Takedown: A Naughty Angel Tale Read online

  God, Layla, pull it together. I am so not going to be some stupid horny fangirl for Jacob Make-You-Pass-Out-With-My-Tongue Kent. Nope.

  I thought I timed my arrival at the studio just right, but apparently I’m just in time for yet another epic pussy licking. Not quite sure how I feel about that, but I’m determined to remain professional.

  Walking further backstage, I’m suddenly intercepted by a tall buff dude with a headset on and a tablet in his hands. He almost looks like a slightly younger version of Mr. Kent. (I’ve taken to calling him that in my head, hoping it will help me remain more aloof when I meet him face to face after the show is done filming.)

  “Can I help you?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together suspiciously. “Do you have a backstage pass?”

  I reach for my badge, but before I can get a chance to say anything, this guy gives me a knowing grin. “Did you sneak back here to try to get Jake to yourself? You know, he’s a busy guy. But I might be free later if you’re in need of some expert assistance. I’m Toby.”

  The guy extends his hand as he takes his time looking me up and down. When his eyes finally make it back to my face, I tilt my head and arch an eyebrow. “Hmm. Looks like Mr. Kent has a little protégé.”

  Toby smirks. “Nothing little about me, baby.”

  Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, even though this guy is pretty sexy—any other time I’d probably take him up on his offer—I flash my badge. “I’m with the FCC.”

  I almost laugh at the way his face shifts from I wanna fuck you to oh shit we’re fucked in an instant.

  Toby clears his throat. “Oh. Well. Okay. Um. Welcome to the set.” He adjusts his headset then gestures toward the stage. “Care to join me for a backstage view of the hottest show on TV?” The grin he gives me is certainly sexy, and plenty charming, but I can sense his underlying nerves, and I’m pretty sure he knows it.

  I nod and follow him toward the stage where we watch the show just out of sight.

  And wouldn’t you know, I’m just in time for the grand finale. Whatever Mr. Cunning Linguist was discussing with his guest has been long forgotten, and now he’s neck deep in pussy.

  Despite my attempt to remain professional, I can’t help getting a bit turned on as I watch a near repeat of what I saw on Lori’s computer this morning—only this time the microphone is picking up all Mr. Kent’s slurps and moans in full surround sound. He sounds like he’s enjoying himself immensely, and I have to force myself to breathe as my blood rushes to my clit.

  Before long the woman is coming—so fucking hard I almost don’t believe it. But when he lifts his head and wipes her cum from his mouth, I know there was nothing fake about that.

  Holy fuck. I have no words.

  He says something flippant to the cameras, and the next thing I know the director is calling, “Cut!” and Jacob Kent is striding offstage. Right toward me.

  It takes all my inner strength of will to school my face into a carefully blank but pleasantly professional expression.

  “Well, good evening, love,” Mr. Kent says. “Got yourself quite the show didn’t you?”

  He reaches up and rubs a finger across his swollen lips, his eyes boring into mine in a way that makes me feel like he knows exactly what that show did for me. I swallow hard, my eyes dropping to his mouth, where he’s still rubbing his finger gently back and forth. Is it wrong that I’m no less turned on by the fact that those magic lips were just on another woman’s pussy?

  Fucking hell, Layla! Snap out of it! You have a job to do.

  “My name is Layla,” I begin.

  At the same time, Toby gives Mr. Kent a tight-lipped look. “Yes, Jake, Layla here is—”

  “Quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a long time,” he says smoothly, extending his hand to mine. When I reach out to shake his hand, he flips mine around and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. His lips are so smooth and firm that I can quite vividly imagine what they might feel like against my pussy.

  Shit. Here I go again.

  “I’m Jake,” he adds, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Jake,” Toby says urgently. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  He doesn’t even bother glancing at Toby. “Did you enjoy the filming of tonight’s show, Layla? I’m sure your backstage view was quite…”

  “Enlightening?” I supply, fighting a smirk. Poor Toby. He’s shifting from foot to foot, and obviously on edge that Mr. Kent has no idea who I am. Or why I’m here.

  “That might be a good word for it.” He gives me a sly grin.

  “Mr. Kent, I’m here tonight—”

  “Please,” he interrupts smoothly, “Call me Jake.”

  Of course. I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. “Okay, Jacob,” I say pointedly, determined to keep this as professional as possible.

  “Jake,” Toby says again. I can practically feel his hands waving wildly behind my head as he tries to get Jake’s attention.

  Jake finally gives him an irritated glance, then slings his arm around my shoulder and turns me around, tucking me against his side and effectively cutting Toby out of the picture. “What do you say we go somewhere and talk about your thoughts on tonight’s episode?”

  I smile, this time in satisfaction. “You know, Jacob, I think that sounds like a fabulous idea.” I stop and turn, putting my hand on his chest and pushing back. “But I think we can take care of everything I need to say right here. Jacob Kent,” I say, pulling the paperwork from my purse and holding it out to him, “I’m with the FCC, and your show A Cunning Linguist is being fined.”

  Jake

  Wait, what?

  I’m trying really hard to reconcile the words coming out of this blonde bombshell’s mouth with their meaning. Especially when the only coherent thoughts I’m having about that mouth have to do with my dick and what those lips would feel like wrapped around it.

