In His World (For His Pleasure, Book 28) (10 page)

She felt like his cock was tickling the back of her throat, and tears came to her eyes.

“Christ,” he whispered.

She bobbed her head and went for still more.

It was like a test—like a mountain to climb. She wanted to win, to get the best all-time score, to climb the highest.

She wanted to take more of Brody than any woman ever had.

Straining, her nostrils flaring, she stretched further still, her lips curling around and suctioning to his balls as he thrust and fucked her mouth.

“Shit, I’m going to come,” he said, sounding surprised.

Suddenly, he reached around and pulled her pants down with one quick motion, pulling them over her hips with force. Her pants and panties came down her thighs all at once.

“Stick that ass up in the air and point it at me. I’m going to fuck that pussy and come in it, baby.”

She was catching her breath, having released his huge member from her mouth finally.

Brody’s jaw was set and determined. He spun her around so she faced away from him. “What—“ she started.

“Ass in the air,” he said, pulling her hips up and cracking her buttocks with the flat of his palm. “Listen. Do as I say.”

Her cheek was pressed against the warm leather of the backseat now. Her right hand and arm was crunched between the side of her head and the seatback, while her left arm was dangling off the seat, hand pressed into the floor of the vehicle.

Her butt was angled upwards, her breasts pushing down as she arched her back. As uncomfortable as the position was, she knew what he was after.

He wanted to fuck her doggystyle.

And she was so ready—despite her surprise at his quick demands.

She’d thought he just wanted a blowjob, but here he was, fucking her. Brody’s tip was sliding into her wet folds, and Chloe gasped with pleasure as he thrust fully into her tight slit and then pressured all the way in, filling her.

His hips slapped against her backside. She was half-riding him, but he had total control of her hips, and his arms were so strong that he could maneuver her as he saw fit.

She cried out, moaning as he hipped into her again, splitting her with his huge prick.

“Oh, fuck,” she moaned.

“I’m going to come inside you now. Shoot everything into you.”

He began speeding up, thrusting quickly, and Chloe found herself climaxing, releasing as she felt him releasing inside her.

She knew this was somehow wrong, dirty and strange and completely irresponsible. And yet she couldn’t help herself—she wanted it too.

“Goddamn your pussy makes me come,” he shouted, as his strong hips smashed into her backside over and over again.

She climaxed twice in the space of just half a minute.

Brody’s thrusts died down and his body shuddered, before he finally pulled out and let her go.

Chloe sat up, pulling up her pants and trying to comport herself again.

Brody had already pulled up his pants and was relaxed, watching her as she fussily smoothed her hair.

“That was…unexpected,” she said.

He didn’t smile. “Was it really?”

“It was for me,” she said. She wondered how much the driver had heard, and decided she didn’t want to know.

Not long after that, the car pulled into the airport and almost directly onto the tarmac where Brody’s private jet was waiting.

Brody grabbed his satchel in one hand and then took Chloe’s hand quickly and squeezed. “Things are going to get intense. Just remember, I brought you on board because I want you here, Chloe.”

She looked at him, her heart fluttering at his words and his eyes that seemed able to read her so easily. She was scared. Scared about losing control, scared about being sucked into Brody Hawk’s high-flying world of danger and relentless competition.

Could she handle it?

Could she handle him?

They got out of the car and headed onto the private jet.

As she made her way on, following behind Brody, she was immediately taken aback by the raucous noise from the other passengers. The place was packed full of people, and all of them knew Brody—they cheered his arrival as if he was the Messiah.

There were a few men in business suits sitting up front, older men with graying hair. They raised champagne glasses.

“Lawyers,” Brody said, turning back and giving her a wink as they passed by.

Past the lawyers, were scantily clad women—the kinds of women that Chloe was certain were more of a Brody Hawk type. Big breasts, big butts, big lips and loud voices. They were drinking, shaking their business in full view of the rest of the men on board the plane.

And then there were the reporters, who began accosting Brody with questions about his upcoming fight and minutia regarding his training regimen and his finances.

Other than the reporters, there were a few men that seemed to be fighters like Brody. They were huddled together on the other side of the plane. One approached Brody and gave him a quick handshake.

Brody introduced the young man to Chloe.

“This is Vernon “Ace” Johnston,” Brody said. “He’s the best one hundred and fifty four pounder on the planet. And he’s my main training partner.”

“Nice to meet you,” Chloe said, offering a smile.

Vernon stared at her in a way she was becoming familiar with. His eyes had a coldness and an evaluating quality—like he was sizing her up. He had a deep scar over one eyebrow. “Hey,” he mumbled.

“Vernon’s not a big talker,” Brody whispered, putting a hand lightly on her lower back. “But I have some business to discuss, so just do your best.”

Then he left her alone with the strange man and went up front to sit down with his lawyers. He’d left his briefcase over on one of the empty seats nearby.

