Текст книги "Meant for Me"
Автор книги: Faith Sullivan
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
She gasps, breathing heavily. I can hear her rustling the sheet.
“Ivy, are you touching yourself?” I ask, sitting up straight.
“Yes,” she whispers, moaning, the frame of the bed creaking in the background.
“Tell me exactly what you’re doing,” I order her as I unzip my jeans.
“I’m straddling the side of the mattress. One leg is touching the floor and the other is bent on the bed. I’m digging my fingernails into the footboard, holding on for all its worth.” She’s panting, and I have a good idea what she’s up to. I caught her doing this once before on our bed, but she didn’t know I was watching her or I’m sure she would’ve stopped. Now she’s letting me in, sharing all of her dirty little secrets.
“Are you rubbing yourself over the edge of the mattress?” I ask, finally freeing myself from the confines of my jeans.
“Yes…” she replies, out of breath. “My shirt is off. All I have on are your boxers. My hair is tickling my swollen breasts, and I’m sliding myself over the edge again and again, gripping it with my thighs.”
“Hump it, baby, hump it.” I start to vigorously stroke my cock, trying to catch up to her.
“Uh, it’s not enough. I’m going to have to use my fingers. Hold on, your boxers are so snug.” The bed continues to squeak as she rides it. She’s trying to find her G-spot. I know how she likes a little pressure above her clit. She always goes crazy when I hit it just right.
“Keep…going.” I’m as breathless as she is now, and I jerk my hand up and down my dick, squeezing it harder.
“Almost…there,” she cries as the shaking of the bed increases. “I have my fingers pressed…firmly against me…the panel of your boxers holding them in place…as I work my hips…over the mattress…gripping it tighter…and tighter.”
“I’m right there with you, baby. You’re working me over just listening to you.” I sink lower on the couch. I forgot to shut the blinds before I started this and the glow from the fireplace has me perfectly illuminated. All I need is for someone to walk across my property and catch me jerking off. I’m in the middle of nowhere, but still.
“Oh God, Eric!” she yells, coming undone.
“I love hearing you come,” I groan against the phone, pressing it between my cheek and my shoulder. “It’s so fucking hot.”
“Are you close?” she asks, repositioning herself on the bed. “I just kicked off your boxers and I’m lying spread-eagle on the bed…buck naked. My arms are outstretched with my hands on the headboard and my legs are as far apart as they will go. I’m wide open for you.”
“Damn it, Ivy!” I shout as I explode in my hand.
She laughs into the phone as I lean my head back against the couch, desperately trying to get some air into my lungs.
“That was just what I needed,” she whispers, spent and satisfied.
“Me too.” I stare blankly at the firelight dancing across the ceiling.
“I don’t want to hang up,” she confesses.
“Neither do I. I could do this all night long.” Just as I say that, the clock on the wall strikes one, bringing me back to reality. “But you need your rest. You’re in for a long couple of days.”
“I’m getting a new phone first thing in the morning. I’ll call you as soon as it’s up and running. Eric, I don’t want to lose contact with you again, not even for a second,” she moans, and I can hear her pulling the sheet over her body.
“Ivy, I love you so much.” I run my hand down my face, sad that my stubble is already starting to grow back.
“I love you too, Eric. Ever so much,” she says before kissing the mouthpiece of the hotel room phone.
“Sweet dreams,” I murmur, looking at her picture on the mantle.
“Thanks to you,” she replies softly before hanging up.
When I hear the click of her disconnecting from me, I hit the end button on my phone, tossing it aside. The ache I feel for her is never ending. What we just did alleviated it somewhat, but I know it won’t be completely soothed until she’s back in my arms.
Chapter Seven
Ivy
I wake to a sharp knock on the door.
I blink groggily, reaching for Eric. I go to nudge him, but he’s not here. Damn it. That’s right, I’m in L.A. I shiver under the thin sheet, suddenly feeling chilled. I’m used to having the warmth of Eric’s arms wrapped around me. I don’t like waking up alone in a strange bed. A pang stabs my heart. All I want to do is curl up and go back to sleep.
The knocking continues, this time accompanied by Will’s voice.
“Ivy, c’mon. It’s seven o’clock. Let’s go.” Saying that he’s impatient would be an understatement. He’s not going to stop. I might as well get up and face him.
