Chapter 26
Bex
C orey slowly releases the possessive kiss but doesn’t release me. He’s holding me tightly against his body as he presses his forehead to mine. A cacophony of murmuring voices surrounds us, and I turn my head to locate the source of the noise, but Corey tightens his grip on the back of my neck.
“Ignore them, Bex. It’s you and me,” he whispers, his breath hot against my face.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” is all I can think of to say.
Corey chuckles. “I would have waited forever for you, Bex.” My heart clenches at his words, and the butterflies I’m so familiar with, so deeply associated with Corey at this point, flutter around my belly, down lower. My clit is pulsing with need as I hold on to this man, the world around us falling away. “I am so glad you came. Thank you.”
I pull away slightly so I can stare into his dark, hooded gaze. “I could never miss this,” I murmur, stroking the sharp cut of his jaw. He’s grown a short beard, trimmed neatly, sprinkled with the same salt and pepper strands that cluster by his temples. “And this.” I place a kiss on his jaw. “This is so fucking hot.”
“Perks of retirement,” he mumbles almost incoherently against my lips.
I pull back again. “What?”
Corey whispers, “Can we talk about this later? We’re surrounded by press and I haven’t quite—”
“Of course,” I say, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Oh!” Realization dawns on me that the noise nearest us was the whispering and note-taking of the press pool. I drop my hands from Corey’s arms and step slightly away from him. “Sorry.”
Corey looks at me quizzically, and I nod toward the small group of people now pushing in toward him.
“Frank! Is this your new woman?” one of the journalists calls out, while the man beside her turns toward me, snapping a picture of me with his camera.
Corey steps forward, owning all six-foot-three of his height, and nudges through the small crowd to me. He engulfs my hand in his, squeezing tightly.
“Tiffany, you already had your three minutes with me when I arrived. I’m not taking any more questions tonight,” Corey says smoothly. His professional voice is like rich bourbon, and I’d be lying if I said my LaPerla thong wasn’t soaked right now. “The awards are about to start, so I suggest you make your way up to your seats.” He glances up the stairs to where a security guard stands, ready to usher the press group to their seats in the balcony.
Tiffany rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Moro. Fair warning, we’re still publishing the pictures of her falling into your arms, with or without a quote.” There’s a teasing edge to her threat, but I don’t care.
For once in my life, I don’t care who sees pictures of me tonight. I don’t care that I won’t get to scrutinize each photo before editing it beyond recognition and posting it strategically online. Even if I wasn’t wearing this incredible custom dress by Jessica Blackwood, and even if my makeup wasn’t done by some incredibly talented friend of hers… I would want everyone to see these pictures.
Because, for the first time in my adult life, in Corey’s arms, under his tender gaze and possessive grip, I feel beautiful. I feel wanted and cherished like I never have before. And I would almost guarantee that if I had shown up here in my sweats lounge set and a messy bun, I would feel just as beautiful. Because that is how Corey makes me feel. It’s like the warmth of recognition, his soul and mine. Beyond the physical and into another realm entirely.
“Where did you go just now?” Corey asks as he guides me across the nearly empty lobby.
“Hmm?”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Here.”
Smiling, I just shake my head. “It just hit me… How much I—”
“Bex, you made it!” Aaron says, striding to meet us in the center of the now-empty lobby. “Corey, you should really head in there. Everything is starting in—”
“I’m here for one thing only, and that’s not til midway through the show,” Corey says, smoothly cutting his friend off. “Can you give us a minute, please? ”
“Of course,” Aaron says, nodding to us as he walks back to Drew and Christian, ushering them forward, through the doors to the theater.
Corey cups my face in his hands and swallows hard. “What were you saying?”
“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out,” I begin. There’s a stinging pressure behind my eyes, and I take a deep breath, willing myself to get through this without crying. After all, I’m pretty sure this mascara is worth more than one night of tips—I’m not letting it slide off after only a few hours. “A few days ago, I was at Jessica’s studio getting fitted for this dress. Britney had come to pick me up, and as we took the escalator down from the third floor in the complex, she sort of knocked into me and my phone went flying into the fountain below.”
“I see,” Corey says, hands still softly framing my face.
“And I didn’t have your number saved any other way. And these last few days have felt like a blur, and now that I’m thinking about it, I could have just asked Aaron—”
“Bex, shhhh,” Corey whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “Calm down. You don’t need to be sorry for losing your phone.”
“Oh. Well, I’m also sorry about tonight. This week has been a shit show. First, things were stolen from the youth center. Then it was the photo printer. And earlier this afternoon, one of my students was caught stealing supplies from another room.” I rush through another apology, my emotions getting the better of me. “Mitchell. Mitchell!” I cry, the tears forming at the corners of my eyes now. “The poor kid just wanted to get some money by selling the stuff. Money for his sister’s asthma medication. I couldn’t just let the cops take him!”