“You drink?” Vernon asked her sharply.

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“I’ll get you some champagne. The stuff is practically coming out of the faucets around here.” He turned and walked towards the back of the plane, where there were tables full of food and drink.

Chloe was already overwhelmed and feeling confused.

The plane was starting to rumble to life, but nobody bothered sitting down. But she wasn’t crazy, so she went and took her seat next to the seat where Brody had placed his satchel.

She sat back, buckled herself in, and tried to calm down.

Remember, he wants you here. You belong
.

But she didn’t feel like she belonged at all. This whole private jet thing was surreal and made her question everything. What kind of man was Brody Hawk? Why did he travel with this enormous entourage?

Was he sleeping with any or all of those skanky women?

Chloe put a hand to her belly as the plane rumbled to life and started moving. Vernon came back and handed her a glass of champagne. “See you around,” he said, grinning, and then left her alone.

She closed her eyes.

The plane lifted off the ground and she stared out the window at the blinking lights below.

Up front, Brody now huddled with his lawyers.

Behind her, some people were singing and dancing, others were playing poker.

Most were drinking.

She sipped her champagne and turned to stare at the satchel. It occurred to her that she’d never taken a copy of the contract for herself.

Why she decided to do it at that moment, Chloe couldn’t say. Maybe it was just to distract herself from the fear and uncertainty of this new venture.

Maybe she had a sixth sense that something was off…wrong.

Whatever it was, Chloe opened the briefcase and searched through its contents to try and find her contract.

But before she came across the papers she was ostensibly looking for, she found something else.

Something impossibly jarring.

Her heart seemed to stop beating in her chest. Her mouth went dry.

In her hands, she held a series of pages that were obviously medical records. And that wasn’t the strange part.

The strange part was the name on the medical records.

It was her name in black and white.

They were her medical records. Everything was there—intimate details about her health, what she’d been treated for, her vital signs over time, descriptions of exams she’d had going back years. They were all there in Brody’s valise.

A cold chill went through her.

And she knew, at that very moment, that Brody Hawk had been lying to her.

I
was looking
into the eyes of The Panty Dropper.

I squirmed a bit in my seat in the conference room and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. My first day on the job and we were talking about this specimen of a man, who I only knew by one name:
The Panty Dropper
.

All five women who were at the meeting, notepads and pens out and ready to work, oohed and gushed over the photos being passed around. They all looked so smart and chic, dressed in stylish tops and perfectly-fitted dresses, accessorized and styled to the max—all to go to work. I’d put in half the effort, even though it was my first day on the job.

I guess when I thought of a writer I saw someone in yoga pants and a topknot. I’d done a little better than that—black, loose pants and a button down with flats. I thought I couldn’t go wrong, but looking around the table, I knew I was out of my league.

Even the view of the Hollywood sign off in the smoggy distance couldn’t hide the fact that I was in over my head. After applying to every magazine, newspaper, journal and news site I could find, it had been
Crush
, and only
Crush
, who agreed to hire me.

Turns out employers want editors with experience and writers with bylines, but how could I get the experience if no one would hire me? Luckily
Crush
took a chance on me and I was grateful for the work—even if I didn’t read the magazine—and anxious to get my first assignment. I wanted to make a good impression. I just didn’t think that at my first meeting on my first day, we’d be talking about someone named The Panty Dropper, whose chiseled face was scattered across the conference table in more than a dozen photographs, from paparazzi shots to red carpet events.

“Look at her, she’s blushing,” said one of the girls, watching me with a smirk.

“I bet they don’t have men like that back in Maine, do they?” asked the girl sitting next to her, and the two laughed.

“No, I bet Maine men are outstanding,” said the first. “I bet they’re all chopping wood in red flannel shirts, muscles bulging…”

“I think I see some bulge in this picture,” said the girl next to me, leaning over to take a closer look at the photo. Everyone laughed.

“Alexa, Bethany, let’s pretend we’re professionals,” said Kait, the magazine’s editor in chief. “And be nice to the new girl. Actually, before we get into the good stuff, why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone?”

Kait stared down at me from the head of the conference table. Everyone quieted, and all eyes turned on me. Now they could all get a good look at this stupid outfit I’d chosen for my first day at work, this cheap, ill-fitting ridiculousness that made me look, I now realized, more fitted for sitting in a retirement home than sitting in the offices of one the top women’s magazines in the country. I’d overthought my wardrobe last night, something I did far too often, and never to good results.

“Um, hi,” I said, giving a funny little wave to the other women in the City Living department of the magazine, the same department I’d been hired to work in. I dropped my hand back in my lap. “Yeah, I'm Sophie Scott. From Maine. Um, I just graduated and I’m, well, really happy to be here.”

