So, about a week ago, I posted a fun little scene in my Facebook group, Bailey's Babes. It was only supposed to be a few paragraphs of a fantasy, starring David Gandy (under the name Devin Randy) and well...it has escalated. Into seven scenes...and eight more on the way. I've published my "dirty bit of David Gandy fan fiction" below, if you want to share in the fun.
The Devin Randy Chronicles (Part ONE, Scenes 1-7)
by Tessa Bailey
You're working as an assistant to a fashion photographer in London and today you're on set with famous male model Devin Randy. He's being rather difficult for no apparent reason, however, and you've had it with his haughty attitude. Frankly, you've already had it with this whole job—your real passion is dancing and you're only an assistant to pay for classes, not to mention rent on your apartment. Or flat, rather, as they call them in your new British home across the pond.
Someone needs to take this guy down a peg, though. So while you're applying a slight sheen to the model's admittedly amazing stomach, you wait until your boss is out of earshot and say, "I've seen better."
"Backsides," you explain. "I've seen better backsides on a man."
"It's well documented that I have a great ass."
You shrug, running a greased-up hand down his muscled torso. "I like having more available to hold onto."
"I assure you, if you were in a position to hold my ass, you'd be hanging on for dear life."
Whoa. Turns out he's more of a worthy opponent than you expected. Doesn't mean he can get away with being a prick. You finish your task and step back. "Doubtful," you say with a wink.
His eyes burn into your back as you walk away, some extra spring in your step. Devin finishes the shoot without giving your boss any more grief, much to everyone's relief. But as you're cleaning up, the model approaches you.
"Cara," you answer, suspicious. "Why?"[J1]
"I need an assistant. One who doesn't take my bullshit." He waves his hand to indicate the studio, like some lofty lord of the manor. "I'll pay you quadruple what he's paying you."
"Quadruple." You just about keep your mouth from hanging open, until something occurs to you and it snaps shut. "I'm not sleeping with you."
His lips twitch. "That much is clear." He watches you with interest another moment, before breezing past, leaving his rich scent in the air. "I'll be in touch."
It's your first day assisting Devin Randy on a shoot and you've brought your A-game. Piping hot coffee with a splash of milk? Check. Temperature in the chauffeured town car an arctic fifty-five degrees? Check.
He's been broody since you arrived in the car to pick him up, but you've caught him staring when he thinks you're not looking. You want to ignore the prickling along your flushed skin, the fluttering in your stomach when he gives you his sparing nods of approval, but it's impossible. Damn him. If he wasn't literally the most beautiful man alive, this job would be a lot easier.
Disaster strikes. The female model scheduled to pose for a series of provocative shots with Devin is late…and TMZ is reporting she has been arrested. You're packing up, preparing to leave (and for Devin's shitty mood) when he calls the room to a halt.
"No need to cancel." He inclines his head in your direction. "She'll do the shoot with me."
Naturally, your jaw drops, but you recover quickly, gesturing to your overalls and Converse. "What? No way. I'm not a model…and there's no time to tailor clothing…"
One side of Devin's mouth ticks up. "Then I suppose it's a good thing we're doing it nude." He crooks his finger. "Come here to me, Cara."
Devin Randy is undressing you…and it's not one of the fevered dreams you've been having against your will lately. No, he has actually unsnapped your overalls and let them slump to the ground at your feet, baring your legs. Now his fingers slide under the hem of your tank top, preparing to lift. When you suck in an involuntary breath, your stomach shuddering, Devin gives you a knowing smile.
"Okay down there, Cara?"
Like you needed a reminder of his height. "What is the theme of this shoot?" you whisper. "What am I supposed to do?"
The director—who's still skeptical you can pull this off—answers. "These shots will appear in the new Seduction fragrance campaign." He sounds bored. "You're being seduced by Devin."
"No, I'm not."
Devin peels off your tank top, revealing your breasts…and two very perked-up nipples. "Are you sure about that?"
Has his voice lowered in pitch? "Let's get this over with," you manage, dropping down onto the plush, velvet settee.
Devin unties his robe and lets it fall. You refuse to look down, but it's impossible to ignore the gorgeous man as he prowls up your prone body, perusing you as he crawls, his knees planted on either side of yours. His mouth is hovering beside your ear when he says, "You neglected to remove your panties."
"They stay on." Oh God, you can't breathe. The warmth of his skin is melting you into the furniture, the sinew of his thighs branding yours.
With a dark chuckle, he lowers his mouth to the valley between your breasts. Vaguely, you make out the sound of a camera going off…oh, but then…Devin slides his wet, open mouth straight down to your belly button. And it happens. The knot he's been tying inside you snaps, arching your back, producing a rush of hot, perfect lightning between your thighs.
