Lip Action (Kiss Talent Agency Book 1) Page 9

  “Her name is Marissa,” I reply. “But thank you for inquiring.”

  “I’m not inquiring,” she snaps back. “I’m telling you that you should stay far away from her.”

  “And why should I do that?”

  “Because it’s obvious the family has no idea who you are, if they’re letting you in the ring with her. Am I right?” I can almost hear the sneer in her voice. To her, the Woodcrests are far above me, I’m sure. “If her family knew of your history, they’d cart that little Maria off so fast it would make your head spin.”

  “Marissa. And perhaps she doesn’t give a shit what her family might think.” Liar, liar. “Besides, how is it of any interest to you?”

  I can almost see her cat-like smile. I shouldn’t have let myself be baited, but at the same time, I need to know what I’m dealing with.

  “Because believe it or not, I care about you. I hate to see you biting yourself in the ass,” she says in a motherly tone, which makes me snort aloud.

  “You? Care about me? Let’s not play games, okay? The only person you’ve ever cared about is yourself.”

  She laughs. “All right, all right. But I do know what kind of career you’re trying to build for yourself. You’re ruthless, and I wouldn’t put it past you to use that sweet little Woodcrest girl to get an in with some A-List producers.”

  I bite my tongue. Janelle has always been a suspicious little thing, and it burns to see how close she is to hitting the nail on the head. Still, I can’t let that show. “Think what you want, love. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Oh, but it does. You want more than Alien Love, and you always have. You have ambitions, but I know who you are, deep down. You’re playing with fire, Simon. The Woodcrests keep their name on the down-low, but their money is all through this town. If you hurt Raul Woodcrest’s daughter, he’ll make sure you never get another acting gig in this town, not even a 1-800-We Buy Any Car Commercial.”

  I grit my teeth, but before I can respond, Janelle continues. “Oh, Simon. I’m just concerned that your latest scheme has you digging your own grave. You aren’t one for commitment, as we both are aware. Saying otherwise would be utterly dishonest. Plus, you really think they’d let some trashy kid from London’s East End take out their daughter? And that means any relationship you have going on with this Woodcrest is going to end, sooner or later, and knowing you… it will end messily.”

  It feels like it’s all conjecture on her part. She doesn’t have all the details—about Perfect Union, about the deal between me and Marissa—but I wouldn’t put it past her to dig and dig until she has them. Janelle has proven herself to be the snake in the grass you have to watch out for.

  “Well, I appreciate your advice—” I start to say.

  “This isn’t advice. This is a warning. I recommend you stop whatever it is you’re doing—and believe me, I’ll find out what it is—as soon as possible.”

  I don’t say anything. I’m clenching my jaw so hard that my teeth hurt.

  “Nothing to say?” she asks. “Well, that’s all right. I hope you have a lovely rest of your week.”

  “Goodbye, Janelle.”

  I hang up and toss my phone onto the couch. I groan, and I can’t help but wonder if Janelle spoke the truth. That things were going to end badly with Marissa. Because of my inability to commit. Because of my past.

  I never thought of myself as a commitment-phobe, but in hindsight, my longest relationship had lasted a grand total of nine months, only a few months more than Janelle. And when that girlfriend asked if we could move in together? I couldn’t commit. Deep down inside, I hadn’t believed she was The One. That had also been my reason for breaking up with the women after her, including Janelle. Maybe I’d just been kidding myself. Maybe I’d fixated on my idea of The One because I’d known no woman could possibly be the one I wanted forever.

  At least I’m not leading Marissa on. Even if I was good enough for her—which I’m not—what we’re doing isn’t even real in the first place. It’s just business.

  Is it just business when you have a hand down her panties?

  Yes, that’s a fair point. But there’s no harm in us having a little fun while we’re together. Besides, if Marissa knew who I really was, how I grew up, the last thing she’d want is any sort of committed relationship with me.

