ROMAN (Lane Brothers Book 5) (94 page)

              A thousand stars burst into her vision as a guttural sound like nothing she’d ever made before ripped itself from her throat. Her climax was hard, powerful, and all-consuming.

              “Fuck,” he said. “I can feel you coming.”

              She couldn’t speak. Her body moved on instinct, pressing into him, maneuvering him inside of her in a way that would intensify her pleasure.

Finally, the pulsing began to slow. She flopped forward onto the bed.

              Thomas fell into the space beside her.

              “That was…wow,” she said, panting hard.

              “Told you the orgasm should come first,” Thomas murmured in reply.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” Thomas said.

“What is it?” Sasha gasped.

Thomas pulled himself up from the bed. “The next journalist.”

“It can’t be,” Sasha replied. “I had an hour slot.”

“I must have miscalculated.”

“But I haven’t made you come yet!” Sasha gasped.

“I’ll live,” Thomas replied. “More importantly, you haven’t got your interview yet.”

“Shit,” Sasha gasped. She’d completely forgotten she was there to work.

There was another knock at the door.

Sasha fumbled with the hook of her bra. “Now what?”

“Now you give me your number. And at precisely ten o’clock tonight I’ll pick you up for dinner. Then you’ll get your interview.”

Sasha shimmied out of the silky bedsheets and back into her dress. “But I’m meant to be working on it this afternoon. What am I supposed to tell Kelly?” Panic began to race through her. How had she let herself go so astray?

Thomas fastened his pants. “Tell Kelly it’s going to take you longer than you thought.” He smoothed down his hair and sidled up to her. “You’re good at getting what you want now, remember?”

He kissed her, his mouth warm. Sasha let her trepidation melt away as the memory of their encounter echoed in her mind and groin.

“You’re really going to call me? I’m really going to get the interview?”

Hadn’t this just been sex? A one-off fling? Hadn’t she just joined the ranks of a hundred other gullible journalists who’d fallen for the charms of Thomas Lloyd?

“Let’s not go through that whole rig-ma-roll again,” Thomas said lazily. “You deserve to take what you want.” He slapped his hands against his chest. “You want me. So take me.”

“How can I trust you?”

“Why would I let a kinky thing like you get away?”

“Me?” she said. “Kinky?”

“Didn’t you realize?”

Sex with Chris had always been nice. Nice but…standard. Predictable. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’d both enjoyed orgasms, but Sasha had never really felt that sex with him reached the frenzied heights portrayed in the media. Maybe she was kinky but had never had a chance to explore it.

Sasha slipped her heels back on and scooped up her notebook, feeling the blush in her cheeks. “Well, okay then.” She quickly scrawled her phone number on a piece of paper and sidled up to Thomas. “Here.” She slipped it into the pocket of his trousers, making sure her fingers collided with his penis.

He let out a gasp. “Intern…”

Sasha whisked away and hauled open the door. A blonde woman was standing in the hallway. She regarded Sasha suspiciously.

Sasha pointed to her name tag. “Sasha Jones,” she said brazenly. “Atomic Magazine.”

The woman smirked. Her eyes tipped over Sasha’s shoulder and rested on the disheveled bed. “Sure, honey,” she whispered. She pointed at her own breast and the complete lack of name tag. “Crystal Carpenter. Escort. I think it’s my turn now.”

She shoved her way into the room, elbowing Sasha as she went, and slammed the door in her face. Sasha stood there breathless, feeling ice creep into her cheeks. Escort? Surely not. Thomas couldn’t have invited a hooker to his room. Could he?

Sasha felt her stomach sink. As she rushed down the corridor, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed a cab. After hanging up, she noticed a message on her phone. It was from Kelly. It read simply:
Warning. Whatever you do, don’t sleep with him.

“Wow,” Kelly said, as she finished off the last sentence of Sasha’s interview. “You literally hate this guy. Are you sure you want me to print this?”

An image of Crystal’s platinum hair flashed through Sasha’ mind. “Yes,” she said, boldly. “I’m not afraid of a backlash. Bring it on.” She realized her hands were in tight fists.

She’d spent the taxi journey back to the Atomic office in something of a daze. Her body had been heightened with sensations, amazing sensations, but her mind was a blur of emotion. How could she have let herself get used like that? How had she let herself forget that Thomas Lloyd was an actor, that he made his living—and millions of dollars—from making people believe that what he was saying was genuine? If he just wanted sex from her, why bother insinuating that there was more going on? What kind of pointless mind game was he playing?

As she mulled the experience over in her mind, she flitted from anger at him to confusion over her own behavior. It wasn’t strictly true that Thomas had manipulated her. She’d known what she was getting herself into. Hell, she’d even known that had she not been there, the exact same thing would have happened with Alicia. But she’d still chosen to go down the same path. She’d wanted it just as much as he did. So what was it about the encounter that bothered her so much?

She could only come to one conclusion: Crystal. To have casual sex with a man was one thing. To have casual sex with a man who paid for it was another. To have casual sex with a man who paid for it and had the next woman lined up already was the kicker. He’d made Sasha feel like a prostitute. He’d placed her in a queue, a conveyor belt of women. Maybe he had a fetish for being interrupted by his next lay. Maybe he got his sordid, little kicks out of moving from one to the next to the next, all day long.