Still reeling, you crack an eyelid to find Devin staring down at you in disbelief. "Did you just have an orgasm?" he murmurs, for your ears alone.
Your face flames. "Y-yes."
Devin turns his head toward the director, photographer and lighting crew.
The door to the studio clicks shut, signaling the last crew member leaving the room. Your pulse is erratic and not even from the impromptu orgasm. No, it's due to Devin looking down at your body like it's an ice cream sundae, and your nipples are the cherry toppers. Jesus. Maybe that's why you're not even embarrassed? Because your body's response hasn't put him off…it appears to have made him a little crazy for more.
Devin takes your wrists and locks them over your head with one giant hand, trailing the other down your side, hooking impatient fingers beneath the elastic of your panties.
Panic. "What are you doing?"
Heated blue eyes zing to yours, his devil's mouth lifting on one end. "Well you shouldn't get to have all the fun, babe."
He leans down to blow softly on your nipples and you barely contain a moan. "I-I…no. No. When you hired me, I said I wouldn't sleep with you and I meant it."
Devin is genuinely puzzled. And you have to admit, it's with good reason. The man stretched out on top of you can go from suave and aloof to sexually dangerous with the snap of a finger. If someone tried to design the perfect man, they wouldn't come close to recreating his looks. "Why wouldn't you want to sleep with me?"
There. The problem is he knows exactly how beautiful he is. "Because I don't like you."
His jaw flexes. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"To me, it's everything." You squirm beneath him, trying to get free and…ohhh, you shouldn't have done that. His generous erection rubs along your inner thigh and your eyelids flutter closed involuntarily, lips popping open.
And Devin notices. With that maddening smirk back in place, he presses his weight down on the juncture of your thighs. Gives a quick thrust. "So…we're not fucking?"
"That's right," you gasp, commanding yourself not to lock your legs around his hips.
"We're just going to pretend a lick of my tongue didn't make a mess of your panties. Is that it?" His mouth is hot against your ear. "We're just going to pretend I don't want to ram you full of my cock?"
CHRIST. It's the hardest thing you've ever done, but you nod. "If you want to keep me as your assistant…yes. We have to pretend."
Devin goes still. And when he hits you with those eyes again, there's something unfamiliar lurking in them. Something you've never spied in thousands of Devin Randy photographs. It's guarded, but yes, it's definitely…fear. "You would really leave me, Cara?"
"Yes," you whisper, because it's true. You know what happens with these types of situations and it would eventually end in you jobless. And unlike Devin, you need the money.
After a moment of breathless scrutiny, Devin releases your hands and climbs off the settee, replacing his robe with easy masculine grace. "The prospect of you leaving…I don't appreciate the way it makes me feel."
Confused by the unexpected change in him, you sit up and watch him leave the room in silence…wondering if maybe…just maybe, you failed to see the man beneath the perfect mask.
Since you climaxed the last time you were in Devin's presence…well, that makes for a little awkwardness. But when he calls you upstairs to his private walk-in closet (which is basically the size of your apartment), you lift your chin and follow his voice. You are his personal assistant, after all. Only his personal assistant. You put the brakes on any chance at a physical relationship and you're damn proud of yourself!
At least, you're feeling proud until you step into his closet and see him for the first time since yesterday. And of course, he's inhumanly gorgeous without even trying. He's wearing suspenders and he's looking very…intense. Are those two things even legally allowed to go together?
"You called for me?"
A grouping of muscles in his right shoulder bunch tight. "Yes. I'm attending an event tonight. Dolce and Gabbana something or other." He shoves a hanging cluster of clothing away, as if disgusted. "You will attend as my date."
Oh no. No way. You managed to resist Devin naked, but somehow resisting him smiling in a tux sounds even more impossible. "I'll attend as your assistant. Not your date."
"Assistants hover in the background." He picks up a necktie and throws it back down. "You'll be on my arm."
"Lord, you are high-handed."
"Yes. Yes, I am high-handed." He prowls toward you, a picture of male frustration. "No one is supposed to have a problem with that."
You back up to avoid him. Unfortunately, the wall blocks your retreat. And he keeps coming. "You hired me because I wouldn't take your bullshit."
"Would you mind compromising, Cara, and taking just a bloody bit of it?"
Laughter bubbles past your lips before you can stop it. Genuine laughter. He appears dumbfounded by the sound…but you think he might also like it, based on the way he closes in on you, eliminating your personal space. He plants his hands on the closet wall, just above your head. When he leans down to trace the curve of your ear with his tongue, you command yourself to push him away but your hands won’t work, the traitorous bastards.
