11. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
I’m banging the kitchen cabinets open and shut, pulling out ingredients and lining them up on the counters.
“And how’s married life going?” my mom asks over my cell’s speakerphone.
“It’s…amazing,” I fib, glad she can’t see the lie on my face. I just got done recapping the honeymoon in Paris, but with all the awful parts left out. “Nothing like I imagined, though.”
“Are you two taking good care of each other?” she prods. “The first few months can be quite an adjustment.”
“That’s actually why I called,” I say. “I’m making Luka a special dinner because he’s been working so much overtime, and I wanted to get your dark chocolate mousse recipe.”
She laughs, and I realize how much I’ve missed the sound. “It’s three ingredients!”
“I know, I know,” I admit. “It’s just chocolate, butter, and eggs. Salted butter and—”
“Organic eggs,” she says along with me.
“Right,” I sigh. “But I need you to explain all the melting and the beating and the stirring! Last time I tried, it was a total fail. The texture was all gritty.”
“You have to let it cool before you fold in the egg whites,” she says. “I’ll walk you through it. And if you have espresso, you can add some of that too. Does Luka like espresso?”
“Agh! Mom, you’re a genius,” I tell her.
Knowing the mousse has to cool in the fridge for a few hours, I get it out of the way first. Thanks to my mom, it comes out perfectly. After lavishing her with gratitude and promises that we’ll see each other soon, I hang up the phone—only to realize the afternoon is slipping by.
I know it’s possible I’ll never win back Luka’s affection, and that whatever seemed to be blooming between us has been irretrievably lost…
but even though the sex we have is fantastic, I can’t live my life waiting for the rare occasion he wants me too much to resist. I have to focus on my own needs.
Which means moving forward with my modeling career.
Emzee’s advice was solid. Luka may not owe me anything after what I almost did to him, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get what I want.
And while I don’t have any regrets about giving up the contract with Elite—even though it came with the offer of the Maxilene account—my dreams haven’t changed.
Getting Luka’s help is my best shot at winning the Maxilene job without having to lie, cheat, or steal.
Mousse done, I move on to the marinara sauce with spicy pepperoncini, Luka’s favorite.
I give the sauce a boost with some heavenly Italian sausage I picked up at the deli and let it simmer while I spoon the cooled mousse into cut crystal glasses, topping the desserts off with cinnamon and shaved chocolate before setting them back in the refrigerator.
Then I take out the dough I made earlier and roll it through the pasta maker, into perfect ribbons of fettuccine.
It’s funny; of all the fancy meals Luka has spent his life eating, spaghetti is the one he likes best.
Sweating and overheated now, I take a well-earned break with Instagram, a few texts with Mateo, and a tall glass of iced tea.
As I swipe a flour-dusted hand across my forehead, I realize I’m probably a total mess, but hopefully it will all be worth it.
My plan is to play the role of a good wife.
A model wife. The kind any husband would be happy to come home to.
The kind he’d be more than willing to assist when she oh-so casually brings up her next career step.
Time for my side dishes.
I steam some green beans and toss together a Caesar salad, then round out the meal by roasting pears and sprinkling them with nutmeg, cinnamon, and a touch of cayenne before popping them back in the oven to warm.
When they’re glistening, the flesh lined with grill marks, I top them with raisin sauce and set them in the warmer. It feels like I just ran a marathon.
I still have an hour before he arrives, so I set the table for the two of us complete with wine glasses and a tumbler for brandy. Then I get in the shower and wash, shave, exfoliate, and condition myself to within an inch of my life.
Standing in front of the mirror, I take my time massaging lotion into my skin, ensuring every inch of me is soft and supple. Then I lightly blow-dry my hair and twist it into a loose knot with some wisps hanging down—just the way Luka likes it.
I keep my makeup simple yet sexy with a sheer bb cream, tons of mascara, and bold lips—the same lip color I wore last time I took him in my mouth, leaving it smeared on his cock.
Lastly, I put on a lacy halter bra, my highest black heels, and a tight black dress with a deep V in the front that I know Luka likes.
Finally, I give myself a once-over, pleased with my efforts.
Who knows? There might be more than one dessert on the table tonight.
My belly flutters at the thought.
