21. Celeste
Chapter 21
Celeste
Cora
I really need to fire Lily.
Me
You haven’t done it yet?
Cora
She moved to NYC to become an actress and she has no other prospects.
Me
Shit, but she can’t be destroying your business.
Saar
I’ll talk to Finn, he might be able to help.
Cora
And fast, please.
“ O kay, I think we can add that number at the beginning of the second act. See you tomorrow,” Leon bellows, while we all yawn and groan from the rigorous rehearsal he’s just put us through.
“The tyrant is grateful today, we should toast to that,” Jose whispers in my ear as we move backstage.
I chuckle and yawn again. “I’m exhausted. I can’t possibly go out tonight.”
“Traitor.” Jose bumps his hips against mine, but winks.
I shrug, stifling another yawn. I might have spent my night at the Park Avenue condo, but I certainly didn’t sleep. It felt like a good idea to get away from Caleb.
I didn’t mean to taunt him with that. In fact, I was sure he would welcome having me out of his hair. Out of his space. Out of his sight.
But the out-of-sight didn’t work for me, because he remained on my mind. The. Whole. Fucking. Night.
At dawn, realization hit me. I’ve been acting like a victim. It took me that long, sleepless night to acknowledge Caleb made no promises.
Yes, he could have acted with more courtesy the following morning. But we both needed time to adjust and process, and with Mia around, we didn’t have the space.
Still, I was wrong about it all. He didn’t turn his charm down because he was done with me. He freaked out—even hated—that he wasn’t.
I hope you’re ready for the consequences.
Am I? The question has been on my mind all day. Would I willingly dive into a situation that screams heartbreak? I shouldn’t.
And therein lies the problem. I want to.
It’s like Caleb’s orgasms robbed me of my self-preservation skills, my sanity, and my reasonable judgment. Like having fun with Caleb van den Linden is more important than protecting my heart.
Like we somehow connected, and he’s now willing to play longer than usual, and I’m content to let him.
Could it work?
Perhaps, if I go into it without hope.
After my colleagues and I get changed, all of us file out and round the corner.
“Oh, look, your secret admirer is back, Celeste.” Jose jerks his head to the other side of the street where a familiar SUV stands, just like that night when Caleb refused my indecent proposal.
My heart flutters, a smile stretching across my face. Caleb sent Peter to pick me up. Even though he’s done that before, the gesture spreads warmth through me .
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I call after my colleagues, and skip across the street.
The passenger window rolls down, and my husband’s handsome face makes my heart stop and restart.
Our eyes lock, and butterflies flap between my stomach and my chest. Don’t catch feelings, sotte .
The swooning is concerning because it threatens to break the boundaries I’m barely managing to keep up. Let’s just have fun.
“I didn’t expect a ride.” I lean on my elbows in the window.
“Well, I need you to ride my cock, and it’s a matter of emergency.” He smirks. His gaze increases my temperature, sizzling and inescapable.
“An emergency?” I drawl, straightening up.
“Get in the fucking car now,” he commands, opening the door.
Holy shit. I throw away all notions of a gentleman or feminism, because his demands might not speak to my intelligence, but they are a siren song to my body.
“What about Peter?” I whisper when I slide to the seat beside Caleb and the car moves.
“That’s what the partitions are for.” He cups my neck from behind and yanks me to him.
His kiss is urgent, almost desperate, like he really couldn’t wait a moment longer. His hand finds my breast while our tongues dance together.
My body responds to his closeness and his touch, goosebumps tingling across my skin while desire pools between my thighs.
We move with frantic urgency. My hands in his hair. His hands roaming, prodding, squeezing. Moans and grunts echo through the small space as we devour each other with insatiable hunger.
He hoists me and spins me round so I straddle him.
“What are we doing, Cal?” I cup his face, panting.
Like I already forgot my vow to just have fun. One kissing session pushed me close to that useless hope I promised to avoid.
He blinks a few times and then smirks. “Not fucking… yet.”
Why am I pushing this? As if by laying it all out, I could control the outcome? I can’t. And talking about it won’t protect me either. People fall in love. People fall out.
The problem is, I can see myself easily falling for this man. While before he instilled insecurity in me, now he empowers me. Yeah, people fall in and out, but let’s hope my fall won’t be fatal.
