Chapter 21
Maddy
The magenta haze of a Malibu sunset is difficult to beat, but when you’re witnessing it on a rather sought after balcony that has been made into a private one just for you, with a man so fine women drop whatever the hell they’re doing in the middle of the day to go stalk him at the drop of a hat, it’s somehow a million times better.
I’ve eaten my weight in sushi rolls when some sort of cake filled with dates and cream covered with Japanese whiskey arrives alongside champagne-filled flutes.
He holds up his glass. “To spending one of many, many insanely perfect days with my girlfriend.”
I choke on air and clink my glass to his.
“What, you don’t like that term, Baby? What would you prefer? My babe? Bae? My boo?”
I take a large sip to calm my throat. “Ack, stop it! I like it, I more than like it. I mean, it’s just a bit jarring to hear it the first time and under these circumstances—”
“Which circumstances are you referring to in particular, darling?” He sips.
“That one where…” I down my champagne. “I still haven’t seen or touched Keane.”
He snorts into his now-empty flute. “This was our last stop where we’ll be seen by anyone, Baby, so your wish will soon be granted.”
“Thank GOD! So … I’m going to be honest because I’ve had a lot of drinks … and no one we know needs to know this but you.”
“Oh, do tell, angel.”
“I really liked letting you take control of today, to make all my decisions for me. I didn’t expect it to feel so good. It’s … such a relief.”
Jett bites his lip. “So you’re telling me, all these tall, blonde, knobheads you’ve dated, they made you make all the decisions?”
I blink like I was born yesterday. “Yeah…”
“Oh, Baby, oh you poor, poor dear. Would you like me to continue making them for you? Does knowing I’m taking care of everything, deciding everything we’re going to do until your head hits the pillow tonight, how many orgasms you’re going to have and all, make you feel … floaty?”
“Floaty? Floaty and tingly, yeah.”
Orgasms, plural? I'm used to just faking them, so the idea of multiple real ones? Farewell, dry panties.
“Oh shit, Baby.” He grins wickedly. “I thought maybe, when you liked my finger necklace, and being called a good girl. But now I’m sure … you were more meant for me than you can possibly know.”
I feel like passing out, but in the best possible way. “Doesn’t it make me … weak? Weird? I don’t like being controlled or treated like a child. So why—”
“Baby, earlier you devoured a cake shaped like a serial killing toddler in a pumpkin mask and moaned loud enough to scare the grannies walking past the shop. You’re really concerned about being weird at this point?”
I hate it, but that makes me giggle. “Guess I shouldn’t be.”
“I’m extremely, extremely attracted to that weirdness.
Please don’t change. I’m strange as fuck, and you wouldn’t like me if you were normal and boring.
As for being worried about seeming weak, don’t, it’s really the opposite.
I’m guessing these pathetic knobs wearing a masculine facade you’ve been with were too stupid or scared of you and your family’s power to figure this out.
But women in powerful roles like you, making a thousand different decisions a day, literally wielding a steel sword for the most influential network on telly, in your case …
it’s very common for these women to enjoy letting their partner take control when they’re alone together.
There’s nothing weird or weak about it; it makes perfect sense. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I sigh.
“Your shoulders just dropped about a foot, darling. You never knew this about yourself because your boyfriends were all saddos?”
“Ding, ding, ding!” I roll my eyes. I thought I liked being in control all the time, in relationships, but I guess I’d just … never tasted the opposite until now, and I can’t get enough.
He takes my hand and kisses every knuckle.
“Being in awe of your power, Princess Aerin, doesn’t make me weak.
Just like you choosing to have me be in control doesn’t make you weak.
And if I’m ever too bossy, you’ll tell me to stop, and if you’re ever being too bratty, I’ll spank your perfect, biteable ass, Princess Morningstar. ”
Now I think my chair is soaked. There’s no server out here, but I just have to say it anyway. “Check, please!”
