by Virna DePaul
He teases and plays and circles until I’m shimmying against him. My breath comes in pants.
As he reaches around me, he kisses me, and I don’t even realize he’s unclasped my bra until the cool air hits my nipples.
Now I cover myself. I can’t let him see my bare breasts! Not in the bright light of the kitchen. Charles never saw me naked in full light.
But Simon only kisses the side of my neck, coaxing. “Let me see those pretty breasts,” he murmurs, licking at my skin. “I know they ache for me. Do they? Do you want me to suck those tight, pink nipples until you can’t stand it any longer?”
Jesus Christ, I think, dazed. No one has ever spoken to me like that, and I love it. I somehow get the courage to lower my arms. Simon’s gaze hones in on my breasts, on my puckered nipples—now a dark pink—and he brushes a thumb across the peaks.
The sensation shoots straight to my toes. It’s unbearable. It’s amazing.
He kisses the tops of my breasts, flicking one nipple, then the other. I can’t help it: I moan out loud. Normally I’d be embarrassed, but I’ve gotten to the point that I don’t care. I just want him to touch me and taste me and make me his.
“Simon, please,” I murmur, touching his golden hair. “I can’t stand it.”
He pinches a nipple. I groan.
“So impatient. Yet I can’t say that I don’t feel the same.” He puts an arm around me and leans me back so he can feast on my breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks as his hand plays with the other globe. His mouth makes me dizzy. It makes me want to strip off the rest of my clothes and have him inside me.
His tongue licks and sucks and then he frees the nipple with an audible pop before transferring his attentions to the other peak. I just keep running my fingers through his hair. My toes curl and God above, I don’t ever want him to stop.
But as I’m moaning and my hips thrust against him, he suddenly transforms into the predator I’ve only seen once before. He unzips my pants and then delves below the elastic of my panties. I’m too shocked to protest—if I wanted to. But I don’t. I want him to touch me everywhere, and I especially want him to touch me there again.
His index finger parts my folds, and he groans. “So wet already? I can feel you soaking my hand.” He sucks at my neck as his fingers just brush where I want him to touch.
Even with that slightest of touches, I feel like I could explode at any second. I push against his fingers.
He pets me, parting my folds, his fingers glancing off my clit before dancing away again.
I start begging. I never beg, and I never make noise during sex, but now I’m desperate. I need something—anything. But he just teases and plays with me, spreading the wetness already dripping from my core, making me wild.
I pull on his hair. He looks up and smiles, his eyelids heavy.
“What do you want, Marissa?” He breathes the words against my mouth, hot and seductive.
I push against his fingers. “You know what I want.”
“No, I want to hear you say it.”
I make a noise. I can’t say it! How can I say something like that? I bite my lip, shaking my head.
The pressure of his fingers lightens, the ache only expanding.
“Say it,” he says as he kisses me. “Be a good bad girl and tell me what you want.”
I moan. I almost take him by the wrist, but I can’t move. It’s like he’s put some spell on me.
His fingers dance away from where I want him the most. He traces lines around the crease of my inner thighs instead.
I start making desperate sounds. “Please, Simon,” I beg.
“You know what to do, love. Say it.”
“Please.” I touch his hair. “Please, make me come,” I whisper, heat spreading through me.
He grins right before his hand delves below. He parts my folds again, and then he pushes a finger inside of me.
He kisses me, thrusting his tongue in my mouth in the same rhythm as his plunging finger. I can only hold on, hoping he doesn’t make my heart explode. He adds a second finger to the first and crooks them slightly, brushing against a spot I didn’t even think existed. A high-pitched squeal starts in my throat.
The sound of him finger-fucking me fills the kitchen, only making the moment more erotic. But all of that disappears when his thumb presses against my clit.
“Sweet girl, come for me. Come on my fingers.”
His voice puts me in a trance. I can only feel him thrusting inside of me, his thumb against my clit, and the sensation swirls faster and faster deep in my belly until I cry out. My body bows backward, and finally, I’m coming.
I can vaguely hear Simon saying, “There you go, love,” but it’s all lost in the swirl of ecstasy filling my body. I come and come until I’m glad he’s put an arm around me, otherwise I’d probably collapse against the counter like a rag doll.
When I start to come down, my body settling, I can’t help myself: I lean forward and kiss Simon for all that I’m worth. Twice now he’s brought me to release with the touch of his fingers. For so long, I thought I was frigid and that sex wasn’t for me, but it hadn’t been my fault in the least.
He responds to my kiss, humming in his throat. His hand is still in my panties, lightly stroking still, like he can’t pull away. Part of me wants him to make me come a third time, while the other part of me knows I’m too sensitive for another orgasm so soon.
If he can make me come like this just with his fingers, what can he do if we actually have sex?
My body heats at the mere suggestion. I know I shouldn’t imagine it, but I can’t help it. I think of Simon, his hands on my hips, thrusting his hard cock inside of me until I scream.
But all thoughts of continuing this end when I hear Simon’s phone ring. He glances at me, then at his pocket, before pulling out the offending device.
