Working It

7

Emmy

By Thursday, I was ready to dropkick Fiona. We’d spent the week prepping for Ben’s upcoming campaign. She had daily meetings to discuss budgeting, location scouting, styling, and storyboarding—all while weighing me down with heaps of Post-its.

I sat at the desk in her suite and she leaned over my shoulder, as if supervising my typing skills was a necessity. I was creating a new portfolio page for Ben that included a couple of his most recent shots. Fiona would share this with the fragrance company that was considering making him their spokesmodel. I opened the photo from his Calvin Klein shoot. Ben was in just his skivvies, a lucky pair of heather-gray boxer briefs that hugged him in all the right places. I reached for the mouse to click to the next photo but Fiona’s talons caught my hand.

“Hold on.” She leaned in closer to the screen.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. Gosh, drool much?? It was Ben in his underpants, so I got it, but sheesh.

“This is a nice one,” I commented, trying to keep my tone neutral.

A slow smile curled Fiona’s mouth upward. “He’s a big boy.” Heat blossomed in my cheeks. Her words were confident, sure, and left me reeling. “Yes, let’s use this one, the one from his Gucci shoot and the GQ cover.”

Still speechless, I assembled all the photos into the document. Then I added his height, measurements, and the Status Models logo before printing several color copies. Fiona slid them into her leather portfolio and began packing up her things for her meeting.

I scrubbed a hand across my face. I hadn’t heard from Ben since our encounter in my hotel room and our subsequent texting when I told him that that was a one-time thing. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Supermodels probably weren’t used to the word no.

My last text to him ran through my head on repeat. He seemed to have taken it to heart, but what did I expect? Did I want him to argue with me? Hold me down and make love to me? The visual made me shiver.

I checked my phone for messages. Nothing. It was time to get ready for tonight’s cocktail mixer, anyway. I excused myself from Fiona’s room and made my way downstairs to shower, fighting off the feelings of disappointment and hurt.

Ben

I stood under the rough spray of water, letting it wash away the makeup from the shoot. It had been a tiring day. Henri, the photographer, was known for favoring a jumping style in his shoots. He liked to capture his subjects midjump to evoke a sense of movement, so I’d spent several hours leaping into the air, pushing my body into various positions and angles while keeping my face neutral and making sure the clothes and my hair remained in place. Fun times.

The streaming hot water beat against my back, relaxing me, and my thoughts wandered to Emmy. She was proving to be quite the contradiction.

Some girls were model-fuckers—willing to drop their panties as soon as they heard my profession. Others were intimidated and self-conscious, assuming they’d never be good enough to be with a model. Both types annoyed me.

Emmy was neither. Her self-confidence wasn’t as robust as it probably should be; I sensed some of that was from Fiona’s hurled insults. But, mostly, I was attracted to her uncanny ability to keep me guessing.

Since I was pretty sure that fucking me wasn’t number one on her agenda, her behavior confused me. She was flirty and sexy through text, polite and professional at work. Distant, even.

If I had to put my finger on it, I’d say she was most interested in being friends. And while I might have thought having her as a friend was a good idea initially, I didn’t really have friends. Certainly not friends I wanted to fuck. Badly.

I’d never had to work to get a girl in my bed. The thought was almost laughable. Almost. If my balls weren’t fucking aching at the thought of waiting, it would be funny. That wouldn’t do. I needed to have her.

After several long minutes, I reluctantly shut off the water and climbed out of the glass-enclosed shower. I wrapped a towel around my hips, tossing another across my shoulders. Emerging into the bedroom, I rubbed the towel across my face but the feeling that I wasn’t alone caused me to pull the towel away. Fiona sat on the edge of my bed with a wide, cocky grin.

“You were brilliant today.” Her eyes traveled down my naked chest before coming to rest on mine.

“Thank you.”

Crossing the room to the bureau, I grabbed a pair of boxers, a T-shirt, and jeans. The sound of Fiona’s soft laughter filled the silence. I pulled the shirt over my head and turned away from her, letting the towel drop to the floor. It wasn’t like Fiona hadn’t seen my bare ass before. I pulled on the boxer briefs and heard her softly padding across the room to stand behind me. Her hands came around my middle, encircling my waist as she pressed her breasts into my back.

“Love,” she whispered. Her voice was a desperate plea, full of longing.

“I’m tired, Fiona.” I removed her hands from where they’d been caressing my abs and turned to face her.

The clouded look in her eyes fell away as she snapped her gaze to mine. “Of course. You worked hard today. Dinner’s on the way and then I can give you a massage after. We’ll see if we can get you to sleep tonight.” She offered a weak smile.

I merely nodded. I’d been hoping to text with Emmy again tonight. Maybe even pay her a visit, see if I could get beyond that exterior she tried to put up. A quick glance past Fiona to the clock told me it was only eight. She should still be up for a while.

A knock at the door broke our eye contact. Fiona let in the room service while I pulled on my jeans.

We sat on my bed and dined, as we had so many times before in cities around the globe. Even the meal was familiar—grilled fish and vegetables, wine and sparkling water. God forbid there be fat or carbs involved.

Fiona’s mouth moved sensually while she ate, gliding over the tines of her fork. Her eyes stayed on mine. She was an attractive woman, despite our sixteen-year age difference, I found her appealing. Then again, I found things to appreciate about all women. Their frilly panties, their little manicured toes, the curve of a lower back, their scent. Yes, I loved women. Just looking at them, admiring them. Maybe it was because of my chosen profession that I was aware of all their beauty.

I’d spent countless hours with my mom’s old issues of Vogue and InStyle. We’d sit in her big canopied bed on Sunday morning, have breakfast in bed, and flip through every page. As a mom-son bonding experience, it was odd. But it was the one we’d had. She was usually too hung over for breakfast, but she’d sip her coffee and watch me eat and we’d comment on all the looks.

Brunette, blonde, redhead, olive skinned, or freckled, I found beauty in it all. And I didn’t discriminate. Sure, most of my female companions were models, but I attracted more than my fair share of attention from other girls, too. I’d messed around with girls in my teens years, at first a little shy and fumbling, but as I learned their bodies, I grew confident. And after I lost my virginity at eighteen, my sexual appetite increased dramatically. Much to Fiona’s dismay. She regularly reminded me how much my interest in other girls displeased her. And since she was more than just my boss—she was a family friend—I tried my best to keep her happy. I think I’d been blown on every continent as a result. Quick indiscretions were easier. Plus, there was no girl to try to get out of my hotel room later on.