“You know what I mean.” I groan as his hands continue their exploration under my skirt, slipping into my panties and squeezing my ass .
“Why do we need to label it or name it? We’re both enjoying this physical connection. We cleared the morning-after awkwardness, so let’s just ride the wave.”
His words pierce through me like poisoned arrows, while he returns to kneading my behind and kissing my neck.
The poison spreads through me, tearing my insides apart, melting them in a pang of disappointment.
Did we clear anything? Apparently, this morning’s hate fuck cleared things out. I hope you’re ready for the consequences.
But like an addict, I can’t stop him.
Maybe it’s seeing him warming up around his daughter.
Or the new level of sexual experience he pulled me into on the landing of his loft.
Or something unknown—unreasonable—that my awareness doesn’t yet understand derails my survival instincts.
“But—”
He puts a finger over my mouth. “We can worry about tomorrow, or we can enjoy today. With the first, we’d only worry. With the latter, if tomorrow is shit, at least we had one day of fun.”
I snort. “Is that your motto?”
He winks, moves his hands across my hips, and shoves my underwear to the side, sliding his fingers between my folds.
“Looks like your pussy is on board with my life's philosophy. So wet for me, Celeste. Such a good girl.”
I must be an undiscovered glutton for praise, because I push away any thoughts and grind my hips against his hand.
“Greedy.” He chuckles.
He’s right. What’s the point in worrying about what might happen tomorrow, or a week from now? Your heart might disagree , a devil on my shoulder reminds me. This is just fun.
He plunges two fingers into me, and with his other hand he grabs my neck and pulls me to his lips.
The kiss is searing, fervent and so raw, it doesn’t match his casual ‘let’s ride the wave’ comment. I had meaningless sex before, and either Cal is a man who does everything with the utmost passion, or he’s hiding his true feelings.
The first is a probability, the latter is only my hope. No hope, sotte!
I’m a performer, and I can pretend this is just a show. And like after any show, I’ll step out of my role and decompress. That’s the only way to survive him.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs against my skin, licking, biting, kissing my jaw, my throat, my clavicle, all while lazily sliding in and out of me .
His words, his talented tongue and fingers do their tricks, and my arousal builds up, coiling around my spine, making me forget the conversation.
“Mon Dieu,” I gasp, riding his hand like this is my last ever orgasm. And it might be. Because who knows what our expiration date is, and Caleb van den Linden ruined all other men for me.
“Let go, swan,” he whispers, and crooks his fingers. Merde .
I fall over the edge so fast and hard I completely forget my surroundings.
Caleb withdraws his fingers and holds me tight, his nose buried in the crook of my neck. Another van den Linden contradiction. If this is just sex, the aftercare isn’t necessary.
And yet here we are, the man holding me like I’m precious cargo. I can’t stand it. We either play his game, or we lean into the one I’d like to explore. But we can’t linger in between. Can we?
It’s just fun. For as long as I can do this without getting properly hurt. I’m just a performer.
“I thought you wanted to fuck,” I tease.
“I just fucked you with my hand… and you got orgasm-induced amnesia, apparently.”
“Stop talking, pretty boy, and get that impressive cock of yours to work.” I cup his hardness, slipping into the role of a playful lover. As casual and temporary as my husband wishes. It’s in my best interest, after all.
“Impressive?” He drawls, smirking.
“Oh, no,” I groan. “That was a slip.”
He laughs. “Sure it was.”
“Yeah, and now we’ll die here, suffocated by your growing ego.”
I crush my lips to his, and we grin and kiss at the same time. “Would you like my cock in your pussy, your ass, or your mouth, black swan?”
“Hmm, so many options.” I unbuckle and unzip him, taking my time. I slide my hand into his waistband, and he groans.
“Choose now,” he grunts, but before I can respond, he flips me, props me on my knees sideways on the leather seat, hiking my hips up.
It’s uncanny how easily he manhandles me. It’s concerning how much I love it.
Pushing up the hem of my dress, Cal rips off my underwear.
“Hey,” I protest over my shoulder.
“You don’t need them.”
“I most certainly do.”
“I’ll buy you the manufacturer.” He rips the condom wrapper with his teeth.
“But I can’t buy an airplane?” I tease, and gasp immediately when he drives into me, shoving me forward. I plaster my hand on the window, holding on for dear life while he pounds into me, bruising my hips.
