Episode · 1 year ago

Room Service


Clothes are optional in Cleo's hotel room when Dean's the guest of honor, that is until a shocking discovery knocks both their socks right back on. 




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I've been up for five hours. By the time I walk into the Grand Ball Room where they're holding our panel. The setup looks like every other panel I've ever been to. A Long, narrow stage in front seven chairs, seven water bottles, seven mics. As panelists, we were encouraged to arrive fifteen minutes early, but I gave myself a full half hour. Call Me Anal, call me type A, but I like to be acquainted with a space before I impress the hell out of everyone in it. Besides, it's nice to have a few moments alone to think about last night. CLEO's just so goddamn sexy. Her confidence, the way she's not afraid to command a room. I'm into her, like really into her, like so into her. I stayed up Pastzer in the morning messaging her on tinder, and we weren't even sexting, just talking about our lives. I told her about the announcement I'm making today and she talked about the big sex scene she's got coming up. This goes beyond any one off hook up I've landed in the APPS before. We shared some real shit and I'm not exactly sure what to do about it, but I have a couple enticing ideas. With my lucky re Usable Coffee Cup in one hand and my notes in the other, I stroll down one of the aisles to the row marked reserved test one, two, three. One of the A V text gives me a quick nod and I nod back and take a seat, vaguely aware of the ache and my quads. Part of my pre panel routine is to get a good hard workout in at least three hours before helps with the jitters. Something tells me I'll be feeling those front squads for the next few days. My fellow panelists start trickling in over the next ten minutes. We make polite small talk and I can't help wishing I didn't have to carry my family's name into every room and conversation I enter. No one mentions my parents, but I can see the awareness of them written all over their faces. They have their own ideas about how I got here, and it has nothing to do with my MBA or how goddamn heart have been working on this ECO initiative. The ball room starts to fill up. Behind us, I spot Monica across the room, her hand supporting her lower back as she files into a row with the rest of our team. She smiles and waves when she spots me, giving me a thumbs up and mouthing you got this. Part of me wishes Cleo was here for the conference and not off filming somewhere. I'm not usually nervous for this kind of Shit, but today I could use a few of her stage presents pointers. As an actor, I'm sure she knows all kinds of little trick someone like me would never even think about. Just having her nearby would put me more at ease or give me somewhere to channel some of this nervous energy. When Simone Gregory steps onto the stage, I'm not in the least bit surprised. She's moderated over half of the panels at this conference, representing a small sustainable energy initiative out of Chicago. It's a relief to know our moderator not only knows what she's talking about, but also feels passionately about it. As the murmurs from the crowd died down, Simone invites us up the steps to join her. I take my assigned seat between two women from some of our biggest competitors and immediately crack open my water bottle. The small sip I take does nothing to help my dry as a desert mouth. As if that and sweaty palms aren't enough, one look at the size of the crowd makes my stomach to a little dip, but I know I've got this. The nerves are a good thing. They mean I still care. Hello everyone, and welcome to this year's thirty under thirty panel. Simone smiles broadly at the crowd, tossing her blue and silver braids over one shoulder. After introducing each of us and the company we represent, she continues. Today will be discussing sustainability as the hospitality industry continues to expand. I have a few questions for our panelists, but first, why don't we hear some thoughts from heathern McHale who, in addition into landing a spot on our thunder thirty list, is making impressive strides in increasing sustainability in the rental property sector? There's a brief applause as the woman next to me leans into her microphone to respond. Heather makes some interesting points about the various places rental property companies can reframe their understanding of sustainability, and the crowd is clearly on her side. They laugh at her clever remarks and clap loudly when she's finished. I clap along and going over my talking points in my head as simone turns her attention to the rest of the panel. Thank you, he there for starting us off. One of...