Of course, now just twenty-two, almost twenty-three, I already felt jaded. Being alone was just easier. I’d never had a girlfriend, never really wanted one. And it was clear Fiona wouldn’t take well to the idea. Not that it should bother me, but it did somehow.

We finished our meal and Fiona removed the dishes, setting them outside the door to be picked up later. “Shall I get your pills?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She returned a moment later with the few bottles, shaking the pills out into my hand. No matter how much trouble she was, she really was good to me. I dutifully swallowed down the handful.

“I can rub your back if you like,” Fiona said.

A massage sounded heavenly, but I had other plans tonight. “No, that’s okay.” I didn’t want to straight up ask her to leave, but I wasn’t above doing it if she didn’t take my subtle hints.

Fiona frowned and shifted a step toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll go then.”

I nodded and walked her to the door. “Night, and thank you for dinner.”

“Of course.”

She kissed both my cheeks before heading out.

It was almost ten and I wondered if Emmy was asleep. She’d said before that I could text her if I couldn’t sleep. I wondered if that offer still stood, since she also told me we needed to keep things professional from now on. Too bad I had no plans of letting that happen.

A few minutes later, I’d brushed and flossed and crawled between the sheets with my phone. Flipping off the bedside lamp, the bluish glow from my phone illuminated the keypad enough to type.

Me: Hey sexy

I hit send and set the phone on my stomach, laying back to stare at the ceiling. I wondered if she’d be bold and return my text. Or if I’d be able to get to sleep tonight. Several long seconds later my phone chimed. The sound made me smile. She wasn’t immune to me, despite what she’d said.

Emmy: Hiiii

I grinned. Already I felt better. I could just hear her sweet southern accent drawing out the greeting. It was crazy how one simple word with several extra vowels could make me so happy.

Me: You’re still up?

Emmy: Nope. Sound asleep. ;)

Smartass. This girl made me smile. She didn’t tiptoe around me because of who I was and I liked that.

Emmy: Can’t sleep?

Me: Not tired yet

Emmy: Did you need something?;)

I smirked. Oh yeah, she wanted it. She might try to deny it and act uninterested, but I knew the truth. I could read her like a book.

Me: Yeah, send me a pic of your tits.

I knew it was crass, but something in me liked taunting her, wanted to see how she’d react. To my surprise, several seconds later a dark, grainy photo appeared. Emmy was dressed in a white tank top that was pulled low on her chest, exposing several inches of creamy smooth cleavage. I wanted to stick my face in between those beauties and smother them with kisses.

Me: Beautiful girl. Looks like you’re lying in bed. Why aren’t you sleeping?

Emmy: I was thinking about you, actually.

Me: Oh really? ;)

I needed to keep the upper hand, get her talking without giving too much away.

Emmy: Yes, and about the other night.

Me: Go on . . .

Emmy: You’re a good kisser.

Me: You’re sexy when you come.

Emmy: Ben . . .

Me: Yes darling?

Emmy: :)

Me: What’s your favorite sexual position?

Emmy: I like to be on top.

Me: Like it deep?

Emmy: Bennn . . .

I could practically hear the whimper in her tone, the way she’d moan my name. I liked it.

Emmy: Are you okay with girl on top?

Me: Yes. As long as you’re facing me so I can look into your eyes while I fuck you.

It’d be more fun to see her reactions in person, to watch her cheeks blossom in pink. To see if she’d look down shyly or be daring and watch me with those pretty gray eyes. Her eyes were so expressive, so open. I’d love to watch the desire overtake her features, to see just how much my words affected her. But for now, I’d have to settle for knowing she was a few floors below me, alone in her hotel room, her heartbeat elevated, and her panties damp.

Emmy: We shouldn’t do this.

Me: No?

Emmy: What’s your favorite?

I actually laughed out loud. One second she was telling me we couldn’t do this, and the next she was asking for my favorite sexual position. I loved how unsure she was. It was actually a turn-on to think I’d have to coax this girl out of her shell. Somehow I knew she’d be worth the effort.

Me: Probably cowgirl too. That way I can see all of the girl and control her body on me. Also it’s also easier for her to go as deep as she can take.

Emmy: Oh . . .

Me: Are you getting wet baby?

Emmy: Yes.

Fuck, that was sexy. Part of me wanted to tell her to rub herself, to get nice and wet for me, but I didn’t want to push her too hard, too fast. I couldn’t have her shutting down on me again.

While I considered what to type next my phone chimed again.

Emmy: You get me soaking wet so fast. Are you hard?

Me: I’m getting there . . .

It wasn’t a lie. She was getting me there. Just the thought of getting in her panties again, touching her soft curves.

Emmy: I wanna see . . .

:)

I trusted her, but the last thing I needed was a cock shot ending up online. That’d be a publicity nightmare I didn’t need.

Emmy

I guess he had to be cautious with photos like that. He was a public figure after all, and could probably get in trouble. He was smart. I probably shouldn’t have been so willing to send him dirty pics, but something in me liked being naughty, liked knowing that I was turning him on.

Emmy: Hmm, too bad because I was going to send you a pic . . .

Ben: Emmyyy . . . don’t tease, baby. Send me one.

Emmy: What do you want to see?

Ben: Your ass in a sexy pair of panties.

I nearly giggled to myself. He was an ass man. I had that in spades, so we were a good match there. I turned to pose in front of the full-length mirror, capturing a photo on my camera phone. It was just my lower half, my butt in a pair of black lacy panties, legs, and bare feet. It didn’t look half bad. I hit send and hopped back onto the bed to await his response.

Ben: Mmm I like that.

I felt proud, like I’d really affected him. He had no witty comeback, just raw honesty in his reaction. Satisfaction bubbled up inside me. I am woman, hear me roar!

Ben: That ass is perfect.

Emmy: You sure you can’t send me a pic?

Ben: You’re killin’ me, girl.

Like a peacock strutting around shaking its tail feathers, I paced my hotel room, suddenly too anxious to sit still.

Ben: Behave or I’ll have to spank that sexy ass.

