The Curvy Voice Coach and the Billionaire Actor (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) (8 page)

I was the president’s daughter, twenty-something but still innocent and sheltered, torn from a life of luxury and privilege when her father was replaced by an android. I was carried off by Tanner’s character, fleeing the combined forces of the CIA, the FBI, the NSA and the aliens themselves. There was one scene in particular, in which we hid out in a classy hotel. I’d just turned down Tanner’s advances—again—because he was so loud and uncouth and badass, even though it was blindingly obvious to everyone in the audience that we should be together.
Why do they always do that? They can’t see what’s right in front of them! It’s ridiculous.
But then he finally grabbed me and kissed me, up against a wall.

“Goddamnit, Sabrina,” he hissed. “They could find us at any minute. Break down the door and turn us both into alien slaves. Do you really want to keep playing these games?”

Back in my bedroom, my hand was stroking over the rough denim of my jeans, right over my most sensitive spot. I’d closed my eyes, and in my imagination I was there in the hotel room, gazing up at Tanner. “N—No,” I said.

His hands were quick at the buttons of my blouse, opening it right down the front and then dipping his head to kiss the tops of my breasts. In my bedroom, I groaned and pressed my back hard against the wall, opening my own blouse.
Okay, that’s enough,
I thought.
I’m not actually going to strip all my clothes off.

In the movie, Tanner had roughly shoved his hands under the heroine’s bra and flipped it up—well, it had looked like that, but they’d swung the camera up to focus on her reaction, because the movie was a PG-13. I ran a hand up my bare stomach and skimmed my fingertips under the bra cup. And then I flipped both cups up, baring my breasts. In my imagination, my hands were Tanner’s much larger ones as I squeezed my breasts in my hands—softly at first and then harder, my thumbs finding my nipples.

I had a good memory for movies—certain scenes in movies, at least. There’d been a shot of Tanner’s hands unbuckling the president’s daughter’s jeans. “God,” she’d moaned, and I moaned the words myself, out loud. “We can’t. My father—”

“I don’t give a damn about your father,” Tanner had said. And then he’d kissed her, long and deep, and her jeans had slid down.

My own jeans fell around my ankles, quickly followed by my panties.
Am I really doing this?!
I thought, as my hand slid down to my sex and my naked ass ground against the wall. In the movie, it had faded to black at that point, so from here on out, I was running on imagination alone. But my imagination is pretty good.

I eased my legs apart, imagining it was Tanner’s strong hands spreading them. My fingers were tracing the shape of my lower lips, and I could feel how swollen they were, my juices already starting to flow. I rubbed, my ass making slow circles against the cool plaster of the wall, and my lips began to part.

“You’re such a good girl,” I imagined Tanner saying. “Proper and perfect. But inside, you want it...don’t you?”

And I thrust a finger inside me, longing for it to be him. I felt my knees buckle. “Yes,” I whispered out loud. “I want it.”

I started to plunge my finger in and out of my rapidly-slickening folds, my eyes tight shut, my head pressed back against the wall as my hips ground at the air. I’d opened the window, not being used to air conditioning, and the warm summer air felt thick and heavy around me. A light sheen broke out across my skin as I rubbed and thrust, my hips beginning to make circles….

But it wasn’t enough.

There was something that would make it enough.

I almost dived across the room, not wanting my climax to slip away. Buried in the depths of my carry-on case, hidden inside a sock, was a shiny pink vibrator with a tapered end, almost like a lipstick. Smaller than a cock—
much
smaller than Tanner’s, from what I’d felt. But it would do.

I switched it on and played the very tip of it along my lips and then in slow circles around my clit. I loved this one because the tapered tip meant I could hit exactly...the...right...spot. I added another finger, thrusting two of them inside me in urgent strokes while the vibe circled and circled. In my mind, Tanner had his hands on my breasts, squeezing them roughly as he entered me. My chin was on his shoulder, eyes shut tight, mouth strained and gasping, my fingers clawing at the muscles of his back and—

Oh...God….

“Charlotte?” Tanner’s voice outside my door, just a few feet from where I was standing.

I drew in a massive gulp of air and hurled the vibrator across the room. Where the hell had he come from?! I hadn’t even heard him come in!

I took stock. I was standing against the wall, separated from Tanner only by a thin wooden door...which was unlocked. I was naked, save for my unbuttoned blouse which currently hid absolutely nothing, and my bra which was flipped up to show my breasts. I was bathed in sweat, I could feel my own juices sticky on my inner thighs and...oh yes. Somewhere in the room, I could hear the vibrator buzzing.

If I pulled my clothes on, he’d hear it. And then he’d know I’d been undressed. “Coming!” I called, playing for time. I pressed myself up against the door, opened it just wide enough to poke my head out, and leaned around. “Yes?” I said innocently.

He was standing right outside my bedroom door, still in his suit but more...disheveled. The shirt had an extra button open, I decided, and his hair was tousled. On him, it looked good. Actually, on him, it looked amazing.

“Oh,” he said. “Good. I thought maybe you’d be asleep.”

Why didn’t I just pretend to be asleep?!
I wondered. Too late now. “No,” I said, and then faked a yawn. “I was just about to turn in.”

He frowned. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re all...sweaty.”

He stared at me. I stared at him. He swayed slightly.

He’s drunk,
I thought. That was good. If he was drunk, he might not pick up on what he was seeing. “I was exercising,” I said.

He frowned again. “Exercising? At one AM?”

Was it really that late? I must have been brooding on the bed for longer than I thought. Before I started fantasizing about him. Before I started...I blushed. “It’s a British thing,” I told him firmly. “We learn it in public school. Every night before we go to bed. It’s called...physical jerks.”

