Falling Into Love with You (The Hate-Love Duet 2)
“Fantastic plan. Thank you so much.”
“Of course.”
I kiss her, and as I do, our phones buzz in unison with an incoming text. We break apart and pick them up to find we’ve both got the same message from Reed Rivers:
Reed: Due to time constraints, I’ve asked Fish and Alessandra to help you write the duet. I know you’re both heading out of town for the holidays on Saturday, so I’ve asked them to meet at your house tomorrow night at 7. I’ll take the lead on getting the song produced during the holidays, and you can add your vocals to the track in the new year. RR
“What do you think?” Laila says, putting down her phone.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. The all-powerful Oz has spoken. Reed always does whatever he wants, no matter what I, or anyone else, wants.”
“Yes, I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have an opinion. What do you think of Fish and Alessandra helping us get the song written? That’s two more people earning royalties, at the end of the day.”
“True, but what’s the alternative? We’ve tried, many times, and we can’t write this damned song to save our lives. Honestly, I think Reed is a genius for putting Fish and Alessandra on the project. Fish let me hear some of the rough cuts from the album he’s co-writing with Alessandra, and every song they’ve written for her is the sweetest, purest, most classic little love song you’ve ever heard. I’m confident whatever they help us write will be perfect for what we’re trying to accomplish here.”
Laila nods. “Okay, so this is good news, then. Once again, Mr. Rivers knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Yeah, I’m no fan of Reed’s. But I have to admit this is a good call, even if it means you and I will get a smaller percentage of royalties. If you ask me, it’s better to have a smash hit, with four co-writers, than to have only two writers on a shitty attempt at a love song that doesn’t even make the charts.”
“Great point. So, I’ll tell Reed we’re in agreement, then?”
“Not that he’d care. But, sure.”
Laila taps on her phone and sets it down, and then looks out her side of the car like she’s in deep thought again. And, suddenly, I know what I need to do. I pull out my phone and tap out a quick text, and then pull Laila to me after pressing send.
I kiss the side of Laila’s head. “Stop worrying, baby. Everything is going to work out fine.”
“I hope so.”
“When we get home, we’re going to open a contraband bottle of wine. And you’re going to drink a glass or two or three.”
“I promised I wouldn’t drink, while you’re not allowed to drink.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. You’re going to drink some wine and relax. You’re going to get nice and horny and loose, while we eat whatever the chef left for us. And when you’re feeling really good, and really naughty, I’m going to take you upstairs and fuck you like I hate you.”
She giggles. “Oooh. You’re going to help me ‘get into character’ for tomorrow, are you?”
“You’ve already figured me out. Yep, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll remember what it feels like to want to fuck me to death. And tomorrow, when it’s time for you to tap into your inner bitch, all you’ll need to do is remember the way I fucked you like a dirty little whore the night before, and you’ll be off to the races.”
Sixteen
Laila
With “Hate Sex High” blaring—which is creating a kinky kind of “life imitating art imitating life” energy between Savage and me—Savage is fucking me hard, doggie style, in our bed. So damned hard, I feel like the tip of his cock is going to poke out my mouth with the next beastly thrust. I grip the sheet beneath me, as the top of my head bangs against the headboard, and do everything in my power not to come. Throughout this entire, raucous session of sex with Savage, which has involved multiple positions thus far and a whole lot of groaning and screaming by me, Savage has repeatedly forbidden me from coming. “Not unless I’ve given you permission,” he keeps saying. And, holy hell, it’s been a tall order, thanks not only to the wine I had earlier with our meal, but the way Savage has been fucking and eating and fingering me, masterfully, for the past hour. Time after time, he’s gotten me right to the edge. And then, he backs off and switches things up. Time after time, I’ve cried out with pleasure, and begged him to say the word. But each time, he’s pulled out, or stopped whatever he was doing and told me to shut up and do as I’m told.