The Whole Package (Hearts to Buy #1)

Carmen

T he Red Velvet Bar is just a few minutes away, nestled in the bustling heart of Los Angeles. It's a spot I'm well acquainted with, familiar and comfortable, yet buzzing with enough energy to keep the atmosphere vibrant. It doesn't usually draw the big Hollywood names, but it's popular enough to always have a lively crowd.

We quickly find a booth tucked away in the back, offering a sense of privacy amidst the lively chatter and clinking of glasses. Our drinks arrive promptly, and the efficient service is one of the many reasons I favor this place.

"Is there anything you can't do?" Carlisle asks, amusement lacing his tone. This comes after I casually mention my supposed secret talent for cooking. It's a complete fabrication, but it's part of the game, a little embellishment to add depth to my persona. He doesn't need to know the truth, not when the lie paints a more intriguing picture.

"Not really, no, I'm pretty much perfect," I quip back, my laughter mingling with his in a symphony of shared amusement. I down the last of my martini, feeling the pleasant buzz of the alcohol and the excitement of our banter. "Your turn," I prompt him, signaling the waiter for another round. The count is up to four now, each drink loosening our inhibitions a bit more.

"Okay, well, I'm no expert at dancing or cooking. Acting might be my only talent," he admits with a modest shrug.

"Come on," I challenge, a playful skepticism lacing my voice. I refuse to accept such a modest self-assessment. "Don't be shy. There must be something everyone always tells you that you're amazing at." My words are deliberately sultry, a subtle flirtation that doesn't go unnoticed. I see him shift in his seat, a reaction to the change in my tone. Leaning forward, I prop my head on my hands, elbows resting on the table, creating an intimate space between us. My eyes hold his, encouraging, probing.

"Okay," Carlisle finally concedes, just as our fresh round of drinks arrives. Without hesitation, he takes a generous gulp of his whiskey, a determined look in his eyes. "But this particular talent of mine is better demonstrated than explained."

"Oh?" My interest is instantly piqued, an eyebrow arching in curiosity.

"Let's just say it's a skill best showcased in the bedroom," he reveals with a hint of a smirk.

"Ah," I respond, unable to suppress the grin that spreads across my face. This conversation has definitely taken a turn into more tantalizing territory. "And this skill is strictly limited to the bedroom?" I probe further, leaning in a bit.

"What do you mean?" He looks momentarily puzzled, his gaze locking onto mine.

"Can't you give me a little demonstration right here?" I challenge, half-serious, half-flirtatious.

"Here?" He pauses, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. My boldness has caught him off guard. For a moment, Carlisle appears frozen, processing my suggestion. I've always been straightforward, especially in matters of attraction and desire. But his reaction, or lack thereof, makes me wonder – did he not anticipate this turn in our conversation?

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Carlisle says, his voice tinged with hesitation as he runs a hand through his golden locks. There's a nervous energy about him now, a clear sign that my bold proposition has thrown him off balance. But he's unaware of my other hidden talent, one I've kept to myself – the ability to coax and persuade, to blur lines that others might consider sacrosanct.

"Why not?" I press, unable to resist the temptation of seeing him a little unsettled. It's a playful challenge, a flirtatious game that I find irresistibly engaging.

"We're coworkers; it wouldn't be appropriate to cross that line," he explains, his gaze meeting mine with a hint of conflict. I nod in response, feigning agreement with his concern for professionalism. But inside, I'm amused by the idea of crossing precisely those lines, of treading into forbidden territory and all the more enticing for it.

"I won't tell anyone," I suggest, a hint of playfulness in my voice. It's a reassurance, an answer to the unspoken concern I sense is at the heart of his hesitation. His silence is something I'm becoming familiar with, a reaction I've grown to enjoy. There's a specific power in rendering men speechless, in stirring emotions they struggle to articulate.

"We need the chemistry, remember?" I remind him, a slight edge to my tone. It's a strategic move, invoking our professional need to justify what's rapidly becoming a personal desire. For a moment, Carlisle meets my gaze, his eyes searching mine, likely weighing the sincerity and implications of my proposition.