I reluctantly pull myself out of bed and shuffle toward the door. So far, my stomach isn’t on a rampage. Maybe I won’t have to start the day headfirst in a toilet bowl. But why is it so frigid in here? I need to turn down the A.C. or something. I rub my arms, trying to dispel the goose bumps. I have my hand on the door handle, ready to open it when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, nipples standing at attention. Jeez, no wonder I’m cold. I don’t have a stitch of clothing on. My face heats up when I remember why.
Having phone sex with Eric was simply incredible. It makes me want to close my eyes and relive what it was like to have him groaning in my ear thousands of miles away. How he made me come with just his voice was pretty amazing. He caught me masturbating that way once before. At the time, I knew he was spying on me because I heard him breathing heavily just outside our bedroom door. Thinking back, I could readily imagine the heat of his eyes on my back, watching me. I wanted to turn around and take him then, but this was so much better. It was intense combining the two experiences in my mind. Last night I was screaming his name within minutes, even if I had to help myself along. Getting him to admit his voyeurism will give us a lot to experiment with when I get home.
“Ivy, I’m going to get the maid to let me in if you don’t open up,” Will threatens from the other side of the door. Thank goodness for deadbolts.
Scrambling to yank Eric’s shirt over my head, I pull it as low as it will go, regretting that Will’s going to have to see me like this. It’s not the first time he’s seen me scantily clad, and I hate that it’s becoming a habit.
“What?” I growl, throwing open the door. But Will’s not even startled as he lounges against the doorframe, running his eyes up and down my body. He’s gazing at me so lustfully that I look down to make sure I really do have Eric’s shirt on.
“I can’t believe you’re not even dressed yet. We have an eight o’clock breakfast meeting with Warren, Dave, and their new investor.” His tone is all business, but the way he’s looking at me sure isn’t. He leans in closer, making me take a step back. He seizes the opportunity, brushing past me to enter the room. “Why aren’t you ready?”
“Maybe because you never even told me about it,” I huff, exasperated by how he keeps leaving me out of the loop.
“Well, you’d better hurry. They’re meeting us in the hotel restaurant, but you look like you could really use a shower, and I have to brief you on some stuff before we go down,” he mutters, plopping on the unmade bed before reaching for the remote.
“Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel special.” I stick my tongue out at him. “You think you’re just gonna wait in here until I’m done? I don’t think so.”
“Ivy, chill. Trust me, it’s better if we walk in together and present a united front. These kinds of meetings are all about appearances. Even though you’re not all that thin anymore, we can still wow them by making an entrance they won’t soon forget.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen as he flips between MTV and the E! Channel.
“So you’re selling my body as well as my talent, huh? If I had known, I would’ve made sure to reschedule that boob job I keep putting off.” I roll my eyes, sickened by how superficial he is. If this is how L.A. operates, I don’t want any part of it.
“Actually, your boobs look fucking fantastic. That’s the one thing your pregnancy has going for it. That and the practically see-through shirt you’re wearing.” He leers at me as I try to cover myself by crossing my arms in front of my protruding chest. I wince slightly. They’re still so sensitive. Eric would know how to make them feel better, but Eric’s not here.
“Do you intend to be a perv the whole time I’m in L.A.?” I glare at him as I bend over to rustle through my suitcase.
“With a view like that? Hell yeah!” He whistles, nudging the polished toe of his shoe against my ass.
“Will, knock it off,” I cry, standing up. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, loosening his tie. “You always imagined what it would be like to have a hotel room all to ourselves. Prom night might’ve come a little later than expected, but I’m here now.”
“You’re a real jackass, you know that?” I give him a shove, and he falls dramatically across the bed.
“Ivy, you’re so boring,” he chuckles. “Don’t you ever lighten up? A little harmless flirtation never hurt anybody.”
“Yeah, except the people involved,” I mumble, slipping my toiletry bag over my shoulder. “Will, get it through your thick skull. I’m not into you anymore. I’ve moved on, and I don’t intend to waste another second of my life flirting with you.”
He grunts when I slam the bathroom door and doesn’t respond with any more witty remarks. Good. If he thinks he’s going to mess with me the entire time I’m here, he’s sadly mistaken. He should be kissing my swollen feet for coming all the way out here instead of baiting me into arguments he knows he can’t win. I’m not his plaything anymore. I never was.
After a rushed shower with terrible water pressure, I turn on the blow dryer. It’s as steamy as a sauna in here, but there’s no way I’m giving Will the satisfaction of stepping outside so he can fondle me with his eyes. He’d love to make me uncomfortable since I only have a fluffy towel wrapped around my body.
“Ivy, are you almost done in there? We have like fifteen minutes, and I really need to talk to you.” Will’s no longer perched on the bed. His voice sounds way too close, like he’s standing right outside the bathroom door.