Shaking off the heat that line of thinking sends through me, I return to the kitchen just in time to hear Luka opening the front door. Quickly, I pour him a brandy and stride into the living room, offering the glass as I drink him in.
My mouth goes a little dry. I didn’t see him before he left for work this morning. I never forget how hot my husband is, but seeing him again after even a few hours’ break always reminds me just how spectacular he is.
“That suit looks great on you,” I say as I offer him the glass.
He hesitates before taking it, narrowing his eyes slightly as if he’s rightly confused.
“Thanks.” He holds the glass as if he’s not sure what to do with it. Then he takes a sip and sets down his work bag, strides to the table to give it a once-over, and turns to look at me.
“What’s going on, Brooklyn?” he asks, suspicious.
I smile wider. “Do you smell that? The marinara is ready. I hope you’re hungry.”
It’s obvious how startled he is. “Wait. You cooked…for me? Why?”
“Maybe I’m just taking my role seriously for once.”
He follows me as I sashay into the kitchen, drawn by his curiosity or his stomach. Probably both. I stir the sauce and lift the lid off the noodles I’d drizzled in olive oil and sea salt.
“It’s been a long time since we’ve had dinner together,” I add. “Go. Sit. I’ll bring you a plate.”
“Brooklyn.” The warning in his tone is weak and I know, at least for right now, I’ve got him. He’s hungry. He’s tired. And I have the cure, in the form of a big plate of made-from-scratch pasta and sauce, and a glass topped off with aged merlot.
The way his eyes rove my body also suggests he’s hungry for more than just the meal. Well. If it comes down to it, I’m willing to let him do anything he wants—not just because I want to insure he hears me out, but because I miss the feel of his body on mine.
He pulls out a chair and sits, eyes tracking me through the doorway.
I prepare his plate and bring it over, bending to display my cleavage as I set his food in front of him.
I see the muscle in his jaw tighten as he forces his gaze away.
Suppressing a smirk, I go back for my own plate, then serve us both a glass of wine.
Snapping my fabric napkin, I set it on my lap after I sit.
“How was work?” I ask.
“It was…fine,” he says, then clears his throat. “And how was your day?”
“Excellent,” I chirp. “Now please eat. You’ve earned it.”
My behavior is all very wife-like and proper, and it’s clearly confusing the hell out of my husband.
He gives me a steady look as he starts on his salad, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his mind.
He knows I’m after something. But it doesn’t stop him from digging in to his pasta.
I can tell he’s enjoying it by the way he pauses after the first bite, sighing softly.
I try to keep up with Luka, but I’m so nervous about talking to him that I don’t have much of an appetite.
When he finally finishes his meal and sits back with his wine glass in one hand, his expression is more relaxed. Maybe some of the fight in him has gone.
“So,” I say slowly as I set down my own glass, “I overheard something interesting while I was at the DRM offices visiting your sister the other day.”
One of his brows immediately shoots up. “Oh really. And what was that?”
“Oh, just that the agency is looking for the next Gisele so they can take on Maxilene’s ad campaigns. Exclusively. I mean, if all goes according to plan.”
Luka sighs and starts pushing away from the table. “I knew you were after something. Don’t even ask; the answer is no.”
I put a calming hand on his forearm. “Stop. Stay. Finish your wine and hear me out.”
He pauses, probably thrown by how authoritative my voice was just now. To my relief, he sits back again and reaches for his glass. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“This isn’t just about me wanting visibility or a paycheck. Think about it. Isn’t it better for your image if I’m successful? A wife reflects on her husband and vice versa.”
He grins but there’s no humor in it. “Obviously.”
I ignore his sharp tone. “Having a strong new model go out for the job would also reflect well on the company, and prove what it can deliver to the industry as a whole. That’s the main goal here, right? Making sure Danica Rose succeeds and presents its best face to the public?”
He sighs but doesn’t say anything. He has to listen to reason, and he knows I’m right.
Taking his drink with him, he retreats to the living room and settles onto the sofa. I follow him, watching him lean back against the leather cushions, his gaze intent on me.
“Well?” I say.
“If you want the job, you’re going to have to do what every other model has to do—audition.”
My heart flutters at the deep huskiness of his voice.
“Haven’t I already proven myself?”
