Chapter 12
TWELVE
JESSE
The moment the taillights disappear, I feel hollow.
For about thirty-six hours, my head has been clear. I’ve felt light and unburdened since the moment I saw him climb out of the helicopter. I didn’t crave oblivion or feel like peeling off my skin even once.
Now that he’s gone, that realization alone is making the walls feel like they’re closing in.
“Mr. Moore?”
I glare at Cory. He clears his throat. “Jesse,” he corrects. He’s only ever used my first name when I was at my worst.
Shit. Am I that transparent?
“I’m fine,” I say, and give him a weak smile.
He nods, but I don’t think he believes me.
He leads me to the elevator and rides back up to the penthouse suite with me.
It’s a long, quiet, and somewhat awkward ride.
Compared to the ride down, which happened in the blink of an eye.
If only it had gotten stuck. Just for a little while, at least.
The moment the elevator opens, Blake points in the direction of Myra, all but kicking me to get me moving faster. “We’re behind, Jesse.”
“I know.”
I can’t look at him right now. If I do, I’ll see him standing in my open bedroom door all over again. I’ll have to relive watching all the love drain out of Luc’s eyes, and morph into insecurity while my overprotective manager reamed me like an errant teenager and treated Luc like he didn’t exist.
I feel sick. Empty. Afraid. But I let Blake lead me to the dining area, where Myra has spread out the concept ideas for our photo shoot tomorrow.
Myra does so much extra work to print out photos and pull fabric samples to make physical scrapbook-style mood boards because I have a hard time visualizing the concepts as a whole.
Normally, I have a lot of fun with these kinds of shoots and enjoy picking out which coordinating pieces I want to wear.
And because she’s amazing, Myra always includes an edgier, provocative feel for me, like crop tops, corsets, and plunging necklines.
I can almost see the wind go out of her sails when she sees me, and it makes me feel terrible. She’s been waiting for me for an hour, and then I show up in a piss-poor mood.
“Sorry, Myra,” I say, kissing her on the cheek. She wraps an arm around my waist and tells me to shut up.
“Wanna tell me about it?” She asks.
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“You could start with that blushing beefcake that walked out of your bedroom.”
I huff out a laugh, then pull out my phone and change his contact name. That’s just too damn good.
“I really like him.”
“I can tell,” Myra says, bumping my hip. I look at her curiously, and she rolls her eyes. “Well, for starters, he clearly spent the night. He was still here when all of us rolled in.”
“Unfortunately,” I mutter.
“It’s a good thing that he seems the timid type,” she says. “Otherwise, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have put Blake on his ass.”
I snort. “Luc isn’t like that.” Though I might have liked to see it this morning.
“Luc?” She rolls the name on her tongue. “Interesting pronunciation.”
“His full name is Lucius, but that’s his dad’s name, too. He just goes by Luc.”
“I like it.”
“I like him.”
“You said that already,” Emmy says, coming in with my pants draped over one arm.
“You.” I point at Emmy and look him dead in his pretty sky-blue eyes. “Flirt with my man again and I’ll tell Daddy Blake that thing you don’t want him to know.”
“You wouldn’t,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.
I narrow mine right back at him. “My man, Emmy. Mine.”
Emmy raises an eyebrow, ready to snark back, but Naz chooses this very opportune moment to slink in like he smelled gossip, shades on, twirling a drumstick between his fingers.
“Did I just hear you say your man?”
“Mind your business.”
“Bro. You’ve known him for what, five minutes? All the years in between boning him the first time and the couple of days you spent with him don’t count, you know.”
“One, don’t call me bro when I’m emotionally fragile. Two, when you know, you know. And I know.” The trouble is whether or not he knows. “Third, you look like the worst kind of stereotype.”
“My dude, you’re the one who waxed his dick to wear assless chaps backwards.”
“You’re just jealous because you wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz my dick is too big.”
“Oh please, I’ve seen your dick.”
“So have I,” Myra says.
“Me too,” says Emmy.
Naz crosses his arms and stares at all of us with narrowed eyes. He’s silent for nearly ten whole seconds before he says, “You’re all a bunch of assholes,” and moves on. He looks at Emmy and pumps his eyebrows. “What kind of secret are you keeping from Daddy Blake?”
“I’m not keeping any secrets!”
“Is it that you want his dick? Because you’re right, it’s not a secret.”
Emmy gapes and nearly drops the pants. Myra catches them and pats her assistant’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey, he’s too oblivious to realize.”
