Sweet Temptation: A Trick-Or-Treat Collaboration

A sense of calm washes over me.

A well-deserved rest was exactly what my body needed. I’ve pushed myself hard of late, working long hours, extra time in the gym for some semi-nude scenes, all of which will appear on the screen. It isn’t unusual for me to wake up with aches and pains, but not today. I can’t even recall waking during the night, nor even remember how I got into bed.

The blissful moment is interrupted by the ring of my cell. It’s piercing, demanding, while rattling against the nightstand from the vibration.

“Hello,” I barely manage while trying to clear my throat.

“Come. Now!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the receiver, awfully loud for this time of the morning. “I have an emergency. Can you come to the house? Hurry. Please.”

“Come to your house?” My eye’s squint, looking at the time on the phone. It’s just after six. Is she insane? She knows I hate being woken up. “What’s wrong, and why don’t you come here?”

“Why would I go to your house?” She laughs. Odd, since that comment isn’t even remotely funny. “I told you they’re filming The Grandest Homes here today, and it’s already been a nightmare. I need your help. Please.”

Nothing she’s saying makes any sense. Morgan lives in a modest house in Sherman Oaks. I wouldn’t use the word ‘grand’ and her house in the same sentence. I rarely visit her home unless it’s a birthday party or something involving her kids.

“Morgan, I’m confused, and it’s early.” I yawn, my eyes closing willingly.

“Why did you just call me Morgan? Jesus Christ! Wake the hell up and get your butt here. Now! I don’t have time for your games. You’re my assistant. Now, please, do your job!” The call ends at the same time my eyes spring open wide. Staring directly at the ceiling, my breathing begins to pick up, the pace fast and riddled with panic.

Why on earth did she say I was her assistant?

Or, question the fact that I called her Morgan?

The entire phone call makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. This must have been some sick twisted joke she’s playing, though she’s never been one to play pranks.

Just ignore her.

I attempt to close my eyes again, turning to lay on my side, hoping to catch a few more minutes of uninterrupted sleep until the bed moves beside me. My imagination is running wild this morning, maybe a result of a few too many tequila shots last night, plus a Xanax I popped earlier on.

Drifting slowly into my own chants to ease my racing mind, I’m stopped by the warmth of something on my hip. It’s the touch of a hand, a large masculine hand, which follows with a body pressing against mine. The hand glides against my skin, sending this delicious sensation to every part of me causing my fine hairs to stand on end just from his sheer touch.

Fuck! Who the hell did I sleep with last night?

This is terrible.

I’d obviously gone and gotten drunk, felt so sorry for myself, and allowed some random man to join me in my bed. This could be good or bad depending on exactly who’s lying behind me.

I only remember a few males who offered to keep me company, though no one who stood out in my mind. There was the bartender, but we didn’t manage any more of a conversation when he carelessly halted my alcohol consumption after my big fight with Morgan.

Then, if I’m not mistaken, I fired him.

Shit! My fight with Morgan.

How could I forget that?

She didn’t mention anything of the sort during our phone call, acting as if nothing happened. The callous words she threw at me are still reverberating through my mind and they still hurt. We’ve had our share of fights over the years, but nothing like last night.

His hands firmly rest against my stomach. Remaining still for a few moments, I want to say something like ‘Good morning’ or ‘Hey. So, exactly who is behind me? And how did we end up here?’

Slowly, his hand leaves my stomach and glides upward under my nighty, cupping my breast and settling in that position. I moan, unwillingly, the same time he pinches the tip of my nipple.

“Good morning, baby.”

Every part of me stiffens, my mouth flying open as my eyes bulge in utter shock. My breathing halts on the spot.

Fuck! I recognize the voice immediately.

Fuck! You didn’t just… No, this is just… Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!