“You want this, you need to do it properly,” he commands.
I go damp between the thighs watching him work at his tie until it pulls free.
He tosses it to the side, then slowly loosens the buttons of his dress shirt.
I want nothing more than to crawl onto his lap and ride his cock until we both explode.
Instead, I set my glass down and move to stand before him, waiting for instructions.
“This is a nude audition. Show me how DRM’s prize new model takes off her clothes.”
I don’t hesitate—in fact, I have to force myself to slow down—as I reach behind my back and lower the zipper on my dress.
He watches, eyes dark with lust, as I hold the dress to my chest and pull the straps over my shoulders with my other hand.
Slowly, I spin in a circle, glancing at him over my shoulder before I bend low.
I can feel the hem rising high up my ass cheeks, exposing the plump lips of my bare pussy, before I stand and complete my rotation to face him.
I lower the dress by fractions, showing the firm swell of my breasts, and then I drop it.
It flutters to my feet. I step out of it and stand before him in my sheer bra and high heels, pulling the elastic from my hair.
“Turn around and bend over again. All the way, until your face touches your legs.”
Pulling my hair over one shoulder, I turn away and run my hands down my sides, over my hips and slowly, slowly over my ass.
Good thing I’m religious with my yoga. Lifting my arms above my head, I drop to a forward fold, working my ass back and forth in little rotations as I bend and take my calves in my hands, my leg muscles stretched tight.
I could look at him from between my legs, but I don’t.
I hold still for several seconds, letting him enjoy the view before slowly coming back up.
My heart is racing, my skin flushed as I stand tall before him once again.
Cupping my breasts in my hands, I strut over to him and stand with my legs spread, so close that he could reach out and touch me.
Our eyes lock and I don’t realize how hard I’m breathing until just then. My pussy aches for him. My nipples are peaked hard inside the fabric cups.
“You’ve made it to the second round.” Luka unfastens his belt and unzips his pants. “Now get up here and audition on my cock. Show me how good you can ride it.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I get on top of him, one knee on either side of his hips on the soft cushions.
As I grip his cock and guide him toward me, he pulls down my bra, freeing my aching breasts.
We both cry out as I slide down onto his generous length.
I feel deliciously full, and begin to grind back and forth, helpless little moans escaping my lips. This is so good.
He brushes his thumbs over my nipples before pulling me closer and taking one in his mouth.
I let out a whimper, and then he finds my clit with his other hand and begins to stroke agonizingly slowly—a tantalizing contrast to my fast, desperate pace.
The sofa creaks on its wooden peg feet, sliding slightly across the floor as I drive myself down on him again and again.
Luka strokes me harder, faster, until my pussy tightens around him, and the swirl of orgasm teases me.
It takes everything I have to hold back.
I’ve waited too long for this and I can’t let myself come after only two minutes.
I force myself to slow down, really feeling him inside me.
“Fuck yes,” I groan. “Fuck me, Luka.”
His cock swells, and I’m both stunned and pleased at how fast I can drive him to the edge along with me.
Suddenly, he reaches down and grips my ass, pulling me off his dick and up toward his face as he scoots down on the cushions.
I find an awkward position with one knee bent against the back of the couch, the other on the side of Luka’s face.
He pulls my hips forward and slides his hot, open lips against my pussy.
His tongue darts against my clit. I buck and moan as the sensation becomes a delicious blend of pleasure and nearly painful intensity.
He won’t let me go, holding me firmly against his mouth as he plunges inside me with his tongue.
Suddenly, I come against his lips, his strokes sending a shockwave through me that I ride out on his face.
Before I can think straight, he pulls me back down onto his cock, both of us on the floor now.
He thrusts into me hard, three, four times before he grunts, turning to stone.
His fingers grab handfuls of my hair as he rams up into me, jutting his release into my wetness.
I collapse onto him, bracing myself against the sofa behind him until our breathing slows. My brain is in a daze, but the feel of Luka lightly pushing me with his hands grounds me.
He’s pushing me away.
“Get up,” he says.
I slide off him and he wastes no time putting himself together. Buckling his belt, he looks me over without an ounce of expression. My heart sinks.
“You aren’t the only one in the running for this. I need to see the other girls before I make my decision. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
He turns and walks away.