  I didn’t grow up in the greatest home; I had a drunk dad and a mum who ran out when I was just a kid. We were the family even the poor kids made fun of because we wore the same dirty, holey clothes every damn day, and I’d been caught more than once trying to scrape together our dinner from the dumpsters behind the school. Dad beat us if we ever complained or asked for anything, and Youth Services was at our house more than they weren’t. Then my older brother Felix left, and it was just me and Dana, stuck with an angry, alcoholic dad and no one to take care of us.

  I got out of there—with Dana—as soon as I turned eighteen. We left for the States, I got a green card, and we never looked back. I haven’t spoken to my dad in over a decade, and I haven’t spoken to Felix in almost as long.

  So yeah, messy. Janelle had said things would get messy with Marissa, but I’m not going to let it.

  I resolve not to let things escalate further between us. I should tell her that our encounter in her kitchen was a one-time thing that won’t be repeated. We have to stay focused. We can’t let lust cloud our judgment.

  My resolve lasts until I’m about to leave the set. I finish taking one of my epically long showers, scrubbing off all the green makeup, and get dressed. When I reach for my phone, I realize I have a text from Marissa.

  Have a good day?

  I smile. It feels so wifely of her. My heart warms. It’s stupid and I know I shouldn’t keep this going, but when it comes to Marissa Woodcrest, I apparently have no resolve.

  Oh, the usual. Makeup. Close ups. About to do a shower scene. Stop me if I’m boring you too much.

  Shower scene???? Can I come watch?

  I raise an eyebrow. That’s the flirtiest text she’s sent me so far. I can’t help it: I have to see how far I can take this.

  What? Does this mean you’re using me just for my body?

  I watch in anticipation for her reply.

  Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?

  Oh, I am using you for your body, darling, I text. And I can’t stop thinking about how you came on my hand, my name in your mouth.

  When she doesn’t reply, I’m afraid I’ve pushed her too far. I curse. But then I see the three dots blinking, and her message pops up.

  I can’t stop thinking about it, either.

  I almost cheer. I’ll be honest, all day I was thinking about those gorgeous breasts of yours. How silky and soft they were. How your nipples got so dark pink as I kissed them.

  Did you? Well, I couldn’t help thinking about trailing my hands down your chest, kissing you and feeling how warm your skin is. I didn’t get to touch you that last time, you know.

  I groan at the image. Marissa’s small, pale hands touching me? Would anything be more erotic than that? Darling, you can touch me whenever and wherever you want.

  I did wonder about one thing, though.

  What is that?

  Are you as big as you felt beneath your pants?

  Right this second, I wish she were here so I could show her how big I really am. I’m glad the door to my trailer is locked, because my cock is about to burst through my zipper.

  A gentleman never brags, I type with slightly shaky hands, but you’re welcome to inspect it yourself.

  You’re too kind. I wonder if my fingers could encircle you completely, or is it too big?

  I tilt my head back. “She’s trying to kill me,” I mutter.

  Darling, where are you? I need to find you so you can experiment all you want.

  She doesn’t reply for a few moments, and I’m about to come out of my skin. Is she going to leave me hanging like this?

  Then she sends the message that makes me groan to the he
avens. Can I tell you something? I’ve never given a man a blowjob. Charles said I’d be terrible at it. But you make me want to try. Would you let me taste you?

  I’m seriously about to call her and tell her to get to my trailer right now. Instead, I get up, make sure the door is locked, and sit back down. I release my cock from its confines and stroke it, texting her, I’d like nothing more. Right now I have my hand on my cock, imagining it’s your hand. Your mouth.

  Do you?

  Yes. Where are you? Touch yourself, Marissa.

  I’m stroking myself, slowly and with a firm grip, and I wait for her to reply. Then when I see that she’s sent me a photo of her hand up her skirt, I moan. My cock twitches. I can’t see much, but it’s erotic enough that I can only imagine what she’s doing.

  I’m in an office in the back. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m so wet.

  Touch yourself. Make yourself come.

  I can’t keep doing this and texting. I call her, and the sound of her breathy voice just about sends me over the edge.

