Page 30 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

ERICA

A look of grim determination fixes on Seb’s face as I slide off his lap. He unbuttons his shirt and a couple of assistants come over to help him out of it so he doesn’t damage the tattoos.

In all the years of our friendship, I’ve never seen Seb without a shirt on. And he’s right, this whole situation feels weird. Not like porn per se , but watching Seb remove his clothes is hot .

The muscles in his shoulders and back ripple. I am melting. His bare chest is covered in my logo, the infinity symbol snaking its way over his pecs, his abs, all the way down to the v that tapers into his jeans. It’s as though I’ve branded him all over. Mine.

“Let’s change the jeans,” says the photographer, and someone runs over with a pair of pale jeans. “Boots and socks off. Let’s do bare feet and stonewash this time.”

The flicker on Seb’s face is minute as he bends to undo the boots, slides them off, and removes his socks.

Another assistant grabs them and takes them away.

Seb straightens and reaches for the buttons on his jeans.

His gorgeous hands slide the metal button through the hole.

His dick is under there . A guilty, shameful heat runs through me because this really does feel like watching porn.

A slow and sensual kind made just for me. Absolutely off-limits.

“Eyes up, Lefroy,” Seb chides.

My stomach flips, but I cover up the bizarre way I’m feeling about his barely concealed dick with a laugh. A pretty convincing one too. Check me out, so cool and amused in the face of my friend’s penis. Feels like I’m winning at life.

But as he undoes the jeans and slides them down, my gaze goes straight to his crotch, where the fabric of his boxers is doing nothing to hide the size of his package. And it is big . My cheeks burn.

He grabs the fresh jeans from the assistant and pulls them on. “I prefer these. All that black made me feel like I was dressed to break into someone’s house.”

You can break into my house any time.

He sits back down and I take a steadying breath before I resume my position on his lap again.

His large, warm hands land on my bare hips.

Heat unfurls from the points of contact, rippling out like ink in water.

Shit . I wish my body wasn’t reacting like this.

It’s incredibly inconvenient. I keep my head down, refusing to look at him because…

he’s Seb. He sees right through people. It’s this uncanny ability he has to know what people are thinking.

Right on cue, he says, “Getting a bit hot and bothered there, Lefroy?”

I bite my bottom lip and Seb’s blue gaze takes in the motion, a hint of a smile settling on his lips. His thumb strokes over my hip bone and my attempt to answer dies in my mouth. What should have been a firm No comes out as little more than a breath. Another whimper.

“Let’s wind this up,” says the photographer. “Do what you were doing before. Keep it moving, as natural as possible, and then move into the kiss.”

My stomach dips. I hadn’t really thought this through. I remind myself that Mum will hate it. That this will help reshape my image. I can be the sexy woman I need to—

Seb hauls me closer still, severing my thoughts. There are inches between his bare abs and my stomach. His hands run up my back. One slides over my shoulder and up my neck, and the pounding in my pussy is unreal .

“Kiss me,” he whispers, and the raw command settles right between my legs, my pulse beating as though my heart has lodged down there too.

We edge closer, breaths mingling, tension fierce.

“This is fake,” I say, almost breathless and so quiet that no one else but him could possibly hear it.

“Yeah.” The word is deep and low, and I know, in this moment, he’d agree with whatever I said.

“Just for show,” I repeat, but I’m dizzy with how close he is. The whisper of his breath as it fans my face. The gentle pressure his hands exert on my hips as he eases me towards him and positions me over his crotch . His dick .

“Fucking kiss me, Lefroy,” he says, and before I can process the order, I’m already doing it. My hands are in his hair, palms rasping against the stubble on his jaw, lips pressed to his, soft, warm, and wet when his tongue slips inside my mouth.

I’m kissing Seb. We’re kissing. He’s kissing me.

I moan into him, grinding on his lap, kissing him with a fervor that I really shouldn’t, my hand sliding over his chest, my thumb grazing his nipple .