The whole encounter felt suddenly dirty. Not empowering at all. Just part of a spoiled, sick man’s needs.

Once back at her Atomic desk, Sasha had gotten to work immediately. The piece had practically written itself, her fingers flying across the keyboards. She’d been so absorbed in getting the story down that she hadn’t even noticed the sky darken and her colleagues start clearing off for the night.

It was seven by the time she was done and satisfied with the piece. Thomas had told her to portray him as he was. So she did. Her piece was entitled:
Hollywood’s Most Eligible Bachelor’s Sex Addiction Hell.

From across the boardroom table, Kelly stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit up another. “How did you get him to open up about this stuff?”

Sasha shrugged. “He liked the fact I didn’t have any preconceptions about him. He said he wanted an honest portrayal, so…”

Kelly waved the hand holding the cigarette, making trails of smoke waft across Sasha’s face. “I get that, but you come across as angry. What was it about his sex addiction that pissed you off so much?”

Sasha slunk down in her seat, embarrassed that her own feelings were so evident in her writing. She gritted her teeth. “Nothing. I just…the man’s a jerk.”

Kelly narrowed her eyes. Then a flicker of understanding flashed in them. Her mouth dropped open and her cigarette fell onto the shiny boardroom table top. “You fucked him.”

“What?” Sasha said, feigning insult.

“You did!” Kelly leapt up. “I know that face. It’s the face Alicia always had after she interviewed him. You slept with Thomas Lloyd.” She sat back down in her seat, gob-smacked. “I thought you were too smart for that.”

“Thanks. He was…”—Sasha ran her hands through her hair—“…persuasive.”

Kelly looked suddenly concerned. “He didn’t…?”

“No, no,” Sasha clarified. “It was all consensual. Perhaps a little too consensual,” she added under her breath.

Kelly sucked air between her teeth and shook her head. “I bet.” She picked her cigarette back up and re-lit it. She took a couple of puffs, her eyes fixed on Sasha, then spoke through her exhalation. “Having sex with the guy doesn’t make him a sex addict. You know that right?”

Sasha took a deep breath. “Having sex with him doesn’t. But having a prostitute turn up sort of implies it…”

“No!” Kelly cried. Her ruby red lips formed a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. It was a gratuitous sort of surprise though.

Kelly flashed Sasha her
tell-me-more
expression.

Sasha felt incredibly uncomfortable, but she needed to get it off her chest, and there wasn’t exactly anyone else she could talk to. None of her friends back home would understand. If they couldn’t come to terms with why she broke up with gentle, charming Chris for a career of all things, they’d certainly never understand how she’d ended up face down in the Honeymoon suit of the Hilton whilst a man she’d met barely ten minutes earlier was thrusting inside of her.

Sasha’s pelvic floor clenched at the memory. It really had been fantastic sex. The highest high she’d ever experienced. Followed so quickly with the lowest low.

She gulped. “He had four interviews booked that day. If he was expecting Alicia, then that was at least one shag he was certain to get. Yet, he still booked a fuck with his escort. It was as though he couldn’t go even ten minutes between slots without…”

“Sticking it in a slot,” Kelly replied, crudely, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” she added. “I couldn’t resist.”

Sasha sighed and shrugged. “Don’t apologize, you’re right.”

Kelly implored her to go on with raised eyebrows and a nod.

Sasha took another deep breath, feeling weirdly like she was in some kind of therapy session. “Okay, so this woman turned up while we were…you know…right in the middle of it. And he practically shoved me out the door.”

“My God.”

Kelly shook her perfectly coiffed hair. Although she was saying the right things, her expression was telling a completely different story. She was reveling in it, in the scandal, in the drama. In some ways, Sasha wasn’t sure why she’d expected anything different from the editor of a magazine like Atomic.

“She was so cheap looking,” Sasha added. “Hair peroxided to within an inch of its life. Breasts out here.” She cupped her arms in front of her chest to iterate the point.

“Let’s not bitch about the hooker,” Kelly said, coolly, while raising an eyebrow. “Your issue is with Thomas, not the woman he has to pay to fuck him.”

“You’re right,” Sasha said. “I’m just lashing out.” She began twiddling her thumbs. “The thing is, Kelly, I’ve only ever slept with one other man.”

Kelly laughed hard. “Are you joking? Oh, Sasha, this would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I’m glad my pain entertains you.”

Kelly pointed to the printout of the article that sat between them on the table. “Look, you really need to think about this before it goes to print. The press will look into it. They’ll probably interview this other woman. You’re putting yourself at risk with this piece.” She paused, and a wry smile spread across her face. “That said, you’ve written a kick ass bit of journalism here.”

Despite the day she’d had, Sasha felt a little surge of relief. A fragment of the confidence she’d felt before Thomas had crushed her spirit seemed to return.

Kelly consulted her watch. “It’s late. We should go.” She stood, pushing back the cream-colored leather chair. “Sleep on it and let me know in the morning.” She pulled on her jacket. Fur, of course. “Any plans for the evening?”