  “Tell me what you’re doing right now,” I growl, stroking my cock.

  “I’m touching my clit,” she whispers. “It’s so sensitive, though. I can hardly bear it. But it’s not enough. I need something more.”

  “Finger yourself, darling.”

  I hear an intake of breath. I can see dots of moisture on the tip of my cock, and God only knows how close I am. I’ve never done something like this—in my fucking trailer on the set, no less—but it’s becoming one of the most erotic moments of my life.

  “Oh God,” she moans. “I’m close.”

  “Describe what you’re doing.” I sound harsh and demanding, but I don’t care. I need to know.

  “I’m fingering myself and rubbing my clit. What about you?”

  “I’m stroking my cock and wishing you were here to do it instead.”

  Then we devolve into pure sounds. I’m breathing hard and so is she, and I imagine her sweet pussy, the one I touched only days prior. She gasps.

  “Are you coming?” I demand.

  “Yes, oh my God…” She trails off, and she just moans. I think I hear her say my name.

  I can’t take it. I squeeze my cock one last time and I’m coming too, fluid spurting onto my hand. My entire body shakes and I don’t even care that I’m doing this at work. It’s absolute ecstasy.

  Afterward, I can tell Marissa is a little embarrassed, but I won’t let her be. This was amazing. I tell her she’s beautiful and that I can’t stop thinking about her. She admits the same.

  “Can I see you tonight?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I wish, but I’m having dinner with my mom again. You know, the woman who’s obsessed with my dating life? I’d much rather see you, though.”

  “Then I’ll be in bed, stroking my cock, and thinking about you anyway.”

  She gasps, then laughs. “You’re so bad! I need to go. Have a good evening, Simon.”

  I grin. “Have a good evening, darling.”

  It’s only after I hang up that I remember I’d promised myself to cool this down. This definitely doesn’t feel like cooling down. It feels like things are heating up past where I can control them. Hell, I’m not even sure I want to anymore.

  Chapter Ten

  Marissa

  “Marissa—Marissa, are you listening to me?”

  Mom gives me The Look, and I know I’ve been caught red handed. I hadn’t been listening to her in the slightest.

  “I’m sorry, what was that again?” I ask.

  She sighs. “I asked you how Simon was. Are you still together?”

  I blush at the question. We were together hours earlier, sexting and then having phone sex. I can’t believe I did something like that—and at work! But today—today had been crazy. My boss had been on my back, and I’d come damn close to telling him off. Instead, when I got that flirty text from Simon, something came over me. I grabbed my phone and locked myself into a stall in the ladies’ room at the back of my office, then came so hard I almost screamed, not an office away from my boss. It was so dangerous, because really, anyone could’ve come in and heard me moaning.

  I never do things like that. Not anymore. But ever since I met Simon, I’ve been doing things I know I shouldn’t. It feels so liberating—like I’m finally back to being me again—and I’m practically salivating to do something wild and daring again, consequences be damned.

  I clear my throat, trying to push the images and sounds of that earlier conversation out of my head. “We are. We’re having dinner with his prod—” I stop. She doesn’t know what he does. “With his business partners this weekend, in fact.”

  Mom clicks her tongue. “And what will you wear, dear? Your usual gray sweater and black skirt? Or will you go with a white sweater and a beige skirt?”

  I scowl at her. “That’s rather unfair, since you were the one who always insisted I never wear anything too colorful.”

  Mom just spears a stalk of broccoli onto her fork. We’re at a little café that serves only non-GMO, vegan, gluten-free, dairy-free, and anything else-free you can think of, and Mom has decided that she needs to eat only flax seed and zucchini to lose ten pounds. I ordered the one thing on the menu semi-edible, and it’s basically a limp salad with vinegar and oil dressing that I could’ve made at home.

  “Marissa, you can’t blame me for everything. I thought we got past that after the incident with Brian Hall. Even after that, I supported you. I stood by your side, which was more than he did.”