He makes a face. “My agent. I have to take this,” he says before turning away.
I’m kind of glad of the distraction. It allows me to put my clothes back on and maybe get my head back on, too. Did I really let Simon touch me like that? I don’t even know him! Yet I can’t feel guilty, either, because no one has ever made me feel so good.
He tells the person on the end of the line that he’ll be there shortly and then hangs up.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a smile, “but I’m afraid I need to go.”
I’m too tongue-tied to do anything besides nod. Once again, he satisfied me and is asking for nothing in return. Is it that he doesn’t want me the way I want him? Had I imagined the desire in his eyes? The hardness of his cock against me?
He smiles a little wider. “You can’t imagine how pissed I am I have to leave. Because I want to do so many more things to you, Marissa. And I can’t wait to feel your hands and mouth all over my body. Perhaps we can make time for that soon?”
Shakily, I nod.
“Good.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me, and I melt all over again. “I’ll see you soon. Have a lovely evening, Marissa.”
I’m still sitting on the counter when I hear the front door close, and I’m still sitting there, some time later, dazed and wondering just when we can plan to do those things he’d spoken of.
9
Simon
Between takes, I head to the trailer and check my phone. People have been noticing something’s different with me, so it’s better to separate myself from the cast. Even Ava noticed it during our latest sex scene. We were in bed, Ava wearing a thong and me wearing a glove for modesty on the set, when she looked into my eyes and said, “There’s something different about you.”
And that’s saying something, since Ava has never been called the sharpest tool in the shed.
The truth is, I’m outgrowing Alien Love. If I don’t get the role in Perfect Union…
But I don’t even want to think about that. So I just keep going through the motions with my head down, getting into my Borg makeup, doing what I can to churn out the scenes as well as pos
sible so I can finish this season on a high note.
But Ava is right. There is something different about me. And it’s right between my legs, every fucking time I think about Marissa.
It’s been three days since Marissa invited me into her house. Three days since I’ve touched her, kissed her, heard her moan my name. I must admit, I have to stop myself from thinking about our encounter too often, otherwise I’m in an uncomfortable predicament. But that doesn’t stop me from reliving how she cried out when she reached her peak, or how she worked her body against me, my fingers inside of her wet warmth.
I groan. No, thinking of those things is definitely not going to help me get rid of this near-permanent erection I’ve been sporting in the days since I left her place. And in another half hour, I have a shower scene to film, where I’ll be wearing nothing but a towel.
FML.
I get down on the ground of my trailer and do the requisite exercises to make my abs pop for the camera. Every time I crunch upwards, though, an image of Marissa blinks through my mind. We’ve texted since then, but I’ve been too busy to send more than a few flirty messages here and there. Marissa, the sweet girl, doesn’t seem to catch onto when I’m trying to up the ante, or at least, she’s too shy to take the cue that sexting would be more than welcome. I’ve resolved to keep trying, though. Sexting can be so much fun.
I smile. I’m rather looking forward to showing Marissa all the ways she can have some fun.
My phone vibrates right then, and I refuse to admit that my heart starts pounding like a teenage boy. I want it to be the woman I’ve been obsessing about. But when I see the number—I deleted her as a contact eons ago—I scowl.
What the fuck is my ex doing calling me now?
But I know Janelle, and I know she’ll keep calling and texting and then will probably show up here if I don’t respond. She’s like that. When we first started dating, I thought her stubbornness was endearing. Now it just makes me want to wring her neck.
Janelle Williams was the last woman I seriously dated, and she’s the reason I’m not into relationships now. She, too, is an up-and-coming actor, one of a billion in this city. At our first meeting during auditions for Alien Love, I’ll just say that sparks flew. Unfortunately, the producers didn’t think so, which was why she wasn’t cast opposite me. Maybe they saw something that I’d been too blinded by her stellar rack and good looks to see. It’s hard to believe I even thought she might be The One, once upon a time. Until she showed her true colors and then, after I dared to break things off, she sat down with one of the most notorious gossip columnists in the city and gave a tell-all interview, detailing how awful our relationship had been, all in the name of furthering her own career.
I scowl harder as I answer Janelle’s call. I brace myself for the oncoming storm.
“Janelle, this is a surprise.”
She laughs softly. “Well, I saw a story about you this morning while I was browsing, and it brought back all these memories. I’m flattered you remembered my number.”
“Darling, there’s very little to forget about you. What story are you referring to?”
“Alien Love is on its last legs. Is it true?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m surprised you don’t know already. You always pride yourself on being the first to know everything.”
She chuckles. I will admit, she can be cool under pressure. “You’re too sweet. But flattery will only get you so far.”
“It got me into your bed.”
Silence. I can hear noise in the background, but then finally she says, “You really want to play that game right now?”
I put my feet up on my ottoman. I have a feeling this is going to take a while. “Why not? Isn’t that your forte? Playing games?”
“Don’t tell me you’re still upset about the interview. I’ll admit it wasn’t the wisest move, but that’s all water under the bridge.”
