Page 125 of Wicked Fantasies

Ty was amazed the man had managed to walk down the aisle four times, as marriage certainly held a level of risk he’d never seen Bernie take on a professional level. Of course—considering the fact he’d ended up in divorce court four times—perhaps it was best Bernie stuck to the tried and true on the business front.

“We’ve been through this a thousand times, Bernie. I want to do something different, something of substance. I’m getting too damn old for the action hero shit.”

“The only problem with you is pride. Break down and start using the stunt double and you could keep doing action movies until you’re eighty. Look at Harrison Ford, Bruce Willis.”

Depression overwhelmed Ty at the thought of chasing bad character actors through various cities while the special effects people blew up everything in sight. There was no way he could continue to play those roles until he retired.

“No thanks. I’m ready to try a more serious role andEvening Songsis the perfect story. Oscar material for sure.” He didn’t dare admit to Bernie that his desire to make the film was twofold. While he hoped it would break him out of his stereotypical roles, he also wanted to see the stories told and shared with a broader audience because they spoke to his heart.

“You realize it will be both of our asses if this thing flops. Your star power will only take you so far, Ty. Add in your rather volatile public persona and you’re a ticking time bomb facing complete annihilation.”

He sighed and closed his eyes. He’d heard that line a thousand times from Bernie and he knew exactly how much was riding on this project and his plans for the future and his career.

“I know that. It won’t fail.” He delivered the line with as much conviction as he could muster, praying his agent couldn’t hear the underlying anxiety in his voice.

Gwen had signed the contracts. She was now legally bound to work on the screenplay with him, but he’d failed to tell her exactly how much was riding on this movie. He needed her talent, her writing skills, far more than he’d let on. He was betting the entire future of his career on her ability to tell a great story.

“Talk to you later,” he heard Bernie say as he hung up and put the phone in his pocket.

He paced the floor, glancing out the window every few moments, waiting for Bob to return from the airport with Gwen. He’d wanted to pick her up personally, but his morning meeting had run long, lasting well into the afternoon. He’d only arrived home half an hour earlier.

He stifled a yawn and grimaced. He was exhausted from tossing and turning all night.

Hell, every night since she’d left. The past two weeks had moved in slow motion, and every time he replayed her reaction to his kisses, his touches, he felt like the memories had been burned onto his brain and soul.

She was perfect for him, and that concept obliterated all of his common sense. He’d never met a woman like her. He’d never let himselfimaginea woman like her existed. It was as if he’d written his ideal character, described her, shaped and molded her and Gwen had fallen into the part—his ultimate leading lady.

He was a dominant in every aspect of his life, but in the bedroom, those tendencies seemed to be amplified to outlandish proportions.

His entire life was spent in the limelight, so he’d learned how to temper his needs, his desires. He could just imagine the field day the tabloids would have printing the news of his sexual escapades. In his world, long-term committed relationships didn’t happen, and there was no way he would open himself up for the ugly gossip that would surround him if he dared to venture into the type of sexual relationship he truly wanted.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t even think the words in his own mind.

BDSM.

He wanted a slave in the bedroom, a woman he could command and control. He wanted to place a collar around Gwen’s neck and chain her to his bed forever. He wanted to take care of her, give her anything and everything she’d ever dreamed of.

No doubt he could keep an entire army of psychiatrists busy with his psyche if he was so inclined, but he’d come to realize that his need for dominance was simply an innate part of his personality. He was who he was and since meeting Gwen, he knew the years of hiding, of restraining that need for ultimate control, were over.

Until now, preserving his career, his reputation, had always come before those desires.

One week in Gwen’s presence had changed that. Never once in all of his forty years had he met a woman he wanted to utterly possess. Whether the idea of controlling her in the bedroom was right or wrong, it continued to gnaw at his conscience while eating away at his willpower.

He knew he should resist her—for the success of the screenplay, if nothing else—but he also knew he never would, never could.

He now understood the reason he’d been drawn to her story, “The Darkest Night”. Clearly she had similar desires. Every move she had made the morning she left proved it.

She was a born submissive.

She would obey his commands.

She would place herself completely in his hands, and she would be marvelous.

Problem was, she didn’t seem to realize or understand her needs.

At all.

In fact, he sensed that, like him, she’d spent a lifetime denying that part of herself. He’d spent the past two weeks considering whether or not he should explore the relationship with her, take tentative steps in the direction he believed they’d both like to go.

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