...the first questions I'd like to ask is directed to those of you at, shall we say, more established companies. What makes the concept of sustainability different from other obstacles these companies have already overcome across fifty plus years of business? Established Companies, Aka old money, Aka me. I'm one of only three panelists representing old ass companies, so when my peers don't immediately step forward, I take my chance. I can speak to that. Everyone's eyes turned to me and Simone nods for me to continue. I hold the MIC loosely below my Chin and keep my gaze steadily out over the crowd. One of the greatest differences when thinking about our response to climate change in the hospitality industry is that it can't be retroactive or even reactive. It's about the future, and we're not just talking about the future of our company, we're talking about our collective future, the future of the world. We're going to leave behind. So I think it's more than just turning a prophet and earning shallow accolades along the way. It's looking at our entire operation holistically and saying, okay, what can we change and what can we cut out? I pause for half a second to survey the room. The audience's eyes are still trained on me and no one looks like the ready to throw a tomato. Time to bring it home. That's why we're refocusing our efforts. It's not just about paper straws or encouraging guests to reuse the same towels during their stay. I'm proud to announce the launch of navant, a new initiative that will marry the level of luxury you've come to expect with the commitment to a sustainable future we should all have. We're partnering with the world's top minds and we'll devote twenty percent of our net profits to research for a more sustainable future. It's not just about us, it's about all of us. The crowd claps and the other panelists nod approvingly. One of them speaks up to piggyback off my statement and the panel continues on Simone asked the rest of her questions, which we all filed with ease, before turning the MIC to the audience for any last minute lingering questions. A short balding man with Tortoise Shell Glasses approaches the micstand, a polite smile plastered on his face. My question is for the unavant man. I lock eyes with him, ready to bask in the success of the announcement. The crowd totally ate it up, and for good reason. I'm damn proud of what we're doing and I'm excited to finally be able to share it. Twenty percent of the net profits seems like an awful lot to be sending out of the company. Are Your parents aware of this radical plan? I think, really going to allow you to funnel so much of their funds elsewhere? The Crowd Murmurs and my stomach sinks. This is the exact question I was afraid of, the exact moment I was trying to avoid. To have worked this hard to distance myself from my family, to be striking out on my own, all for this to be asked. If my mommy and Daddy signed my permission slip before letting me run around with their money in pocket? No fucking way. Man. Despite the flurry of anger raging inside my head right now, I force a good natured chuckle. The last thing I want is to be exactly the asshole they're all expecting. Years of carrying this family name around have taught me that. I assure you that my super periers are well aware of and avance mission, and they're in full support of it. Your Parents Company, you mean? A ripple of nervous laughter makes its way through the crowd. It takes every bone in my body not to visibly bristle at the Shitty Little Pun. Like I said before, we're partnering with the Brightest minds on the cutting edge of sustainability research. Having funding and the reach of an established company behind US makes it that much easier to achieve our goals and that much easier for me to shove it up your ass. The man flashes one last curt smile before nodding and turning back to his seat. Simon cuts into the awkward silence with an easy smile. All right, that's about all we have time for. Yeah, I hate to end on a Cliche, but I think we'd all like to know where would each of you like to see the world in ten years? I respect our efforts to end the panel on a positive note. The answers domino down the line of panelists until the final applause sounds and we're finally released. As the crowd slowly trickles through the exits, a wave of relief washes over me. All in all,... could have been a lot worse. At least I didn't rip that guy a new asshole. Dean ten years ago would have handled that question a whole lot differently. I wish Cleo had been there to see it. A small a crowd of people congratulate me as we descend from the stage and I shake more hands than I can count. I guess the public launch of Navant went even better than I thought. D Bag, proud of you, buddy. Todd slaps my back right between the shoulder blades. I force a smile. Thanks, man, you were great. Monica pulls me in for a very familial hug and I'm grateful for the genuine moment. We're not typically huggers. She squeezes harder. You don't typically kill panels like that. Not True. I am pregnant. That means I'm always right, even as she's nagging me. Monica's support feels great, but there's still one other person I'm dying to talk to about all this. Hey, dean, come on, I'm buying all the panel it's a drink. Simone waves for me to follow her, the friendly invitation hanging in there between us. I appreciate it, but I have other priorities right now. Thanks, but I'm wiped. One drink and I'll be down for the count. Suit Yourself. She shrugs and saunters off with the panelists, all of whom are still giddy from the high of a successful Qa. Want ahead to the HR seminar with us. Monica looks at me expectantly. Nah, I'm going to bounce. Seriously, I'm exhausted. She arches a skeptical brow, but the time crunch keeps her from lingering too long. Fine, I've got a pee before the next thing. You sure you're going to be all right on your own? I don't think I'll be alone for long. She smiles and gives my arm a good natured punch. Oh Shit, go get your girl, man. She waddles away and I immediately pull out my phone, excitement pumping through my veins. Panel went great. Thanks for the tip about breathing from your diaphragm. Some asshole tried to throw me off in the Q and a, but I stayed calm and on message. Wish you could have been there to see it. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I take a deep breath and focus on the feeling of my chest rising and falling. I meant what I said about thanking her for the tip. It's those kinds of little things that can make or break you when you're up on stage in front of over a hundred people. When I make it back to my room, I slipped the charcoal suit jacket off my shoulders and on to a hanger. Remember that Quad work out this morning? Yeah, I'm sore as hell. I change into a t shirt and a pair of joggers and starts stretching out my legs. I wonder what Cleo's up to right now. Probably shooting a scene with her co star. How fucking wild. I haven't been able to stop thinking about our role play last night. If it wasn't clear from my robot voice, acting isn't exactly my strong suit, and beyond the big stars like Al Pacino or Mickey Rooric. I've never really thought about the daytoday life of a working actor. She's just pretending to be someone else all day. But it's more than that, having to be fully on all the time, to be present in any given circumstance. It sounds fucking exhausting. Sure, I did a panel in all, but that's just reciting company talking points in numbers. We get a script and it's not hard to stick to it. Our one job is not to react in any major way. That will be unflattering to the brand. Real acting the opposite. It's all emotion. The idea of doing that every day, well, I just can't wrap my head around it. She's fucking impressive. My phone buzzes and I immediately swipe it open. It's a message from CLEO. Fuck Yeah, you did really happy for you. Looks like you've got some acting skills after all. I immediately tipe back. Now I think I've just got a good teacher. We're people excited about the launch, I think so. Lots of handshaking and congrats afterward. I knew you'd kill it. What are you up to? Still wrapping up. been a long day, but a good one. I finally got Evan to laugh at one of my jokes, so that feels like a win. fucking finally, his loss if he doesn't get you. Doesn't know what he's missing. With anyone else this kind of positive, uplifting banter would feel forced or cheesy, but with Cleo it comes naturally. She brings it out to me and makes it seem...

