Captive Films: Season One (22 page)

I straighten my tie, tuck my shirt in better, and then go look in the mirror.
 

There are red lipstick stains on my cheeks, neck, and lips, not to mention on my shirt collar. My hair is a mess and there’s a bite mark on my neck.
 

I quickly take off my shirt and tie, throwing it into the bag designated for dry cleaning. A little soap, water, and some scrubbing have the lipstick off my face. Not much I can do about the bite mark. I reach around and feel my lower back, then turn to examine it in the mirror. Nail marks show where she scratched my back and there’s a chaffed spot from her heel.

I should be freaked out by the fact that I just fucked a co-worker on my second day.
 

That I smell like sex and her perfume.
 

That I didn’t use a condom.
 

But I’m not.
 

I feel fucking amazing.
 

I throw the closet doors open and choose a black shirt with a wide spread collar, thread a Hermes belt through the loops, and decide not to wear a jacket.
 

There are a few different brands of cologne on a shelf but I forgo it and head to my meeting.
 

As I walk by Riley’s office, Vanessa steps out. “I understand you’re golfing this afternoon.”

“Uh, huh.”

“I’m told you will be done in time to accompany me to an event tonight. I’ll be at your house at eight.”

“Uh, okay,” I say, stumbling on my words.
 

“And your brother would like to see you before your meeting.”

I walk into my little brother’s office, forcing myself to be cool. “What’s up, Riley?”

“I asked Vanessa to accompany you to an event tonight,” he says with a grin that implies I’ll get laid.
 

“What kind of event?”

“Some sort of fundraiser for the Arts. Captive bought a table.”

“Will you be there?”

“Nah, after golf, I’m taking Jennifer to Vegas. We’re celebrating.”

“She signed the contract?”

“Yes, sir,” he says proudly. “Now, we’ll work on a more personal contract.” He studies me. “You look different. Did you change?”

“Tyler told me I should be more casual.”

Riley moves closer to me, studying me and narrowing his eyes. I tilt my neck slightly to the side, hoping to hide the mark. “You look happy.”

I smile. “I really think I’m going to like working at Captive Films.”

Vanessa’s Estate - Holmby Hills

VANESSA

“Ariela, is this crazy?” I ask, carefully sliding on another black stocking.

“Are you kidding? He’s going to love it.”

“But I lied to him. I told him we were going to the event when I have no intention of doing so.”

She laughs. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“So, tell me what Keatyn said when you talked to her,” I say.

‘Well, she told me they want to get married in less than three weeks. On October the eighteenth.”

“Can you do it?”

“She says the vineyard works regularly with an event company, so it shouldn’t be a problem getting flowers, tables, linens, things like that. I’m worried about a cake.”

“I’m sure any cake company would fit it in, just so they could brag about the wedding.”

“If we could do that, it would be easy. But she doesn’t want anyone to know it’s a wedding.”

“Right,” I say, knowing that, but trying to decide if I should do what I’m about to do is consuming my brain. “Which shoe do you like? No, I take that back. Which shoe will Dawson think is sexier?”

“That one,” she says, pointing to a black caged bootie with silver straps that have a bit of a dominatrix look. “And if I had to worry about a venue, I’d say it couldn’t be done, but it sounds like she’s got that covered. I just need to see it.”

“The vineyard is gorgeous. Acres and acres of grapes set on rolling hills. Their house is built on the highest point and from the back you can see the ocean.”

“She said something about a barn? I just can’t picture Keatyn getting married in a barn.”

“Oh, this isn’t just any barn. This is the barn Aiden built just for her parties. It’s gorgeous. All wood and beams. If it weren’t for the fact it’s in the shape of a barn, has barn doors, and is wood, you wouldn’t even call it a barn.”

“Oh, now you’re getting me excited!” Ariela says, her eyes wide and a big grin on her face. “Did I tell you I’m going there this weekend?”

“You did. But lie to me. Tell me it’s my outfit that has you excited and not the barn,” I joke, throwing on the fur coat. “Okay, here’s the full effect.”

“You look amazing. I should hug you before you leave, because I don’t think Dawson will let you out of bed all weekend.”

I laugh, hoping she’s right. “So were you able to get ahold of the investigator today?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh.
 

“Did he find out something, already?”

“Yeah. He got someone to follow Collin today. Guess where he went for lunch?”

“To her place?”

“Yep. I even have pictures.”

I sit on the bed and take her hand in mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I knew it was happening, you know,” she sniffles. “But seeing the proof. Seeing them kiss. There are other photos too. They didn’t bother to close the blinds. You could see their passion. It just reinforces what an idiot I was to have married him. He never, ever kissed me like that. They barely made it in the house. Did it on her couch.”

“And here I am going on about seducing Dawson. I’m sorry, really.”

“It’s okay.”

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight. I can do this a different night.”

“Are you kidding? Don’t you dare. Besides, I have a baby shower to go to.” She gives me a hug. “Now, get your sexy ass over to Dawson’s.”

My driver takes me to Malibu. I’m nervous, anxious, excited, and horny.
 

Mostly, horny.

Dawson told me our kiss was the best of his life.
 

And I have to admit, today, on his desk, was the hottest sex of my life.
 