Texting with Ben was made even hotter knowing that his room was only a few floors up, and he could ask me to come upstairs if things got too heated. What would I say then? How would I respond? I would say no, of course. I had morals. I wouldn’t be someone’s middle-of-the-night secret. Not even Ben Shaw’s. Because I knew already it wouldn’t be that simple. It wouldn’t be the no-strings physical relationship he was probably looking for. My pesky heart was already in the game, sporting a jersey with his name on the back. I was firmly on Team Ben. Shit, I could be the team captain.

His witty banter, sense of humor, dirty mouth . . . all of it was adding up to trouble. I needed to keep my head on straight. Ben was never going to be my boyfriend. We were coworkers. Well, I guess that wasn’t entirely accurate. He was a god. I was a lowly assistant.

Emmy: Maybe next time . . .

Ben: Mmm . . . next time, yes.

My heart raced and my skin was warm and flushed all over. There was no denying how turned on Ben got me. Of course, the brain was the largest sex organ, and all this mental stimulation was like foreplay. My nipples puckered and rasped against my shirt, feeling extra sensitive. The cotton panties I wore were thoroughly drenched and annoyingly bunched against my skin. I was too turned on. I needed relief. Slipping one hand inside my panties, I held the image of Ben in my mind: his chiseled jawline, his full mouth, those dark eyelashes and intense hazel eyes.

I soothed the pad of my middle finger over my swollen clit, a soft moan tumbling from my lips. Using the warm, slick fluid, I rubbed in small circles, quickly building toward orgasm, my body primed and ready. I pushed my tank top up with my free hand and palmed my breasts, rubbing my nipples as I imagined Ben would do. All too soon, waves of pleasure crashed against me, a blind sensation ricocheting through my womb, causing it to clench violently with the need for something to fill it. With a ragged breath, I moaned out Ben’s name as I came.

I squirmed under the weight of Fiona’s exasperated stare. I had tried the best I could, buying an expensive but basic black cocktail dress from a department store, thinking I could make it work for a variety of occasions. Wrong again. The blocky straps and slit in the back had already earned me generous critiques from Fiona, and we were only fifteen minutes into the welcome party being hosted in Ben’s honor at a local nightclub. He was being paid generous sums of money to make an appearance but hadn’t even shown yet.

Fiona was on her third glass of champagne and was flirting with a few of the execs from the advertisers Ben would be modeling for in the coming weeks.

I inconspicuously watched the door for Ben to arrive. Moments later, I got my wish. He came strolling in, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Black Gucci suit, crisp white shirt, thin black tie. His jaw was unshaven, and his hair was pushed up in a playful swoop in the front. His eyes scanned the room as those long, sexy legs carried him in purposeful strides toward our table. He crossed the room like he owned it, like he was walking a runway. It was captivating.

He turned his body fully toward mine and treated me to direct eye contact for several long seconds. His eyes were so expressive, so intense that my blood pumped faster, my heart working harder just from his attention. It was startling.

My eyes fell to my lap, but I could still feel him watching me. My skin erupted into flames and my heart kicked up a notch remembering the way his mouth felt on mine, how his fingers pumped into me until I came. I gripped the table in front of me just to keep from falling from my seat.

Fiona stood to greet him, kissing both cheeks in her customary way, and then introduced him to the executives who were there to meet the man behind the pictures. I could already tell there would be some serious wooing tonight. They wanted him. And were practically salivating just from meeting him. I was sure Fiona would be in a happy mood, realizing they’d likely book him for several more large campaigns this season and next. I could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she introduced Ben around. He smiled and shook hands, but I could tell something was wrong. He bit down, his jaw clenching as he quietly slipped into the seat next to Fiona.

What was supposed to be a casual night out Fiona had turned into a promotional opportunity to sell Ben. She pulled a stack of the new comp cards and passed them across the table. Ben smiled and fielded questions, turning up the charm like Fiona expected. But I could tell he wasn’t happy. I found myself wondering if he ever got a day off, just time to himself—time to not be the model everyone clamored for.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I felt bad for him. He was gorgeous, wealthy, well traveled, multilingual—yet I did. A tiny piece of me felt bad that he probably didn’t know the simple pleasures of being utterly carefree, able to eat whatever he wanted. Hell, eating enough comfort food to ensure a breakout and an increased pants size were practically the norm after a good breakup. Ben had probably never had that luxury.

He pulled out his phone, checking his schedule as they discussed the upcoming campaigns. Had he known tonight was going to be about work, I’m guessing he would have brought along Gunnar.

Fiona leaned across and whispered in Ben’s ear. She tried to keep her features relaxed, glancing up nervously at their guests, but Ben made no apologies for his pissed-off look.

Fiona thrust her camera at me. “Take a group shot of us, will you?”

I accepted the camera and stood, heading around the front of the table. “Squeeze in a little.”

Fiona threw one arm around Ben, the other around the French executive on her left, and proudly beamed.

“We’ll get the waitress to take it. Emmy should be in the photo, too,” Ben said.

The look Fiona shot him was pure venom. He should know better than to try to stick up for me. “Not wearing that, she’s not. Pierre, if you sign us up, you may have to throw in a new dress for this one.”

She waved a dismissive hand in my direction. All their eyes found me, and the wave of laughter at Fiona’s joke hit me like a smack to the face. I swallowed hard and kept my chin up. I counted to three and snapped the photo, mentally high-fiving myself that Fiona’s eyes were half closed in the picture. She looked like a stroke victim. I inwardly giggled. Take that, bitch!

“It’s perfect.” I turned the camera off and passed it back to her. Then I excused myself.

I tried not to get emotional, not to let Fiona bother me. But I was PMSing. Bad. And I knew that wasn’t a promise I could keep. I made it to the restroom and ducked into a stall, blinking against the stupid tears filling my eyes. This was supposed to be a great adventure—working for the elite Status Models agency, living abroad, making something of myself. But it was times like this that I missed home. I missed the smell of Tennessee and fresh-cut grass, lazy Sundays watching football with my dad, and the fact that the guys at home weren’t supermodels. They drove mud-encrusted trucks and wore holey jeans. And they didn’t send me into a near panic attack with their sexiness, either.

