Scooter
Cabot's jaw locks, and tears well in his eyes. I know I've hit upon the truth, but I don't move, don't say anything else, barely even breathe, waiting until he confirms it.
He blinks a few times and turns away. "I came to Hollywood wanting to get cast in a reality TV show.
Any show. Love Island. Big Brother. I didn't care.
I love being a vet, but my salary back home wasn't ever going to cover Billy's medical bills.
I met Riff randomly one night at a bar. I didn't know who he was, and he never mentioned he was a producer on the show until after we… "
He winces, and I do my best not to as well. Poor guy must really be regretting that decision now.
"We all make mistakes," I say, offering a small smile.
"It, um, it gets worse." He sighs, sagging into the couch. "When he told me who he was, he mentioned they might have an opening. I was upfront with him about everything. Billy. Why I was in Hollywood. How I wanted to make some fast money. I shouldn't have told him that."
"Why not?"
"He said he wanted to take some photos of me.
Nude photos. I did it because I thought, hey, I slept with the guy already, what harm could there be in taking a few pictures?
Turns out, a lot. He agreed to cast me on the show but only if I obeyed his strict orders, which are to do and say anything to get you off.
And if I deviate from the plan, he'll release what he has on me. "
"That motherfucker," I growl, raking a hand through my hair in frustration.
I've always had my suspicions about him being shady, but not in this way.
There are whispers he's ripping the network off with some dodgy financial dealings, but I had no inkling he was a sexual predator. "I am so sorry he's doing this to you."
"I did it to myself."
"You sure as hell didn't," I spit out, so sharply it makes Cabot look up at me, surprised. "This is not your fault. You did nothing wrong. It's all him. All of it. I need you to hear that."
His shoulders sway as he sucks in air, but eventually, he starts to nod. "You're right." His eyes find mine. "You're right," he says, sounding more like he believes it this time.
"Is he threatening you? Being intimidating? Doing anything to make you feel unsafe on or off set?"
Cabot shakes his head. "No. I steer clear of him. Today was the first day he wanted to see me one-on-one."
"I know you need the money, but are you okay with continuing filming? There are always other options, other shows you could go on."
"I think I'm okay," he says, exhaling. "Everyone else around here is great. Especially you."
The compliment lands like a feather gently floating down and landing on my heart. "Is there anything I can do?"
"You've done plenty. I feel so safe with you."
"You are safe with me," I say, silently pledging to exact revenge on Riff for what he's putting Cabot through.
"Can I—can I get a hug?" he asks, and I'm on my feet the second the words register in my brain.
"Of course."
He stands, eyes brimming with tears. I wrap my arms around him, the warmth of his body seeping into me. His hands find my hair as he clings to me.
After a minute, he pulls back. "Thank you."
"Of course."
And then he moves in, like he wants to kiss me.
I pull back.
He looks horrified then drops his head. "Shit, sorry."
"No. Don't be. It's not that I don't want to kiss you."
He glances up. "Then what is it?"
It's times like this I really hate being so emotionally aware. "You've just shared something major, and you could be feeling vulnerable. I don't want to take advantage of you."
"You're not. I want this. I want…you."
I have to double-check. "Are you sure?"
He nods, and there's a shift in his demeanor, his energy lifting.
Going in for the third—and final—check before my composure snaps for good.
"Really?" I rasp.
He zigzags his index finger across the front of my onesie. "Really."
That's it. He insists he's okay, so who am I to doubt him?
I clutch him to me and hook my thumb under his chin, angling his face so my lips can land on his. When they do, the purr of contentment he releases shoots straight to my cock.
There's nothing in the world that can rein in the passion flowing through my veins.
Except for one thought—there's a good chance the last guy he slept with was Riff.
I need to make this experience something better, something resetting, something that will help him put that scumbag well and truly in the past where he belongs.
"Come on," I murmur. "Let's get you out of these clothes and into bed."
His blue eyes blaze, and he smiles. "You read my mind."
I swipe the magazines aside, sending them tumbling to the floor as Cabot peels off his shirt, his shorts following in quick succession. He moves in to kiss me, but I back away. "Socks off, too, please. We're not ’90s porn stars."
"True." He lets out a small laugh. "I was born in 2000—"
I shut him up with my mouth, not needing the reminder he's a few years younger than me. We kiss passionately, our tongues playing and exploring as we tumble across the mattress, the sheets twisting around us.
"I just need to take my onesie off," I say, cupping his face in my hands.
"Or…" Cabot drops his gaze and licks his lips. "You can fuck me with it on."
"You want me to keep it on?"
He shrugs, smiling shyly in a way I've never seen before. "You look really hot like this."
"You're a weirdo. Anyone ever told you that?"
He just laughs, and I keep my onesie on as I trail kisses down his bronzed chest, over his killer abs, and down to a neatly trimmed dark-blond bush.
I curl my fingers around the base of his shaft to hold it in place, taking him into my mouth. His hands fly into my hair and stay there as he lets out a series of contented groans. I continue slurping away, eventually removing my hand so I can take all of him.
His moans increase, getting louder and louder until—"Oh, shit."
I pull off him.
"What?" I ask, but it's too late, the first spurt of cum hitting my chin.
"Shit, shit, shit," he hisses, his hands leaving my hair to cover his face as his body twists and contorts, cum spurting from his dick, hands-free.
Once he's, erm, finished, he peeks at me through his fingers. "Sorry. I haven't come in a while. I'm so embarrassed."
"It's fine," I say, swiping his release from my chin.
He stops hiding behind his hands, pushes up onto his elbows, and slides down the bed toward me. He's flushed in the face, and I can't tell if it's from embarrassment or because his orgasm was a failure.
Either way…
"But this doesn't mean tonight is over."
And with that, he dives between my legs, frees my cock from my onesie, and starts to blow me.