Corey wraps me in his arms, and I allow a few tears to slip out onto the lavender fabric of his suit. There’s something about the warmth of his embrace, the way he envelops me in his arms, that gives me strength .
“And there’s something else I wanted to tell you,” I say quietly.
Corey pulls back and stares down at me. I could get lost in the depth of his dark eyes, a glimmer beneath the surface that hypnotizes me and pulls me in.
“I wanted to save this truth for when we were face to face.” I swallow hard, praying I can say what I need to say without my voice wavering with tears. “I’m falling for you, Corey. Hard. And like, so fast, it scared me at first. I denied the truth to myself, my friends… and you. But I don’t want to deny it anymore.”
His hands tangle in the waves of hair falling over my shoulder, then move down lower to grip my waist. “Bex, I—”
“Wait, let me finish,” I smirk at him apologetically. “I projected my own insecurities and fears on our relationship. That I wasn’t good enough to be in your world. That a woman who looks like me could never be with a man like you.”
“I hope you’re about to tell me that you recognize that’s all bullshit, right?” Corey says, tilting his head down at me.
I nod and let out a laugh. “Never thought I could be that woman. This woman,” I say, stepping back and gesturing at the sexy silk dress that drapes over my every curve. “Who wears a custom silk dress by Jessica Blackwood…” I step closer, standing on my tiptoes, and whisper in his ear, “With no Spanx.”
“Bex,” Corey growls, his grip tightening on my waist, hard enough to leave bruises. And god, do I want him to leave his mark on me. Tonight, tomorrow, forever. “You think it’s cute whispering shit like that in my ear? When I don’t have time to sneak you into the coat check room and have my way with you?”
“What if I said… yes, sir?” I bite my lip as he emits a feral groan .
My hand is in his and he whirls us toward the coat check, but we’re stopped by Drew stepping out of the theater.
“Corey, man, c’mon. You need to get in here.”
I giggle as Corey drags me toward the theater door, waving a shy hello to Drew and slipping into the crowded theater to experience an adult film awards show.
Lord, grant me patience to make it through the next hour. We’re about halfway through the show, getting closer to the presentation of Corey’s lifetime achievement award, and there’s a pause for a commercial break. It’s not a televised event, but it’s being streamed online, so, of course, there are commercials. This pricey thong is soaked, and I’m shifting my legs uncomfortably, praying to god I’m not going to leave a mark on this beautiful, delicate dress.
Of course, Corey’s making it difficult. When he’s not holding my hand, he’s stroking the soft, sensitive skin of my forearm. It seems involuntary, his need to touch me, like if he’s not touching me, I might simply vanish into thin air. He slips his hand down to rest over my knee, then he plays with the hem of my dress.
“Corey,” I warn, my voice barely a whisper.
“Hmmm?” He’s not even aware of what his hand is doing. We are three rows back from the stage, sitting on the end of our row. Corey begins tapping his hand against my knee until I place both of my hands over his. He stops and looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby. I just wish this would move along faster. ”
I almost ask him why. If I were being honored at an awards show, I’d want to soak up every moment. Sip some more champagne. Talk to my friends. Beyond Drew, Aaron, and Christian, Corey has hardly said more than a brief hello to any of the industry attendees here tonight. I feel a mix of sadness and relief at this thought.
Sadness because I wonder if he really has true friends in the industry. After all this time, surely he’s made some connections? Ritchie Goode’s in-your-face personality from the night we met flashes in my mind. Hmmm, maybe not… The relief is partly due to not having to make small talk with a lot of people in a short amount of time. That shit is exhausting.
At that moment, a tall, lanky stage assistant approaches Corey. “Mr. Moro, you’re next. Our commercial break is up in thirty seconds. They’ll have someone come out and introduce you, then you’ll go accept your award.”
Corey nods, and the assistant hurries away. I hold on to Corey’s elbow and lean closer to him. “Do you have your speech ready?”
He shakes his head. Just as before, he seems calm and collected. “I’m just going to wing it, I guess.”
“Do you know who’s introducing you?”
A slight frown crosses his face. “I’m not sure.”
The assistant stands at the side of the stage and holds up a sign, signaling the end of the commercial break.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Corey groans as he looks at the stage.
Striding to the center of the stage is a bleach blonde woman, tall, but made taller by a pair of Louboutin heels. She’s wearing a shimmery nude, nearly see-through bodysuit with a lace train dragging along behind her. If you were to look up porn star in the dictionary, her image would be there.
Internally, I flinch as she speaks, because I know who she is. And I know why Corey groaned at the sight of her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, settle down now!” She giggles and holds a hand to her chest, where her cleavage is making a desperate bid to escape the confines of her bodysuit. “It’s time we, as an industry, gather to celebrate one of the pioneers in our space. I’d love for the man, the myth, the legend, to join me on stage to receive his lifetime achievement award. Frank Moro, get your sexy ass up here, baby!”
I have no choice but to let go of Corey’s hand and let him walk up to the stage, where his ex, Sabrina Ryder, waits with his award.