Home (5 page)

I ease into her slowly. Not pushing hard enough for her, because her pussy clenches around my dick and she rams her ass backwards until I fill her up.

“Harder,” she begs. “Fuck me harder.”

I don’t, of course. “Don’t boss me, woman,” I tell her instead. “I decide how hard you need to be fucked.”

I decide she needs to be fucked very hard right now. But I’d rather save that for tonight. So I ease back out of her, just as slowly.

She moans with disapproval, but before she even has a chance to whine about it, I ram back into her, my thighs smacking against the back of her legs.

“Like that, you filthy bird?”

“Yessss,” she whispers. “Yessss.”

Her voice alone is enough to make my cock throb with want. I thrust a little harder this time and another. “Yes, please, more,” is whispered into the blankets on the bed.

“I think you should come to work with me every day. Let me make you my trailer whore. Keep you tied up on this bed, your legs spread open for me, your pussy dripping wet as you think of all the ways I will fuck you wild when I come for lunch.”

Goddamn, I might come from my own dirty talking.

“Do it, Master. I’m yours to use as you please.”

I pound her for that remark and she starts to moan a little too loud for a back lot trailer. So I pull out, flip her over, and place my hand over her mouth as my cock slides back inside her pussy. “Shhh, you wild thing.” She breathes hard through her nose as I continue to pump. Her legs wrap around my waist, her thighs pressed against my hips, squeezing as she tries to keep me close when I pull too far away.

I thrust one more time, pushing as deep as I can get. She stiffens a little with the force, her pussy gripping my cock so tight it can only mean one thing. Her reaction fuels my desire to have her. To spill my come inside her. My head falls back automatically and I feel the release and it’s over.

I growl out my satisfaction as her legs, weak and trembling, unwind from my hips. I fall on top of her, my pants still mostly on, her shorts still around her knees. And I pull her over so her face is resting on my chest. She breathes hard and heavy, panting as she tries to calm her racing heart. And then things slow… the rhythm, the pulse in her neck as I kiss it tenderly, my own heart… slows.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

“I love you back.”

Someone pounds on my trailer door and breaks the moment. “Yeah,” I call out.

“Five minutes, Mr. Asher,” they yell back.

“I’m bored at home,” Grace says.

“I’m sorry, sweets. You can come here every day if you want. You can come all day. I’d love for you to be here. But it’s boring here too.”

“Maybe it’s better to be bored together?”

“It is,” I say, kissing her neck once more time. She’s calm now, the wild ride behind us. “It is. Stay here in my trailer and rest if you want. Or go for a walk on the lot. I can get someone to take you around?”

“No,” she sighs. “I’m gonna go home and cook, I think.”

“Yeah?” I’m surprised. She’s never cooked for me before. In fact, she doesn’t do much of anything for me. So this is a good sign. I smile and play with her hair. “What will you make?”

“What do you like that I can make at home?” She turns a little so she can look me in the eye.

“Steaks?” I don’t give a fuck what she makes. She can serve me peanut butter and jelly for all I care. I just want her to be happy.

I don’t think she’s happy.

I’m not enough to make her happy.

“I can do steaks.”

“Good.” I get up and shove my dick back in my pants. then reach for her hand and bring her to her feet and then pull her shorts back up. “I can’t wait to come home.”

“What time will you be?” She looks up at me and her eyes have that lost look in them I’ve become used to.

God, she’s so vulnerable right now. Her request is almost a plea. I hate leaving her home alone. “Eight? Maybe?”

“Oh.” She’s disappointed. I can tell. But we work long hours when we’re filming. It costs money to pack things up and quit for the day. “OK. I’ll see you at eight.”

I hold her hand as we walk outside and then she gives me a little wave as she heads in the direction of the attendant responsible for her while she’s on the lot. She gets in the golf cart and pulls a pair of sunglasses on. But I catch it.

A fingertip slides up under her glasses to wipe her eye. Like she’s crying.

The golf cart takes off and I’m just about to go after her when I hear them calling for me.

She just needs time. That’s what everyone keeps telling me. Time heals things.

I guess that’s true. Time healed her after the first incident. But it’s different now. She was a child. Children are resilient. That’s what they say, anyway. Children bounce back.

“Mr. Asher?”

My assistant is right up next to me now. “Yeah, coming.”

I know Grace is still sad about how things ended back in Nebraska and it makes me feel helpless. Because there’s no dollar amount that can fix this for her. There’s no gift, no vacation, no promise that can fix this.

It’s up to her now. All I can do is make sure no one else interferes with her recovery. And so far, that’s going great.
Buzz
backed off. No other new sources have turned up.

So why do I feel so sure that something’s coming?

“Mr. Asher?” my assistant asks again as I stare at the disappearing golf cart.

“Right.” I turn away and follow him back inside.

Chapter Six

#NotGoodEnoughToBeAStupidWhore

“G
RACE?”
he whispers in my ear. “You awake, sweets?”

This must be our new thing.

“Grace? You want to come have lunch with me again today? Only this time we’ll really eat?”

“No,” I mumble from under the covers.

“Are you sure? I’d love it if you came to the set today.”

“No,” I say again with more conviction.