...well natural. All right, Casanova, keep it in your pants. I'm about to respond with a series of question marks and sad emojis when another message appears. For now, I tied quickly. Relief flooding my senses. I was about ready to make a case for the undeniable chemistry between us. Her reply arrives almost immediately. Why don't you tell me about it in person? Tonight we can order a pizza. It's on Web Flix. I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. Hell yeah, always down for a pie. Tossing my phone on the bed, I flop down next to it. I don't know if it's the stretching or the fact that I'll be seeing cleo later, but my limbs feel light, like I could run another six miles on the treadmill or swim laps in the pool just to get this excess energy out, but something tells me that tonight there might be a few more appealing activities on the menu, ones that involve even less clothing. Hey guys, it's back a here from consensual cock walking, our regular romance programming, with a quick message from our friends at early to bed. Whether your booed up or totally single, I'm just saying you deserve a new vibrator. Any and every sex toy you'd ever want, you can find it at early to bed. Quit giving Jeff Besos your money and support this queer, friendly, woman owned Chicago based sack shop that has guaranteed the world better sex since two thousand and one. That's twenty years of orgasms. With an extensive collection of curated toys to choose from, this feminist sex shop aims to be accessible to adults of all genders, orientations, experience levels and relationship statuses. Yeah, sisters are doing it for themselves. Find them on instagram at early to bed, that's the number two, and online at early to bedcom again, that's the number two. Fast, discrete shipping, check, top notch customer service, double check. Founded on the kind of feminist sex positivity that we're all about. Do you even have to ask? All right, right, let's get back to Cleo and dean. Catch you later, masturbators. After a long day of filming, walking through the door of my hotel room feels like entering the gates of Heaven. And just like in actual heaven, I assume there are two things on the agendas tonight, Dick and pizza, in that order, and all God's people said Amen. Kicking off my shoes, I open the tinder up, scrolling past the uninspiring pickup lines from my newest matches until I land on my chat with Dean. We we've been chatting pretty much non stop since he left my room last night, about work, about life, about everything. It's definitely not the way I talked to most tinder matches, that's for sure, but something about dean is different, good different, like maybe this will continue beyond just this week. Different. He does live in New York after all. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's see if the Dick is any good first. As I flop onto the bed, my thumbs fly across the keyboard at a record speed. Just got back to the hotel room three thousand two sixty eight if you forgot. I'm hoping for an instant response, but the tinder APP doesn't even say he's active. Shit. I tap my thumbnail against the side of my phone and patiently awaiting his reply. I swear to God, I better not have turned down drinks with the cast tonight for nothing. I close out of the APP for long enough to run to the bathroom and stow my dirty laundry in the closet, but when I sit back on the bed and pick up my phone again, still nothing. Jesus, what am I going to do? Call the lobby and ask for a Mr Dean? Shit, I don't even know the guy's last name, but I'm counting on him to make good on our pizza right, I mean pizza plans. It's definitely not a date, not when the entire thing was planned via tinder message. My phone rumbles and my stomach leaps and anticipation. It's him. I didn't forget. Be Up in thirty thirty as in minutes, I grown as I roll over onto my back, star fishing across the fluffy Duvet and staring up at the ceiling. Half an hour shouldn't feel like an eternity. Compared to the twenty four hour delay I've had on this Dick Appointment. But I've never been very good at the waiting game. I fire off a text to Ingrid, hoping to pass the time video chatting with her, but she's surprised, surprise, visiting Noah in Indiana this week. That girl has been spending so much time in middle America lately and from the stories I've heard, it does not make me Miss Ohio, but she's developed a little bit of a soft spot for it, which is probably for the best, based on the amount of leftover teenage aankst she's had about her...

