Flashing my FCC badge as I breeze by the security buffoon standing at the door that goes backstage at the studio where ACL is filmed, I glance around. This place is posh, even backstage. I can hear Mr. Kent’s voice as it reverberates through the studio. It’s even sexier in person. I’ve only heard him a couple of times on interviews. The deep timbre almost sends a shiver through me.

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.”