Creamy and Fertile for the Movie Star (Creamy and Fertile #2)

Chapter One

Emily:

The afternoon sun beats down on me as I walk across the movie set, the plastic garment bag containing Luke’s tuxedo rustling with each step. My palms are already sweating, and I’m not even close enough to see his trailer yet.

Luke Jackson.

Even thinking his name sends a flutter through my chest. I’ve been obsessed with him since I was sixteen and saw “Midnight Storm” for the first time.

I’ve watched every single one of his movies - some more times than I care to admit.

Working as a wardrobe assistant on this set is both a dream come true and a special kind of torture.

Being around him every day, smelling his clean scent when he passes by, hearing that deep, gravelly voice...

it all adds up to a constant state of flustered excitement that I can’t seem to shake.

His trailer comes into view, and it’s a sleek, silver beast of a vehicle that seems out of place among the chaos of the set.

My heart starts beating faster, drumming frantically against my ribs.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, but it’s useless.

I’m already imagining him inside, those intense blue eyes focused on me, that deep voice saying my name.

I reach the door and lift my hand to knock, my knuckles rapping against the metal. It’s quiet inside for a few seconds, then I hear him.

“Come in.”

Oh God. His voice. Even through the door, it does things to me. It’s deep and rough, and it vibrates through my body, settling low in my belly. I turn the handle and push the door open, stepping inside.

The first thing I see is him. He’s on the floor, doing push-ups, his back muscles flexing with each movement.

Beads of sweat glisten on his skin, and I can see the dip of his spine, the curve of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his arms. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants, and I can’t help but notice the perfect curve of his ass.

I freeze in the doorway, the garment bag suddenly feeling heavy in my hands. My mind goes blank, all thoughts of professionalism and work fleeing as I stare at him. I’ve seen him shirtless in movies before, of course, but this is different. He’s close enough to touch if I want to.

And God, do I want to. But that would be a disaster. I’d get fired for sure.

He finishes another push-up, then pauses, looking up at me over his shoulder. His blue eyes lock with mine, and a slow smile spreads across his face. He pushes himself up to a standing position, and I watch, mesmerized, as the muscles in his back and arms ripple.

“Hi Emily,” he says, his voice somehow more potent up close. I can’t believe he even remembers my name when there are hundreds of women on set trying to get his attention. But the fact that he does makes my stomach do a little flip.

He grabs a bottle of water from the small refrigerator and takes a long drink, his throat working as he swallows. I watch a drop of water escape and trace a path down his chest, and I have to suppress a shiver.

“Luke,” I manage to squeak out. “I brought your tuxedo for your next scene.”

“Thanks.” He sets the water bottle down and walks towards me, closing the distance between us.

I feel like I should back away, but my feet are rooted to the spot.

I’m hyperaware of how close he’s standing, the heat radiating off his body, the clean scent of his skin mixed with the faint hint of sweat.

“How are you enjoying working on the set?” he asks, and I feel that now familiar element of surprise that he actually wants to make small talk with me.

But I tell myself he’s just being polite.

Surely it means nothing that he often stops to talk to me.

After all, he’s Luke Jackson, movie star extraordinaire.

And I’m the twenty-one-year-old wardrobe assistant.

“Oh, it’s great,” I say, trying to sound upbeat despite the butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach. “Everyone’s been really nice.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “Good.” He’s still so close that I can see the different shades of blue in his irises, the dark pupils dilated slightly. “So, Emily, have you got a boyfriend waiting for you back home?”

The question catches me off guard, and I can feel my cheeks flush. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No, I don’t.”

He looks genuinely surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Really? A beautiful woman like you?”

I don’t know what to say to that. No one’s ever called me beautiful before, and certainly not a man who looks like Luke.

The air between us crackles with tension, and I’m suddenly aware of a strange ache in my breasts.

They feel fuller, heavier, almost painfully so.

Oh God, the last thing I need right now is for my milk to start leaking.

But then Luke’s fingers brush against my cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and it’s suddenly hard to think of anything but him.

His touch is electric, sending shivers down my spine. My breath hitches, and I can hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I look up at him, my eyes wide, my lips parted. He’s looking at me with an intensity that makes me feel like the only person in the world.

“So there’s no boyfriend back home who will kick my ass if I kiss you?”

My breath catches in my throat. I can’t believe he just said that. I can’t believe this is happening. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head slightly. “There’s no one.”

He leans in closer, and I can feel his breath against my lips. He’s going to kiss me. Luke Jackson is going to kiss me. This is insane. But then his lips are on mine, and all thoughts cease to exist.

The kiss is soft at first, gentle, but then it deepens, becomes more demanding.

His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth.

His hands cup my face, holding me in place, and I melt against him, my body softening, yielding to him.

I’ve never been kissed like this before, never felt this kind of intensity, this kind of raw need.

I drop the garment bag, my hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

It’s softer than I imagined, and I grip it tighter, pulling him closer.

He groans, his hands roaming down my back, settling on the curve of my ass and squeezing gently.

I can feel how much he wants me as his erection presses against my belly, and it sends a fresh wave of desire through me.

I can’t believe this is happening. A thought flashes through my mind that he probably does this with all the women on set. He looks like a Greek god, and he could have any woman he wants. But I push the thought aside. I don’t care. Right now, he’s kissing me, and that’s all that matters.

My breasts are still heavy, aching, and I can feel a strange warmth spreading through them. It’s a pleasant ache, but it’s distracting, and I’m trying to ignore it, trying to focus on Luke, on the way he’s kissing me, on the way he’s touching me.

His tongue explores my mouth, and I kiss him back with a fierce desperation I didn’t know I was capable of. I’ve dreamed of this, fantasized about it, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it. He tastes so good, feels so masculine, and I want more. I want everything.

It’s then that I feel it.

A dampness spreading across the front of my t-shirt. At first, I think it’s just his sweat soaking into the fabric, but then I realize what it is. My milk is leaking.

Oh God. My hottest dream has just turned into my worst nightmare.