“Well, I still have to do my makeup. So talk.” I slip a billowy sundress over my head. It’s one of the few dressy items I own that still fits me. I just hope it’s trendy enough for L.A. because it’s ultra comfortable and it camouflages my baby bump. I don’t know if Will told our would-be producers that I’m pregnant, so I don’t want to shock them with any more unexpected revelations. Having Lauren’s uncle scare them with a lawsuit was enough of a surprise. But the dress is pretty low cut. I’ll have to wear a denim jacket over it to tone down my newly abundant cleavage. I need Will to concentrate on nailing this meeting and not on my chest.
“Ivy, you are so frustrating. You know that? You make me want to pound my head against the wall.” As if to emphasize his point, Will does just that.
“Stop it, you moron! You’re gonna make it look like I beat you up or something. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to, but you did say it was all about keeping up appearances.” I chuckle as I raise the mascara wand to my eyelashes. Oh, how I enjoy throwing his words back in his face.
“Ha ha ha, very funny, Ivy. But listen, you’re going to have to turn down the sarcasm, all right? I don’t know too much about this new investor, so I need you to say as little as possible until I get a feel for the situation, okay? Warren and Dave are cool, but they’re gonna need the financial backing to protect their investment if we move forward. Variety and Entertainment Weekly already had blurbs on their websites about how they’re considering our screenplay. Everyone’s wondering what these guys are going to do next. After winning the Oscar last year, they’re like the hottest producers in Hollywood. Whatever they touch turns to gold. Their movies might not rack up huge numbers at the box office but critics can’t get enough of them. That’s why Warren and Dave want more financial clout before diving into this. Even though, they love controversy. It’s what drives them.” Will voice is adamant, like he’s clearly enamored with them, but I’m not so sure. They like controversy? What if they intend to inject some of that adrenaline junkie mentality into the screenplay? I promised Eric I wouldn’t sell Cassidy out, but what if I lose control of the project? Suddenly I don’t feel so good about this.
Slowly, I step out of the bathroom, my dress sticking to my back. It was too steamy in there to get my hair completely dry, so I pulled it into a messy bun. Now I wish it were covering my shoulders. I feel so exposed as Will feasts his eyes on my voluptuous curves. His unabashed scrutiny—of what doesn’t belong to him—makes me what to take another shower to wash off his horniness. Was he always this sleazy or am I just noticing it now after basking in the glow of Eric’s love?
“Will, you have to promise me that I’ll maintain creative control over the screenplay or I’m not going downstairs. Eric was gracious enough to agree to your compromise, but I’m not going to make this any harder on him than I have to. He’s being way more generous than either of us deserve.” I poke Will in the chest as he hovers over me, forcing me to breathe in his expensive sandalwood cologne. He’s crisp, sharp, and polished. Everything Eric is not. Before I would’ve swooned over how perfect he looks, but now I know better. Rugged, natural, and unassuming is way more of a turn on.
“Oh, baby. You are going to slay them in that dress.” Will whistles in appreciation. “What are you doing? Don’t go covering yourself up. I was only teasing.” He frowns as I slide my jacket onto my bare shoulders.
“I am not showing up to a business meeting like I’m spending a day at the beach. Too much skin will make a bad first impression. I want them to take me seriously.” I rummage through my purse, searching for my phone when it dawns on me that I don’t have it anymore. As soon as the meeting ends, I’m remedying the situation pronto. I need to hear Eric’s voice.
“Ivy, honey. They’re never going to take you seriously. You’re just my bit on the side who’s helping me focus my creative energy. I’m top dog on the project. They think you’re only here to blow me if I get mired in a case of writer’s block. The better you look, the more credible our story becomes.” His hand is on the small of my back, just about skimming my ass as he ushers me out the door.
I’m outraged. All I want to do is give him a piece of my mind, dig in my heels, and refuse to budge. I’m on the verge of throwing a full-on tantrum when the elevator bings and the door slides open, revealing a car full of trendy twentysomethings. Exposed midriffs, tattoos, and piercings are intermingled with Rolex watches, designer jeans, and thousand-dollar handbags. I’m certainly not in Kansas anymore.
They look us up and down before a svelte blonde with an immaculate Brazilian blowout steps aside to let us on. Apparently we passed some kind of test. Will boards the elevator like he owns the place, dragging me along with him. In my heels, I stumble over the grate, but luckily Will’s hold on my waist keeps me from face-planting into a dude wearing a leather jacket that’s probably worth more than my car.