But the time for words is over. I'm done with the small talk, with the dance around what we both clearly desire. I down the rest of my martini in one smooth motion, the cool liquid emboldening me further. Placing the glass back on the table with a decisive clink, I stand and lean in close to him. My breath brushes his ear as I whisper, "I'll be waiting."

With that, I turn and walk away towards the bathroom, not once looking back. It's a bold move, a clear invitation, and the thrill of it courses through me. Once inside the bathroom, I take a moment to check my makeup in the mirror, ensuring every detail is perfect, every line and curve in place.

Then, I turn and lean against the large counter, my posture relaxed yet expectant. The anticipation is electric, a tangible buzz in the air as I wait. It's a game of cat and mouse, and I've just made my move, laying down the gauntlet for him to pick up.

The minutes stretch out, each one amplifying the tension in the air. When I think that perhaps he won't show, that maybe this was too bold a move, the door swings open. For a fleeting moment, I brace myself for disappointment, half expecting an unintended interruption. But then the lock clicks and it's him – Carlisle.

"Hi," I greet him softly, my voice barely above a whisper. He doesn't offer a verbal response; instead, he fixes me with a half-smirk that speaks volumes. He strides towards me, each step deliberate, reminiscent of a predator closing in on its prey. But I'm not fleeing; I'm inviting the chase, craving the inevitable capture.

"Are you doing this to keep your part?" His whisper is so close, his breath mingling with mine, creating an electric connection that thrills me to my core.

"Yes," I reply instantly, truthfully. Lying has never been my forte. It's both my greatest asset and my most significant downfall. In this industry, where facades are the norm, my honesty is a rarity, a stark contrast to the practiced deceit of Hollywood. As he stands there, so close I can count the lashes framing his intense gaze, I realize we're about to cross that very line he was so afraid of just moments before. And I can't wait.

He wastes no time, pressing his lips against mine and pushing me further back into the counter. My arms are quickly wrapped around his neck, and our bodies are pressed together, the heat between us growing. I can feel his hand trailing up my leg, reaching my thigh, knowing his destination. I want him to go there, too.

"Is this your hidden talent?" I moan as he kisses down my neck. He pulled my dress up, revealing myself to him; it was a good decision not to wear any panties today.

"Shh," he whispers, and I obey because his hands have made it between my thighs, finding the exact spot that's screaming for him, and when his fingers enter me, all I can do is gasp. He moves his fingers, slowly at first, then fast and hard.

"Oh my god," I pant, holding onto him as if I'm going to fall apart, and I am. "Yes," I breathe as he adds another finger, making my walls clench around him.

"That's not even the best part," he growls in my ear, his fingers pumping in and out of me faster and harder; my body arches to accommodate his rhythm, my back is fully pressed against the mirror behind me, and I can see him watching our reflection.

"Show me," I beg, but the words barely leave my mouth because my body is on the verge of exploding. His thumb joins his fingers, finding my swollen clit and massaging it gently, and I'm done for.

"I'm gonna.."

"Let it go," he commands, and I do, completely, as his fingers work me over, and the orgasm tears through my body. He doesn't stop until I'm spent, and a few tears have trailed down my cheeks, and then his fingers are gone.

"Good girl," he says with a grin, pulling me back towards him, "but we're not done." He turns me around, bending me over the sink, his hand pushes my hair back, and then he's entering me, hard and rough.

"Ah," I pant, the sensation taking me by surprise.

"Fuck," he curses as his hips meet my ass, his dick deep inside me, filling me.

"Oh god," I whine. He pulls my hair, arching my back, and then his hips move, slow at first and then faster and harder, pounding into me with a rhythm so hard I know it's going to bruise.

"Carlisle," I moan, and that makes him go harder, faster. His dick is so deep inside me, stretching me. It feels so good.

"Tell me you're only fucking me for fame" he demands. His fingers are working on my clit again, rubbing and massaging, and then another orgasm is building.

"Yes," I whimper.

"Say it!" He roars, slapping my ass.

"I'm only fucking you for fame!" The words leave my lips before the next orgasm does, ripping through me as his cock continues to thrust inside me.

"," he groans, and a few seconds later, he pulls out, turning me around and spilling his cum on my tits, letting out a roar as he finishes.

I can feel myself grinning. He knows my name.