They kept looking at me, waiting, for what I had no idea. I could hear the a/c click on, and a chill went down my arm.

“Okay, then,” Kait said, looking bored and unimpressed. God, I was blowing it already. “That’s Sophie who graduated from Maine.”

“I didn’t graduate from—” I began.

“Now let’s get back to work,” Kait finished, not knowing or caring that she cut me off. Which was fine. I was there at
Crush
to do a great job. I’d listen, and learn, and work really hard. That was my goal. Do well, and move on to a better, more intellectual magazine or journal and work on something more substantive than the fluff they wrote here…

I think their big think piece for the newest issue was “how to have an orgasm in less than ten seconds.”

Oh, no
, I suddenly thought. What if I had to write an orgasm story someday soon? I slunk down in my seat a little lower, not wanting anyone to look at me for any reason. It was my first editorial meeting, and I was there to listen. Nothing more.

“Back to The Panty Dropper,” Kait said, pointing to the photo before me. “We all know who he is—or do we? Sophie, do you know who that man is?”

I looked back at the photo before me. It showed a man in a slim blue suit and dark sunglasses walking purposefully across a street. Frankly, it looked like a fashion shot for the magazine, but it was a paparazzi shot. From the full-body picture it was clear this guy was fit—I could practically see the muscles in his thighs and biceps beneath the tailored suit. His dark brown hair was thick and wavy. His jaw was hard and defined—like the rest of him, if pictures don’t lie. He was incredibly handsome.

But as to who, exactly, he was? I didn’t know. But I didn’t want the others to know that I was clueless.

“Right, the panty dropper,” I began. “He’s that guy, everyone knows him.” I nod my head enthusiastically, as if what I’m saying actually means something. “He’s that really famous guy, he’s rich, successful…” Looking at the picture, I could just see panties falling out of his pocket because he was so successful. At his job. Selling panties?

I could already hear Alexa and Bethany across the conference table snickering at me as I spun my wheels.

Kait let out a deep, disappointed sigh. She leaned across the table and took the picture from before me. “This, as most of you know, is Leo Armstrong, twenty-seven, the most sought-after bachelor in all of L.A. and the head of relative newcomer Epix Studios.”

“Also their youngest head in history,” said Bethany. Unlike me, she was dressed simply and fashionably in a slim, cap-sleeved green dress. I tugged on the collar of my shirt, a new level of discomfort filling me.

“I’d like to give him head,” muttered Alexa, and none too quietly either. They barely tried to stifle their laughs.

Kait ignored them. “Leo Armstrong is the president of Epix Studios. Every girl L.A., from the fledging starlet to the seasoned Oscar winner wants to sleep with him or at least get an audition with him—”

“On his couch,” said Alexa, and Bethany swatted her arm.

“And of all the women he’s dated,” Kait continued, “and there have been a lot, no one knows anything about him personally. There’s never been even the tiniest whisper of what it’s like to date him. He’s the most famous person in this town and no one knows what he’s really like. We’re going to change that.” Her sharp eyes took in all the women at the table. Then she said, “One of you is going to date Leo Armstrong.”

A hush fell over the room. No one was laughing anymore.

Even though I didn’t know these women—I didn’t even know all their names, save for Bethany, Alexa and Renee, the girl who sat next me, studiously taking notes—I realized I was excited for them. If this guy were some famous Hollywood big shot, plus totally hot, it would be a fun story to work on. Who wouldn’t want to date a rich famous guy and write about it? My dating experience was limited, relegated to Paul, who I dated for a couple of years in college, and who cheated on me. The worst part was, he wasn’t even that good looking. I’d spent my college years so focused on my studies so that I could get a great job as soon as I graduated. Now I saw the irony of limited dating experience as I sat in the offices of a magazine dedicated to the art of the blow job.

“This guy is the classic womanizer,” Kait said. “He dates, and discards, one after another. But what goes on behind closed doors? That’s what
Crush
is going to find out. I want to know everything about him, and not just boring things like how he takes his coffee and if he snores. I want to know how he treats these women. Does he bother acting like a gentleman? Is he boring? Selfish? Does he have something to say? Is he more than just good looks and loads of money? How big is his dick?”

Everybody burst into laughter, and I tried to chuckle appreciatively, as I felt my face flush yet again.

“Everyone in L.A. wants to date this guy,” said Renee. “You said so yourself. But how does anyone get that date? How are we going to infiltrate this guy’s world and get him to take one of us out on a date?”

“Multiple dates,” Bethany said, and when Alexa gave her a look, she said, “No, seriously. You can’t write an exposé off of one date.”

“Yeah, not to mention the fact that there’s no way Leo Armstrong is going to date a
journalist
,” Alexa said. “A celebrity dating a journalist would be like a compulsive eater dating a chef. Leo would never trust a writer, and so we’re shot in the foot before we even get started.”

