Mr big, p.3
Mr. Big, page 3
My heart beats faster and faster as my mind tries to process it. It would mean a whole new life. It would mean the end of student debt. The end of worrying about making rent. It could honestly mean quitting my job and moving to a Caribbean island to read and lay out in the sun for the rest of my life.
“Can I…” I take a quivering breath as I steel myself to look up into Damien’s eyes again. “Can I think about it?”
He frowns, glancing at his heavy wristwatch. “Would five minutes work?”
I decide it’s best not to respond that I meant more like a week, or a fucking month so that I could start starving myself and going to the gym twelve hours a day.
“Um, sure.”
He nods and turns away to look at something on his phone.
“Dude, are you seriously on the fence about this?”
I’m trembling with nerves as I spin back to Cassie.
“Of course, I am!” I snap under my breath. “Are you kidding me? Cas, it’s a national fucking campaign. There’d be fifteen-foot-tall pictures of me in fucking underwear in Times freaking Square. Would you do it?”
“For two million bucks?” She stares at me incredulously. “Hell yeah, I would! And I’m not even close to the shape you’re in.”
“Cas, I go to the gym. I’m not a freaking supermodel.”
“Yeah, but you’re gorgeous.”
“Am not.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Yes, you are. Even if Jake is too much a tool to appreciate it.”
“Well that doesn’t mean I’m ready to put on lingerie and strut around for the camera! I mean, shit, I had a bagel and a chocolate chip cookie for breakfast!”
She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “That’s what Photoshop is for, Liv.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“What, you don’t think they were going to Photoshop the shit out of Selena, too? Trust me, they were. And they’ll do it for you. You’re already beautiful, they’ll just make you the kind of beautiful that girls try, and inevitably fail, to emulate.”
“Is this supposed to be helping?”
She giggles a muffled laugh through a hand. “Liv, it’s two million dollars. Let that sink in. I’d do it for fifty-grand, believe me. Two million is fuck-you money. That’s change your life money.”
She’s right. I know it, she knows it, and I know damn well that Damien knows it.
“Just try it, girl,” she says insistently. “If you hate it or if you get out there and you just know you can’t do it, that’s it. But at least try or you’ll regret it forever.”
“Ms. Knowles.”
Damien’s voice sends that teasing feeling over my skin again, and I draw a sharp breath as my eyes widen.
“Do it,” Cassie whispers. Slowly, I turn, and my eyes are instantly sucked in at that smoldering gaze of Damien’s.
“Yes or no, Ms. Knowles.” He growls my name and my insides knot up, I can feel the heat rising in my face. Slowly, thinking about what Cassie just said, I nod. Damien’s perfect lips curl into a smile, and his eyes seem to swirl with emotion as he nods back.
“Excellent.” His answer is curt and decisive. His brows furrow as he turns to look out over the set. “Melissa.”
Our wardrobe director, formerly in charge of making sure Selena was wearing the right Luxe pieces and making sure they fit her flawlessly, eyes me warily as she steps forward. “Yes, Mr. Rook?”
“I believe we’re on a tight schedule here. Could you please get our new model ready?”
My heart beats faster and faster, and my mouth dries as the reality of what’s happening here really starts to set in. Am I seriously about to do this?
“Ms. Knowles.”
I drag my attention from my own thoughts as I turn to look up into Damien’s perfect, beautiful, captivating green eyes. And I know without another question that the answer is a resounding yes.
“Shall we?”
I nod quickly, my mouth dry. “Um, yeah. Yes.”
He smiles a fierce, hungry smile at me, and I can feel that tingling feeling spread over me before Melissa grabs my arm and drags me away towards the dressing rooms.
I stare into the mirror. My pulse quickens, and there’s a knot in my stomach. And yet, I don’t hate what I see looking back at me in the mirror.
