Chapter 29
CHAPTER 29
W ords fall off my tongue, slowly filling the length of a blank white page. I whisper each new sentence, my fingers struggling to keep pace with my thoughts. The click, click, clicks upon my keyboard form the sweetest song I’ve heard in a while. I can’t remember the last time it felt this easy to write.
I only wish I was working on the right story.
My screenplay for Adoria has sat unopened for days. The very sight of it makes my stomach turn. Every time I go to delete the draft, my fingers won’t press the right key. I’m in too deep to abandon ship. But there’s a cannon-sized hole in the hull. I know she’s not salvageable…but I don’t have the energy to swim back to shore. I’m stuck, paralyzed with indecision.
But all my doubts disappear when I’m writing this . A story where magic runs rampant and I’m allowed to write characters as layered and sensitive and redeemable as I please. One with a guaranteed happy ever after, one where the love is true.
I’m smiling, and I don’t even realize it until I hear a knock at my door.
Taylor pokes his head inside. “You’ve got a weird look on your face,” is his greeting.
My lips flatten as I snap my laptop shut. “Well? What’s up?”
“You want the bad news or the worse news?”
I make room for him on my bed, shrugging when he takes his normal seat on my dresser. “Let’s go with bad.”
“The plumbers dropped a wrench onto what is apparently a very important pipe. They dented the piece pretty bad, and it’s going to take them another four days to fix the damage.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s the bad news? How the hell are we supposed to explain this to the Havens?”
“Brace yourself—it gets worse.” Taylor pulls his phone out of his pocket, showing me the email he’s just received.
“The Havens have extended their trip,” I read aloud. “Wait…why’s that a bad thing?”
Taylor twirls his finger. “Keep scrolling.”
“And they…” My eyes bug out when I see it. “They need us to find them a new hotel and have a new week of reservations booked…by tomorrow.”
Taylor grins, his eyes sparkling with malice. “They’re trying to kill us.”
I’m tempted to throw his phone at the wall, but settle with smacking it against my forehead instead.
“All right,” Taylor says with a snort. “That’s enough of that.” He peels the phone out of my fingers, shoving it into his pocket as he takes a seat at the edge of my bed.
“Well, tomorrow morning is gonna suck,” I say with a groan.
We exchange a look that helps dull the pain. It’s nice having someone to commiserate with for a change.
“Sorry, looks like you’ll be stuck with me as your neighbor for a few nights longer.”
“I think I’ll survive.”
We hold the other’s gaze, the air heavy with words we haven’t said. I’m not sure how to fill the silence. I nearly warn him that the walls are thin, but that would suggest I can hear him. And admitting to that feels a lot like admitting I know what he sounds like when he groans. And other things he probably wouldn’t want me thinking about.
Especially since there’s a possibility he could say the same.
Thankfully, Taylor is the first to speak. “That’s actually not the only reason I came in here.” He fiddles with his phone, doing his best to avoid my eyes. “My spec script is done.”
“It is? That was fast.” I try to give him an encouraging smile he doesn’t see. “Want me to read it now?”
“Yes,” he says. “No. I mean…” he shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Yes, I do want you to read it now. But only if you want to.”
“Well, it is part of our bargain,” I muse. When Taylor starts to blush, I decide to put him out of his misery. “But of course I want to read it. I’ll finish it tonight and give you notes tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Taylor murmurs. He fiddles with his phone for a moment before pressing send. He stands up quickly, his blush staining the tops of his ears. “I, uh, I just tried to match the show’s existing themes. I hope you like it.”
He hurries out of my room before I can reply. I laugh to myself, wondering why he sounded so nervous.
The more I read, the surer I become of something.
Last week, the revelation would have sent chills down my spine,
But I’m proud as I read Taylor’s work. Because he’s good .
His episode follows Miss Heartlocke’s maid, a secondary character who he’s cleverly positioned to show the same scenes from a different point of view.