“Plus,” Renee said, “how do we get that first meeting?” she asked to Kait. “Honestly, if I knew where to bump into Leo Armstrong I’d be there right now.”

“I’m not saying this is going to be easy,” Kait said. “But I’ve put a lot of thought into it and I have a plan. One of the first things we’ll do, as Alexa brought up, is have you use a false name and occupation. Leo Armstrong can’t know he’s dating a writer at
Crush
magazine. What I still don’t have, though, is the undercover agent who’s going to do this gig.” She looked around the room at the six of us who made up the City Living section of the magazine. I’d been hired as the voice of The New Girl, the magazine’s “fun, flirty” column about getting adjusted to L.A. life. And believe me, I had a thousand ideas because L.A. is worlds apart from Maine, and I don’t just mean the three-thousand miles, either.

Kait looked around the room at all the women and I noticed, with some relief, that she didn’t look at me. Obviously I’d never get this assignment—it was a big gig, and she’d want one of her seasoned writers on the job.

“Kait, I’ll just go ahead and say I’d love the job,” Bethany said, sitting up straight. “I’ve got lots of experience under my belt, and I really think my piece on dating older men set me up for this type of story.”

“Leo Armstrong is only twenty-seven,” Alexa said. “Besides, with my background in theater, I could really play the part because isn’t that what undercover is—playing a role? Kait, I could do this, no problem. And you once said my stories were the easiest to edit because they were so clean—grammatically speaking, of course.”

Bethany shot Alexa a look, and just like that, it looked like the two besties had pitted themselves against each other.

“But I have more journalism experience,” Bethany said.

“Writing restaurant reviews for a local Orange County free magazine?” Alexa said. “Please. Kait, honestly, I know I’d be great for this if you’d just…”

“And so will I, I’ll be better—”

“Girls,” Kait said, holding up a hand. “Easy on the sales pitch. I’m not making any rash decisions here.”

“Look at these pictures,” said Renee, “and all the women he’s been with.” She took two, and held them up. “There are eight here, and more on the Internet that I didn’t pull. He clearly has a type. Out of all of us, there is one person who seems like his exact type. It’s
her
.”

The room was quiet, and when I looked up I realized Bethany had been speaking to me. I even pointed to myself and said, “Who—me?”

I felt my pulse beginning to pound increasingly faster.

“She’s right,” Kait said, really examining the photos. She picked up a photo of Leo riding bicycles with a brunette in Manhattan. “Looks just like her.” Her eyes widened. “The bone structure, the lips, the eyes…”

“I don’t believe this,” said Alexa.

I saw only a passing resemblance to the beauty in the photo, and that was mostly due to the long dark hair. And she probably wore extensions anyway.

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. And I laughed. A stupid, sputtering laugh.

“Well, I,” I began. “I mean, of course I’m up for whatever you want,” I said to Kait. “But I’m sure you want someone with more experience. Either of you guys would be better than me,” I said to Alexa and Bethany, who looked at me with narrowed eyes.

Kait fixed her sharp eyes on me and said, “When I hired you, you told me you were a hard worker who was willing to do whatever was best for the magazine.”

“I know but...”

“And we’ll be there for you,” Kait said. “
I’ll
be there for you. I’ll be your direct editor on this story and will help you through it.”

“Kait, you can’t be serious,” said Bethany. “She just got here. From Maine. And you’re going to trust her with this? No disrespect but that’s crazy.”

Bethany was right—it was crazy. Yeah, the writing and investigative part of it frightened me, but in a good sense. It’d be a challenge but I wasn’t afraid of a challenge. After all, I’d packed up my life and moved all the way out here knowing exactly zero people. What worried me the most was Leo Armstrong. The intimidation of this guy came right off the glossy photos scattered across the table. I could handle the writing—but could I handle the subject?

They wanted me to date this big celebrity, and dating was far from my strong suit…

“No, Renee is right,” Kait said. “Sophie looks the part. She’s a good writer or I wouldn’t have hired her. And I think her innocence will lend itself well to the subject. He’d never guess a sweet little New England girl is out to get him.” The look in Kait’s eyes made it clear that she was living for the day she busted Leo Armstrong. It made me squirm in my seat. That and the fact that—was this really happening? Was she going to make me do this job?

“She’ll need a makeover, in the very least,” Alexa said.

“Not to mention wardrobe,” Bethany said, looking me down.

“Good thing we have entire sections of this floor dedicated to fashion and beauty,” Kait said. “With the right makeup and hair and clothes, we can make Sophie look like Leo’s dream girl.” And then, after thinking some more, she looked at me and said, “Congratulations, Sophie. You just received your first assignment.”

“Lucky girl,” said Renee.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Bethany.

In my head I knew they were both right. I
was
lucky, and it was completely unbelievable. It was also totally out of my league.