Her teeth settled into her bottom lip as she shook her head slowly.
“I love breasts. I don’t care about anything else. I mean, I can appreciate it.” I trailed a finger between her legs, dipped it inside, then sucked her juices off. “I want to make all of you feel good. And I’m dying to feel you wrapped around me.” I dipped my finger back inside. “Hot, and wet, and tight.” My thumb pressed her mound, circling, until she closed her eyes and moaned. Her hips undulated against my hand, and her thighs tightened. I drew away in a tease, and her eyelids fluttered open. Once again, I sucked on my finger then placed the tip of my finger in her mouth. She repeated the sucking action, and her teeth scraped my nail. I felt her warmth everywhere. I cupped her breast and massaged it, supple and heavy in my hand. My thumb flicked over her nipple.
“You turn me on. Just. The. Way. You. Are.” I interspersed my words with kisses across her skin. Then we lay there, holding each other, comfortable and warm on her sofa. Me, on the verge of spreading her legs and pounding her. God, I wanted to. But I forced myself to refrain. I wanted more than a quick afternoon fuck for our first time. That Ben guy did a number on her. By the time I returned to New York, if I had my way, she’d see herself the way I saw her. And she’d demand her worth.
Chapter 22
Poppy
“Yes, thank you so much. I’ll look for your email.” I hung up the phone and squealed at the top of my lungs. I clicked Gabe’s name then hit decline in a nanosecond, before it rang. He didn’t like still photos. He might not share my excitement.
So, I called Luna. Wind funneled through the phone. The girl was always out and about collecting samples for research. I had no idea why, really. I’d been with her a few times. Dirt in glass vials or plastic bags. The girl had a job I personally would never want.
“Guess what!” I shrieked.
“What?” Tate’s deep timbre rang through the line.
“Tate, where’s Luna?” A commotion followed and Luna and Tate’s voices blended.
“Hey girl.”
“You’re not going to fucking believe this. Netflix called!”
My heart pumped blood so fast I thought my chest might explode from the effort. My fingertips tingled, and I bounced around on the tips of my toes.
“Netflix?”
“Yes! They’re doing a reality TV show on OnlyFans celebrities. They want to understand who they are and what their day-to-day life is like. And they’re interested in me!” I squealed. Holy shit, my subscriber numbers would blast through the fucking roof. “I mean, it was an initial call. Nothing will probably come of it.”
My jittery high deflated as reality punctured a hole in my balloon. Nothing was guaranteed. They were probably meeting with tons of candidates. The call was the first step. Then I’d have to fly out for an introductory meeting with the producers. At that meeting, they’d see me in person, the unfiltered, un-Photoshopped, real live specimen. Maybe if I didn’t eat for the next two weeks… The noises coming through the phone sounded like a wind tunnel.
“Where are you?” I asked Luna.
“We’re headed out to a wreck site. Some fishing net hooked on it has collected a crazy amount of trash and we’re going to remove it. Clean up the site. That’s cool that Netflix called. But are you sure you want to do that? I don’t feel like those reality TV shows do good things for the contestants or…would you be a contestant? Is it a game, or are they following you around? Like the Kardashians or something?”
“It’s not a game. It’s more like…” Following me around, assuming I’m the kind of train wreck people couldn’t keep their eyes off. Like the Kardashians. Obviously, the producer guy didn’t say that, but why would anyone want to watch me if I was all put together? They’d seen my account and assumed I was a basket case. A blonde shitshow. “Well, shit, Luna. I was so excited.”
“And maybe you should be. I don’t know. It’s just, I don’t trust those people. They’re all about money. Which for them means ratings. What’s your next step?”
“I fly out to L.A. He’s emailing me information.”
“Well, free trip to L.A., right? That’s cool.”
I hung up the phone with Luna, my jacked-up excited balloon popped, kaplooey. He’d said he’d send an email, but as I scanned my inbox, nothing had yet arrived from Nyck Johansen. But I did have an email response from Capital Business Enterprises.
I clicked on the email. They’d seen one of my posts asking about selling subscribers. He had a number of questions about my income level, month-to-month and year-to-year. In a nutshell, he wanted my attrition number. It wouldn’t be good, but any payment for a business I planned to close down was better than no payment.
I lost myself gathering the data for him in my trusty Excel sheet. About midway through the exercise, it occurred to me I was sending off a whole lot of data into the ether to a guy I’d never met before. But it wasn’t like Star Business was a public entity. What exactly could he do with it? And, if he was right, and he could get me the dollar per subscriber he referenced, I might not even need that bank loan.
Of course, if I sold my OnlyFans business, then there’d be no Netflix. I meandered down to my den, taking it all in through fresh eyes. Imagining a film crew, or at least cameras placed strategically throughout. A dirty coffee cup from yesterday remained on the coffee table along with the wine glass from last night and a crumpled paper towel. The throw I’d circled around my