And that’s when I feel it. Hard. Big . And pressing against my pussy . Holy fuck, is that his dick? Is that Seb Hawkston’s penis, separated from my clit by a couple of layers of clothing?

Excitement flashes through me, and my core throbs, aching with want. I tilt my hips until I’m at just the right angle to rub myself against it… That feels good . So good. Too good.

Maybe it’s not his dick. It’s probably the buttons. The thick fabric of the jeans rucked up because of how he’s sitting.

But either way, if I tip forward the pressure is perfect …

“Oh,” I moan, so quietly that only Seb can hear.

“Shit, Lefroy,” he murmurs in response, frustration and desire squeezed in the sound. This has gone too far. It’s supposed to be fake, but knowing I’ve reduced him to such desperation makes my stomach flutter and my heart race.

“Okay, and relax. We’ve got what we need,” says the photographer.

Seb lets his arms slide down until his hands are on my hips again. He’s definitely breathing a little heavy. I go to move off him, but his fingers clamp down.

“Not yet,” he says, voice husky.

My heart thumps. “Are you…”

“Don’t move. Give me a second.”

Oh, my God. He is hard. This might be fake, but his erection is very real.

Fire rushes through my bloodstream, a heady sensation of power and lust combined.

I made him hard . I cling to him, aware there are at least a dozen pairs of eyes on us.

Probably more. Do they know? Do they all know that my clit is thumping and his dick is hard?

“Oh, but…” My sentence dangles like a hanged man.

He groans against my neck, breathing steam into my veins.

His lips are right there, hovering like butterfly wings over my throat.

“Fuck,” he curses, and the strangled sound of his voice is almost enough to tip me over the edge.

His hands tighten, fingers anchoring into my flesh, his quads tense beneath my thighs.

We cannot do this . I’m about to shift off him again when his head snaps up and his gaze locks onto the photographer. “Get out.”

I gasp. “Wait, Seb—”

“I… uh…” begins the photographer.

Seb jerks his chin. “What’s she paying you?”

The photographer’s gaze flicks between us, but he must decide Seb is the one in charge because he says, “Five thousand.”

“I’ll pay you ten times that to get the fuck out of here and take everyone with you. Clear the room.”

“But—”

“I need five minutes with my girl. Now.”

My girl .

The photographer’s eyes peel wide, and for a second he stares, gaze bouncing between us, but then he makes his decision. “Everyone. Out,” he calls, spreading his arms and shooing them like an alarmed herd of sheep.

When they’re gone, the studio falls deadly silent, me still straddling Seb’s lap.

The beat of my heart slows, but I’m hyper alert, aware of everything from the tension of my bra strap constricting my ribs on every inhalation, to the abrasive rub of his jeans against my bare thighs and the press of his erection still edging against the lace of my underwear. And his hands… his hands on my skin.

“You can’t order everyone off a set like that,” I reproach him.

“You tweaked my nipple.” The words grind out like he’s annoyed, but he’s speaking quietly. “You kissed me and you tweaked my fucking nipple. At the same time. That was a dirty move, Lefroy.”

He groans, and even though he’s not looking at me, I know all his other senses are fixed on me. His attention dusts over my skin like the gentlest of strokes. “Tell me I’m not alone here.”

I glance over his shoulder at the empty room. “There were a lot of people in here before you waved them out with a wedge of cash.”

“No, I mean… are you…” He sucks in a breath, closing his eyes and rubbing his finger and thumb over his lids. “Fuck,” he curses on an exhalation, unable to finish his sentence.

I know what he’s getting at because I can still feel his erection. I’m sitting on it, pussy throbbing right over it. Of course he’s not alone in this.

He’s so beautiful, especially with this tormented emotion clear in his expression.

And yes, I’m turned on… so far on, I don’t know what off feels like anymore.

My body and mind battling for supremacy.

My mind says no, don’t be stupid , but my body wants to fling off my remaining clothes and let him take me right here in the studio.