After leaving the restaurant, I notice the towncar has been replaced with a 1963 black Triumph Spitfire. “Are you kidding me, Jett? The car I begged Dad for when I was a girl? He told you that?”
“Did you forget he made me sign in blood, Mads? I was rewarded handsomely with some very useful information, including but not limited to your favourite restaurant and favourite car. If he thought this was just sex, would he have done that?”
“Absolutely not,” I confirm, unable to wipe the glazed smile off my face as Jett opens the door of the glossy convertible for me. He doesn’t even open his door; he just jumps in and fires up the vintage engine with a satisfying roar. “Jett?” I ask as he slowly leaves the valet station.
“Yes, darling?”
“I don’t mean to sound like a lovesick idiot or anything, but … you look absolutely, devastatingly sexy driving this car.” I take out my phone and snap him looking … “Like … hotter than James Dean and Elvis combined.”
“That’s how I look?”
I nod, looking at what I’ve snapped and drooling over the photos. He slows for the stop sign to really look at me.
“That’s how I feel when I’m with you. Looking at you in that passenger seat, completely taken care of, it makes me feel like the fucking man, Baby. Not to mention you look hotter than um, Marilyn Monroe and Priscilla Presley combined.”
I lean over and kiss his now lightly stubbled jaw. “That’s the best compliment anyone has ever given me, Jett. I think maybe you’ve finally earned one of these.”
“Baby!” He is genuinely shocked to see me pull his crinkled pack of Lucky Strikes out of my jacket. “I’ve been wondering where those went.”
“Dad stole them from your pocket earlier, slipped them in mine, said to only let you have one if you were being ‘truly fucking cool.’”
He laughs into the night. “This is the first time all day that you thought I was cool?”
“No!” I huff a laugh. “Actually, I completely forgot about them until I looked at this picture. You're a literal dream, Jett.”
He looks at my phone. “I look like fuckin’ Elvis!
Post it, Baby. No wait,” since there’s no one behind us and we haven’t left the parking lot, he lights up the cigarette and poses with it between his lips while I click away.
I show him the best one and he obviously loves it.
“Wanna? Now? Make it our soft launch, and BuzzFeed next week can be the hard launch?”
The fact that he wants the world to know about us so soon sends pure adrenaline through my veins.
“Yeah, what should my caption be? Oh, how about this?”
“Dream boy,” he reads. “That’s not very soft of you, Baby. Don’t know how, but however I got outta the friendzone, I am grateful as fuck! Baby Morningstar actually fancies me. Finally.”
I turn red and cover my face with my hands, but let’s be honest, he’s making it pretty impossible not to.
He gently pulls my hands away and uses the cool metal of his rings to calm my cheeks.
“Why be embarrassed? I’ve fancied you the better part of a decade.
” He hands me the cigarette and takes a few of me on his phone, showing me the best one.
I actually love it, and suddenly he’s selecting it for his story with the caption, ‘My rock ‘n roll princess.’
“You like it? I’ll do it right now, Mads.”
Suddenly I’m nervous, and his eyes trained on me don’t help, so I puff on the cigarette before setting it in the ashtray. My finger hovers over the post button. “I like it, and I like you, and let’s do it. Shit.”
He gets giddy and kisses me, and it makes me giddy. “Right, on three. One, two, three!”
We both push the post button on our respective phones with dramatic flair, and we scream as Jett takes a sharp left and flies onto the Pacific Coast Highway.
The stars are coming out as the wind from the coast whips our hair around.
He reaches into a little console and hands me a hair tie.
I gaze at him like I’m not sure if he’s even real.
I reach for it, letting my fingertips linger on his before securing my hair into a high ponytail, the curled ends flying every which way.
My suspicions are confirmed when we drive further into Malibu rather than away from it, towards the hills.
One last reward from Dad. Even if I’m frustrated that I’m not getting laid tonight, knowing that Jett’s willing to wait, just to make me feel cared for, is worth everything.
Knowing he’s wanted inside me for years still gives me the power, and it feels incredible. I might just lend him some.