Muse

Chapter 5 #3

Normally, I couldn’t tolerate such a gentle touch. I could only handle roughness. But as I rubbed my breast, a spark flew to my skin, right through my sweater and bra. I shuddered.

“You need that, don’t you?” Gavin whispered. “You need to be touched.”

Please.

“It’s new for you to feel so good.”

My fingertips slid to my nipple, pinching the soft bud through my sweater until it hardened and tingled. I managed a nod, a whimper.

We were in public. Secluded in this booth, but if anyone came back here…if anyone saw…

“You’re pure, kitten,” Gavin whispered. “Innocent.”

I stared at him, daring him to take it back.

He smiled. “It’s the beginning of your story. You’re not thinking about anyone but yourself. How good it feels when you touch your beautiful body. You’re just starting to learn.”

He kept taking pictures as I caressed myself under the coat, trying not to look at the camera. My eyes darted to the other customers — a lone man staring out the window, two more who shoveled food into their mouths with the appetite of workers off a late shift, a couple who spoke quietly.

“Sweet thing,” Gavin whispered. “Perfect little kitten.”

I bit back a moan. Why did this turn me on so much? The clinking forks and late-night conversation dulled to a background hum. All that mattered was the heat in my body. My desire to make Gavin feel the same way.

My hand slipped into the waistband of my jeans beneath my coat, into my panties. I stifled a gasp at the slickness of my pussy, the aching pleasure at my own touch. My hips thrust forward so I could rock against my clit.

“No, Jordana,” Gavin scolded, lowering his phone.

This was crazy, but I was too excited to care.

“Please…”

“Later.” His lips barely moved. “When you’re all alone, in your bedroom, you can touch yourself however you want. But right now, no.”

Slowly, I pulled my hand out of my jeans. “You’re in charge.”

“That’s right.” Reaching into his pocket, his phone still poised above me, his thumb busy taking pictures, he dropped something under the table with a clink. “Pick those up.”

His keys lay on the floor — the ring he’d used to lock up the theater. Metal keys bristled from the silver ring, with a dark brown leather tag sticking up.

“Why?”

“Because I want to see how well you obey me.”

Holy shit. An eager pulse thrummed through me. The other diners were focused on their food. I bent to retrieve the keys, but couldn’t quite reach.

Gavin chuckled. “Get on the floor, kitten. Pick them up and crawl to me.”

“In public?”

Patiently, he nodded.

This was a test.

I needed, with every fiber of my being, to pass this test.

Sliding off the seat, I dropped to my knees. My hands met the cold linoleum floor. Was anyone watching?

Crawling forward, I focused on Gavin, sitting casually in the booth.

I reached under the table to pick up the keys.

“With your mouth, kitten.”

Jesus Christ. I glanced around the diner. The man by the window was staring at me. When I caught his eye, he quickly looked away.

“Don’t worry.” Gavin’s voice was assured. “I’m here. No one will bother you.”

Gingerly, I bent my head. I took the leather tag between my teeth. It was smooth, earthy-tasting. Blood rushed to my cheeks when he took a picture. Lifting my head, I laid the ring of keys in Gavin’s lap.

“Good girl.” He tucked them in his pocket.

“I’m a good little kitten,” I whispered. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

His nostrils flared. He spread his legs, his hard body looming over me. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes…”

Absently, he stroked a curl off my face. “You’d be the perfect pet. All for our pictures, of course.”

I nodded, panting now, as he caressed the top of my head. “You said you wouldn’t touch me.”

Gavin smiled affectionately. “Silly little thing. I said I wouldn’t touch Jordana. But a cute little kitten? Of course I can pet her.”

His hand ran over my head, tangling in my curls to tug my head upright.

He’d said this wouldn’t be acting, but he was pulling me into a scene. His eyes were glassy, trancelike. A telltale bulge pushed out the front of his jeans as his hand tightened in my hair.

Why didn’t he just fuck me?

If we left now, he could be inside me in two seconds. Hell, we could do it in his car.

“Jordana.” Gavin’s voice went sharp, and he let go of my hair.

I gulped, turning to see a waiter exiting the kitchen. He almost tripped over me.

“Whoa, are you okay? Did you drop something?” The waiter gave me a confused smile.

“Oh! Yeah. My keys.” I smiled back. “I heard them fall, but I just can’t find them anywhere.”

“I can help you.” He glanced at Gavin, who eyed him coolly. “But, uh…seems like you’ve got it under control?”

“Definitely!” I beamed. “Thank you.”

The waiter hurried to the counter, glancing back as I got to my feet.

I brushed off my knees and sat in the booth, my body throbbing. I still tasted the tag of leather between my teeth.

“Did I pass?”

Gavin just stared at me, his eyes twin disks of gold.

“The audition,” I clarified. “For the pictures.”

He swiped his hand over his hair, dazed, as if he’d been the one crawling around on the floor.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “You passed.”

“Like, yes, first choice, passed with flying colors, gotta have her? Or more like, yeah, she’s okay, guess I’ll work with her because there’s no one else and the clock is ticking?”

“You got the job. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“Don’t toy with me, Gavin.”

Now came the smile, a genuine crack in his shell that let in a ray of sunlight.

“Did you pass,” he said, shaking his head.

“You more than passed. You’ll be the inspiration for this book.

We’ll take a completely new direction. There’s a journey here.

Everything I planned — forget it.” His gaze hooked mine, his voice rising with excitement.

“It’ll still be bondage photographs. But the story? It’ll be your story.”

“Mine? What story? I tell my characters’ stories.”

“I’m more interested in yours.” Gavin leaned forward. “Do you want to tell it together?”