"Yes, I hired you because you seem impervious to my bad moods,” Devin breathes. “But I think you know that’s only half of it.”
You need to get away. Now. Or very bad things will take place. But something forces a concession out of you. Maybe it’s the thread of desperation you hear in his voice. Or the way he looked so lonely when you walked into the closet. “I’ll go as your date tonight.” The words cause his eyes to bore down into yours. “But in exchange, I need tomorrow afternoon off.”
Ice replaces the heat in his gaze. “What for?”
So far, you’ve kept everything in your personal life just that. Personal and off limits. With your will already so weak around Devin, it doesn’t seem wise to change that by explaining you have an important audition for a major dance company in London. “That’s for me to know. Do we have a deal?”
He nods after a moment, before fixing his attention on your cleavage, then sliding it lower to your stomach, which is a mere inch from his belt buckle. “In anticipation of your agreement to be my date, I’ve had three dresses sent over. All pink.”
Devin’s tongue glides over that full bottom lip, his index finger tracking upward from your belly button, burning your skin through your shirt. "Pink. For the nipples you won't permit me to suck,” he whispers hoarsely. “For the bow-shaped lips that won't kiss me.” Without warning, he drops his hand to your pants waistband, giving it a rough tug and twist, tearing a whimper from your throat. “And for the pussy that wants me, despite it all."
He leaves you slumped against the wall of his closet, panting for breath.
You’d chosen the pink dress he'd sent as a joke. But much to your entertained amusement, the joke was definitely on him.
"It's meant to be worn with pants, Cara," Devin growls from across the limousine, which is taking you to the Dolce & Gabbana event. An event, Devin failed to mention yesterday, that is being held in his honor. Because…obviously. "Of course, you pick the one that resembles a nightshirt. I’m beginning to think you do these things simply to frustrate me.”
Okay, there was some truth to that. "If you didn't want me to choose this dress, why did you send it?"
Too late, you realize that question was a mistake. Devin leans forward in his seat, sunglasses pushed to the end of his distinguished nose. "I wanted you to know I'd thought of you wearing it. That I'd thought of how quickly and easily I could get my hands on what's beneath." His gaze falls to singe a path up your thighs. "What I didn't want was everyone else thinking the same thing."
Had someone turned off the air conditioner? "You're the guest of honor,” you manage. “They'll be looking at you."
Devin’s mouth flattens in a skeptical line and, oh, you will live to regret those words. Devin helps you from the limo and tucks your hand into his arm with a final stern glance at your legs. You're ten steps toward the press line when chaos erupts. You see the Daily Star newspaper being held aloft by several spectators, the cover of which is new, yet strikingly familiar at the same time. It's a full-length shot of Devin dragging his tongue down your belly while you very clearly, very obviously, are in the throes of an orgasm. And the photograph? It is everywhere.
Paparazzi close in from all sides, holding the same newspapers. “Orgasm Girl,” they're calling you. Asking you to pose, shoving the papers in your face with snide requests for an autograph. In their haste to get the best shot, you're jostled from behind—
Devin's incensed roar drives them all back a giant step, like a wave receding. Before you can register anything but epic, bone-deep humiliation, Devin wraps you in his tuxedo jacket, which ends well below your wobbling knees, then scoops you up into his arms. The limousine has already gone, giving Devin no choice but to storm through the press line, snapping orders at scurrying event organizers and the lackluster security team, demanding a private place to bring you, away from the cameras. “They put their fucking hands on her.”
Your flaming face remains buried in Devin's neck until you hear a door slam shut, followed by silence. At least, it's silent until Devin sets you down gently, rips the cell phone from his pocket and commands the limousine driver to pull up around back. Then it's just him. You. Heavy breathing. And the dark, quiet room.
Devin brings his face close to yours, sharp blue eyes running over your features. “Christ, Cara. Are you okay?”
“Um, not really, since the press is calling me Orgasm Girl.”
His top lip curls. "I forbade them from releasing that shot to anyone but me."
The urge to cover your face is fierce, but you force yourself to keep your chin raised. “Why wouldn’t you want it to circulate? It makes you look like the Houdini of pussy."
A frown wrinkles his brow. "I don't appreciate the timing of your peculiar jokes, Cara.” He tucks stray hair behind your ear, his voice softening to a hypnotic tone. “What if…what if you'd been injured, babe?"
Oh no. This is bad. Tremendously bad. You can handle Devin Randy acting like an arsehole, but not this sweet, concerned Devin, who is obviously outraged on your behalf. And, God, he’s wearing a tux. After seeing your naked body on the cover of the newspaper, your emotions are haywire. And…and…you’re…yeah. You’re going to kiss him. There’s no help for it.
