I sit.
He sits so close our knees touch.
My entire body lights up like I swallowed a live wire.
Contract
Freddie slides the stack of papers across the table, his lawyer beside him like a stiff corpse in a suit. The bespectacled man starts to hold out his hand in a greeting.
Freddie shoots him a look and he yanks it back.
He clears his throat. “This outlines the compensation, the term, NDAs, likeness rights, creative collaboration, safety protocols?—”
Zane cuts him off. “She owns the storyline. Full stop. I want that in writing.”
The attorney blinks. “That’s… unusual.”
Zane growls. “So am I. Make it work.”
That… shouldn’t make me warm. But it does. God help me, itreallydoes.
The lawyer makes several notes in the margin, then slides it back across the table to me. I flip through the pages, scanning the sections, pretending I understand legalese on two hours of sleep, a near-traumatic experience of being a rockstar’s obsession, and one killer piano orgasm.
But over and over, one line jumps out at me:Total Compensation: $1,000,000.00 USD.Paid in full upon signature.
I swallow hard.
Zane nudges me with his knee. “Breathe, baby.”
I hate how my chest loosens at the gruff sound of his voice.
He leans in, whispering just for me, “But don’t forget, you sign this, and you’re mine. On camera. On stage. Off it. Every place in between.”
My breath catches. God, he smells like sweat and sin and adrenaline. But…I shake my head, hoping for two seconds of clarity, breathing in relief when I find it.
“Zane,” I whisper, trying to keep my head straight. “I said I’d do the video. The rest…” I can’t say it. I can’t admit how badly my body wants what he promised.
And when I turn my head, he brings his fingers to his nose and inhales long and deep, his eyes locked on mine.
The memory of those fingers inside me, crooking and coaxing an orgasm splashes across all reason.
I want more of it.
Fuck, I need so much more.
He sees my wavering, then my downfall. Triumph blazes in his eyes as he makes a low noise, all hunger and frustration.
“Just sign the fucking papers so I can get you upstairs.”
I sign.
6
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
RUBY
Standing in the middle of Zane Draven’s master suite in his sprawling Hollywood mansion, his broad shoulders blocking the doorway of the bedroom he just rushed us into, his eyes burning into me like he’s memorizing every curve, every breath, I realize just how deep I’m in.