She passes the pants to me. “Alright, let’s see how they look.”
I’m determined to let Myra enjoy this moment and try to act normal. Despite my shitty mood, the banter, and getting to try on badass, sexy-as-fuck pants does help me feel a little lighter. Especially since I get to drop my underwear and show everyone my ass while I slip them on.
Myra walks over once I get everything tucked away and makes some adjustments to the belt before stepping back.
“Not bad,” she says. “I wouldn’t do any sort of jumping around, and watch yourself whenever you have to get up and down, but they look damn good.
Do you want to put the boots on before you take a look? ”
Emmy passes me a pair of socks and the boots before I can even nod, and I slip them on. Myra was right about being careful about which way I move, because my junk is definitely in danger of making an escape.
I turn and walk towards the standing mirrors that have been set up and give Myra an appreciative nod in the reflection.
The pants are a soft leather, tight fitted from my hips to just below my knees, where they flare into a bootcut leg.
The fit alone is sinful, hugging every centimeter of my body and leaving nothing to the imagination.
The fun feature of the pants that makes them so daring, though, is how the front dips into a deep V shape.
On the woman who originally modeled this design, the tip of the V came down so far, she was this close to showing lip cleavage.
Myra modified them somewhat to allow for my dick to be contained, but the hem is barely concealing the base of my cock.
I have to tuck my dick down one leg to keep it secure, and the imprint is clear as day.
There’s a thin belt made of the same leather that goes around the waist where the hem would be, creating a sort of triangular cutout.
The belt gives a subtle bondage feel to the pants and accentuates the plunging waistline.
My boots are heeled shitkickers, which elongate the legs and lift my ass.
“These are the best pants I’ve ever worn,” I say. “Can I keep them?”
Sometimes the clothes for photoshoots are loaned, but custom pieces are sometimes gifted or sold. Myra had to customize these to accommodate my bare dick fitting inside, so I’m hopeful I’ll get to take these home.
“There’s a good chance you could, but I’ll check with the designer.”
“Thanks, Myra.” I give her a genuine smile. “You killed it, as usual.”
“Where the fuck else would you wear those?” Naz asks.
I shrug. “If I do a tuck and tape, do you think I could wear them on stage?”
“With the right tape–” Myra starts.
“Absolutely not,” Blake cuts in, barely looking up from his phone to give me a cursory once-over.
He blinks and shakes his head, but he knows these photos are going to be fire.
Normally I’d make a snarky comment or ask if he wants to try them on.
Which would be hilarious, since he’s such a buttoned-up stiff, but he’s my least favorite person right now.
“Go away, you’re bumming me out.”
“I said I was sorry,” he exclaims. “And I was sincere. I am sincere. I’m genuinely sorry.”
“Sorry means fuck-all if he doesn’t come back.”
Blake drops his arms, defeated. “What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Whatever it takes to keep him,” I say seriously.
Naz looks confused. Myra and Emmy are looking at me with pitying expressions.
“If I can help, I will. If it means that much to you.”
Rolling my eyes, because I’m a sucker and too easy, I cross my arms. “You could also… put on the pants and helicopter dick for thirty seconds.”
Myra’s hands come up to her face. Naz snorts. Emmy blushes when I give him a wink.
“I would sooner get a job jerking off Minotaurs or whatever the fuck you people were reading last month.” He says it so seriously, I have to hold my breath to keep from laughing out loud.
He leaves us to laugh at him, and Myra helps me out of the boots and pants.
“You know he means well, right? Not that it excuses how he behaved.”
“I know. And I truly believe he’s sorry and won’t ever do that again, I’m just feeling a bit sensitive. When Luc drove off, I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, you know?”
She nods and places a hand on my arm. “You’re raw right now, but it’s because he just left. That’s a normal thing to feel in a relationship, Jesse. You’ve just never experienced it before.”
“No, I have. That’s why it scares me so much. Because the last time I felt this way, I walked away and ended up losing him.”
I take a drag from my cigarette and lean back on the patio chair. I’ll regret smoking this much during this weekend’s show, but I only have so many vices left. I can’t bear to be inside the suite for too long. All day it felt too loud and too crowded. Now everyone’s gone, and I still can’t breathe.
Expelling the lungful of smoke, I watch the clove-scented cloud dissipate into the night sky.
I finally found quiet, but it’s too loud.
Nothing makes sense now that you’ve come around.
The stillness is too heavy, every breath is too loud.