We watch Miss Heartlocke watch the duke, how their eyes linger when the other looks away. The maid is often seen and never heard, but Taylor’s given her a purpose. In quick glimpses weaved throughout the episode, he reveals her crush on Miss Heartlocke—which ties up a plothole from the previous episode. Suddenly, it makes sense why the unnamed maid would risk her position by lying about the whereabouts of a mistress we’ve rarely seen her interact with.
But Taylor’s given the decision purpose. He’s created a love story within a love story, contrasting the hope of new love with its unrequited twin.
For a man who’d never seen a single episode of the historical romance a week ago, he has an unbelievable talent for expressing a character’s emotions through their actions. His Duke and Lady don’t express their feelings through big speeches, but they begin using phrases the other is known for. They request the same items for breakfast and find themselves staring up at the moon. He’s weaved yearning into their every move, and the result is nothing less than magical.
I’m up and knocking on his door before it occurs to me that he might already be asleep. I’m halfway back to my bedroom when the wood creaks behind me. Taylor stands in his doorway, hair rumpled and eyes puffy. His loose t-shirt and pajama pants suggest he did, in fact, just roll out of bed.
But his curious grin convinces me to step closer. “Sorry if I woke you,” I whisper. “But I just finished your script.”
Taylor’s smile transforms his face. “Yeah?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow him into his bedroom.
I perch at the end of his bed, occupying the same seat he chose an hour ago. He surprises me by leaning against his headboard, crossing his legs so we sit opposite each other. He’s close enough that I can smell his detergent—a clean scent that has me wishing I could learn forward, press my cheek against his shirt and inhale until I figure out whatever it is that makes Taylor so uniquely him. A thought I instantly suppress and swear to myself I’ll never entertain again.
“You said you finished my script?” he says after a moment, amusement dancing in his eyes.
I clear my throat. “Yes. I did.”
He leans forward, putting his face precariously close to mine. “And? What did you think?”
I pretend to mull his question over, wincing like I’m about to deliver bad news. “I thought it was incredible,” I admit with a little laugh. “It could’ve been an actual episode in the show.”
The purest kind of joy crosses Taylor’s face. “Really? You’re not joking?”
“You’re good, Hedlund. I wish you had more episodes to share.”
He beams at me and my breath actually stalls in my throat. On a bad day, he’s still the best-looking person I’ve ever seen, but right now, he’s absolutely blinding.
“I kind of wish I didn’t have to write something original,” he says, a little bashfully. “If I could, I would have rewritten the pilot.”
“Oh yeah? To get rid of the bath scene, right?”
Taylor’s smile skews to one side. “Not quite.”
“You hated it!” I laugh. “You couldn’t even watch it.”
He shifts, bringing us close enough that our knees nearly touch. “I’ll admit it surprised me. But after talking to you about it, I…warmed up to the idea. In my pilot, I would have expanded on it.”
My voice emerges as a whisper. “How so?”
“It ended too abruptly.” Now, he’s whispering, too. Talking so low I have to lean in to hear. “The duke should have come up the stairs and heard her.”
“What? Why?”
Taylor’s eyes look impossibly dark when he says, “Because he wanted her. After holding her in his arms, he would have needed to feel more. He should have sought her out, should have listened as she found her pleasure…can you imagine what he’d do if he had?”
I swallow, able to envision it all too well. “But how would he know it’s her? If she was already in the bathroom, he could have stumbled upon anyone.”
“He’d know it was her,” Taylor whispers. “He’d be able to tell immediately. He would’ve imagined her making those sounds a hundred times already.” His eyes drift to my lips, his tongue wetting his own. “He would have wanted to help her.”
I’m not sure we’re talking about his script anymore.
“But he hates her,” I murmur, feeling a little bit dizzy.
“He doesn’t hate her. She gets under his skin. But that’s why she’s always on his mind.”
My eyes flicker between Taylor’s. He’s heavy-lidded, breathing a bit ragged. When he licks his lips, I follow the motion, and he lets out a low groan.
“I think you’re reading too much into the show,” I manage to say, each word more breathless than the last.
Taylor swallows, and something flashes through his eyes a second before he says, “What show?”