I sucked a cleansing breath into my lungs. I wouldn’t let Fiona win. And things with Ben were . . . confusing . . . but fine. Yes, everything would be fine. I smoothed the dress that I now despised over my hips and studied myself in the mirror. My brown hair had gone flat. My eyes were tinged in red and I looked pale. Screw it. I exited the bathroom, needing this night to end. Stat.

Ben

Tonight was supposed to be a relaxing night out—not some circus where I felt the need to sell myself to these douche bag executives. And Fiona commenting on Emmy’s dress like that was utter bullshit. I fought to keep my anger under control. “Fiona, can I have a word?”

She nodded tightly and rose, following me from the table.

I took a deep breath. I could handle myself and whatever tasks Fiona threw my way. But I was bothered by how she treated Emmy. We paused in the corridor, facing each other. “Take it easy on Emmy, all right? She’s not used to this world.”

Her mouth pulled into a frown. “I don’t want you distracted by some country bumpkin.”

Biting down, my jaw tensed. I shook my head. I knew I needed to handle this the right way. Things with Fiona were delicate. Always had been. And our past was complicated, to say the least. I reached out toward her, smoothing a hand up and down her arm. Her lips quirked up at the contact. I knew just how to make her putty in my hands. “I’ve got this.”

“Okay, love.”

I should have been thrilled with the amount of work Fiona had lined up for me this season. I was set to appear in all the major campaigns, walk in several big shows, and make a slew of money. Yet, all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel, hang out with Emmy, and maybe take her to Luxembourg Gardens. I wanted to see how her pretty pink skin looked in the afternoon sun. I used to go there with my mother when we’d briefly lived in Paris. Emmy and I could walk to a café, sip wine, and I could hear all about her growing up in Tennessee. Surely, her childhood had been much different from mine.

I had never let anything get in the way of my work. I didn’t know what it was about this girl, but I liked her. I wanted to get to know her more. And I wouldn’t mind getting her naked. Her skin was so soft, her body a thing of wonder. She had curves. Real curves. Not like the models I was used to. Her tits were full and heavy. Fuck, I wanted to suckle those babies. I wouldn’t mind kissing her all over, for that matter.

I shook away the thought, focusing on Fiona again. She was discussing my spring campaign. I’d show up and do whatever she wanted me to. We both knew that. And Gunnar, or Emmy, would make sure I got where I needed to be.

“I mean it, Fiona. Relax, okay?” I turned without waiting for her response and strolled into the men’s room. Sooner or later I would need to make a break from her.

Emmy

Exiting the restroom, I ran smack into something hard. Ben.

“S-sorry.” I stumbled back a step, smoothing shaky hands down his lapels. He was standing in the hallway, leaning against the hall. Was he waiting for me?

“Everything okay?” His eyes saw too much. When he looked at me like that, I felt it deep inside my body. I ached to know the intensity that lurked behind those hazel eyes.

“Fine,” I bit out.

The enormity of everything hit me. I was thousands of miles from home, my boss hated me, and I was in over my head with Ben. Tears welled in my eyes. I hated that I was about to cry in front of him. It all hit me in that moment, and there was no stopping my tears now. I was half a world away and out of my depth. A lone teardrop rolled down my cheek.

“It’s all right.” He reached a hand out for me and I took a step back, quickly wiping my cheek.

“I think I’m going to head out.” My voice sounded surprisingly composed. Thank God for that. Small miracle considering my emotional state. Damn PMS.

“It’s not true, you know.” His voice in comparison was thick, husky, and rolled over me in the most sensual way.

“What?”

“What Fiona said.” His gaze lowered, sliding over my curves.

I felt squirmy when he looked at me like that—all dark and hungry. My tears dried and a new wave of emotions hit me. The way his eyes wandered made me remember his kiss, his warm tongue gliding against mine, one hand buried in my hair to pull me closer, his dirty texts last night. It was all too much.

“The dress is a cheap knockoff. She was right, Ben.” I hated how dejected my voice sounded, but I could do little to control it.

Ben shook his head. “Trust me.”

I wanted to assure him he was wrong, but I suddenly found that under his hot, intense stare, with his lean body so close to mine, I’d forgotten the finer points of my argument. Hell, I’d forgotten my damn name. His eyes slid lower, caressing my breasts, and a smile curved over his lips. My breasts had never felt so full and achy, so ready to be touched, licked, and kissed.

Lazily making his eyes return to mine, Ben said, “Let me walk you back. I’m done with Fiona’s shit show, anyway.”

I nodded and allowed Ben to guide me back to the table. We said our good-byes, and Fiona shot me a dark, icy stare. I kept my eyes downcast, knowing she was fuming. Awesome. I’d have that to deal with tomorrow.

Once we reached the hotel elevator, Ben hesitated. The way his eyes traveled over me . . . I just knew he didn’t see an unfashionable dress or an unpolished assistant. He saw me—a girl from Tennessee who wore her heart on her sleeve. I felt fully present with him. Not because I was relaxed—that wasn’t it—I was hyperaware of every sensation, overanalyzing every emotion when he was near. When he looked at me, it felt like he’d always known me. And he accepted me just how I was.

His hand at my wrist stopped me from pressing the button for my floor. “Come to my room. Have a drink with me.” His brilliant eyes sparked playfully on mine. He placed his big warm hand against the small of my back and suddenly I felt normal. His touch grounded me more than it should. “Emmy?”

I wouldn’t argue with him. Not now. “After the night I had—yes please.” I knew I was probably asking for trouble getting alone with him again, but I felt powerless to say no.

He took my hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm so it rested against his ribs. He was warm and whole, and my body responded with a tiny shudder at the contact. It had been far too long since I’d been with someone. My body was merely confused—responding to the simple contact from a man. Okay, a hot man. A hot man who brought me to orgasm with only his hand in a matter of minutes. A man I had fantasized about . . .

He punched the button for the top floor and grinned slightly as the elevator carried us higher.

Ben slid the key into the card reader and pushed open the door. I entered the darkened room, noticing it smelled like him: crisp soap and the musk of spicy cologne. He flicked on the light, illuminating a large room with a king-sized bed, a desk, and a chair in front of a large picture window. His room was bigger than mine.

“Nice view,” I said, walking toward the window. Gauzy white curtains framed the picturesque twinkling lights below.