“Somebody’s still a little tipsy,” the guy chides, holding his Starbucks cup aloft. “Looks like you two had one hell of a night.”
Everyone snickers and I am mortified. The guy even fist bumps Will with his free hand. Being young and hot in L.A. isn’t gratifying. It’s humiliating. I’ve never felt so objectified in my entire life. I want to go off on this guy’s scrawny little ass, but Will grabs my finger, giving it a squeeze. I glare up at him as he imperceptively shakes his head. I don’t care if standing up for myself is a major faux pas. The drivel spewing from this guy’s mouth is beyond rude. It’s offensive.
“We did, bro. We did.” Will cocks an eyebrow, to check out the leggy brunette the guy is with. “I’m sure you can say the same.”
“Life’s too short to sleep alone. You know what I’m saying?” He slides his hand up the back of the brunette’s gauzy shirt, as if to claim his territory, as Will continues to eye her up. She stands there stock-still, looking bored. I can’t see her eyes because they’re hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but she doesn’t seem to be batting an eyelash, even though they’re talking about her like she’s not even there.
“Can you imagine the type of orgy we could have in here if we stopped the elevator?” chimes in another guy who looks like he could be a freaking Abercrombie model.
“Now that’d be fucking hot,” responds a tall, mocha-skinned girl standing next to me, licking her lips.
Just when I’m at my breaking point, the elevator bell rings twice, sliding open to reveal the lobby. I take a deep breath as I step out, trying to calm my rattled nerves. Is everyone in L.A. so sex-obsessed? I jump when I feel someone’s hand lightly skim my ass as everyone moves out of the elevator. I quickly turn around, but I can’t tell if it was a girl or a guy who felt me up.
“Welcome to Hollywood, Ivy,” Will says with a smirk. “Where your looks are the biggest commodity you possess. I think you wound that whole elevator up the minute you stepped inside. You’re going to have this town eating out of the palm of your hand.”
“Will, stop making it sound like I’m sexual catnip,” I protest, following him toward the restaurant.
“Ivy, baby. I’m not making it up. You’re a force to be reckoned with. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or what, but you’re emitting these vibes that are fucking irresistible. You’re going to be giving every guy within a ten-foot radius a painful case of blue balls.” He dodges as I try to smack him, laughing wholeheartedly at how flustered I am.
“Name, please.” The hostess gives us the once-over, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. She long-limbed and glowing like she just stepped out of the pages of a Victoria’s Secret catalog.
I feel so self-conscious. Will has to be playing another one of his mind games. There’s no way anyone’s looking at me when there are so many beautiful people walking around this city. For practically all of my life, I’ve been invisible to Will. He’s just trying to butter me up so he can manipulate me in front of our potential bosses. He wants to show that he’s the one in control by dominating me in front of them. Like I’m nothing more than a living sex toy bent on his amusement. Think again, Will. This girl’s too smart for that.
“Carter. Will Carter.” He slips the hostess one of his cards along with a twenty. “We don’t have a reservation, but I was hoping you could squeeze us in.”
I glare up at Will, but like a snake charmer, he doesn’t break eye contact with his prey. I’m fuming. If this is such an important meeting, why is he being so casual about it? He better get his shit together. I can’t work with someone who’s not going to take this as seriously as I am. There’s too much at stake.
“Just two?” she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
“Nah, more like five,” Will remarks nonchalantly, pushing his luck.
“Well, that might be more than I can handle,” she pouts, biting the tip of her pen. “Unless you’re willing to make it up to me.”
“How about tonight?” Will doesn’t even try to contain the grin spreading across his face. He’s well versed in this kind of dance. He made the opening move, but now he’s letting her take the lead. I watch in utter amazement at how quickly it all unfolds. “Seven o’clock?” Will questions, opening the calendar app on his phone. Give me a break. He can make the effort when it comes to a complete stranger, but he couldn’t use his perfectly manicured finger to tap in the arrival time of my flight? It figures. Different city, same old Will.
“Let’s say more like eight. I have a yoga class after work that I don’t want to miss.” Ugh, she wants to limber up before spending the night with him. He clearly gets what her saucy implication implies because his smile widens, showing teeth worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Too bad she didn’t see him as a thirteen-year-old with neon-colored elastic bands strung through his braces. I sure did.
“Done,” Will proclaims as a whoosh issues from his phone. “Be sure to text me your address…” he pauses, like he’s done this a million times.