  I eat a mouthful of lettuce, chewing it slowly. I swallow the blob of lettuce, dreaming of getting a cheeseburger on my way home later. “You’re right, Mom. You did stand by my side. I’m going shopping later this week, if you must know.”

  “Splendid! When? Would you like me to—”

  “I’m going alone.” At her look, I add, “Thank you, though.”

  She just sniffs, offended, and I almost give in. I almost ask her to come with me. But she’ll just criticize anything I pick out, and I’m tired of the criticism. I’m tired of being told I can’t do anything right.

  My mind flashes back to Simon. With him, it’s almost like I can do no wrong. Several times now, he’s pleasured me selflessly, almost as if my pleasure is more important than his own.

  I have half of a mind to tell Mom that Simon finds me attractive regardless of what I wear or how much makeup I put on my face, but instead, I just say, “I just want to shop alone, that’s all, Mom. No offense intended. Besides, you know you prefer to shop with Larissa, anyway.” Larissa’s the perfect size two and can shop anywhere she wants. I’m lucky if I can get my hips into any pair of pants from the rack.

  Mom lets out a little sigh, like she’s been defeated and is too exhausted to fight. “Well, if you need help, let me know. You know I’m always here for you.”

  I nod and try not to sigh again.

  I miss Simon already, I think, even though we’ve been talking and texting and sexting and…. But beyond the sex stuff, I love the flirty texts, sarcastic texts, and just your run-of-the-mill, “how are you doing?” texts. I’ve discovered that Simon isn’t much for emojis, while I tend to overuse them. He also tends to write longer messages that sometimes are like an entire paragraph of text. I love that about him.

  There are lot of things I’m realizing that I love about him. Which, when I think about it, scares the bejesus out of me. I can’t fall in love with him! This is all fake.

  But is the texting fake? Are the long messages fake? Are the phone calls fake?

  After my meal with my mother is over, I kiss her on the forehead.

  Then I head straight for the burger joint near my house. When I take my first bite of the greasy deliciousness, I moan.

  And when I think of Simon and our phone sex earlier in the day, I moan again.

  * * *

  After the burger, I slept like a baby, and show up to work with a smile on my face. I find that all I can think about, though, are my feelings for Si
mon. I’m worrying about what it all means when I hear my coworker Donna tell me, “Someone’s here to see you, Marissa.”

  I wasn’t expecting anyone. My heart lights up when I think that maybe it’s Simon. I get up from my desk so quickly that I almost knock over my cold cup of coffee, and I’m about to burst out with a “Simon!” when I look into the vestibule by the elevators and see the last person on earth I wanted to see again.

  It’s Charles.

  I snap my mouth shut, realizing it’s hanging open. Charles is dressed in his usual pleated pants and polo shirt, a snobbish pout on his face as he inspects the meager office. He never understood why I worked here when I had a trust fund and could sit on my fanny all day like Larissa.

  “Rissa, dear,” he says, all smiles when he sees me. He hugs me, and I stand there, limply. He pulls away. “How are you?”

  Better than I was with you, I think. Instead, I give him a brittle smile, mostly for everyone in my office watching us, and say, “I’m good. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to take you to lunch, and maybe we could talk.”

  “I’m sorry, Charles. I don’t want to go to lunch with you.”

  I hear someone gasp behind me. Charles’s eyes widen, as if he’s surprised I’d reject him so boldly. In truth, I’m a little surprised myself, but I’m also pleased. I can stick up for myself and not have hell rain down on me. Yay!

  “I need to speak with you and would rather do it privately, Marissa,” Charles says, a bit of a whine in his voice, and I just know if I don’t appease him, he’s going to cause a scene.

  I sigh, gesture for him to follow me, and we take the elevator down to the first floor, then head outside. We may be outside and in public, but to be honest, it’s more private out here than it would have been in my office.

  “I know all about Simon Richards…or to be more precise, Simon Dale,” Charles says.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, I think.

  I shouldn’t take the bait. I should go straight inside and not look back. But I can’t help myself. “Have you told my family?”