I heard the rattle of glass and looked back to watch him carry two glasses and a few little bottles over to the bed. Dumping everything onto the nightstand, he surveyed our options. “We can go super-sophisticated tonight and I can offer you an exclusive mix of cheap vodka and Perrier. Flat, of course.”

“And warm?” I giggled, noting the lack of ice.

He tossed a sexy smile over one shoulder. “I’m classy like that.”

“I’m in.”

He chuckled again and I decided I liked hearing him laugh. I needed to hear more of that sound.

I crossed the room, slipped off my heels, and sat on the edge of the bed. Ben sat next to me and handed me a glass. He filled it with vodka and then topped it with the no-longer-sparkling water.

Raising his glass, his eyes met mine. “To vodka. My second favorite V-word.”

My smile faltered. I wondered if our flirty-playful banter was permitted only through text messaging since we’d yet to actually flirt in person. Was this allowed?

I took a sip and grimaced at the bitter concoction burning a path down my throat. “Mmm, vodka and water.”

Ben shrugged, taking a much more poised sip of his own. “At least it’s low-cal.”

That made me sad. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated his flawless physique, but I wanted to give this boy a cheeseburger, stat. Maybe a big cupcake and a sugary daiquiri, too. But I supposed vodka would do the trick. And Lord knew my waistline could use a break. My daily chocolate croissants and café au laits with frothy whole milk had started to add up. I looked up and saw Ben surveying me, his playful smile lifting on one side, just for me. This man watched me with definite interest, and in an instant the shitty, insecure feelings inside me vanished.

He took another sip, continuing to appraise me over the rim of his glass. It was times like this, when he turned all thoughtful and quiet, that I’d kill to know what was running through his mind. Especially where I was concerned.

“What’s your angle?” he asked, finally.

“I’m sorry?” My what?

“I’m just confused about what you want—your motivations. Everyone’s got an angle with me, Emmy. I’ve seen and heard it all—bossy photographers trying to manipulate me into showing more skin, girls who just want to say they’ve fucked a model. Forgive me if I sound like a dick, but people usually hang around for my looks, money, fame, connections, or the VIP events I can take them to.”

“I’m not interested in those things.”

“I know. Which is why I’m confused.” He swirled the liquor in his glass, taking another sip.

Working alongside Fiona for all these many years had messed with his head. Just like the executives tonight, everyone wanted a piece of him—a piece of this godlike man.

“You’re sweet to me . . . so giving . . . it’s unexpected . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking lost.

“Ben, when I see you on set and you’re tired or hungry or have low blood sugar—my momma raised me better than that. I can’t let a man go hungry.”

“So you’re a bit of a food peddler.” He smirked.

“I suppose that’s an inherited gene.” I returned his uneasy smile.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I tend to be skeptical about girls wanting to hang around me. You’ll tell me if there’s something you want? Autographed photos for your friends, maybe? Tell me what you want from me, Emmy.”

I blushed irrationally. I knew he couldn’t read my thoughts, or see the dirty video of me and him replaying inside my head. “Well, I don’t have an angle.” I didn’t know how to answer him, and I certainly couldn’t admit my feelings, so I did the only thing I could. I picked up the book sitting on his pillow. “The Prince, huh? He’s more than just a pretty face. I’m impressed.” My awkward attempt at a topic change was cringe-worthy.

Ben seemed to go with it, however, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “I can read. Let’s calm down,” he said dryly, plucking the book from my hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but honestly, you have to know models aren’t usually known for their intelligence.” Regret instantly followed my little rant.

Ben’s jaw twitched. “Fair. Annoying. But fair. Nothing’s worse than showing up for a shoot, only to have a photographer speak to me like a small child.”

“They do that?”

“You wouldn’t believe how often. Half of them are just arrogant and rude, and the other half act like they want to get in my pants.”

I giggled. “Asshats.”

“Precisely. Can I top you off?”

My sick little sex-deprived mind thought we were jumping into the dirty talk—until I realized he was opening another minibottle of vodka and was awaiting my response. “Oh, sure. Can I just hit the little girl’s room first?”

“I only have a boy’s room, but it’s all yours.”

I strolled to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. A line of men’s upscale grooming products littered the marble countertop, and a fancy electronic toothbrush sat cradled in its charger. If all that wasn’t enough to tell me that this man was different from the boys back home, the pair of black Armani Exchange boxer briefs that lay discarded on the floor should have. Part of me liked seeing that he was still just a guy—a messy, toilet-seat-left-up-and-everything guy.

I couldn’t explain to him, let alone myself, what I was doing here, other than simply giving in to the pull to be near him. He was gorgeous and funny and made me feel all kinds of alive. Okay, I suppose that was reason enough. I glanced in the mirror as I washed my hands. This man dated supermodels. The girl in the mirror was no supermodel. I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could compare with the women he was exposed to. Straight brown hair, big bluish-gray eyes, a funny mouth that often curled into a smile for no reason at all. I was typically described as cute. Not that I’d ever minded that before. But being around models all the time made me wish I was six feet tall with legs up to my armpits and looks best described as exotic. Sadly, that wasn’t in the cards. I finger-combed my loose brown waves. The girl staring back at me was a mess of nerves. What was the real reason that Ben asked me up here? I wondered if Fiona ever felt this insecure. Not likely with her thousand-dollar Louboutins, designer clothes, and the male attention she garnered with a simple smile. I gave up and tucked my unruly locks behind my ears.

Ben was sexy, rich, and probably had girls dropping their panties left and right. Yes, I was sure he got more ass than a toilet seat, yada yada yada. Three girls—as if. Shut up, Emmy. I was smart, hardworking, and a good cook. If that was all I had to offer, it would either be enough or it wouldn’t. I was the girl he’d invited back to his room, dammit.

I lifted the hand towel from the counter and stopped cold. Two bottles of prescription medications were sitting underneath. Three more pill bottles sat on the glass shelf under the vanity. I wondered what they were for. He didn’t seem sick, but he had more pills than a pharmacy. Seriously, was he sick or dying? That could be the only probable reason for all these bottles. Otherwise, he had a major problem. Gunnar’s words rang in my head. Something about Ben being a mess without a pile of pills. It couldn’t be true. Ben didn’t seem that way at all. My hand shook as I lifted the bottle from the counter. The name of the medication was something foreign to me. No chance of pronouncing that.