“Becky,” she replies, winking at him before guiding us to a table in a secluded alcove, sunlight streaming through the window.
These random hookups come way too easily for him. They always have. He never has to work for it. Women just fall in his lap.
Becky lightly drapes her hand across Will’s shoulders as he takes a seat. “Enjoy your meal,” she whispers in his ear before heading back to her station.
“You are so smooth, it’s sickening.” I pretend to gag as I look over the menu.
“It worked, didn’t it?” He tugs on the lapel of his jacket, straightening out the crease where she touched him.
“Yeah, but why couldn’t you be like a normal person and make a reservation?” I can’t help but ask as I try to figure out the difference between the vegetarian and vegan options.
“Because it’s a lot more fun to live life on the edge.” His eyes are sparkling as I look up to see if he’s teasing me.
“And a lot more expensive,” I counter. “You’re already twenty bucks in the hole and you haven’t even taken her out yet.”
“Who said I was taking her out?” he fires back, making me blush.
“You’re too much,” I mutter as he laughs at my discomfort.
“Will, there you are! What are you doing hiding way back here? Or should I say who are you hiding? OMG, Davey! It’s Sookie Stackhouse!” A stylishly dressed man with a silk scarf hanging around his neck saunters over to our table. He appears to be in his late thirties although his skin is in fantastic shape. His face is as smooth as porcelain, so he could be older than he looks. I don’t think he’s had any work done, but his dermatologist is to be commended.
Next to him, holding his hand is a robust man probably in his mid-fifties. He’s the first overweight person I’ve seen in L.A., and there’s no hiding his receding hairline. The two of them seem like a mismatched pair, but by the way they’re beaming at each other, it’s obvious they’re in love.
“Warren, behave,” Will warns, rising to shake hands. “This is Miss Ivy Thompson, the muse who sparks my colorful imagination.”
“Ignore him, Ivy. My husband has a vampire fetish that’s pretty ingrained.” The older one, who I assume is Dave, takes my hand and kisses it. “It’s lovely to meet such a fine young lady.”
“No wonder you weren’t answering my texts, Will,” Warren scolds, sitting primly beside him. “I can see why you were distracted.”
“What texts?” Will appears puzzled. Not a good sign.
“The ones about the investor meeting us here. She’s coming directly from the airport,” Dave responds like he’s used to answering questions addressed to his husband.
“What’s her name?” I ask Dave in order to prevent Will from shutting me out of the conversation.
“See, that’s the thing. We don’t know. She wanted to keep things hush hush in case there’s a lawsuit pending. She works for a venture capitalist in New York. Her boss got wind of the project and had her contact us anonymously. It’s an unorthodox approach, but we investigated the firm and it’s legit. If they’re willing to pony up a few million dollars, we don’t care if they want to communicate with a secret decoder ring. Having a financial cushion is imperative with the risks associated with this project. But I think we’re going to bite the bullet and produce this film because what you’ve come up with so far is phenomenal.” Dave pats my shoulder before shaking out his napkin and placing it on his lap.
“You know that I wrote it?” I stare at him in amazement.
“Will’s not that smart,” Warren deadpans.
“Hey!” Will interjects.
“Honey, you are incredibly nice to look at, but you can’t even compose a coherent email much less an entire script. You can’t blind us with your charms, darling. You’re not that good of an actor.” Warren rests his chin in his hand to gaze adoringly at Will.
Will’s face turns scarlet. He’s mad, sure. But I know how he really is. He might be humoring Warren and Dave when it comes to advancing his career, but there’s no way in hell that he enjoys having a grown man ogle him in public. Will hates being considered a pretty boy. He must get hit on by guys all the time out here—but to have me witness it is another story. He must be ready to spit nails.
Warren’s iPhone chimes on the table and Dave picks it up, breaking the tension.
“She’s here,” Dave remarks. “Damn, I so wanted to order a soy latte before she arrived. I hate to talk business before my third cup of the day.”
“I’ll make sure you get it, Davey. Just hang in there a little longer,” Warren murmurs, patting Dave’s hand.
“Yeah, Davey. Hang in there. I assure you that what I have to say won’t take long.”
My jaw hits the floor when I recognize the voice of the person standing behind me. I make a move to turn around, but familiar hands land on my shoulders, anchoring me in place.
For the first time in his life, Will looks scared.
“You must be…” Dave begins.
“Lauren Price from LPR and Associates.”
At the mention of her name, Warren gasps, instantly making the connection, and I cringe as she digs her red fingernails into my jacket.
I should’ve known she’d be out for blood.
