TITLE: Sweet Talk
AUTHOR: S.L. Scott
GENRE: Romantic Comedy
From the New York Times Bestselling Author that brought you The Resistance comes this sexy romantic comedy standalone.
Everything you’ve heard about modeling is true, and you haven’t heard the half of it.
And yes, the line between work and reality often blurs.
We’re not just prototypes of perfection. Models have feelings and desires, too. We may be genetically gifted, but we’re still human.
I’m only human. Yes, an extraordinary specimen that earns more in a day than most make in a year, but this eight pack didn’t create itself. I spend hours working on this body. The good looks just come natural. *Winks* Thanks, Mom and Dad.
I’m Danny Weston, Supermodel.
But one path was traded for another when I chose this career. Ten years later, I would trade my career to have it back. To have her back.
Reese Carmichael is the one woman I would give it all up for, and the only one I can’t have. Yet.
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“GOD, I WANT you, Danny,” Simone whispers into my ear. She licks just below it before sliding down over my jaw and biting me.
My hold tightens around her hips, steadying her. I should have seen the bite coming. They all do it, assuming they have to do something extreme to be sexy, to get my attention. Like every other time it happens, I pull back and run my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck, then tighten my grip.
She gasps and digs her nails into my shoulders while the innocence she’s trying to portray in her eyes fails under the skepticism found in mine. Our bodies are pressed together and heated, the fan not strong enough to cool us down.
Tilting her head back, I kiss the divot at the bottom of her neck, then lick from base to chin, taking my sweet time. Simone’s back arches, pushing her breasts against my chest and she moans in pleasure.
“That is so hot. Keep it up,” a voice intrudes.
Simone sighs, irritated, and pulls away. I turn to the photographer’s assistant standing at the edge of the set just as Simone reveals her frustration by leaning back and swinging her leg over me to stand up. Leisurely, my gaze slides up her lean legs. She’s taller than most women and the heels she’s wearing add another good five inches. Appreciating her physique, I smile and recline back with my hands behind my head while watching her adjust the strings at her hips. Her head snaps up and her eyes narrow on the assistant off set. “If you want us to keep it up, then shut up next time.” She storms off, her shoes clacking loudly against the gray cement floor.
Knowing an angry model needs time, I sit up, and ask, “How much time do we have?”
Everyone is well aware that the mood has changed on the set. Worry creases the assistant’s brow when he answers, “I think, umm… five or ten minutes.”
The guy’s anxiety rolls like waves crashing around me. Feeling bad for him, I reassure, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine. Just give her a few minutes to cool down.”
“Thanks.” He smiles though it’s weak. “Are you doing all right?”
I smile genuinely while standing up. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” When I start to walk, the knit boxer briefs I’m wearing for the shoot tighten uncomfortably, so I stop to adjust. They’re a size too small, so I grab my cock and shift. “Actually, I could use a larger size. These are cutting off my blood circulation down here.”
Before the assistant can respond, two women suddenly appear from the darkened side of the large loft. A cute, petite blonde offers, “Let me take a look. Maybe I can help.” She’s bold, not shy like I would have guessed from the librarian look she’s chosen.
The other lady—taller with some gray strands running through her dark hair—seems new to the modeling world. She stands there staring below my waist, and by the way she’s ogling me, I’m guessing she might be new to naked men in general. Maybe she’s never worked on an underwear campaign before. She clears her throat and finds her voice. “They fit around the waist so I can add more material, if you’d like? But I’ll need them to do that.”
Bypassing the first offer, I accept the second. This is my job. I’m a pro, a model, and used to being naked in front of strangers, so I drop my drawers. I bend down to get them, and when I stand back up I’m greeted with two mouths hanging wide open. “Ladies, you’re gonna make me feel shy,” I tease. I’m not shy at all.
Lifting their chins until both their mouths are closed, I chuckle as they continue to stare unabashedly. The taller woman says, “Oh you have nothing to be shy about.”
“Absolutely nothing,” the blonde adds insistently.
“Thanks,” I reply, my voice it’s usual charm. I hand the boxers to the lady and walk off set to grab my robe. When I slip it on, Becs from wardrobe approaches and says, “I can add some room in there for you. I’ll have them back in ten minutes.”
“I already gave them to the seamstress.”
“What seamstress?” she asks.
“The one over there.” When I turn to the set, they’ve vanished. Scanning the loft from one side to the other, the two women are nowhere to be found. “She was just here with a blonde lady.” Perplexed I scan again. “I have no idea where they went.”
Becs rolls her eyes, shakes her head, and sighs loudly. “Good grief. Not again.” Turning on her heels, she yells out, “Security. We’ve had another breach.” With her eyes narrowed on my waist, she adds, “Tighten the belt. You don’t want anyone selling a photo of your frank ‘n beans to the highest bidder.” Her mood lightening, she smiles and shrugs. “Or maybe you do. I’ll get your next wardrobe change—”
I laugh but point to my privates. “Extra roomy.” Becs waves her hand in the air while walking off.
“Yeah. Yeah. I got it.”
ABOUT S.L. SCOTT
Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro.
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