Virgin or not, I want this. I want him .

Before I can think twice about it, I kiss him again, and he eats it up without question.

My tongue sweeps against his, each movement of our mouths a wordless confession that spells out wanting .

Mutual wanting . If this kiss were fire, it would scorch the earth, and every bone in my body liquefies under its heat.

Oh, God. I grind against him, the rough rub of my clit against his jeans barely enough to satisfy me.

A raw sound rumbles in his chest like I’ve unleashed a wild beast. It strikes me like a slap to the face. I break away, the air instantly cooling my wet lips. “No,” I murmur. “We can’t.”

He pants, touching two fingers to his mouth, blue eyes feverishly scanning my face. “What the fuck was that, Lefroy?”

“I’m so sorry.” I sound just as breathless as he does. “I was in the zone.”

He rubs a hand over his face and lets out another low, grating noise. “What zone? The ‘ fuck me right now ’ zone?”

“No,” I say, even though it sounds pretty accurate, given that when I peel off my underwear, it’ll be wet.

So wet. “I got carried away. I’m so sorry.

That was extremely unprofessional.” My near-nakedness hits me all at once, and I have to resist the urge to cover myself.

“When I’m working, I can lose myself in the role.

It doesn’t mean anything.” Complete denial. That’s what I’m going for.

I ease off him, and he sits for a moment, sighing as he hangs his head. Gone is the man who ordered everyone out of the room with such authority. He’d never let anyone else see this version. This one’s just for me.

I want to reach out and tell him I get it .

And I’m sorry. For the nipple. For the kiss.

I shouldn’t have done any of it . But instead, I pretend to be completely indifferent.

It’s better if he thinks this is me being a professional.

A professional nipple-tweaker. Professional cocktease.

Ugh . Tension bites at my stomach like I’ve downed a bottle of bleach, burning up my throat with the truth that wants to spill out on a chaser of guilt. I’m attracted to you. For real.

I can’t tell him that I’m just as turned on as he is, or that having him beneath me like that sparked an explosive thrill like nothing else, because where would that leave us and this fake dating?

And more importantly, he’s Seb. We’re friends .

Anything more than that, and I’d ruin my most important relationship.

He ruffles a hand in his hair, glancing up at me while his head is still angled towards the floor. “You’re a good actress. That felt pretty real to me.” He blinks exaggeratedly like he’s trying to wake up from a dream. “I’m sure you’ll get that role in no time.”

I cringe, and the guilt only gets worse. I hate lying to him .

He stands and adjusts himself, drawing my attention to his bare feet.

All tendons and slim ankles. There’s something intimate about it that appeals to me.

He’d walk around like this at home . I’ve seen his bare feet before, sure, but when he’s also half naked and his torso and arms marked up with my logo…

I want to keep him, just like this. Mine, mine, mine.

I am so far from indifferent, it’s getting to be a problem.

And Seb… maybe he was moved by that kiss, by the pretense of the whole thing…

the proximity, the skin, the underwear. But he would be that way with any woman, wouldn’t he?

It means nothing . I’ve known him long enough to know that much.

If he gets hard for a woman whose name he can’t remember the next day, then this was both an inevitability and completely meaningless.

There is absolutely no way I can ever admit to him that I might have felt a little something unprofessional too.

“What happens now?” he asks.

I blow out a breath, hoping it’ll take the distracting thoughts of Seb with it. “Now, you go wash all this off…” I trace a fingertip over the infinity symbols marking his forearm, and his eyes track the movement. “And go back to the office.” I sigh, lamenting the disappearance of all that ink.

“You really like the tattoos.”

“Nah. I like my mark on your skin,” I admit in a moment of crippling honesty that has Seb taking in the slightest of inhalations and my chest tightening in response. A series of other marks I might make on his skin pass through my mind… teeth marks, bite marks, scratches…

Ugh .

Fake. This is all fake .

I’d better not forget that or I’ll be in real trouble, because Seb Hawkston is not mine at all .