Together. That word reeled me in.

But beyond that, I could see Gavin was genuinely interested in me. I wasn’t some doll for him to tie up and pose; he wanted my opinions. My ideas. He gave a damn about me, not just my body or how I made him feel.

“Yes.” My pulse sped up. “Let’s tell this story. Together.”

Gavin grinned. “We’re on. But—” He held up a hand. “Take the night to think about it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Jordana, I won’t give you a contract to sign until tomorrow night when we start shooting.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to think it over and be sure.”

“Now who’s bossy? Do you have that contract on you?”

“No.” He gave me a pointed look. “I need to draw up your copy. We’ll do it over four nights — Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. We’ll shoot at my apartment. You can come over after rehearsal.”

“Why stop on Wednesday? What if we need more time?”

“Streetcar opens on Thursday night. I don’t expect you to work after the shows.”

The waiter who’d almost tripped over me returned with a check.

“Take your time.” His gaze lingered on me with a smile before he headed off.

Gavin folded his arms. “You’ve got an admirer.”

“Oh, yeah. Guys love me until we sleep together. Is that why you won’t fuck me?”

Red crept up his cheeks. “There are a few reasons. That’s not one of them.”

“You’re very big on reasons,” I grumbled. “It’s like you actually think about things. I suppose that comes with age.”

“You think about things. I can tell.” He set his credit card on the check.

“Thanks for dinner. You should have some of my food. It’s delicious, but I won’t finish it all.”

“Grilled cheese and French fries at midnight?” Gavin shot me a look of despair.

“Classic, classic meal. And who’s drinking coffee? That is not decaf.”

“I’m a night owl.” A grin tugged at his mouth, and he pulled my plate toward him.

I liked watching him eat. It wasn’t an action I’d ever found sexy before, but there was something thoughtful about the way he dipped the fries in ketchup and munched the sandwich. Still, the rate at which he polished off the food made me wonder if he’d skipped dinner, too.

When he finished, he insisted on giving me a ride home.

Gavin drove a black sedan, old but well-cared for and meticulously clean. A hint of his piney scent wafted on the cold air inside. I curled up in the passenger seat, grateful when he turned on the heat.

We headed through the slumbering downtown, past quaint shops and restaurants. Hawthorne, New Hampshire was adorable and a little bit frozen in time. Most businesses were small, family-owned, and had been around for decades.

Gavin was a good listener. I told him about the theater department, the plays we’d done, and the times I’d worked on costumes, complete with sewing disasters.

“I love clothes, but sewing machines make me nervous,” I admitted.

“Yeah?” Gavin tapped the steering wheel. He seemed to be waiting for me to go on, though the topic wasn’t remotely sexy.

“I’m not much of a seamstress. Not like my mom. She taught me to sew.”

“Really?” He sounded genuinely interested.

I pointed out the window. “See that coffee shop? On the corner? That’s Korner Koffee. Best coffee around, perfect way to start your day. And Len’s Liquor Emporium across the street — perfect way to end your day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You were saying?”

He’d seen right through my attempt to distract him.

“My mom…she grew up without money. She always wanted to be rich and famous, or at least rich.” Streetlights streaked by as the small downtown gave way to tree-lined sidewalks, brick townhouses, and apartment buildings.

“She made her own clothes. She’d copy magazine styles.

Create her pageant outfits. She thought, if a woman’s beautiful enough, she can get everything she wants. ”

Gavin stopped at a red light. Our gazes met, and his face softened.

“What do you think?”

I blinked at the sudden glare of headlights sweeping across my face. A car passed.

“I’m not used to men asking what I think.”

He stepped on the gas. “Hasn’t stopped you from being opinionated with me.”

“I think if anyone gets anything they want, they’re lucky.

” I plucked at my cheetah coat. “When I was younger, I loved going vintage shopping with my mom. It always felt like a stroke of luck from the universe when we found something good.” I smiled at the memory, tracing the tote bag on my lap.

It was so rare to talk about my mother. “Now she can’t stand to touch a second-hand anything.

The last dress she bought cost more than my monthly rent. Which she made sure to tell me.”

“Damn.” Gavin eyed me. “Your family lives in Manhattan?”

“Upper East Side.”

“So they’re wealthy.”

“They prefer to say ‘comfortable.’ ‘Fortunate’ is another word she uses.” I fiddled with my watch. “My dad hates that I want to be a professional actress. He’s hoping I’ll go into law like him. But he still supports me, which…well, I’m grateful for. What Corey said about Daddy’s money? It applies.”

Corey had never let me forget it, either, calling me a rich bitch countless times while he fucked me.

When I glanced at Gavin, his jaw was tight, his face outlined by the streetlights. “You’re not your family. If people judged me on how my dad acted…”

I eyed him curiously, but he shook his head.

Quiet filled the car. Quickly, he turned on the radio, effectively ruining the moment by blasting heavy metal at top volume.

“This is what you listen to?” I winced at the onslaught of drums.

“Hell, yes. It’s an outlet.”

“That ‘singer’ is screaming. My voice coach would have a heart attack.”

“We can’t have that. Go ahead, pick something else.”

When I tuned into the college radio station, which was playing mellow folk-rock, his nose wrinkled.

“Only for you,” he said with a wink.

Why did he have to be so adorable? I tucked my hands into my coat pockets to keep from threading them through his dark, tousled hair.

“Turn left on Maple,” I said. “I’m the third building on the right.”

Pulling up to the curb, Gavin drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Wouldn't you know it.” He looked from my apartment building to me.

"What?"

He chuckled, as if tortured by a joke, and gave me a crooked grin.

"I live next door. We're neighbors."