Wardrobe Malfunction(11)

But Vaughn smells outdoorsy. Like cinder and spice. Like he just got back from a stint in the woods, chopping trees.

He smells good. It’s doing wonderful things to my girl parts.

I want to take a deep breath and swallow a lungful of him.

This is what two years of sex with only a vibrator and my imagination for company does.

Don’t think of the imaginary sex you’ve had with him in your head.

Don’t do it.

Of course I think about it. My brain flashes to the scene where he has me in the shower, up against the tiled wall, fucking me like a maniac. Exactly the same as what he did in the scene with Martha Vance in Ricochet. Lucky bitch. I just replaced her face with my own. I always come hard and fast to that one. It’s my favorite.

And, now, my whole body is on fire because I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face that I’m having sex thoughts about him.

Jesus Christ.

Forcing my mind back to work, I step back and look over the pants, making sure to check the fit and not the bulge in the front.

“How do they feel?” I ask.

“Fine.”

“They look a little loose around the inner thigh and crotch area,” I muse, tapping my finger to my chin.

“Are you saying I have skinny thighs and a small package?”

“What? God, no!” And, of course, my eyes go straight to said package. “I just meant that the pants are slightly oversized in that area, and you need them more fitted, not that you have a small cock—package! I mean, package!”

Holy fuck, someone, please stop me.

My face is on fire, and I’m sweating like a donkey pulling a fat man on a cart.

“Chill.” He laughs once. It’s deep and throaty and sexy as hell. “I’m kidding with you.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Cool.” I take a deep breath, pressing my hand to my chest.

Needing a moment to cool my face down, I turn to the table, get my wrist pincushion, which is already loaded up with pins, and fasten it to my wrist.

I turn back to him, feeling a little more in control, and without looking him in the face, I get down to my knees in front of him, putting me at cock-level.

I’m on my knees in front of Vaughn West. Sure, I’m only pinning his pants, but still…it’s one for the books.

“Okay, so if you could just spread your legs a little for me, that’d be great.”

I hear those words back in my head and want to die. Thankfully, he doesn’t comment and just shifts his stance, parting his legs for me.

I try to relax because I am nervous…because he’s him.

Come on, Charly, you’ve done this a thousand times. He’s just a man.

A hot, gorgeous, famous man. But a man all the same.

Sucking in a silent breath, I start on the right inner thigh, hemming the material in and tacking it with pins. Vaughn tenses.

Lots of people get uncomfortable when I’m doing this. I mean, it is weird, having a stranger this close who is sticking pins in the clothes you’re wearing.

I shift over to his left leg, and he tenses again. Discomfort is radiating from him, which is making me feel uncomfortable.

He clears his throat.

I look up at him. His brows are pinched. He looks like he’s in pain.

“Almost done,” I tell him.

Now, for the crotch area.

I’ve been purposely keeping my eyes away from this part of his body, but now, I have no choice but to look.

And…oh my God.

He’s got a boner. Well, not a boner, boner, but there’s definitely a semi going on there.

Then, it hits me.

Vaughn West has a semi over me.

The things that is doing for my self-confidence right now.

I feel like doing an air punch. And possibly another twerk.

But, of course, I’m a professional, so I pretend not to notice. Expression schooled—and I can’t even begin to tell you how hard that is, pun intended—I say to him, “Okay, a few more pins, and we’re done.”

I take a pin from the cushion and turn the fabric in to pin it. As I move my hand, my knuckles accidentally—and, I swear, it’s an accident—brush against him. His hips jerk forward right as I’m pushing the pin in the material of his pants, and— “Jesus! Fuck!” he yells, jumping back away from me.

I stare up at him in shock.

Oh, shit. No…

Please no.

I just stabbed Vaughn West in the cock with a pin.

I just stabbed the world’s biggest movie star. With a pin. In his cock.

I snap into action, leaping to my feet. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that! It was an accident, I swear! I can’t believe I stabbed you in your cock! I mean, penis! Oh, Jesus.” I cover my face with my hands.

“Ball sack.” He moans a pained sound.

I drop my hands. “What?”

“You got me in my ball sack, not my cock. Jesus, fuck, this hurts! What did you stab me with? A knife?”

“A pin. And it was only a small one.”

The glare he fixes me with makes me want to piss my pants.

“I really am sorry. So, so sorry.” I wince.

I’m so fired.

“Let me help you.” I move toward him, but he backs away from me.

“Seriously, stay the fuck away. I can’t believe you just stabbed me.”