Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 34629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
That part is fuzzy.
I learned early on in this industry not to trust anyone, so I never let them stay the night, but I do kind of suck at kicking them out. I’ve been getting better but obviously I fucked up with this guy.
Who the fuck takes a photo of someone while they’re sleeping and sells it for the world to see?
This isn’t like paparazzi photos or fans taking photos when they see us on the street.
I’ve never felt as used as I do right now, like I’ve sold my body without permission.
Do I really care my cock is out there for everyone’s viewing pleasure? Not really. My dick isn’t the point. It’s amazing but not the point.
It’s the consent.
The violation.
The idea that my body belongs to everyone simply because I’m famous.
“I wonder how much your cock is worth,” Thorne says out of nowhere.
It’s weird being next to him even though it’s not the first time we’ve shared a bed. This is different than the tour bus bed where we’d take it in shifts to get sleep and had no other choice but to share with someone.
This is ... more intimate.
I shake that thought free because I can’t afford to think like that.
“Wow, if you didn’t have a comeback for that, you must really be frazzled.”
I turn my head. “What?”
“I asked how much you think your cock is worth. Priceless, a billion dollars, or more than you can afford didn’t come out of your mouth immediately.” Thorne is stoic and serious most of the time, but every now and then he’ll let his guard down and make a joke.
I laugh. “I didn’t need to say it because you already knew what I was thinking.”
Under the covers, a hand brushes over mine. “Try not to think about it and get some sleep, okay?”
“Okay.”
Thorne tries to pull his hand away, but I hold tight. It’s warm in my palm and gives me a sense that everything will be all right.
Like Thorne says, this is nothing. Tomorrow, they’ll bury it, and everything will be fixed.
I begin to drift off with images of that nameless guy taking photos of me. A few times, I startle awake, thinking he’s standing at the end of my bed, but Thorne’s right there, still holding my hand, and I fall asleep again.
I don’t know how long for though. Harsh whispers filter into my subconscious at one point, and I partially open one eye and see a blue light from a screen. I squeeze the hand that ... oh. Thorne’s gone.
At least, I think he is. I open my eyes fully and find him sitting next to me. His laptop has appeared from nowhere which means he left me at one point, but now he’s back, talking on the phone and tapping away on his computer.
“Thorne?” I croak.
He flinches and almost knocks his laptop off his lap. Then it’s a scramble to end his phone call as fast as possible. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What are you doing?”
Thorne reaches over and runs a hand through my hair.
I tell myself not to read into it. It’s his job to coddle us in these types of situations.
“I’m fixing this,” he whispers. “I promise you.”
I don’t have the energy to fight it. “Okay.”
Sleep pulls me under once more.
When actual morning arrives and I wake properly, I think I have to be dreaming.
Thorne is pressed against me. Well, technically, I’m pressed against him. He’s on his back, and I’m curled into his side with my head in the nook of his shoulder. My leg is over his waist, and his morning wood presses against my thigh. Mine digs into his hip.
I have the urge to rut against him and keep going until I come, but I won’t.
Because one, this is Thorne. And two, falling asleep and accidentally cuddling means nothing.
Clearly, I tried to cling to him in my incapacitated state, and he was either out of it after being up half the night trying to fix my mess or he was feeling sorry for me and let it happen.
For a moment, I sink into his warmth and pretend like this could be my life. Waking up cuddled with a man who I actually like, who isn’t using me because of who I am, and who’s someone I genuinely admire. Thorne would make the perfect partner—you know, if he wasn’t straight. I don’t have a thing for Thorne but the idea of him. He’s hot, he doesn’t take my shit, and I can trust him. And he’s nice when it matters.
He’s always so good to me even though I make his job more complicated. Since Cash got engaged, the tabloids have followed me around hoping for a fuck up.
Well, I certainly gave them what they wanted.
Cash is boring to them now he’s in a committed relationship. He’s still in the media plenty, but it’s not because of a scandal. And scandals sell.