician to assistant to reality star dickhead who specializes in feeding said dickhead Tic Tacs. Splendid. How the mighty can fall.
Grinding my teeth, I place one on her expectant tongue, trying to avoid touching the saliva-coated muscle sticking out at me. Knowing her, I would contract some kind of disease that transformed me into a massive, insult-flinging, sweater-set-wearing slut bag.
“Melon, what the ever-loving hell are you trying to do? Pull out my hair?” Bellini’s hand grips the back of her head. From behind, Melony winks at me, and I have to turn around to avoid showing the smile that crosses my face. I really like that girl.
“Where is Pope Francis? Pocket,” Bellini screams, causing the entire room to silence. “I need him to bless me before this interview. Pocket!”
I glance over at Reese who doesn’t seem affected by Bellini’s over-the-top behavior. How he puts up with it is beyond me, or how he can even possibly stand to have his name attached to hers is crazy.
“Here he is,” Pocket screeches, holding out Pope Francis and running toward Bellini. How the hell did she get access into this room and I didn’t? She probably rolled in with Bellini, her lips stuck to her ass, and security didn’t even realize.
“God! Pocket, get away from me, you’re breathing like a cow.”
“I did just sprint in here.”
Bellini pushes her to the side. “Yes, we can all see that from the out-of-shape platypus look you have on your face. Gah, you’re really disgusting right now. Is that sweat on your brow?”
“It might be?” Pocket touches her forehead. “It was a long run from outside to in here.”
“Security,” Bellini calls out. “Please remove the sweaty, fowl-smelling stork standing next to me. Stick her up in the stands, downwind from others.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And just like that, Pocket is escorted out of the interview room without one ounce of remorse from Bellini’s pursed, devil-blessed lips.
Christ, this woman is the worst.
“Tic Tac!” She points to her mouth again, calling out to me.
And this is what my life has become: popping Tic Tacs into the mouth of a heinous human being. Yup, so proud of myself right about now.
“All right, let’s get these interviews done, Reese has to prepare himself. Bellini, please step up next to Reese.”
Ashley, Reese’s publicist is giving him a pep talk off to the side, Jasper is directing everyone in position, and Bellini speaks closely to Pope Francis, lifting his ear so she’s speaking directly into it.
“Amen,” Bellini says, finishing up her pep talk. I
REALLY
want to know what she just said to him. And to be that dog, who quite literally is a saint for putting up with his owner. If only I could read his mind, I wonder what he would say.
Melony stands next to me, bumping me with her side. “Long night last night?” She wiggles her eyebrows and I can’t help the smile that pops up.
“No,” I answer honestly. “Hard and fast, and then a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh damn.” She fans herself. “I bet he’s really good in bed.” She whispers so our conversation can only be heard between us. Jasper sets up Bellini and Reese, and we watch over them.