Sasha thought about her empty flat. She’d been so focused on her studies during college that she’d never really made any great friends. Then she’d headed off for Chicago alone. It hadn’t bothered her before, but now something had changed. Her liaison with Thomas had shown her a whole world she’d been missing out on—one of companionship and intimacy. For the first time in a long time she felt incredibly lonely.

Well, she could do something about that, couldn’t she? Because if there was any positive to be taken from the whole sordid affair, being with Thomas had taught her something important about herself—she
could
have casual sexual encounters, she
could
have one-night stands, and she
could
get what she wanted. And right now, she wanted to fill the void that Thomas’s betrayal had opened inside of her.

“I’m going out,” she said with resolve. “Dancing.”

“Great,” Kelly replied. “Have a fab time. I’m just going home to drink wine and hang out with my cat.” She laughed, wryly. “Oh, I envy the young.” She flashed Sasha a smile. “Let me know in the morning what you want to do.” With that, she left Sasha alone.

Sasha collected her things.
I suppose it’s time to get my glad rags on,
she thought.

***

An hour later, Sasha was standing awkwardly at the bar in a too-tight dress and too-tall heels, stirring a cranberry and vodka. She hadn’t yet taken a sip but had already been there long enough for the ice cubes to melt.

The lights were dim and the music loud—the perfect cocktail of ingredients for finding a quick fuck. Not that she’d had any luck so far. Maybe what had happened with Thomas had been a fluke? Maybe she wasn’t good at this at all?

Just then, the barman came over and leaned towards her, his elbows resting on the bar. “Been stood up?” he said.

He had a goatee and a sharp, angular jaw. His eyes were dark and slanted, making him appear almost feline-like.

Sasha laughed and stirred the drink with her straw. “Ha. That would imply there was a date to start with.”

“I see,” the barman replied. He looked over his shoulder at the clock. “Well, I have a ten minute break coming up and I know a pretty secluded alley we could go to...”

Sasha’s eyes darted up, alarmed by his blasé attitude. But then, what had she expected? It wasn’t like she was going to meet a Thomas Lloyd every time she wanted a fuck. The average man in a bar didn’t have passionately smoldering eyes, an effortless talent for coercion, millions of dollars in the bank, and a plush hotel room at his disposal. Her stomach dropped, as she realized that the average man wasn’t Thomas Lloyd. That she would never meet anyone with the same magnetism as him. That the best sex of her life had been earlier that day, and she’d never again reach those dizzying heights. Wasn’t Kelly proof of that? She’d been in the business a good thirty years but was alone, with just a cat and bottle of wine to keep her company.

The barman’s hand was resting on hers. “So, what do you say? Ten minutes, then I’ll take you to heaven and back.”

Sasha moved her hand out from under his and let out a little huff. “Does that line ever actually work?”

The barman gave her a look. “Sure.” Then his tone turned hostile. “With the ones who can tell I’m punching below my weight for them....”

“Excuse me?” Sasha said.

The barman shrugged. “You’re hardly a supermodel, lady. And the guys aren’t exactly fighting each other for your ass. Do you want it or not?”

“I think I’ll have to decline your offer,” she said with a sarcastic smile.

“Your loss. And if you want some advice, you could try smiling. No one wants to screw Debby Downer.” He smirked and walked away.

Sasha was fuming, and not just with the barman. She’d been a fool to think she could replicate her experience from this morning. That had been a once in a lifetime moment, something that she would never get to feel again. If it was earth-shattering orgasms she wanted, she certainly wasn’t going to get them hanging around in dingy clubs. And she’d tried the whole being pathetically in love thing, and even that hadn’t come close to the ecstasy of Thomas inside of her.

She decided to go home and turned, leaving her vodka and cranberry sitting on the bar. She wound through the crowd of drunk men and women, coupled up and embracing one another, with roving hands squeezing each other’s flesh and slobbering, desperate mouths. It was such a departure from what she’d had with Thomas—where everything aligned, where their bodies had yielded to each other in perfect symmetry—that she couldn’t help feeling a little sick at the sight.

Thomas had left Sasha aching for sex. Yearning for it. But it turned out that she didn’t want any kind of sex with any kind of person. It had to be
him
. It had to be
his
cock she felt inside of her.

Just then, her phone started ringing. She didn’t recognize the number. Probably a stupid sales call.

“What?” she said with a huff.

“Intern.”

She stood stock still. Her heart seemed to leap right into her throat. “Thomas?”

“Yes.”

His voice sent shivers of desire running through her.

“Intern, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” she interrupted.

“Sorry.” He sounded different on the phone. Less cock-sure. “I need to see you.”

Sasha paused. The throbbing desire between her legs was telling her to run to him, but her brain was screaming
no.
This was a dangerous game. Thomas Lloyd was a drug that she craved. He would get her hooked then leave her with nothing.

“I...” she began, but words failed her. What on earth could she say to the multi-million-dollar actor who, out of all the A-listers in the world he could have called, had decided to call her? Who had just said he
needed
to see her. Just that word alone made her body spasm with pleasure. “Why?” she finally said.