Melissa’s put me in a matching sky-blue and black lace bra and thong set, complete with garter belts, stockings, and black stilettos. My face reddens as I take in the sight of myself. I mean, it’s more than slightly embarrassing, and the idea of actually walking out of here and in front of a something like forty people on the set is an absolutely mortifying thought. But at the same time, I have to admit, I look hot.
Okay, I’m not Selena Roy. For one, unlike her, I haven’t been hanging out in Ibiza or in some fake tan salon. Which means I’m pale, and not in that cute “pale girl” way, it’s in that way where you can see the hint of vein in the inside of my thigh and under my arms. Also, unlike Selena, I’m not immaculately plucked and shaved. I mean, my brows actually look pretty fantastic thanks to Cassie’s work a few minutes ago. And I thank God that I just had my regular bikini wax two days ago. But I’ve got some razor burn under one armpit and two nicks around my left knee from the hack shaving job I did in the shower this morning.
Also, unlike Selena, my tits are pretty much regular. Yes, they look pretty freaking great in the gorgeous lingerie, but they’re not defying the laws of physics like hers. And I could keep going. She easily has six inches of height on me, and we still probably weigh the same. I’ve got normal legs, and she’s got gazelle legs. She’s got a perpetual mani-pedi going on. I chew my cuticles.
“Hey, Liv?” Cassie calls my name from outside the dressing room, and I startle out of my insecure thoughts.
“Yeah, I know.”
“They, uh, they wanted me to check…”
“I’m coming,” I mumble, my heart racing as my eyes sweep over my reflection again. “Gimme a minute.”
“Okay. Hey, you look super-hot, you know. You can do this!”
“Yeah,” I mutter dryly. “Thanks.”
I can hear her walking away, and my shoulders slump. She’s right. I can do this. For two million bucks? Hell yes, I can do this. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still absolutely terrified of doing it. I take another quivering breath as I pluck the silk robe from the hook on the wall and throw it over my shoulders.
Okay, it’s time.
Two million bucks. Two million bucks.
I keep repeating the words like a prayer as I take one more look at myself all gussied up, turn, and slowly teeter my way to the door on the spiked heels. I take a long, slow breath, I steady my nerves, and I throw open the door and stride out… right into someone.
I gasp, and I start to tumble back as I lose my balance. But suddenly, there are strong, firm hands grabbing me tight and pulling me close. My heart leaps into my mouth as I go tumbling forward again, right into a hard, muscled chest beneath a tailored white dress shirt. I yank my eyes up, and when they meet Damien’s, my whole world stills.
“Mr. Rook…”
“Ms. Knowles,” he rumbles out my name, and I swallow as I see his jaw clench and his eyes burn fiercely. His hands tighten on me, and it takes me another second to realize he hasn’t just caught me from falling, he’s got me pulled tight against him. And neither of us are doing a thing to change that. My heart races, my pulse beating so hard and so fast that I think he must be able to feel it under the firm grasp of his big hands on my arms.
“You ready?”
I wet my lips, my heart still thumping hard in my chest as I lose myself in those beautiful green eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.
“You look…” I can hear a deep growl rumble in his throat as he pulls away from me just enough to let his eyes sweep slowly over me. “You look fucking stunning.”
“Mr. Rook, I’m really not a model.” My words come out breathlessly.
“Perhaps not.”
“Then why me?” My words are a whisper as my pulse races. I can feel the strength of his body against mine, and when his grip tightens on my arms, I tremble at the raw power that’s hidden behind the tailored shirts and polished shoes of this man. “I’m no model, and you could have any girl in the world at this photoshoot you wanted. So why on earth would you pick—”“Because, Olivia,” he growls fiercely, taking my breath away and making me gasp audibly as he uses my first name and moves against me. One of his hands slides down to the small of my back, pulling me into him as the other moves up to cradle my jaw. Our bodies press tightly together, and unbridled lust burns through me like fire. Our hips move together like they were made to do so, and when I suddenly feel the fat, thick bulge at the front of his pants throbbing against my thigh, my lips fall open into an “o” shape. A wild, animal lust I’ve never even come close to feeling before explodes through me. My ears ring. My body aches for him. And when I look up into his hungry eyes, it feels like I could drown in them.