...hometown. I wish her luck navigating the corn fields and we make plans to catch up tomorrow night instead. Well, that killed two minutes. What now? I set up in bed eyeing my vibrator, which I put a good use last night after Dean pieced out. It's probably still got some charge on it, but it hardly feels right to get myself off before my booty call arrives. That's like putting together your Ikea furniture by yourself but not canceling the task. Rab but you hired to do it for you. What's the point as much as I'm tempted to waste away the remaining twenty eight minutes scrolling through Instagram, I should probably review my lines for tomorrow instead, not that I necessarily need to. For the past month I've done nothing but memorize, memorize, the memur highs. If you can get high off of highlighter, I absolutely have. I once even persuaded Brady to run lines with me, until he's stumbled on a certain four letter word he didn't recognize and I snatched the script out of his hands. At this point, every word is a second nature, as my phone number. But practice makes perfect or whatever. So I crawl out of bed and UNZIP my bag, pulling out the busted old binder containing my script. Flipping through the pages, I finally land on what I'm looking for, the long awaited steamy sex scene between me and Evan, where he sneaks away from his Canadian casino in our characters hook up in the gift shop after hours, even after the full morning the two of US had working with the intimacy director where we choreographed every touch, kiss and pelvic thrust. I'm feeling a little anxious about this whole thing. It's uncomfortable to be physical with someone you have zero connection with, but it's even more uncomfortable to realize that's exactly how I could describe my sex life these past few years. My Vision Blurs as I read through the same lines we ran about three dozen times today, almost literally cringing as I review the choreography in my head. I may be a good actress, but it's going to be a bitch and a half to draw any feeling whatsoever out of these lines. If only my scene partner wasn't such wet, hot garbage. If only you were. I don't know, Dean, even with his admirable attempt at acting last night, I think he and I could pull this off together. At least the chemistry would be natural. And Yeah, I hardly know the guy, but he made me laugh, like really laugh, that deep belly laugh that had other people at the hotel bar turning their heads around to make sure a duck hadn't died in the lobby, and he seems like a genuinely good guy, not the pussy machine his adult Frat star friend made him out to be. I turned back to my script, restarting the choreography in my head and running through the words that are already branded into my brain, but this time I replace Evans grip on my waist with deans. It's Dean's arms that guide me onto the gift shop tshirt display, peeling away my heinous light blue polo to reveal the plunging blacklace Bra Wardrobe put me in. I feel safer and Hornier. Luckily, too quick raps against my door interrupt at just the right time. On my way to the door, I give myself a final one so over in the full length mirror, smoothing out a few flyaways and adjusting the French tuck of my sweater. Whatever setting spray the makeup crew used on me today must be damn near close to celent. My contour hasn't budged an inch. As for my outfit, it's not the caliber of sexy I'd usually opt for in a hookup situation, but I only packed one hot girl look and I used it up on our hotel bar date last night. On the bright side, my ass is fire in these dark washed jeans. I'm still checking it out when Dean hits me with another knock, coming a triple check that I don't have any lipstick on my teeth before turning away to the mirror. I feel bad about making him wait, but then again, he made me wait till tonight to get him naked, so maybe we could all use a little lesson in patience. When I tug the door open, I met with a much less formal version of Dean than I've seen so far. He's ditched his usual business wear for a pair of joggers and a Henley, although his usually tossled hair is perfectly combed back, probably left over from his panel earlier. If I have my way, it'll be good and messy again in no time. Hey there, MR thirty, under thirty. I smile, making no effort to hide the fact that I'm already eyeing the draw string on those jaggers. Hello to you too, movie star, Miniseries Star. I plant a...

...hand on my hip and Dean Scoffs, waving the correction off with the back of his hand. To Day, a mini series tomorrow, the world, or something like that. Right Anyway, can I come in? I scrunch my nose, staring up at the ceiling as I pretend him all it over. Eventually, I motioned him in. M M, I guess. Come on, before the PIA spots you. Personal Assistant. He pulls the door shut behind him before kicking his doordans off. Production Assistant, but you get an a for effort. I try to move US toward the bed, making a deliberate effort to swing my hips as much as possible with every step, but unfortunately something else has dean's attention. Is that your script? Ah Shit, I should have moved my binder out of the way, but I guess I can play this off. Yep, ready to run lines with me? With a shrug, he grabs a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling the binder into his lap and trailing his index finger down the page. Where do you want me to start? I stare at him in disbelief for a moment, waiting for him to break were my messages unclear? Didn't he get the itinerary? Do Do you seriously think I invited you up here to run lines? His wide, innocent eyes blink up at me and for a good long second I actually think I'm going to have to explain to this man what a booty call is. But then, finally, a shit eating grin splits across his face. That's a little something I like to call acting. My jaw drops and the sound that comes out is a combination of a cackle and a sigh of relief. Jesus Fuck, thank God I've been practicing. He folds his arms over his chest, causing his Henley to hug his shoulders in all the right ways. God, I desperately want to kiss that smug smile right off his mouth, but first let's see just how much practicing this man has really been doing. I Archer Bro Nodding towards the script in Dean's lap. If you're so confident, how about we take you for a test drive? His eyes go from confused to curious as he catches my drift. All right, let's give it a shot. He clears his throat into his fist and then cracks his knuckles before starting at the top of the page, in an actor voice that falls somewhere between sultry and sportscaster. What about the security cameras? I turn them off. I trail my fingers along his back as I settle in next to him, making a point to keep my eyes on him, not the script. And your boss gone for the night. It's just you and me and an empty gift shop. What should we do about it? Dean's lips pull into a devilish smirk as he scans the rest of the page. Oh so it's this kind of scene. No improvising. You're supposed to say I have a couple, I do us, or something similarly corny like that. Right, he nods, but based on the way he's eyeing my lips, I'd say his mind is veering away from acting any particular reason. You picked out this scene specifically. Do you want the real answer or the sexy answer? He malls it over for a moment, running his palm along the scruff on his jaw. It makes a satisfying scratching sound that, as it turns out, is a major turn on. Real answer first, then sexy. The real answer is it's the scene word filming tomorrow and I was working on it when you got here. I walk my fingers across the pages of the script until they reach their destination, the drawstring of his joggers. But the sexy answer is that I've been lacking inspiration. He smiles and shakes his head, then closes the script, sliding it off the edge of the bed, just like I hoped he would. HMM, sounds like something I could help with, and you should know that I skipped grabbing drinks with the cast for this, so I'm in a completely sober state of mind when I tell you I want you to fuck me. His chuckle is low and rumbling in his chest. Well, it just so happens that's what I want to in one swift movement, he weaves a hand into my hair and guides my mouth to his in a slow, hungry kiss. He tastes like black coffee, but not hotel coffee, the kind of good coffee you'd paid too much for. It some Boutique Roaster and Bushwick. It's bitter and...