And he kisses me.
It’s just a brush of his lips against mine. The briefest taste of cinnamon. And then he’s drawing back, checking my reaction.
Whatever he sees on my face has his eyes glazing over. I lean in on instinct, dragging his mouth back to mine. His lips are so full, even softer than I imagined. I must moan against them because Taylor deepens the kiss with a groan, one of his hands reaching behind my neck to pull me closer. His tongue slides between my lips, coaxing me to open up for him. And then his other arm is closing around my lower back. My hands meet over his shoulders, and all of a sudden, I’m being lifted into his lap.
Taylor nips at my bottom lip, and I can feel his smile form when I let out a little squeak. I retaliate by rolling my hips, sucking on his tongue until he makes a sound deep in his throat.
“Little tease,” he practically growls. Both of his arms rope behind my back, the only warning I get before he flips us. And then I’m flat on his bed, my legs wrapping around his hips on instinct. Taylor leans between my thighs, bringing his face close to nuzzle my throat.
“It’s really annoying you’re good at this, too,” he says between kisses.
I know exactly what he means. “You aren’t supposed to taste so good,” I grit out, breath catching when he bites down on my throat, sucking on the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
“This doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you,” he breathes, one hand traveling down to my hip. “I’m still the better assistant.”
I huff a laugh before drawing his lips back to mine. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make you cry,” I murmur.
“Yeah?” he asks, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s smiling. “If I don’t touch you right now, I think I might die.”
“Then touch me,” I demand, though it sounds more like a whimper. The raw need that transforms Taylor’s face has me reaching for him, pushing my hands beneath his shirt so I can feel the taut ridges of his hips. “Beat you to it,” I can’t help but whisper.
Taylor grins, teeth flashing in the low light before he lowers his head. I cry out as he catches a nipple through my sleep shirt, drawing it into his mouth. He sucks me, biting down just hard enough to send heat flooding my core. I writhe beneath him, my hands exploring every inch of his skin I can reach.
I’m mapping his defined abdomen as he moves to my other breast, hand coming up to tweak my nipple as he licks me. I scale my fingers down his arms, half out of my mind with need. Taylor’s above me, it’s his body I’m exploring. The knowledge adds another layer of sensation, and I’m so much wetter than I normally am, aching for him in a way I never did with my ex.
“Can I?” he asks, fingers fiddling with the bottom of my top. I nod, giving him permission to slip his hands beneath the hem.
He skims the soft skin of my stomach, and I have the horrible realization that I’m being touched by my worst enemy. His eyes are dark with hunger as they trail down my face and onto my chest. The fabric of my satin tank is thin, and I know he can see the curve of my peaked breasts as he stares. For a terrible moment, I think he might say something that will destroy me. Act the part of my fiercest rival and leave me broken in too many pieces to fit back together.
“You are…” he grinds out, voice so damn low. He smirks, and I brace for it. “You are the sexiest thing I have ever seen, Ayla.”
He catches my exhaled surprise in his mouth, hands coming up to cup my heavy breasts. I push myself against him, needing him to pinch my aching nipples, to take them back into his mouth.
“Taylor,” I moan against his lips, “Taylor, please.” I barely know what I’m saying, can’t tell for sure what I’m even asking for.
But Taylor seems to know. “Baby, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “Let me see you.”
He flattens his palm against my ass, encouraging me to hang on as he rolls us once more. This time, I’m on top, thighs pressed on either side of his. I gasp when I feel him beneath me, thick and hard through his pajama pants. I roll my hips experimentally, unable to swallow the moan that pushes through my lips.
This is what I’ve needed. What I pictured in the bathroom, then laying in my bed last night. Even through layers of fabric, I can feel how big he is. It will be a tight fit. He’ll need to stretch me, make me so wet he can slip inside…
I let my head fall back, fingers drifting down my stomach as I drag myself up and down his length. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I can see Taylor gaping up at me, his hands going behind his head as he watches me take what I need.
“Fuck, Ayla,” I think he murmurs. “Ride me, baby.”