“OK. Well, dinner last night was delicious. Will you cook tonight? Or should I bring something home?”

“God, I don’t know. It’s not even time for breakfast yet.”

He’s silent for a few moments. I’m being a bitch, I know this. I want him to call me on it. To tell me to stop my moping. But they didn’t do that back when I was a teen and no one is going to do that now.

They tiptoe around me. Even Vaughn. No one knows what to do with me, so they figure I should be allowed to do whatever I want, I guess.

Well, I want to be a bitch. Because I’m angry about something. I’m not even sure what it is. I’m just angry.

Asher is still talking but I tune him out.

I’m trying to figure out what’s got me so pissed off and I just can’t seem to get a hold of it. I get another kiss and I make an effort and throw the covers back. “Sorry,” I say as he walks away. “I’m grumpy.”

He stops and takes a deep breath. But he doesn’t turn back. “I’ll see you tonight, OK?”

I nod but say nothing.

And he leaves.

Good going, Grace. I guess you got what you wanted.
I throw the covers back over my head and try to go back to sleep. I lie there for thirty minutes until I give up and reach under my pillow for my phone to find Bebe’s face. I press it and wait for it to ring.

“
Hola
, bitch,” she says in her chirpy Bebe tone. “What’s shakin’ bacon?”

This makes me smile immediately. She’s so stupid. “Your tits, as usual. Those giant knockers are gonna take your eye out one of these days.”

“Totally. But I got them strapped in at the moment.”

“You at work?”

“Yup. Did you know that sweaty guys in a gym, who beat each other up for a living in a ring they call a cage, are hot as fucking hell?”

I smile wider. “So, Steve’s two-hour parking limit is up, I take it?”

“So up. Dude, he was talking about kids. Do you believe that shit? I am not mother material. I mean, seriously. Anyone who knows me knows I am not mother material. I’m fun party material. I want no ties for at least ten more years. I’m all about enjoying your youth while you have it.”

“Did he cry?” I laugh. Bebe has been known to make men cry. Hell, Vaughn is even afraid of her.

“Almost. Pffft. Wimp. So what’s up with you,
chica
? Living
la vida loca
?”

Fucking Bebe. I miss her so damn much. “Eh. I’m at home in bed. Vaughn is working. So… eh. I’m at home in bed.”

“What’s wrong?”

I hesitate. Because even though a few minutes ago I was trying to pretend that I didn’t know what was wrong, I know what’s wrong. “I feel like… going home.”

“You are home.”

I take a deep breath. “No.
My
home.”

The silence hurts. It really does. But I suppose my words hurt Bebe even more.

“Why?” she finally asks. “I mean, after all these years. Why now?”

“I don’t know. It’s a bad idea?”

“Such a bad idea.”

I knew it.

“But,” she adds after a few seconds, “if you need to go, Grace, then you should go.”

“I have a private jet. Well, I mean, I have one available to me. As Mrs. Asher. I’m coming right now.”

“Now? But I’m at work.”

God, I love my adopted sister. She just naturally assumes we’d do this together. “That’s OK, Bebe. I can go alone. Really. It’s not a big deal. In fact, I want to go alone.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. How about I call you later and maybe we can have dinner?”

“OK.”

She sounds hesitant, so I say goodbye and quickly hang up before she can ask any more questions. I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want her to feel obligated.

I stare at my phone for a few seconds to get up my nerve. When Vaughn gave me this phone the day after we came home from the hospital, it had all his contacts in it already. His agent. Big Hollywood producers and movie stars. Restaurants he frequents. And the flight coordinator.

I press that tab now and tell them I want to go to Denver. It’s a three-hour drive up to the town I grew up in from Denver, but I can use the thinking time. Plus, I don’t want those people to know I’m coming. I don’t know why, but I don’t want them to know I’m coming. And if I take a jet up to that little airstrip, they will know.

Once the arrangements are made, I get up and take a shower and get dressed. I skip breakfast—they always serve food on the jet—and then I climb into the Audi Vaughn says is mine, and drive out to the airport.

By the time I get there, it’s fueled, the captain is on board, and the only thing missing is me. Vaughn didn’t call and ask me what the hell I’m doing, so I can only assume they didn’t inform him of my plans.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief at that because he’d have all kinds of questions. And I’m not ready to answer those questions.

I really just want some space. I need some space to put things together.

I spend the next few hours staring off into said space. Just thinking.

Thinking about too many things, if I’m honest. About the kidnapping. Both times. About Vaughn. About my leg. It’s better, almost one hundred percent better, but it was very painful. You know, in movies and books they always make it look like getting shot in the leg is no big deal. Well, it was a big fucking deal. My scar is four inches long. It took me three weeks before I could walk without a crutch, and then it took weeks more of physical therapy to get rid of the limp.

The first time I was taken, I came back with no injuries. I mean, he injured me plenty during those eight months. But there was no medical attention required. I didn’t need fixing. I was fine.

This time it’s different. This time everyone knew I was damaged and that I needed attention. And believe me, I got a lot of attention. I almost prefer no attention. In fact, I know I’d prefer no attention.

I like to blend in.

I like to lie low.

I like to be still, and quiet and—