...earthy and intoxicating, the kind of flavor I could really develop a taste for if I'm not careful. I plant my hands on his chest, studying myself as his tongue sweeps in and out of my mouth, massaging mine with expert strokes. God He's a phenomenal Kisser, but I didn't invite him up here just to kiss. I slide one hand down his front to the draw string of his joggers, feeling the kick of his erection against my palm as I pull back from him. A mischievous smile, tugging at My Lips, hating HMM, take your clothes off. There's nothing elegant about the way we each get undressed, frantically popping open buttons and tugging down the Zippers with more urgency than sex appeal. The slow, sensual peeling away of one article of clothing after another is reserved for Valentine's fantasies. Soon the floor is littered with inside out shirts and discarded socks, and there's nothing between us but my bra and two pairs of underwear, his bulging navy briefs and my high legged black panties. Before I can tug those off to Dean finds a firm grip on my hips, looping his thumbs into my waistband and pulling me toward him with a throaty hum of approval. These are hot he gives the elastic and neaty tug. The warmth of his breath sends a jolt of heat up my spine as he pulls me flush against him, his lips brushing against my ear. You look good and black. MMM. I roll my hips into him, enjoying the pressure of his erection growing against my belly. The gentle scratch of his chest hair against my collarbones. The view from the back is even better. A woman of my word, I press him away just far enough to roll onto my knees, and he's all too eager to grab a helping handful of my ass. Fuck, you weren't kidding. I'm sure you get it all the time, but Jesus, that's a fine ass. He punctuates the sentiment with a gentle smack of my right cheek, like he's testing some rougher waters that I'm one hundred percent willing to dive into. I Shrug, tossing a wink over my shoulder. You're right, I do get it all the time, and you can smack it harder than that. His laugh is more of a grateful sigh. Can and will do. I position myself on the edge of the bed, planting my elbows and offering my ass up to him. The view earns me another low Groan of approval. Jesus Cleo, his palms trace the curves of my hips slowly, like he's trying to read the Brail of my body. Your unbelievable. He pauses for a moment, drinking me in. Then he gives one cheek, another firm thwack. A soft, Heady Moan Escapes My Lips in response. That okay, HMM, that's perfect, glad to hear it. Gorgeous. He gives my waistband another tug. Come on, let's ditch these. I roll onto my back again, lifting my hips to help him ease my panties down to my ankles. He wastes no time tossing them aside, adding them to the growing pile of our discarded clothes. That too, he tilts his chin toward my bra this man is not afraid to ask for what he wants and, frankly, it's a huge fucking ter none. Yeah, help me with it. I swivel away from him, giving him the honors of undoing all four clasps, but as he does, he surprises me by pressing a kiss into the center of my back, fright between my shoulder blades, where the clasp was just fashioned moments earlier. He holds his lips there, brushing them against my skin and commanding every hair on my body to stand on end. It's sweet and gentle, almost too intimate coming from a man I only just met, but something about it feels right, like he and I were meant to be this close. Before I have much time to think it over, he tosses the Bra aside and reaches his arms around me, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Fuck, Dean, my words come out on a desperate sigh as I peel my legs apart, a gentle suggestion of where he should direct his attention next.