“Your pussy takes me so well, black swan. So tight, so right for me. Fuck. Are you going to cry my name finally?”
“Still—haven’t—earned—it.” I pant the words, the pleasure building up my spine.
My words push him into a frenzy of violent thrusts, like he’s punishing me. I guess he doesn’t have people denying him often.
And while it’s not an upper hand in the partnership, it somehow gives me a minor consolation that I still hold some level of control.
Caleb wraps his arm around me, and his fingers find my clit. It doesn’t take much until I feel myself clenching.
“That’s my girl. Milk me dry.” Somehow, he increases his piston-like tempo. Soon, I’m coming, and he follows me shortly after.
My cries are an incoherent chanting of French invectives, but his name is at the tip of my tongue.
Merde. I almost slipped.
Do you want to buy an airplane?” Caleb cuts off a small piece of his rare steak.
After we enjoyed the ride from the theater, he instructed Peter to take us to Modigliani’s in Tribeca, because that’s the only place with a decent steak, apparently.
“What?”
“In the car, you said you can’t buy an airplane.”
I only narrowly avoid spitting out the sparkling water I just drank. “I was teasing you. You know, when a man rips someone’s underwear, he usually offers to replace the ripped pair, not buy the producer.” I can’t believe I need to explain this to him.
“It would be more efficient than buying you a new pair every time.”
I burst out laughing as he grins at me. “You planning to rip off more of them? That’s such a waste. What about the environment?” I tease.
“Says the woman who wants to buy an airplane.”
My laughter is sudden and loud. “Are you ever serious?”
“Whatever for?”
“I don’t know this side of you.”
“Wrong. Swan, you’ve been so pissed at me all the time, you didn’t get to acknowledge it.” He makes a point of staring at my boobs when he says it.
“You’re a pig.”
“And you’re finally enjoying every minute of it.”
We eat our dinner without talking for a few minutes, but the fluid communication continues.
Intense glances, shared smiles, accidentally intended grazes of a knee, touched hands. Our silence is filled with a delicate bonding.
Physical-only arrangements shouldn’t feel like this. I dismiss the thought as soon as it’s born, and remind myself I’m still in my role as Caleb’s casual lover. And I’ll play that role with Oscar-worthy conviction.
“Talking about buying shit, did you know Mia dropped her dancing group because she couldn’t afford it?”
His shoulders tense, and he grinds his teeth. “I gave her a credit card.”
“What has she used it for?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You believe she’s after your money, but you didn’t check how much of it she’s taken?”
He snaps his eyes to me, the former warmth visibly cooled. His jaw is set so rigid, he might need to visit a dentist if he doesn’t relax.
Way to kill the moment, Celeste . “It’s none of my business, sorry.” I refocus my attention on my half-eaten fish, flaking it mindlessly.
Caleb squeezes my knee. “Don’t be sorry. My relationship with Mia improved one hundred percent this weekend, and it’s all thanks to you. You were right, I’m behaving like my father. The problem is, I don’t really know how a father should behave.”
“She just wants to be loved, and I know you can’t switch it on just like that, but your attention is important.”
“I’ll check with my accountant what she’s been spending money on. Thank you for telling me.”
I smile at this man who is so confident in other parts of his life, and completely lost as a parent. But he can admit that, which is way more than many other parents would.
Certainly not my father. I shiver at the thought of him.
“You’re welcome.”
“I know you didn’t sign up for an instant dysfunctional family…”
“You’re lessening my hardship with all the orgasms. And I didn’t sign up for those either.”
He cups my nape and pulls me to him, his lips grazing mine. “What can I tell you, black swan? I deliver.”
“And so humble.”
We kiss, and I forget about the world, my visa, the fake marriage, and lose myself in the feel of this connection like it’s just a normal date. Like this is a legitimate romance .
After dinner, we walk outside, and Peter opens the door for me. Before I slide into the back seat, Caleb stops me.
He pecks me on my forehead. “Peter will take you home. I have a late meeting. Don’t wait up, get some rest.”
He steps back, and Peter takes his place, like I’m a celebrity in need of a bodyguard. Probably he’s just doing his job, or helping Caleb get away with this sudden bullshit.
Stunned, I drop to my seat. Before the door closes, a glimpse of Caleb’s face leaves me completely unsettled.
He has a late evening meeting while guilt mars his face. Merde.