Ben knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”

“Fine!” I called. My heart jumped into my throat, like he was going to somehow know I had snooped. It wasn’t really snooping since everything was sitting out in the open, but still. I buried the bottles back under the towel and wiped the confused scowl from my face before rejoining him.

“There she is. Thought I was going to have to send in a search party.” Ben had removed his dress shirt and was now in black slacks and a white V-neck T-shirt that sharply contrasted his tanned skin.

“Nope. I’m here.” I smiled, tension falling from my shoulders.

Ben watched me with guarded eyes, and I wondered if he knew that I’d seen his pill collection. Then again, he could have been watching for my reaction, because when I saw what was on his bed, my breath caught in my throat.

He chuckled softly. “That excited, huh?”

I stumbled to a halt. His bed held an array of sex toys—whips, cuffs, dildos, vibrators, weird little rubbery things I had no name for, and a large box sat discarded nearby. “W-what’s all this?”

Ben chuckled at my innocent response. “Gunnar goes through my fan mail and only gives me what he thinks might be interesting. This came from a sex-toy company. They want me to be a spokesmodel.”

“Oh.” My pulse accelerated. “And are you going to?”

“Not planning on it, no. The girl I’m with wouldn’t need any toys, so I wouldn’t make a very good advocate for their products.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come sit. I just thought it’d be fun to look.”

“Right.” I joined him on the bed, arranging myself politely next to him. There sure were a lot of kinky toys.

“And if you wanted anything . . .” He trailed off, leaving the second half of the sentence unspoken but seductive all the same. Was he asking if I wanted any sex toys? I fought to keep my breathing under control, but I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, my chest rising and falling with shallow pants. Sex. Ben. And to think, I’d only just gotten my mind out of the gutter.

“Ben . . . I know things got heated between us the other night . . . but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m not that girl. I’ve never had a one-night stand. I’m more of a committed relationship, one-boyfriend-at-a-time type.” Thankful my voice sounded calm, I pulled in a breath and met his eyes. “This isn’t going to work for me. I’m sorry.”

He watched me with an amused expression. He leaned down to whisper near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “When I want something, I can be very persuasive.”

“What do you want?” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. It was breathless and much too high.

He rubbed his lips against my jaw, our mouths so close that I could feel the strain in his jaw as he fought the urge to kiss me. “I want to fuck, Emmy.”

“Who?” Heat flooded my cheeks, and I struggled to maintain deep, even breaths.

“You.” Ben’s dark eyes roamed over me, and his fingertips caressed my jaw. “Stop playing games with me. I want you. You’re not like other girls.”

I knew he could see my pulse flutter violently against my neck. I was achy and distracted and completely thrown off center. I’d told him no, convinced him that this couldn’t happen, yet it was all I could think about. All I wanted. I wanted to feel his big, warm hands on my body, feel him press those full, sensuous lips to my skin. I wanted his thick length to invade my body while he whispered filthy things in my ear.

I still hadn’t answered him, and he was waiting. Still watching me. I knew I was frustrating him, and I didn’t mean to. I was leaving us both unsatisfied, but I couldn’t let myself take that leap, could I? Could this really be just sex? Maybe I’d be stupid to deny myself this. It wasn’t every day a girl got to spend a few months living and working in Paris and having a fling with a supermodel. I almost giggled at my predicament. Almost. But Ben’s hungry gaze was still locked on me.

“I want to be clear.” His voice dropped lower. “My past is complicated, my future is uncertain—I travel all the time, I move every few months. But we have this. Here. Now. Don’t deny me, baby.”

Part of me couldn’t even believe I was questioning this. There were people with real problems in the world. Disease. World hunger. And my biggest dilemma was whether or not to give in to exquisite supermodel Ben Shaw. I should’ve slapped myself for worrying about this so much. Just once I wanted to do what I wanted, to listen to my body, to act on my hidden desires rather than be the good, responsible girl my parents raised. I wanted hot, sweaty sex. No strings attached. I wanted to let this man have his way with me, dominate my body, show me all the ways he could pleasure me.

Everything about this man oozed sex appeal. His strong jaw, the curve of his mouth, the set of his posture, his possessive eyes. His smile had disappeared and he was watching me intently.

Ben dropped his hand from my jawline and pulled in a sharp breath. “Any of these interest you?” His hand swept across the bed, indicating the array of oversized toys.

I chuckled nervously. “A lady never tells.”

“And a gentleman never asks, but I’m neither, so spill it, darling.”

Don’t let him see how rattled you are. Be confident. Pushing my shoulders back to conceal the flash of heat that traveled through my core, I pointed to a modest purple glittery toy. “That would do the trick.”

“Hmm.” He thoughtfully looked over the toy I’d indicated. “We’ll have to work up to this then.” He placed the largest one next to my hip—a long, flesh-colored member, thick as all get-out.

“Ha, aren’t you funny.” I shifted uncomfortably on the bed. The damn thing was nudging my hip. “Nooo, I don’t need all that.”

“I wasn’t talking about the toy, sweetheart.” His stare cut straight into mine. He picked up a little silver vibrator, holding it in his large, masculine palm. “You can borrow this one. It won’t do me any good.” His voice had dropped even lower and sent a rush of desire through me.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had the upgraded model down in my room. My heart kicked up a notch, stuttering inside my chest. My resolve to keep things professional vanished. The alcohol had left me gloriously relaxed. And slightly turned on.

Ben turned on the toy, running it along my knee. The gentle buzz against the bare skin made my entire leg tingle. I swallowed roughly. I clamped my knees together, my breathing shallow and much too fast. The gentle hum from the toy sent little jolts up my leg as Ben lazily traced it against my skin. My panties were soaking wet and my breasts felt so full and heavy, they heaved with each breath I drew.

He placed the toy against my knee. I started to quiver.

“Ben?” My voice was a soft murmur but I meant it as a warning.

He ignored me, moving the little buzzing toy in a slow progression up my thigh.

“Shh. Let me make you feel good.” He pushed the fabric of my dress up, exposing my white panties, and lightly pressed the toy against the already damp fabric. I gripped his biceps for support as pleasure rocketed through me.

