Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(55)
“Bye, Blakey,” cooed the twins. I heard the door slam shut before I could remove my tie from my eyes. Fuck them! The brats had blue-balled me. Wrapping my fingers around my aching cock, I finished what they’d started. As I stroked up and down my rigid length, her sweet voice resounded in my head. “I have to kiss you,” and at those words, my cock exploded in my hand. For the first time in my life, the memory of a kiss had brought me to the point of no return. I had to find her, see her again. I clambered to pull up my pants, and after tucking my cock inside, I dashed out the door. Back inside the club, my eyes circled the crowded, pulsing room, then darted left and right. She wasn’t at a table, at the bar, or on the dance floor. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room. I waited patiently for her return, my roaming eyes on the lookout. “Blurred Lines” was blasting, and clubbers were wildly singing and dancing along. Ten long, desperate minutes passed. Fuck. That girl was gone. Out of my life.
My mind returned to the moment. Where was this new girl? She definitely must be lost. I set my eyes on my computer screen and scanned the latest ratings report. Our prime time and late night ratings were through the roof, but as usual, our daytime ratings were lackluster. I just didn’t get why our porn lineup in the morning wasn’t getting eyeballs. Big dicks f*cking preened pussies weren’t cutting it. Something was missing.
“Mr. Burns?” A sweet voice at my doorway diverted my attention, and I looked up from the screen. In tandem, my eyes blinked, my body jerked, and my cock tensed. Subtly for her not to notice.
Though her neat auburn bun, prim tweed suit, and tortoiseshell glasses made her look like some bookworm who should be working at a corporate law office, I swear I’d recognize that face anywhere—with its dewy-skin complexion, delicate bone structure, and those expressive, turned-up lips. Someone pinch me. I must be dreaming. But there she was. That girl I’d kissed last night. In fact, her lips were still swollen. Holy f*cking shit!
“Hi, I’m Jennifer McCoy.”
It took several long moments for my brain to communicate with my mouth. I cleared my throat and licked my lips. “Please come in and take a seat.”
Unlike last night when she was blindfolded and took short hesitant steps, she strode into my office with a strong confident gait and lowered herself onto one of the two armchairs facing me. She placed her shoulder bag and briefcase on the floor next to her and crossed her shapely, long legs. I had the burning urge to uncross them.
“So, Ms. McCoy—”
“You can call me Jennifer.”
Okay, let’s start over. “So, Jen-ni-fer, you come highly recommended by my boss, Saul Bernstein.” God, I loved saying her name. It sucked the air out of my lungs.
She flashed a small smile. Two little dimples winked at her kissable lips. My cock twitched and I continued.
“However, I’m not sure why someone with a passion for children’s television would want to work for a porn channel.”
Without flinching, she held my gaze steady. “Adults are no different than children. They need to be entertained.”
That was a fact. And that’s why we referred to our network and programming as “adult entertainment.” I wasn’t done testing her. Or studying her—especially her eyes. Her blindfold had hidden them from me last night, and after she’d disappeared, I kept imagining what they looked like. I thought they might be brown or blue and deep-set. But they were wide-set and green—the greenest eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. When she blinked, it was if they were two leaves fluttering in the wind. I caught my breath.
“Well, it’s one thing to tell a producer of a cartoon that he—”
“Or she,” she interrupted.
“Or she needs to make the shaggy dog bark louder, but it’s another to tell the producer of a porn flick that his female star who’s being shagged needs to scream louder.”
“Not a problem,” she said flatly.
“Well, then, let’s pretend I’m the producer, and I’m not quite sure what you want. Can you please demonstrate?”
“Sure.” She cleared her throat and then took off her glasses, setting them on my desk. Fuck. Her eyes were beautiful.
My gaze stayed fixed on them as she flung her head back, and a look of torturous pleasure washed over her face. It was identical to the expression on her face last night as I held her head back and f*cked her mouth with my tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Oh, baby, yes! Make me come! Oh God! Oh, yes, Yes, YES!” Each breathy “yes” was louder than the one before, the last one a roar so loud I thought the whole office would hear her. Holy shit. This girl was a f*cking tiger. Beneath my desk, my cock was applauding. Was this how Ms. McCoy, M.A., came, or was she just a great actress? If the latter, this girl should be starring in porn flicks, not giving script notes.
“Was that loud and clear enough?” she asked matter-of-factly, staring me in the face. A slight blush colored her cheeks.
I felt heated. Flushed and flustered. And I could feel my cock uncomfortably strain against my fly. Fuck this girl. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to work with her, but I had no choice.
Collecting myself, I said, “So, I assume you’ll be able to work long hours. Be on the set if necessary to oversee a shoot. Even at wee hours in the morning.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to do a great job.”