Lucky for me, he gets the hint. While one hand stays steady on my breast, the other slides between my thighs and begins working its magic. And it really must be magic, whatever he's doing to me, because before long, my breaths get shallow and pressure builds between my legs, hot and insistent on being released. God, Yes, Dean, I'm going to come, and I do hard and long and Holy Shit, it's good. My blood is thumping in my ears for a good long minute afterward, but other than that it's totally silent between us. Dean's Chin is resting on my shoulder as his hands find a gentle grip on my hips, waiting for my breath to slow back to normal. You come easy. He murmurs the words into my neck before gently biting the soft sensitive skin there, thinks. I think I'm on too much of a high to decipher how the hell to take that comment. I can feel him smiling against my neck. It's a good thing, but can I watch from the front next time? Sure, Justin Ay and the time and place. How's here and now a grin splits across my face. I was really hoping he'd say that. Pressing to his feet, Dean digs up his joggers from the bottom of our clothes pile, pulling his wallet from the pocket and in a condom from the wallet. You still down for this? He holds the condom up like a flash card, like we're study buddies, not fuck buddies. Luckily, this question is one I absolutely know the answer to. Hell. Yes, I prop myself up on my elbows, eyes trained on his hips as he shoves off his briefs and unrolls the latex down his length. Goddamn Niagara Falls was quite the sight, but this is the kind of view I'm partial to. I shift to the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle off the side. Dean struts over, wearing nothing but a condom and a huge fucking grin. He Leans into kiss me, cradling my face in his hands. Ready said go, Dean lets out and, honest to God, Guffall, bowing back from me and shaking his head. Jesus, you're ridiculous. You know that I beam like the proud, hilarious bitch I am sure do, and you're about to fuck a whole lot of ridiculous. What does that make you? His coffee colored eyes and narrow as he considers it, his hands sliding up and down his shaft all the while. When he makes up his mind, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us as he plans his hands on either side of me. I think it makes me pretty fucking lucky with that. He rocks his hips and all at once he's inside me, every inch of him, and, Holy Fuck, I think that makes two of US lucky. His breaths are ragged as he thrusts in and out of me, slowly at first, but gaining speed with each tilt of his hips. I watch the hunger and need playing out on his face, the pleasure coursing through him, the sweat beating on his brow. Every time he dips inside of me, it's as good as the first time, deep and certain and strong with every stroke, but when his thumb finds my clit again, I know I'm really done for. I tighten around him, my legs quivering as I lose my breath again, and give in to my release, with him chasing just moments behind me, until we're both collapsed in a heap. Again. It's silent between us, because what do you say to a borderline stranger who just gave you two orgasms in twenty minutes flat? How do you tell him that you wouldn't actually mind cuddling up to him right now? How do you tell yourself that that's a terrible idea? I have zero answers and luckily, between heaving pants, Dean breaks the silence before I have to. Can I have your number? This time it's my turn to laugh. I'll take that as positive feedback. I meant to ask you earlier. Sure, sure,...

I sigh, managing my first deep breath in a while. No, really, talking on the APP is annoying. You realize that's every straight guy's line, right, that they need to text you because they're chew inconvenience to use an APP specifically built for chatting with people. It is inconvenient, so is getting sent unsolicited Dick picks the second a guy gets the capability of sending a picture message. I glanced down at his Dick, now soft and scrunched up against his thigh. Not that I don't Love Your Dick. He and I just had a great time together. I just don't want his school pictures on my phone. Dean smirks, Creamy Brown eyes and arrowing run that past me one more time. What that? I don't want pictures of your Dick on my phone. No, the other part, the part about you loving my Dick. Jesus, you got two orgasms out of me. Do you want a five star Yelp review? Two? He shrugs. Couldn't hurt God, the mail ego is so fragile. I roll on to my side, propping my head up in my hand. Your Dick is great. I had a blast. Love it. Mean it, now, put it away. I don't like that it's looking at me. Dean rolls his eyes, which I'm starting to think is something all men start doing when they spend any amount of time with me. But he makes good on my request, rolling off the bed to discard the condom and search the wreckage for his briefs. I didn't say you had to get all the way dressed. I snag the Room Service Menu off the nightstand and crack it open. I've almost finished selling myself on double dough when I realized that my dinner date is turning his shirt right side out again. Are you leaving? I thought we were getting pizza. He lifts a brow, scratching at his chest hair with his knuckles. I figured you were kicking me out. What? No, I promised you pizza. I would never lie about pizza. The slightest smile pulls at his lips as he drops his shirt, letting it settle back in the heap on the floor. Damn all right. He climbs back into bed, scooting across the sheets until he's close enough to peek at the menu over my shoulder. I like having him close like this, with his breath warm on my neck, his heart beat thumping against my arm. The sex was phenomenal, of course, but this is the good stuff, the quiet, naked pizza ordering moments. This is the sort of intimacy you can't choreograph. Are you down with Pepperoni and olives? You a cute moment over. I Roll