Bam and I had a good sex life. But it’s weird how age and perspective can change what you thought. I loved Bam. I did. But I’m starting to wonder if Keatyn might be right about the whole true love thing.
 

But if I think that way, it would mean Dawson could be that guy. And that’s something I’m not ready to even consider.
 

I’m just trying to figure out what made it so good.

It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done it in a guy’s office before. So it’s not that. And in the two years since Bam and I broke up, I’ve been having a whole lot of revenge sex. Angry sex. One night stands.
 

So it’s not like I’m just in need of sex.
 

Today, just felt like more.
 

And it scares me a little.
 

I stand on his front porch trying to decide if I should ring the doorbell or run like hell in the other direction.

When my driver pulls away, my choice becomes easier. I can’t go running around Malibu in nothing but a fur coat.
 

I take a deep breath, stand up straight, and push the button.
 

Dawson answers wearing a black tuxedo complete with bow tie.
 

“You look nice,” I say.
Nice
being a severe understatement.

“Come in,” he says, leading me into a comfortable, shabby chic decorated home. “There was champagne in the fridge,” he points to a bottle on the kitchen island. “Would you like some?”

“Of course.”

He heads toward the champagne then turns back around. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? May I take your coat?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” I slip out of my coat and lay it over his outstretched arm. But he doesn’t seem to notice the fur.

His eyes are glued to what I’m wearing.
 

Or, not wearing, as the case would be.
 

“Wow. This is straight out of one of my fantasies.” He gives me a naughty smirk, tosses my coat over a chair, and trails the back of his hand across my shoulder. “I should have come to L.A. sooner. Will all the women be dressed like this for the benefit?”
 

“Probably not,” I say as his lips follow his hand, leaving kisses in their wake. Goosebumps form on my skin from the cool ocean breeze blowing through the deck door, but on the inside I feel hot, like I’m burning up from within.
 

He touches the lace on my bra, the lace on my thong, and the tops of my garters.
 

“I have a new fantasy,” he says, grabbing my coat and putting it back on me.

“What’s that?” I whisper.

“Would you mind going back outside and ringing the doorbell again?”

“Uh, um, sure,” I say, wondering why he wants me to, but if he has a fantasy about me, I’m all for exploring it.

A few seconds later, he shuts the door in my face.
 

My insides are throbbing, my panties are wet, and he’s yet to kiss me on the lips.

I hit the doorbell.
 

He answers, looking like I caught him in the middle of getting dressed. His pants are on, but his jacket, tie, and shoes are gone. His shirt is on, but not buttoned.
 

And, my god, is it a sight.
 

His chest is so well formed. His muscles taut and hard.
 

His abs so perfectly sculpted they almost don’t look real.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, exposing my shoulder and giving it a kiss. “Well, well. What do we have here?” He slides his hand inside my coat, running it from my neck to my thong. He hooks a finger around the lace, quickly stripping it off me. Then his tongue retraces his hand’s path. He grabs my ass as he slides his tongue down the side of my neck, across my collar bone, and down through my cleavage. I push my fingers through his thick hair, not sure what’s going to happen next, but eagerly anticipating it.
 

His tongue grazes across the swell of my breast then he lowers himself to his knees and kisses my stomach.
 

Although his kisses are hard and hungry, there’s something different about the way he kisses my stomach. It’s sweet, almost loving.

His tongue works its way lower, until it’s nearly between my legs.
 

He surprises me when he stands, effortlessly picks me up, and lays me on the closest surface, the dining room table.
 

The silk lining of my coat feels even more sensual than usual. I reach out and guide his face toward me, eagerly kissing him.
 

“Hold that thought,” he says, moving to the end of the table and sinking his head between my legs.
 

His hands slip between the silk and my ass, bringing me closer to his mouth. While his tongue is smooth, the slight scruff from his five o’clock shadow is rough. The combination of that and the back and forth motions of his tongue send me over the edge.
 

I grab his hair with one hand, and my fur with the other, my pelvis taking over the motions, causing his tongue to move exactly how I want it.
 

“Oh, oh, oh, god, that feels good.”
 

He moves his tongue in a circular motion and slides two fingers inside me.
 

It’s abrupt. Hard. And I immediately have another, deeper orgasm. This one, racking through my entire body. I moan his name until I can’t speak.
 

Then he picks me up and carries me into the living room.
 

Somewhere along the way, he removed his pants, because when he sits on the rug in front of the blazing fire, he pulls me down directly on top of his massive hard on. My insides are still contracting and I want to ride him.
 

Hard.

I may have even said something to that effect, I can’t even remember.
 

But he says, “Slow down, baby. We’re doing this my way.” His hands are wrapped around my hips, slowing my motion. He pushes the fur off and kisses my shoulder. Then, while still slowly moving himself inside me, he takes my hand and kisses it.
 

I melt.

I’m not sure if it’s because of the fire on a hot day or him.
 

But I’m a fucking puddle.
 

And Vanessa Flanning is never a puddle.

We kiss, slowly at first, my hips moving in rhythm with his. His hold on me tightens.
 

Our kissing becomes deeper.
 

Our rhythm becomes faster.
 

I glance down, noticing how my hips seem to fit perfectly in his big hands.