“Physical jerks?”

“Physical jerks.”

He nodded sagely and then just stared at me. “I wanted to tell you,” he said, “that I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. You think I don’t understand, but I do. I really really do. Can I come in?”

I felt my bare nipples pressing against the door. “Not really.”

“Oh. What’s that noise?”

I could hear the vibrator humming merrily away and prayed to God that it wasn’t anywhere visible through the crack in the door. “What noise?”

He frowned harder, but then said, “I had to tell you that...”—he took a deep breath—“I realized you’re like Abigail, in the movie.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. But he just stood there looking at me expectantly. “Which movie?” I asked.

“
The
movie.”

I tried to think of a famous movie with an Abigail in it, and couldn’t. But I assumed she was a plus-sized but lovable sidekick to the heroine who is given a token happy ending just before the credits roll. “Okay,” I said. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re Abigail!” he said insistently. “You’re my Abigail!”

I nodded, feeling I was missing something. “Okay. Well, I should probably get to bed.” And I did the worst fake yawn in history.

Tanner looked oddly defeated. “Okay. Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Cole.” And I closed the door, my almost-naked body still pressed against it. I could feel my body heat soaking into the wood. If Tanner put his hand on the other side, would he be able to feel it? Did he know, already, what I’d been doing? Was he about to turn the handle and swing the door wide again?

What would I do, if he did?

For three long breaths, Tanner just stayed there outside my door. And then, at last, I heard him stumble away.

I slid down the door until I was on my knees, my forehead resting against the wood. When I finally turned around, I saw the vibrator almost immediately, under my bed. I fished it out.

And then I climbed under the covers and there, under the safety of the comforter, I picked up where I left off. Legs apart, knees bent, I held the vibrator still while I ground my crotch against it, never quite touching the clit but teasing, teasing. My fingers found me even wetter than I had been before, which made a mockery over my whole theory about only being interested in fantasy-Tanner. So did the fact that, in my mind, it wasn’t Tanner the Special Forces soldier who was climbing between my legs. It was Tanner in his charcoal-gray suit, with his shirt so sexily unbuttoned, and that long, thick cock plunging—

Nggghh—

It swept over me, my ass lifting into the air as I bucked and trembled silently, the orgasm soaking every coherent thought from my mind and then washing back again and again like the tide, erasing everything. When I finally slumped to the bed, sticky and exhausted, all the Tanners had become one.

And I was utterly, undeniably hot for him.

Chapter 5

The next morning, I was the first one up. Tanner emerged a good half hour later than usual, moving more slowly and speaking more quietly than usual.

“Good morning, Mr. Cole,” I said, looking up at him.

He gave me a sheepish smile. Tanner Cole, sheepish! Did he remember what had happened the night before? What
had
happened the night before? I still didn’t understand what he’d been trying to tell me.

“Coffee?” I offered. “I made some. I thought you’d need it.”

He eyed the coffee pot and licked his lips, but not in a good way.

“Maybe I should try some tea,” he said. “That’s...gentler, right?”

There was a note of something in his voice and it took me a while to figure it out. He was apologizing. For what? And something else was different, too. He didn’t seem as flirty. He wasn’t avoiding my eyes, exactly, but he didn’t keep holding my gaze, either. It was as if we were just friends, or colleagues, now….

...which implied we’d been something more, before.

I had a horrible feeling that I might have missed something.

“I’ll make you some tea,” I told him, and brewed him a cup of English Breakfast. He sipped it experimentally.

“Good?”

He looked at me over the rim of the cup. “I’m not sure. I think so.” He took another sip. “Give it time and let’s see.”

I frowned. It didn’t sound like he was talking about the tea. And something was definitely different, this morning.
Had
I missed something?

Tanner turned on his phone and started browsing the gossip sites and there, right on the main page of the first one, was a paparazzi shot of him. With his arm around Laura Pagonetti.

Laura Pagonetti was the big new thing. Not even twenty-five yet, and she’d already picked up three Academy Awards. Her long, mahogany hair and huge innocent eyes were making her the go-to choice for
beautiful but nerdy atomic scientist caught up in international conspiracy,
or
struggling single mother accused of crime she didn’t commit,
and she did a particularly good
woman in haunted apartment who wears nothing but lingerie.
She had a waist that Tanner could have closed his hands around and her breasts stuck out like demure little half-oranges under her designer dress. Her ass was more of a suggestion than a statement.

He scrolled down. More shots—of her sitting on his knee. Of the two of them laughing together. Of them leaving the bar together.

Of course. Of course he’d been with her last night. Why wouldn’t he have been with her? It’s what I’d told myself from the very beginning: Tanner would be with some drop-dead gorgeous, slender little nymph. Why was I surprised?

Because for a moment there, I thought I was wrong about him.

“Drink your tea,” I said. “We should get to work.”

***

He asked if I wanted to work outside again, but I opted for the living room. The sun had felt great the day before, but now I didn’t want to be exposed. I could feel my defenses rising back into place, cutting me off from the world. From him.

Tanner’s accent was coming on well. I suspected he’d been practicing when I wasn’t around, maybe even doing the voice when he was out at night—
and wouldn’t Laura Pagonetti have soaked her panties for
that, I thought bitterly.

We ran lines, but my heart wasn’t in it...and he could tell. When I let his third slip go by without comment, he called me on it. “What’s up?” he asked. “You’re acting weird. You’d normally be riding my ass about this stuff.”

“I’m fine,” I said, banging the script down on a table and pretending to stretch.

“You’re not. You’re pissed about something. What?”

“Nothing! Carry on!” I picked up my script again.