Leigh Foxlee: Cindy Eller

I was led through a large foyer inside the oddly shaped building of glass and steel. Gertrude guided me to a metallic elevator and we were whisked up to the set of Two Torn.

In a lavish dressing room, complete with long mirror lined by globe lights, I met Foster Wells.

My breath caught in my throat as a handsome smile curled his lips. He was six-foot-two, in great shape, and had the face of a carved Greek god. His short chestnut hair gleamed in gelled waves. When the light caught it, it looked like a rich coat of sable.

His green eyes flashed with good humor. "Is this our little contest winner?"

Gertrude nodded and returned the smile. "It certainly is. I'll leave you two alone to take the tour, but text me if you need anything." She tapped a Blackberry clipped to her skirt then left.

The door clicked shut and Foster's face changed. It screwed up in a frown of annoyance.

"Let's get this over quickly." He walked past me without so much as a glance and left the room.

I picked my jaw off the floor and followed after him. Okay, I was sure he got tired of being hounded by starry eyed fans, but what exactly had I done to offend him? Show up for my prize?

I caught up to him near the end of the hallway. He didn't even acknowledge me. I felt like a ghost in his presence.

He still kept mute in the elevator. My attempts at conversation were met with frowns and terse words. Then he suddenly leaned in close, pinned me to one side of the elevator, and smiled a cruel smile.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "Tell all the papers what a prick I am. I'll deny everything, or just say you're a jilted actor groupie."

Nothing more was said until we arrived on the set. It was partially lit, but quiet. They weren't shooting today, he told me, but had rehearsed a few scenes earlier.

With another fake smile, he led me toward a chair he kept on the set for in between his scenes.

"Wanna sit in it?" His chest puffed out and he looked the epitome of arrogance. "You can say you sat in the chair of a star."

I gave him a small smile, feeling drained by his pompous attitude. I thought about my jilted Prince Charming and fresh guilt sucker punched me. How I wished he were there with me instead of Foster Wells.

"How does it feel?" he asked after I got comfy in his chair.

I blinked. "What do you mean?" It felt like a crappy canvas chair, to be honest.

His fake smile widened. "To sit in the seat of a big celebrity."

"It feels like one of my IKEA chairs." I wrinkled my nose at him. I couldn't help it. The thick arrogance and surly mood was getting nauseating.

His face grew ugly and red with anger. He spoke not another word as he stalked away, leaving me all alone on a deserted set.

I huffed air and tried to hold back tears. I would not be a wimp! I would find the exit and walk out of there with my dignity.

At least, that was my plan, until I heard footsteps behind me.

I whirled around to find the co-star of Two Torn approaching me, Chris Grayson. The most handsome man in the world, if you asked me. I'd always preferred him to Foster.

"Did Foster abandon you?" His deep voice was soft, soothing. "I'm sorry. He can be such a prick."

He held out a large hand with slender fingers, and I shook it. A jolt of electricity seemed to shoot up my arm and I tried not to gasp.

Instead I gave a nervous laugh. "He definitely didn't seem happy to see me."

Chris held out his arm for me to take. Before I did, I took him in. Hair so black it almost shone blue. Eyes like sapphires. Chiseled cheekbones and a square chin. He was dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit with a silky pearl shirt. My eyes feasted on his handsomeness. I admit it.

"Let me finish where he left off." He smiled, a genuine smile that made his eyes sparkle, and led me off the set.

We chatted and laughed throughout the remainder of the tour. Chris was the exact opposite of the brooding, bad boy character he played on Two Torn. He was charming, affable, even flirtatious. He offered me refreshments, so we headed back to his dressing room. My head thrummed from the thrilling change in events.

In his dressing room-not as lavish and overdone as Foster's, but tastefully designed with modern motifs-we sat in comfy creme loungers. He poured champagne into two flute glasses and opened a box of expensive chocolates for us. After handing a glass to me, he placed the red velvet-looking box between us atop a glass coffee table.

While eating a chocolate in the most sensuous way possible, he watched me. I almost choked on my champagne. I did sneeze when the bubbles went up my nose.

"I have a confession to make, Cindy." He put his glass down and leaned closer. "I set this whole thing up."

He popped a cherry chocolate in my mouth and I almost choked. After I chewed and swallowed, I spoke. "What do you mean?"

"Cindy Eller, I am your Prince Charming."

My mouth fell open. I licked cherry juice from my lips. "Y-you're Prince Charming?"

He wore a Cheshire grin now. "Please forgive me. I know I tricked you. I rigged the contest so you would win, so we could meet."

"But…but the contest was to meet Foster Wells."

He winked. "So you thought."

He explained how he set up the whole meeting thanks to rigging the contest and talking with Sadie. My mom and Chris got in a conversation about me last time I left him waiting at her cafe. Guess Sadie acted as my fairy godmother, and I had to smile at the thought. She may not have been around when I was a kid, but now that she was a part of my life she was always looking out for me.

"So, what now?" I twirled the stem of my champagne glass.

The Cheshire grin returned. He slithered from the chair and dropped to his knees in front of me. His eyes made my face heat unbearably when he looked up.

"I thought we could act out one of our online games." He traced figure 8's across my knee then moved higher, letting his fingers slip down my inner thigh.

I tried to steady my breath. My pussy began to tingle with maddening need. "I–I'd love to." I croaked. "But I didn't bring protection."

He dipped his head and kissed the tops of both my knees before he lifted me from the chair. "Oh, don't worry, I have everything covered."

Chris Grayson, one of the most sought after men in North America, was my Prince Charming? And now he planned on ravishing me in his dressing room. I almost asked him to pinch me, because I had to be dreaming.

He set me down in front of the long, white makeup counter that lined a well lit mirror. He whispered the proposed scenario in my ear, and I nodded my consent.

"Turn around," he commanded in a low, husky voice and I obeyed.

I presented my wrists to him, as he requested. He was soft yet rough, seductive yet powerful, as he bound them with his necktie.

"Now, I'm going to undress you." He paused long enough to feather kisses down my neck. "Slowly, while you watch."

I shivered, and my gaze glued to the mirror, wreathed in a rectangular halo of soft globe lights. My whole body would soon be on display, and I would observe everything he did to me. My pussy clenched and grew wetter at these thoughts.

He stripped me, but left my polka dot pumps on. My caramel skin shone as he bent me over the makeup counter. My eyes were wide and my pupils were huge.

First he stroked the tense muscles in my back until I relaxed completely. Then his lips and tongue skimmed down my spine. I groaned as warm bliss flooded me and my horniness grew.

Teeth sank into my firm, round ass and I let out a shrill squeal. I watched as his head moved to the other cheek and repeated the process. My skin vibrated with sensation and my legs trembled slightly.

He spread my legs wider and disappeared as he went to his knees once again. I cried out when a hot, wet tongue flit over my clitoris. He licked my outer labia, tugged them with his teeth, then lapped up my juices from my now soaked opening. I moaned uncontrollably as he did so.