But I’m too far gone to hear. I grind against him, the friction leaving me slick and wanting.
“Please,” I pant, clenching around nothing. “I need to feel you.”
Taylor lets out a low laugh as his hands circle my hips. One stays there, coaxing me to grind down harder, to use him to find my own pleasure. The other slips beneath the waist of my pants, then pauses.
He waits until I meet his eyes to slowly slide his hand inside. “Is this all for me?” he murmurs, easing his fingers through my slickness. “Is this how wet I make you? Baby, I haven’t even touched you yet.”
As he talks, he parts me, rubbing against my aching clit. I gasp, the sound falling to a moan as Taylor adds the pressure of another finger, sending sparks shooting behind my eyelids.
“You’ve been imagining this, haven’t you? Touching yourself late at night when you think no one can hear. You aren’t that quiet, Montes.”
I wet my lips, glaring down at him as he looses a laugh. “You heard me,” I grind out. “When?”
“I heard you,” he whispers. “Moaning my name. Whimpering before you found your release.”
My cheeks fill with color as the sounds of my arousal fill the silence. So it was Taylor outside my shower after all. Listening in as I touched myself, brought to the brink by a fantasy of him . I want to hide my face, I want to—
“Have you any idea what hearing that did to me?” he asks in a low growl. My eyes skitter to his terribly dark pair. “It took everything in me to turn away. I should’ve been in there with you, helping you…”
“It sounded like you helped yourself plenty last night.”
Taylor smirks up at me, and suddenly, I forget my embarrassment. Taylor wants me. As badly as I want him. Like he senses the change within me, like he wants to reward me for it, he lifts his hips, hitting a spot that has my spine bowing.
“So I’m not the only eavesdropper after all.”
I open my mouth, but Taylor slips his thumb inside his mouth before returning it to my clit. At the first pass of pressure, I lose the ability to speak.
And I know what he’s doing. I’m used to this—the push-and-pull game we play. Taylor wants me to succumb first, to wave a white flag as I give him my release.
But I’m no quitter.
I lean forward, letting him glimpse my cleavage through the top of my shirt. I watch his face as I move, learning what makes him groan. I make a show of rolling my hips, mouth falling open as I play with my breasts. Taylor’s riveted, his own ministrations going a bit jerky as his pleasure mounts.
I take my time grinding against him, trying to ignore the feeling building low in my gut. Taylor has his head thrown back, throat working as he begins to thrust up. I let out an unwilling whine as he hits against something that sends sparks down my spine.
“Ayla,” he groans, and it’s my name on his lips that does it. Causes my final undoing.
I’m moaning his name as I come, vaguely aware that he’s jerking against me, finding his own release. I slump against him when it’s over, feeling his heavy arms wrap around me. Our chests are both heaving, our skin slick with sweat. And it dawns on me.
Taylor made me come.
My worst enemy made me come without removing a single stitch of clothing.
“Well, that’s fucking embarrassing,” I hear myself say.
His chest rumbles with a laugh. “You’re a screamer, you know that?”
I push up, meeting his crinkled eyes. “And you’re a dick.”
“Thinking about my dick already?” Taylor lets out a low whistle. “You’re insatiable.”
I scoff, pushing myself up. When I glance down at my shirt, I let out a groan. “You’ve ruined my top, asshole.”
We both inspect it. There are two wet spots over my breasts, and the satin has been stretched thin. There’s a small tear in the side seams that will only grow bigger with time.
“You can take mine,” Taylor says a second before lifting his shirt over his head.
He tosses it at me, and I don’t even try to catch it. My eyes are frozen on his naked chest. No tan lines mar his perfect skin, he’s wide and perfectly lean. I drag my gaze over the flexing abdominals I can’t believe I explored only moments ago.
I’m still speechless when he lifts my arms, pulling the shirt over my head. It falls to my mid-thigh, the cotton so thin and soft I know it’s been well-loved.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
Taylor dips his head, pressing another sweet kiss against my parted lips.
“You’re welcome,” he breathes. “Now, get the fuck out.”