You lift up on your toes, fingers diving into his hair. A split second before your mouths meet, Devin sees the kiss coming and groans. Groans like he’s having an orgasm of his own. The sound is so deep and potent, every vital muscle in the southern region of your body goes whip tight. When your mouths make contact, there’s no hesitation in the kiss…it’s a furious meeting of tongues, lips opening, bodies pressing. Can’t get close enough. Can’t. One of Devin’s hands is framing your jaw, urging your mouth wider, taking your lips like they’re his last meal. His other hand slides down your back to grip your bottom, lifting you against his hard frame, higher, higher, until you feel the thickening flesh behind his fly.
"That was MY orgasm,” he rasps against your lips. “I licked it out of you and they stole it from me. I need to give you another that’s just mine. Please, Cara. Right now.”
You’re not sure what you were expecting. In terms of orgasm delivery, that is. Speculating at all, on anything, while Devin’s world-famous physique has yours backed up against a wall? Yeah…it’s not easy. Impossible, actually. But when he steps back and loosens his bow tie, mystery lurking in that penetrating stare, you decide expectations are moot. After all, the man made you climax with a single lick. If he thinks he can accomplish the same by removing his tie, maybe the man just knows best.
“Do you understand what a turn-on it is, Cara, knowing that I can make you come with such ease?” With a flick of his wrist, the bow tie slides free of his starched white collar. “Imagine having a woman, to whom you’re already sickeningly attracted, prancing around you all day, hovering right on the brink of shattering. Imagine. It.” His eyes close briefly, as if he can’t help it. “That is essentially what your susceptibility to me equates to, isn’t it? You are perpetually one touch, one lick away from climaxing. Do I exaggerate?”
God, he’s so damn arrogant. Your lady parts adore him for it, though, against your mind’s will. It’s infuriating. Mostly because he’s right. When it comes to controlling your response to Devin, like it or not, he’s more in control than you. “You’re not exaggerating,” you say. “But you only like it because it feeds your ego.”
Did you honestly just see a flash of hurt cross his features? Heat muscles back in and takes over in no time, however. “Can you fault me, when you’re completely unaffected by me in every other way? I take what I can get when it comes to you, Cara.” Devin steps close, drifts a hand beneath your dress and slips your panties down to mid-thigh, sending your breath on an all-out sprint. “As such, you’ve just given me permission to pleasure your body and I intend to take it.”
Heart ricocheting around your ribcage, you are otherwise frozen as Devin slides the bow tie between the front of your parted legs, taking hold of the other silky end in back. “What are you—”
Devin pulls up on both ends, startling you onto your toes with a cry. Oh. Oh shit. The silk strip of material is everywhere at once. Separating the damp folds of your center, running through the divide of your bottom. Your body hovers in a state of suspense, waiting to be destroyed. How? How does he accomplish it so easily? Devin isn’t quite pulling off his usual smirk as he studies your fluttering eyelids, your parted mouth. “You’ve heard the term tug-of-war, haven’t you? That’s the state I’ve been in, Cara. Wanting you. Needing you. Knowing you want my fuck, but saying things that prevent me from giving it to you.”
“I…” Your legs are starting to shake, simply from the smooth pressure on your clit, the dark cadence of his voice. “Please, Devin.”
“Please, what? Show you my improved version of tug-of-war?” His lips interlock with yours as he drags the silk a single inch in one direction. When you scream, the friction burning you alive, Devin dives in and swallows the sound with his mouth until it subsides. “Again?”
“N-no. Yes.” Your answer means nothing, anyway, because the silk is already sliding back the other way, faster. And again. Faster. Faster. Sliding and arousing and ruining you for life. Tears begin to roll down your cheeks, your toes aching from holding you up. It’s so good. So good. So good. Devin’s mouth is mastering yours, his growls growing louder, building alongside your climax. When it storms through your middle, you can’t breathe. You are the meaning of pleasure. Balance is impossible and you list to the side, Devin catching you in his arms, his lips moving at your temple.
“Okay, beautiful Cara. I’ve got you.” His breaths are coming in short pants, his big hands sliding up and down your back, over your hair. “God, I’m such a mess. I’m a mess over you. Stop pushing me away, damn you.”
You’re nodding. You have no idea why you’re nodding. But something has changed in the last few days and you’d be lying to yourself if you ignored it. “I’ll try.”
Devin deflates, sending both of you crashing back against the wall, but one of his arms braces your impact. “I’ll take what I can get.” He lifts the bow tie to his mouth, his tongue giving the silk a long lick. “Every. Damn. Drop. I can get.”
If he winks at me one more time, I’m going to introduce his nuts to my size seven stiletto.
Hayden Winstead circled her ankle slowly underneath the bo...