Scandalous - Michael B Jordan

chapter 15

what the hell was i doing? i couldn't tell him my plan. i couldn't tell anyone, not yet. i needed to keep my mouth shut and my shit in check. i was close, so close. a few more days, a week tops, then i could fall apart, or run, or do whatever the hell i wanna do because my life would be my own and no one could tell me otherwise.

i tried again to pull out of his grasp, but his stupid fucking hands were bigger than my head, and i wasn't going anywhere until he decided i was going somewhere. and that right there should've been enough to staunch the river of disastrous desire that overflowed every time he so much as looked at me, let alone touched me. or did what he was doing right now, which was pretending he gave a single fuck about me or what i did.

reaching for and trying to channel some self-righteous anger, i threw out attitude, because i didn't know what to do with his silent stare. "that's right. i'm walking away from a once in a lifetime opportunity. a seven figure paycheck per movie career, and i'm doing it all on my own. i planned it, i'm executing it and i committed to it. i don't need a bodyguard turned life coach. i can breathe and stand and make decisions all on my own, so you can let go."

he didn't move. he didn't even blink. his steadfast gaze locked on me, he stared.

"now." i snapped.

"how long?" he asked.

"what?"

"how long did you plan this?"

his heart wasn't pounding out of his chest. his hands didn't shake. his pulse wasn't hammering at his neck. slow and steady, opposite of me, he breathed and stared and held on to me.

for some reason, his calm only made me angrier. "did i miss the bond fest where we ate too much ice cream, made friendship bracelets and swore to be besties?" he wasn't my friend. shit, he wasn't even an acquaintance."

"you don't plan, execute and commit," he said, completely ignoring me.

"and this is relevant how?"

"you commit first." he stated, no intonation in his voice.

"no fucking shit, einstein." i wasn't stupid. "i committed to this plan over a year ago." as soon as the words left my mouth, i cursed my stupidity. "that was on purpose."

he didn't insult me by rubbing it in. "if this was planned, then why are you panicking?"

my heart rate a little slower, the awful tightening in my chest not so bad, my lungs taking deeper breaths, i hated that i've been panicking, but i hated more that he called me out on it. i still haven't seen the video of my shit last night or checked all the fallout on social media, and the old me, the person i was trying to cut off at the knees, was panicking about that.

half my brain was telling me i needed to get in there asap. manage damage control, watch the video, scour the gossip sites, see what my fans were saying, see what my haters were saying, see what the hell kind of spin montgomery asshole de la cruz was putting on it or if he'd started rumors that we were a couple.

that half of my brain was overpowering any sense of rightness i've felt in pulling my own proverbial trigger. so when i saw the footage of that asshole giving me a shot he'd put drugs in, and his smug expression followed by his fist pump like he was actually going to get me in bed or worse, i lost it.
i tried to run. i needed to run.

but a six and a half foot giant tank of a man had been in my way. he was still in my way. mustering every ounce of training i've gotten over the years from all sorts of whacked directors, i schooled my expression and went for shock value.

"from publicist to bestie to life coach. what's next, michael? fucking?" just like i thought it would, his expression went stone cold when i said his name with equal parts disdain and sarcasm. it was a low blow, unconscionably so after he laid out his story, but i didn't care. i told myself i was done giving a shit what people thought of me. except seeing his face shut down did something to my stomach. and my chest. and i didn't like it.

"let go of me." i snapped. silence. his eyes searching my face, his grip just as tight as before, he didn't move. idiotic, suicidal, i egged him on. "go ahead," i seethed, wrapping my arms around his massive neck and going on tiptoe. "do what every other man in america wants to do." i pressed into his impossibly hard body. "kiss a movie star." i bit out every ugly word. "take from me like every other fucking person on the planet."

all at once, his expression went slack, his shoulders dropped and he let go of me. "you done?"

yeah, i was done. so fucking done. with him, with acting, with fame, with pressure, with assholes who put drugs in my drinks, i was fucking done. but i was also stubborn enough to do the stupidest thing i could think of.

"i'm just getting started." i launched myself at him.
my arms went around his neck, my legs around his waist, and i desperately, pathetically did to him what i accused him of doing to me. i took from him. i forced my mouth over his and i kissed him.

for one horrifying, confidence-slaying moment, he remained stone still. a wall of muscle, he didn't even flinch. as if my weight on him, my assault, was nothing, he stood perfectly and impossibly still.

a cry, part anguish, part anger, and all humiliation erupted from the ashes of my dignity, and i lashed out. my arm pulled back, my hand fisted, and i aimed. "i hate you."

he moves. one of his huge hands caught my fist as the other gripped a punishing handful of my hair. then his mouth slams over mine. his tongue, huge and thick and dominating, drove into me. taking my shocked gasp, stealing my breath, still holding my fist, he bent my arm behind me.

incapacitating me on every level, he pushed my arm into my lower back, forcing my hips against his. one controlling, perfectly executed grind of his hips, and i felt every inch of his giant dick between my legs and on my stomach as he thrust his tongue.

and he didn't kiss me. he devoured me, and i fucking melted. clawing at his neck, grinding my hips, moaning, i wanted him to fill my empty core or i wanted to die. there was no in between.

"fuck me." i begged, out of my mind, forcing words around his unrelenting possession of my mouth. for five glorious seconds, he tightened his hold on my hair and shoved his tongue deeper. air rushed past my heated body, and the resulting shiver only made my dripping core wetter.

yes, i thought. yes, yes, yes. until my ass hit the cold top of the dresser. his grip on my arm behind my back dropped, and his mouth ripped away from mine. the pressure on my scalp ceased, leaving an unbearable tingle as a rough, calloused hand wrapped around my throat.

my lungs, deprived of oxygen, automatically reached for air and i inhaled. slow, like coming awake when i never been alive, my eyes traveled up the chest of a tank and my gaze came into focus. i took in the formidable beast of a man in front of me as he stood staring at me.

his expression hard and impenetrable, his dark brown-colored eyes locked on me, his lips wet, he waited. My stomach dropped. "hi." i whispered, forcing a swallow.

"you do not," he started, his voice low and threatening, "fucking kiss me."

desire surged between my legs and my traitorous core pulsed. hoping, praying, for attitude-laced words, i opened my mouth. the pressure on my throat increased. i snapped my mouth shut, but not from fear or pain. oh no, it was worse, so much worse.

my mouth shut, and my legs rubbed together as i choked down a groan because my body wanted to do anything and everything this dominating asshole tank of a man told it. i wasn't humiliated or blindingly angry. i didn't even give a shit about my dignity. i was out of my mind desperate, salivating for him. and he was denying me.

no recourse, not even sure i wanted one, i dropped my gaze. his thumb pressed under my chin and lifted my head as he barked out an order. "look at me when i'm talking to you." i did. instantly.

"you don't take." he warned.

"okay." i whispered, hungry for something i didn't understand.

his nostrils flared. hope surged like a victory party low in my belly, and a dangerous thread of brazenness unraveled. emboldened, i licked my bottom lip. it was the last thing i should've done. his expression locked down, his hand dropped, and he walked out.