“Because I can’t take my fucking eyes off of you, Ms. Knowles,” Damien growls savagely, taking my breath away. “That’s why you.”
“Mr. Rook?” At the sound of a voice from around the corner, the both of us suddenly step apart from each other. And instantly, I feel empty. My heart races, I can barely catch my breath, and when our gazes catch once again, this time a few feet instead of a few inches apart, a pulse of heat trembles through my body.
“Mr. Rook?” A fresh-faced young intern name Shawn darts around the corner looking flustered. “Mr. Pascale says we’re…”
His eyes land on me, standing with my robe undone and hanging loose from my shoulders, and they widen in shock. His words trail off and his mouth hangs open.
“Holy shit, Ms. Knowles, you look amazing!”
I blush, but suddenly Damien steps between us, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Are you being paid to do a job or to ogle my fucking talent?” he snarls. The poor kid’s face turns white as he nods quickly.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Knowles!”
“It’s fine, Shawn. And thank you.”
Shawn swallows. “Should I just go tell Mr. Pascal that you’re ready?”
“Yes,” Damien says dangerously. “You should.”
Shawn scampers off, and I don’t realize my pulse is still racing until we’re alone again.
“Well, Ms. Knowles,” Damien says brusquely, suddenly all business and all professional again, as if he didn’t just have me pinned against his body with his lips inches from mine.
“Shall we?”
He gestures with his hand, and I nod quickly, numb and still in shock.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, we shall.”
He smiles, turns, and marches away, and it’s not until he’s out of sight that I let my breath out in a rush. It was bad enough having to go out there in front of forty people and a camera in underwear. It was bad enough knowing my hot boss was out there. But as of one minute ago, there’s something else to add to the pile.
Because after being pressed against him, and feeling what I felt? Now I know exactly why they call him “Mr. Big.” And it’s all I can think about as I walk on shaky legs out to meet my fate.
4
Damien
I watch her like a starving man might gaze at a feast. I hunger for her, and I crave her. I want her. I want her unlike anything or certainly any woman I’ve ever wanted before. And the sheer intensity of that desire has my hands aching to hold her and my lips dying to taste hers. No woman in my entire life has ever captivated me like Olivia. Not a single one has drawn my eye like her or made me fucking fall over myself with the pure need to claim her.
And that’s exactly what I want with Olivia. I don’t just want to fuck her. It’s not as simple as that. I don’t just want to kiss her. It’s most certainly not as innocent as that. It’s something beyond anything I’ve ever felt with a girl. I look at her, and I want to claim her, as an animal might claim a mate. I want her with every fiber of my being, with every breath I have. Yes, I damn well want her in my bed—her legs around my waist and her nails raking down my back as I bury my cock to the hilt inside of her. But I want to possess her very soul as well. I look at this woman and I want her always. Not for one night. Not for ten, or a hundred. I want her for every night. Forever.
My jaw clenches tight, as does my hand on the back of the chair I’m standing by as I watch the shoot. My eyes dance over her and her every move. She’s furtive in her movements. She’s unpracticed and unaccustomed to the role she’s playing. But Pascal is a fucking talented photographer, and the man sure as hell knows his craft and his subject. He’s not barking orders at her like he might to a professional model. He clearly understands the fact that she’s out of her element here, and he’s working with that. And slowly, he coaxes the sexiness out of her. And good fucking God is she sexy.
The camera clicks and the lights move with her. The wind machine blows her long, gorgeous dark brown hair around, and with the makeup they’ve painted her with, she looks like a fucking goddess. The pale blue with black trim lingerie hugs her body perfectly, cupping her full, soft breasts—the tantalizing strip of thong pulled between the tight globes of her ass. And through it all, I’ve got the lingering feel of her body against mine burning through my every cell. My hands remember the feel of her skin beneath them—of the heat of her body and the thrum of her pulse. I remember the muscles rolling at the small of her back, and the way her breath caught as my lips paused mere inches from hers. I remember how close I came to tasting those lips, and my cock throbs as hard as an iron rod in my pants.