  I shake my head. “FCC?”

  Layla nods curtly. “That’s correct.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Toby, who’s giving me an exasperated look. “I tried to tell you, man, but you were…”

  Yeah, I was. I am. Totally and completely captivated by this woman. She’s fucking gorgeous. Long, silky golden waves that I can just imagine falling around her like a curtain as she sits on my face. Tits full and round as they bounce against my hands.

  Fuck. Now I’m hard as fucking steel, and I’m pretty sure this suit isn’t doing a damn thing to hide it.

  “Layla,” I say, my voice smooth despite the fact that my mind is full of filthy thoughts, “why don’t you step into my office and we can discuss this.”

  She arches a brow, her dark eyes glittering in amusement. “Seriously, Jacob? ‘Step into my office?’ Let me guess. You want to play doctor?” She turns and heads toward the hallway leading away from the backstage area.

  Well, well. I hurry to catch up to her and place my palm on her lower back to guide her toward my office. “If that’s what you like, who am I to argue? Everyone has their kinks. Or at least they should.”

  “Some more obvious than others.” She tosses the barb at me like a pro.

  I chuckle. I fucking love that sass.

  “Is that so?” I lean closer as we make our way down the hall, lowering my voice to a gravelly whisper. “And what would mine be since you seem to know me so well already?”

  She laughs and shoots me a disbelieving smirk. “You’re kidding, right?”

  I shake my head, totally intrigued by this woman.

  “Voyeurism. Obviously.”

  Huh. I cock my head and think about it. It’s not something I’ve ever thought much about before, but I guess she’s right. I mean, my expertise is in getting inside women’s heads, figuring out the things they want to hear to get so horny they can’t help but come once I get going. I don’t exactly psychoanalyze my own motives.

  I like pussy. Motivation enough, am I right?

  When we get to the door of my of
fice, I push it open and watch as she takes it in.

  Standing in the middle, Layla spins in a slow circle, finally stopping when her eyes land on me. “What, no bed?” she deadpans.

  “Are you disappointed?” I step toward her, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively.

  She laughs, but then she shakes the papers in her hand. “FCC fine. Remember?”

  “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “Looks like the depth of your ego matches the skill of your tongue. You thought I’d forget why I’m here the minute you got me alone?”

  Her voice is teasing, but she’s still all business. It’s an intriguing combination. Suddenly I’m desperate to know what Layla’s sex life is like. She’s not lacking for confidence. That usually makes for a woman who’s up for anything. I’d love to see her drop the professional tone and let me see what she’s really like underneath that prim exterior. I’d bet my last dollar she’s a fucking freak in the bedroom.

  My cock twitches, and I sigh in frustration. I want to get this shit over with and see if Layla’s up for some fun once she’s out of work mode.

  I rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s do this. Why am I being fined?”

  “Obscenity, Jacob.”

  “Jake,” I tell her again. “And since when is helping people obscene?”

  “Helping people? Is that what you call it? Because all I see is you helping yourself to an all you can eat buffet night after night.” Layla gives me a fake smile. “But don’t worry, Jacob dear, I’m sure you’ll still get plenty of dates once your show is canceled. You do have a reputation. It will get you somewhere with the ladies.”

  I laugh incredulously. She’s serious. She actually thinks ACL is obscene? Maybe a little unconventional, but not obscene.

  “Look,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and standing up straighter, “my show helps people. I fucking help people. Hell, it might even save marriages. It wouldn’t surprise me. Maybe a couple tunes in one night and their sex life is changed forever. Maybe they were on the brink of divorce until I inspired them to greater things. If people don’t like the show, they can change the fucking channel.”

  Layla looks taken aback by my tirade, so I try to soften my expression. “I don’t mean to be an ass, but I really care about what I do. It means something to me.”

  It does. I’m not bullshitting her. Sex is fucking important. Good sex especially. Vital, really. I don’t know why she thinks my show is obscene, but I suddenly want to show her just how important my job can be. If she could only see behind the scenes, I know she’d come around.

  Wait. Back up there. Was that just a genius idea or what? Fuck yes, that's exactly what I’m going to do.

  “Layla,” I say, much calmer now that I know just what I’m going to do. About the fine. About Layla. About the raging hard-on I desperately need to attend to. “ACL is about to go on a 4-week filming hiatus. Why don’t you stick around for a while and see how we prepare for the next episode. If you still feel the same way about the show then as you do now, I’ll pay the seven-million-dollar fine.”

  Seven million dollars is nothing to laugh at, but it’s almost a drop in the bucket compared to the money I’ve made on my show. It’s the principle of it that gets me. All these people who want to be so self-righteous about sex. Fuck that.

  Layla considers my offer as she watches me, and I can practically see the wheels turning. She wants to know my angle. Thing is, there is none. I totally believe everything I’ve said.

  “You realize the fine is per incident?” she asks with a smirk.

  Fuck.

  “Fine. Not a problem.”

  No fucking way will I pay that fine. I’m going to convince Layla one way or another that there’s nothing obscene about what I do. And getting in her panties sounds like the perfect place to start pleading my case. My cock couldn’t agree more.

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