I knew things could go further if I wanted. And I wanted to give in. So bad. But I knew that despite only knowing him such a short time, this wouldn’t be just a physical act. My heart was already engaged. I sucked so hard at casual sex.

“We can’t do this.” I found my voice, however shaky it sounded.

“Let me make you come.” His voice was raw with need.

He touched my panties with the toy, rubbing it in circles along my sensitive flesh. “Isn’t this what you want?”

I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and bit down. Oh God, yes. I wanted to come. I needed that release.

Without waiting for my response, his warm mouth closed over mine. His lips were full and soft and at the same time demanding. He kissed my lips, my neck, before pulling back to watch me. He took his time, barely brushing my lips with his, letting the anticipation build while our breath mingled.

His lips pressed lightly against mine, not taking but seeking. The answer was yes, God, help me. Yes to anything he wanted. To this. To us. Even if it was only one night of passion, I was defenseless against this man. The toy hummed against me, bringing me closer and closer.

He nibbled my bottom lip and I let out a weak murmur of protest or encouragement; I wasn’t entirely sure which. Ben read it as desire for more because his tongue suddenly caressed my bottom lip where his teeth had just been. My hands moved against the back of his neck and I pulled him closer. His tongue entered my mouth, flirting, sliding gloriously against mine. The stolen moments inside my hotel room came rushing back. His kisses were addictive and desire pooled between my thighs.

The powerful sensations spiraled through me, and I exhaled in a whimper. He didn’t kiss me. He just watched my expression as he moved the toy against me. I was going to come. With him watching me. My fingers curled around his wrist and I let out a breathy moan. I was so close. My legs parted and my hips shifted, allowing him to reach the spot I needed. Ben groaned and, using his free hand, shifted the erection tenting his slacks. I looked down and watched him massage the toy against me, and my world exploded into a million tiny pieces. My body clenched wildly, needing something to fill it.

Still reeling from my intense orgasm, I moaned. “Ben, fuck me.”

He turned off the toy and roughly pulled my damp panties down my legs, kissing my inner thigh as he stripped the fabric away. Our hands were suddenly everywhere at once. He unzipped my dress while I pulled his shirt over his head.

He stripped his pants and boxers away in one brief movement, leaving him nude and fully erect in front of me. Now I understood what he meant about the large toy and working up to it. To him. A rock-hard chest and defined abs led the way to a heavy erection. He was big. Bigger than any of the guys I’d been with before. And he was beautiful down there. All man. Long, straight, and thick. I had the strongest desire to curl my hand around him, to touch him and see if he was real. But this moment seemed real. I could see his chest expanding with his slow, certain breaths and smell the masculine scent of his skin.

He leaned down over me, forcing me to lie back against the bed. His body covered mine, pressing me into the mattress. I felt one of the toys press into my lower back, which only made the moment more erotic. My legs moved around his back, tugging him closer. He let out a breathless groan against my neck, causing my sex muscles to clench uncomfortably.

We tumbled together on the bed, kissing deeply. Only my bra remained in place. Ben reached into the drawer of the nightstand and withdrew a package of condoms. He leaned in to kiss me while he rolled one on.

“Come on top, cowgirl.” He lifted me over him so my knees were on either side of his hips. I looked between us to where his long length lay on his belly, nearly reaching his belly button. I swallowed a wave of nerves while a smirk tugged up one corner of his mouth. “Only take what you can handle.”

Sweet baby Jesus, I was already out of my depth. I thought of our sexy texts and a hot shiver raced down my spine. No one could turn me on the way this man could.

He nudged against me and I suddenly worried if he would fit. I lowered myself onto him and sank down slowly. Inch by agonizing inch as he stretched me. I was completely overtaken by the sudden feeling of fullness. Sucking in a sharp breath, I closed my eyes and gripped his shoulders as he slowly but completely filled me. Ben’s large hand on my hip guided, encouraged, and his dark eyes watched mine. His hips moved up off the bed, filling me and retreating so his thick cock dragged slowly in and out of me. The sensation was incredible. Too much, yet not enough at the same time.

I sat up straight, rotating my hips in tiny circles, unable to stop the whimpers tumbling from my lips. I increased my movements, sliding up and down, and his eyes dropped closed. A surge of pride swelled within me. Each time I sank lower and was completely filled, the pleasure burst into a new sensation. Raw need consumed me and my rhythm increased against him.

“Bennn . . .” His name was perfect for moaning and I used it to my advantage, repeating it like a mantra each time he hit the right spot.

His hands reached behind me, unclasping my bra, and removing it from my arms as I moved against him. He sat up to take my breast in his mouth, licking and sucking as I bounced with our movement.

I was only faintly aware that the lights burned brightly overhead, and while it should have made me self-conscious, it didn’t. I wanted to watch this beautiful man. With him I felt alive. There was no room for self-consciousness to creep in around the edges. I let go of all inhibitions and moved against him, crying out his name in a litany of mumbled whimpers.

“Enough.” He sat up and moved me under him in one quick motion. The man had strength to him. The edge to his voice and his serious expression made me wonder if I’d done something wrong. “No more playing. I need to fuck you hard now.”

Oh.

He moved my legs, arranged them so I was completely open for his perusal, and then he pushed forward, sinking into me, invading my body with his. My breath caught in my throat and I struggled for air.

“Fuck, Emmy. You feel good.” His eyes were dark, his lips parted, and his breathing was fast. This man who was always in perfect control was losing it. For me. I arched my back as the pleasure coursed through me.

There was always a delicate guessing game the first time I was intimate with someone new: wondering how long he would last, if he would warn me before he came, if he’d be loud about it, or completely silent. With Ben, I didn’t have to guess.

“This tight little pussy’s going to make me come too fast.” His pace slowed, dragging his length in and out of me slowly. He moved his hand between us and pressed his thumb firmly to my clit. I cried out loudly, moving my hips.

I loved how he knew to slow to an almost stop for me to completely enjoy the sensations blossoming inside me. My tight walls clung to him, pulsing and gripping as pleasure exploded deep inside.

“Bennn . . .” I breathed.

His hand pulled away and his strokes slowed, milking the second orgasm from my body.

Once I quieted, his pace picked up and he pumped into me several times hard and fast. He buried his face in my neck, kissing me softly as he came. “Emmy.”