I grip the back of the chair, feeling my bulge pulsing against it. My eyes follow her every move, sliding over her skin like a lover’s touch.
“Okay, good, honey. That’s great. Okay arch your back… Let’s see you push the butt out a little… Excellent. No, more. More, Olivia.”
My brow knits, and the tenseness in my jaw only tightens as my eyes slide to hers. And slowly, I start to see what Pascal either isn’t seeing or is ignoring: she’s not just out of her element, she’s losing control. When the shoot started, she was nervous, obviously. But I could see the determination in her eyes, and the way she forced herself to get the job done. But slowly, the shoot is getting “sexier.” What started as just normal shots are turning into far more explicit ones. Pascal’s got her aching her back and showing her ass. He’s got her at the very fucking limits of her comfortability, and it’s starting to crack.
Any other man, and I’d have broken the fucking camera over his head already at the way Pascal is directing her to move and show herself off. But his preference most certainly being men can only calm my nerves for so long. I look around the room, and when my eyes start to drink in the hungry, wolfish looks of the guys behind the lighting board, the interns by the food table, the savage inside of me begins to beat his sword on his shield. I snarl, and when my eyes drift back to Olivia, there’s only one primeval thought in my head: she is mine.
She’s mine, and no one else can have her. And even if she doesn’t know that yet, I do. And I know I won’t stand another goddamn minute of these fucking wolves staring at her like she’s meat to be chased.
“Everyone out.”
I growl the words quietly at first, my eyes still locked on Olivia. A few people around me turn with questioning looks, and suddenly, I’m barking it
“Out!” I bellow. “Everyone! Right fucking now!”
Every single head in the room swivels to me, including hers. I just hold her eyes with mine, never blinking and never looking away as I repeat myself.
“We’re done here today. All of you, leave.”
Pascal balks. “Mr. Rook, all due respect, you can’t possibly—”
“I can, actually,” I hiss, still looking at her. “The shoot is over. We’re done.”
If I were another man—a lesser man—there might still be pushback. But not with me. My reputation is large enough that even Pascal, the international photography superstar, knows to shut the fuck up and do what I say.
“Let’s go people!” he snaps suddenly, clapping his hands and sending his interns scurrying to pack up his gear. The room erupts into chaos as technicians and crew being to shut things down.
“Leave it,” I growl. “You can come pack it up later. Everyone out, right now.”
My eyes hold hers. Never blinking. Never wavering. And even though hers are wide, and her face is pale, she does the same. Her eyes never waver from mine, until I’m drowning in those stormy blue pools.
The room empties, until finally it’s just Pascal stuffing the last of his lenses into a bag. He scurries past me, and he starts to open his mouth, but I just hold up a hand, and he knows. Ten seconds later, the door shuts with a dull click, and the entire set is empty except for me and Olivia.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Rook.” For the first time since we locked eyes, hers fall away to look at her feet. Her fingers toy together as she sucks her lip between her teeth.
If this were a fantasy, or a fairytale, I’d go to her. I’d take her in my arms, and I’d kiss her like she’s never been kissed in her life. I’d tell her she was mine and no one else’s, and that I threw them all out, not because she was doing anything wrong, but because the idea of anyone else looking at her like that has my blood boiling. I’d kiss her and rip that lacy lingerie from her perfect little body, and I’d take her right here on the set. I’d growl into her lips as she moaned into mine, spreading her legs for my thick cock and gasping as I let her feel every inch of me.
But this is real life, not a fairytale, and I’m no knight in shining armor. In fact, I might just be the opposite. I look at her standing there, and even though every part of me wants to go to her, and claim her as my own, I know I can’t.
