Smitten - Lauren Rowe Page 0,59
to my hard cock, readying myself for the singular beauty I’m about to behold. “I’m ready.”
Her nostrils flaring, she leans into her camera and gives me a little kiss. And then, she pans her camera down, showing me the pink fabric of her tank, before, suddenly, without warning, pulling the fabric down and exposing her perky breast and hard nipple. And, just like that, I’m on the bitter cusp of coming.
Her face returns to the screen. “You’re the first boy to see that, ever.”
“You’re gorgeous. That almost got me there.”
“You’re close?”
“Very close.” My balls tighten. Tingles shoot through my dick in my hand. “I’m so fucking close.”
She leans into her camera and speaks in a sultry voice. “God, I wish I could lie down in that bed with you, naked, and touch your hard dick the way you’re touching it right now.”
Well, that does it. With a strained grunt, I come onto my stomach, while doing God knows what with my face.
“And there it is,” Alessandra whispers, apparently reading my facial expression to a T.
I take a few deep breaths and smile at her. “That was a damned good one. Hearing your voice was really hot for me. Thank you.”
“You’re very, very welcome.” She flashes me a naughty smile. “I touched myself toward the end there. I didn’t finish, though. I’ll do that after we hang up.”
“We don’t have to hang up for you to do that.”
“No, we do. I’m not as brave as you yet.”
Yet.
“Okay, baby. Whatever is comfortable for you. Like you said. Baby steps. We’ll do everything at your pace.”
“Thank you.” She smiles beautifully. “Good night, Matthew. My loverrrrrr.”
“Good night, Little Lioness. Sweet dreams.”
“They’re always sweet, because I always dream of you.”
She leans into her camera with puckered lips, and I do the same.
“Huge congrats on your record deal, you little badass.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yes, you could. Send me whatever paperwork Reed sends you. I’ll ask our lawyer to take a look.”
“Oh. Thank you. That didn’t occur to me.”
“Reed would never try to screw you over, given the dynamics. But let’s take a look, anyway.”
“What would I do without you?” She flashes me a beaming smile that lights my soul. “Oh, Fish. Matthew. I’m counting down the days until I see you again.”
“Me, too, sweetheart. Honestly, I’m counting the minutes. The seconds.”
She flashes me a lovely smile. “Me, too. Good night now, my darling.”
“Good night, beautiful. Talk soon.”
Twenty
Alessandra
I rush into my small kitchen, throw my keys onto the counter, and immediately start making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’ve got just enough time to stuff some food down my throat and change into my work clothes before racing to the café for my shift. But midway through making my sandwich, my phone rings—and when I look at the screen, I drop the knife in my hand like a hot potato.
Reed.
The big boss hardly ever calls me personally. It’s always Owen, his right-hand man, or Zeke, the hotshot who produced my single. In the end, Zeke Emmanuel turned out to be every bit as talented and brilliant as his reputation suggested. After recording all the musicians for my song in LA, including Fish on bass, Zeke came to Boston to personally coach me through recording my vocals.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hello, Alessandra. It’s Reed. How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Great. Listen, a bunch of my A-listers are playing at a charity concert in New York at the end of next week. Georgie and I will be there, and I’d like you to come, too.”
“I’m already coming to that show as Fish’s guest!”
“Perfect. I should have known. Now, listen. There’s going to be an army of prestigious music journalists there, backstage before the show, and I’ve arranged for a couple of them to briefly interview you.”
“Me?”
“Don’t freak out on me, kid. Georgie will be there, so she can be your emotional support animal, as needed. And the interviews will be extremely brief.”
“Okay,” I squeak out. “Sounds great.”
“Oh for the love of fuck, Ally. Aren’t we past this shit now?”
“What shit?”
“The shit where you clam up when you’re stressed out?”
“Uh, no. We’re not past that shit. I don’t think we’ll ever be past that shit. Sorry.”
Reed sighs. “There’s nothing to worry about. With all the big names performing that night, nobody’s going to give a rat’s ass about little Alessandra Tennison and her debut single, no matter how much I try to talk you up. The journalists who’ve agreed to interview you aren’t doing it because they give a