The deep, broken quality of his voice against my neck undid me. I was falling for him. He could own me completely, use me for his plaything, and I wouldn’t care. That realization sent panic racing through me.

What was I even doing? This wasn’t me.

I pulled away from the warm cocoon of his body. “Ben, we can’t do this. . . . Fiona will fire me. . . .”

His brow drew together. “Who I fuck is none of Fiona’s business.”

“That’s good.” Actually it stung like hell. “Because she hates me, and I wouldn’t want anything to affect your bookings.”

He smiled at me like I was a small child. “I can handle Fiona.”

All of this was too much. I needed out of this room. “I should probably go.” I leapt from the bed, gathering my clothes.

He sat up, confusion apparent in his features. His lips, always full and sensual, were swollen and slightly pink, his breathing still too fast. I almost felt bad leaving him like this. Almost. Until I realized I was in just as ragged a state. My heart was fucking pounding and I was woozy, not from the alcohol but from him. He was intoxicating. And apparently there was nothing between us but the physical act. It wasn’t enough. I stepped into my still damp panties and slid them up my legs.

“Okay.” He didn’t try to stop me, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, but a pang of disappointment settled in my chest. I pulled my dress into place and tucked my hair behind my ears. He rose from the bed and walked me to the door. Slipping into my shoes, I rushed through the open door.

“Emmy.” His low voice washed over me in a way that was both familiar and intoxicating.

I spun to face him.

His expression had softened, turned more serious. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’ll see you in the morning. Your call time is eight thirty,” I mumbled, still weak and shaky from our erotic encounter.

Frown lines settled around that sensuous mouth. “I know. Gunnar told me.”

“Well, good night.” I disappeared down the hall, trying to forget the look on his face that couldn’t have possibly been disappointment.

When I reached my room, my heart and head were at war with my body. My body knew exactly what it wanted—Ben. My head knew I should draw a professional line between us and maintain it. My heart fluttered, a giddy fool at the thought of him. That was bad. I paced my hotel room, my legs still jelly from the thorough fucking he’d given me. There was no way I’d be able to sleep yet. I was still tipsy from the vodka, and my hormones were raging.

I needed Ellie. She’d know what to do.

We hadn’t been in touch since I’d arrived. I’d left her emails unanswered and knew it was time to give her an update before she called in a rescue squad. I felt a little guilty, realizing I never even called her when I’d landed. This phone call was long overdue. She could help me sort out this mess. Ellie never had any trouble in the guy department. Her looks were dark and exotic and she exuded enough sexy confidence to capture any man’s attention. I felt like a fish out of water when it came to men. Especially a man like Ben. I prayed she’d have some answers for me. If I was to survive the next three months, I needed help.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was afternoon in New York. Ellie was likely at work. But with any luck, I could catch her.

I paced my hotel room as the phone rang. Other than calling my mom when I’d arrived, it was the first time I put my international calling plan to work.

“Emmy!” she answered after several rings.

I laughed despite myself. “Hey, Ellie.”

“How’s Paree? How’s the megabitch? I miss you! The new roommate’s a nightmare.”

My shoulders relaxed at the familiar sound of her voice and I sunk onto the bed. “Everything’s good. God, girl, I miss you. I need some girl time, bad.”

“What’s his name, sweetheart?”

I released a deep sigh. Was it that obvious? “Ben.”

“Name sounds harmless enough. So what’s the story with this Ben?”

“He’s the reason we’re here all spring. Ben Shaw. Just Google him. He’s way out of my league.”

“So what, you want to know how to get him to notice you?” I could hear Ellie typing—at work, no doubt.

“No. We’ve hung out a couple of times, but God, Ellie, he’s a freaking supermodel. I like him, but seriously, what chance do I have?”

“Hush, you’re as cute as they come. Okay, please hold, I’m Google-stalking him now. I need a visual.”

I swallowed nervously and lay back against the bed, waiting for her to confirm I had no business crushing on this man.

“Fuck me running, he’s hot. I’d peel those Calvin Kleins off with my teeth. Nibble on that package.”

I laughed. Sadly, I knew the exact photo she was looking at. It was one of the first images that came up on Google when you typed in his name. “Told you.”

“Seriously, I’d bite that firm cock right through the fabric. Just gnaw on it.”

There was no beating around the bush with Ellie. She always said exactly what was on her mind. Which is why I knew her advice would be perfect.

“Is he really that hot in person? Without the perfect lighting and camera angles?” she asked.

“Hotter,” I confirmed. Something about the deep tone of his voice, the confident way he carried himself, his intelligence. He was the complete package.

“Damn honey. So . . . you guys have hung out. . . .” Ellie urged me to continue.

“Yes, grabbing drinks, stuff like that, and of course I’ve seen him on set. He’s sent me a couple of naughty texts.” I smiled at the memory.

“Ohhh, a hot boy who knows the value of dirty sexting. I approve.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, but I just feel so out of my element. I’m torn between keeping things professional and dropping my panties every time I see him.”

She laughed that deep, throaty chuckle I missed. “My vote is panties off.”

“Well . . . about that . . .” I hesitated.

“Have you slept with him?”

“No.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue. “Just a little messing around.” With his penis in my vagina. Thirty minutes ago.

“Okay, well, if you really like him . . . make him wait for sex. Guys like the chase. Don’t give up the P right away.”

“Right.” Shit. Fuck. I dragged a hand through my tangled hair.

“Seriously, just have fun, girl. Don’t overthink this. Even if he is a model, he’s still just a guy.”

“Ellie, he’s dated supermodels. And I’m sure he’s used to girls throwing themselves at him left and right.”

“Yes, exactly, but that’s exactly what you’re not going to do. Don’t be one of his groupies following him around like a lost puppy. Be Emmy. You’re funny, cool, and real. If he likes you, he likes you.”

“True. Thanks, hon.” She made it sound so simple. I knew I could count on Ellie.

“Okay, well, I’ve gotta get back to work. Keep me posted. Oh, and Em . . . don’t fall in love with him.”

Asking me not to fall in love with Ben was like asking a meth dealer not to let you get addicted. Not possible. “Thanks for your advice. Bye, hon.”

I ended the call and curled onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. The scent of Ben was still on my skin. I could recall in perfect detail the way he felt deep inside me, his hard body moving above mine. And I wanted more.