My lips in holding back the urge to fake a gag. Cross you would be an olive lover. I can do Pepperoni, though. Can't we do half and half? No? Why? Because I'm paying for it and I hate olives. He narrows his eyes at me, folding his arms over his bare chest. I thought you said Web Flix was paying for it. Same thing. I tossed my hair over my shoulder for effect. Can't you just pick the olives off? Do you always get your way? I slam the men. You shut, reaching for the hotel phone and putting in an order for one medium doubledoughe pizza, extra pepperoni. You and this pizza have something in common. I re rack the phone and his lips curl into a smirk. Yeah, we're both cheesy and steaming hot. I snort, giving him a playful chef no, you both take thirty minutes to get to my room. I grabbed another slice of pizza from the box, dangling the excess cheese over my mouth and taking a bite. When I look up, I find cleo staring at me, her eyebrows scrunched together hot. Her voice is equal parts sarcastic and seductive. I smile and raise my brows. That's exactly the word I'd use to describe this night. So, other than skipping drinks with your co workers to bone, what's a day in the life of a working actor like? I'm lying on my side and eating my pizza like a Roman emperor. Supposedly ate grapes. CLEO rolls her eyes. I'm choosing to ignore that first part. Scooter a shrug and tilt my head for her to continue. She sighs and Tucks one leg underneath her, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before replying. We spent most of the day working with the intimacy director. I stare back at her like she's speaking a different language. Come again, she chuckles. You know, when people fuck in the movies, somebody choreographs that the same way that the choreograph like a fight or a dance. I shake... head, letting out the slightest astonished huff. Your job is so weird. Your job is so weird. You probably sat at a desk all day. Right. What's weirder than that? Having to pretend to fuck somebody you hardly know? That's what's Weirder, but also infinitely more exciting than the glamorous world of corporate real estate. I'll give you that. A thirty under thirty panel in an over the top expensive as hotel sounds pretty glamorous to me. I mean, sure, this place is expensive, but what you really call this over the top? I nod to the three tier chandelier hanging above us and Cleo snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. You're going to make me shoot mots ofrella out of my nose. That might be the hottest thing that's ever happened to me during a hookup. She looks at me incredulously. You let me see your Dick on soft this isn't just a hookup. I fall into my back. Damn, can't argue with that. All right, it's not a hookup. It's a post sex pizza debrief. I can practically hear cleo rolling her eyes. Boo, bad pawns. Okay, so what is this then? I don't know. You like tucked me in the other night. Do you normally Tuck hookups in before seeing them naked if they've been drinking and can't consent? Yeah, what I'm trying to say is that whatever this is between us doesn't feel like just a hookup, not to me anyway. I nod. I like it too. Whatever this is, maybe it doesn't have to end when we leave here. You mean like keep seeing each other in New York? There's a movie theater by my place that serves alcohol and this killer truffle popcorn. Plus they're always playing indie movies. We could go sometime. I let my eyes wander back to her. She tucks her hair behind her ear. That sounds like something I'd like. Honestly, I don't know what kind of person I'd be if I had you so close to my apartment and didn't let you check out the view. Oh really, I don't think I'd have a choice but to let you up after our date. I don't think I'd want the evening to end any other way. We hold each other's gaze for a split second too long before looking away. I continue rolling back on to my side. So we've covered the actor part. Tell me more about the nannying and the MIMOSA drinking. A small smile forms on her lips. Brunch with my best friend, Ingrid, is a weekly thing, or it was. She's got a new boyfriend, but we get plenty of girl time in when she's not in Pittsburgh. What the hell does she do in Pittsburgh? Long Story. I'm happy for her, don't get me wrong. Things are just different. So nannying, she shrugs. Yep, not my dream job, but it pays well. We're not all good jillionaires with couldhy corporate jobs. You know, I get it. You got to make ends meet, the American dream and all that Shit. I think the American dream is closer to having the kind of fuck you money to pay someone else to raise your kid. I'll give you that, but this show sounds big, like it'll really take off for you. Fingers crossed, because eventually this kid will be old enough to make his own chicken nuggets and I'll be out of a job. I watch your pick a piece of cheese off her slice and place it between her lips. It's got to be rough not having any kind of certainty that you'll still be doing your job a year from now. Not that any of us know that really, but it's not something I tend to think about. I'm sure heating up frozen food is just one element of a very hectic job. It takes a lot to keep a seven year old entertained. I get that my younger brother is about that age. I used to help out with him pretty often, but since everything started with en avant, I haven't been able to be around as much. And you know, Brady's a good kid, but he's getting older and I'm sorry. What's your brother's name? Brady? Brady? What? Mc Daniel? CLEO stares at me like I have a third eye sprouting on my forehead. Is Your Name Dean Mc Daniel? I stare back at her. What the Hell am I missing? Yes, Holy Fuck, oh my fuck, I'm the nanny. I'm your brother's fucking nanny. My mind goes blank. This isn't real, this can't be real. I say the only thing I can think of. Fuck. We have unconsciously screwed away from each other and Cleo pulls the...

...white duvet up over her chest like actresses do in the movies. I can't believe I fucked my employer's son. I can't believe I fucked my brother's nanny. I'm a fucking cliche. Jesus, I'm just like my dad. Your Dad fucked his brother's nanny. My Dad fucked Brady's nanny like seven years ago. Oh Oh right, there's a reason you never see terry around. Helen makes damn sure of that. He's on strict orders never to even lay eyes on you, let alone brush fingers. My Dad's affair really did a number on her. Yikes, Brady was a hell. Marry baby, one last ditch effort to save whatever was left of their marriage, and then my dad fuck the nanny, and that was pretty much that. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wait for one of us to find a solution and epiphany, anything to make this feel less skivy than it currently does. So would your mom be, like, cool with the fact that this happened? Or I can hear the anxiety mounting in CLEO's voice. Sure, I might feel like a fucking creed, but this is her livelihood we're talking about. I scrub a hand over my face. If anything, she'd be pissed at me. Let's just say the whole I'm just like. My bad thing did not originate from my own head. So you're telling me it's your relationship with your mother and not my job I should be worried about. Not much of a relationship to begin with. Mommy issues. Great, one more problem to add to the pile. We're civil professional. It won't affect your employment. I can feel myself going stiff and robotic, like I did when we roll played a couple nights ago. Suddenly all that cheese is feeling like a bad idea. I imagine my mother finding out about us, the Kurt dismissive look on her face, the cool, breezy insult, like the time I brought my college girlfriend home and she had one too many vodka soda's a cocktail hour, like the time I had one too many Bok to soda's at Cocktail Hour. My stomach lurches. Jesus fucking Christ, Hate Dean, you're really quiet right now. It's kind of freaking me out. I snap back to reality, where I'm twenty nine years old, where I'm in bed with a brilliant, gorgeous woman and we just had some of the best sex I've had since, well, ever. I'm an adult, damn it, and I'm not the only one trying to figure out what the fuck to do right now. Sorry. I turned to face a very wide eyed CLEO. She's not the kind of person I ever really imagined looking scared and she doesn't really more like apprehensive, nervous, intrepid. Who the fuck even am I right now? I look down at the Debay, the problem solving wheels in my brain slowly starting to turn again. Okay, so we slept together, right. She nods, her brows scrunched together. No Shit, but we didn't know you work for Helen. Sure, but now we do. So logically we can't do it again. I frown. That sounds less than ideal. Now I'm in full on business negotiation mode. I agree, but I also don't want to look your mother in the eye, fully knowing I've seen her oldest son's Dick. I pause, my mind running at full tilt trying to find a solution. Okay, maybe we can fix this. It's not like I live there or anything, and I'm not the one paying your bills. So ethically, I think we get a pass. CLEO keeps nodding, but the look on her face is less than reassured. Finally it hits me. It's so simple, so clear, so right in front of our faces. I can't believe we didn't think of it sooner. I smile and scoot closer to her, my hand merely inches from hers. Well, you're just a nanny right, so can't you, like find another nannying job? Her eyes narrow and she scoffs. Pulling her hand away, she turns and reaches for a Silk Robe hanging nearby. You're really something. You know that. There's hurt in her voice and anger. Not what I was expecting. She stands and slides the robe over her arms and ties the belt tightly around her waist. She's fucking stunning, not that I can really take too long to think...

...about that right now. I climb over to the edge of the bed. I'm sure there are plenty of families on the upper east side just dying for a nanny, actors MIMOSA drinker to watch their kids. She lets out a quick, short breath through her nose starts pacing, her eyes widening as she rakes her fingers through her hair. I'm lost. I thought I was helping. Did you really think it's that easy? And do you really think I'm about to leave my one steady, well paying KIG for some random tinder hook up? I thought this wasn't just a hookup. Oh, grow up, Dean. You're the one who was talking about keeping this going in the city with Goddamn indie movies and truffle fucking popcorn. I thought actors love that kind of independent bullshit. Now, when tickets costs twenty five a pop. Well, it's not like nannying is a salaried position. Families need help all the time. Don't you rely on that kind of flexibility for your hobbies? Her eyes flash with rage and she stops pacing my hobbies. Is that really what you think? Acting is a hobby. I mean, it's not exactly the most stable way of life. No, it isn't. And why do you think that is, Dean? It's fucking hard. If it was easy to do, everybody would be doing it, but it's not. It's hard as shit and this business is cutthroat and I'm Goddamn good at what I do. Okay, fine, how would I know? Yes, how would you know anything about me or my life? Where my job? Where my struggles? I have student loans the size of your salary. You've had everything handed to you from the day you were born. You're a mcdaniel. What the Hell would you know? I don't respond, instead watching her stare at me, hands on her hips, her chest heaving with anger. So that's it. Then that's how she sees me, not as Dean, not as a man who's worked hard for what he has, as mcdaniel. Okay, then I should go. I grabbed my shirt off the floor and pull it over my shoulders. CLEO sniffs and crosses her arms. Yeah, you probably should. I finished getting dressed and walked to the door, but when my fingers hit the KNOB, I turn around to face her. Even if this is new and casual, leaving things like this just feels wrong. She's perched on the edge of the bed and chewing on her lip, her eyes trained on the floor. Cleo, I just codean. She doesn't even look up to watch me leave. Hook up state of mind is written by Becca Morgan and Amelia J rose, produced by consensual creating steamy feminist first romance for riot curls. Special thanks to baby money and the down payments for the use of our theme song, Oh boy. streamable on spotify. Head Sound Engineer John McNeil Studio. Recording by John McNeil and Sam Silver, mood lighting engineer, mixing by spiral like creative and mastering by aiding of Laura. This episode was performed by Daniel Jordan, Nadia Pellettier, Nicole Michelle Haskins, drew Michelle, Tim McCarthy, r j Seacott and Aaron McNeil. Tune in next week to hear Cleo say. Personally, I'm of the opinion that if I'm not the one doing laundry, there's no harm in getting crumbs in the beds.

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