“Oh, it was a wise move, for you. You got your role on Lone Star Hospital from it. Didn’t matter who you stepped on, though, right?” I don’t wait for her to protest. “Of course it’s water under the bridge. I’ve moved on, love. Which is why I’m puzzled as to why you’re contacting me at all.”
She makes a noise—whether one of annoyance or pleasure, I can’t tell. “I merely wanted to ask about your new woman. One of the Woodcrests, isn’t she? How impressive.”
I stiffen. How did Janelle find out about Marissa already? Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone knows how to get dirt on people, it’s Janelle.
“Her name is Marissa,” I reply. “But thank you for inquiring.”
“I’m not inquiring,” she snaps back. “I’m telling you that you should stay far away from her.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because it’s obvious the family has no idea who you are, if they’re letting you in the ring with her. Am I right?” I can almost hear the sneer in her voice. To her, the Woodcrests are far above me, I’m sure. “If her family knew of your history, they’d cart that little Maria off so fast it would make your head spin.”
“Marissa. And perhaps she doesn’t give a shit what her family might think.” Liar, liar. “Besides, how is it of any interest to you?”
I can almost see her cat-like smile. I shouldn’t have let myself be baited, but at the same time, I need to know what I’m dealing with.
“Because believe it or not, I care about you. I hate to see you biting yourself in the ass,” she says in a motherly tone, which makes me snort aloud.
“You? Care about me? Let’s not play games, okay? The only person you’ve ever cared about is yourself.”
She laughs. “All right, all right. But I do know what kind of career you’re trying to build for yourself. You’re ruthless, and I wouldn’t put it past you to use that sweet little Woodcrest girl to get an in with some A-List producers.”
I bite my tongue. Janelle has always been a suspicious little thing, and it burns to see how close she is to hitting the nail on the head. Still, I can’t let that show. “Think what you want, love. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Oh, but it does. You want more than Alien Love, and you always have. You have ambitions, but I know who you are, deep down. You’re playing with fire, Simon. The Woodcrests keep their name on the down-low, but their money is all through this town. If you hurt Raul Woodcrest’s daughter, he’ll make sure you never get another acting gig in this town, not even a 1-800-We Buy Any Car Commercial.”
I grit my teeth, but before I can respond, Janelle continues. “Oh, Simon. I’m just concerned that your latest scheme has you digging your own grave. You aren’t one for commitment, as we both are aware. Saying otherwise would be utterly dishonest. Plus, you really think they’d let some trashy kid from London’s East End take out their daughter? And that means any relationship you have going on with this Woodcrest is going to end, sooner or later, and knowing you… it will end messily.”
It feels like it’s all conjecture on her part. She doesn’t have all the details—about Perfect Union, about the deal between me and Marissa—but I wouldn’t put it past her to dig and dig until she has them. Janelle has proven herself to be the snake in the grass you have to watch out for.
“Well, I appreciate your advice—” I start to say.
“This isn’t advice. This is a warning. I recommend you stop whatever it is you’re doing—and believe me, I’ll find out what it is—as soon as possible.”
I don’t say anything. I’m clenching my jaw so hard that my teeth hurt.
“Nothing to say?” she asks. “Well, that’s all right. I hope you have a lovely rest of your week.”
“Goodbye, Janelle.”
I hang up and toss my phone onto the couch. I groan, and I can’t help but wonder if Janelle spoke the truth. That things were going to end badly with Marissa. Because of my inability to commit. Because of my past.
I never thought of myself as a commitment-phobe, but in hindsight, my longest relationship had lasted a
grand total of nine months, only a few months more than Janelle. And when that girlfriend asked if we could move in together? I couldn’t commit. Deep down inside, I hadn’t believed she was The One. That had also been my reason for breaking up with the women after her, including Janelle. Maybe I’d just been kidding myself. Maybe I’d fixated on my idea of The One because I’d known no woman could possibly be the one I wanted forever.
At least I’m not leading Marissa on. Even if I was good enough for her—which I’m not—what we’re doing isn’t even real in the first place. It’s just business.
Is it just business when you have a hand down her panties?
Yes, that’s a fair point. But there’s no harm in us having a little fun while we’re together. Besides, if Marissa knew who I really was, how I grew up, the last thing she’d want is any sort of committed relationship with me.
I didn’t grow up in the greatest home; I had a drunk dad and a mum who ran out when I was just a kid. We were the family even the poor kids made fun of because we wore the same dirty, holey clothes every damn day, and I’d been caught more than once trying to scrape together our dinner from the dumpsters behind the school. Dad beat us if we ever complained or asked for anything, and Youth Services was at our house more than they weren’t. Then my older brother Felix left, and it was just me and Dana, stuck with an angry, alcoholic dad and no one to take care of us.
I got out of there—with Dana—as soon as I turned eighteen. We left for the States, I got a green card, and we never looked back. I haven’t spoken to my dad in over a decade, and I haven’t spoken to Felix in almost as long.
So yeah, messy. Janelle had said things would get messy with Marissa, but I’m not going to let it.
I resolve not to let things escalate further between us. I should tell her that our encounter in her kitchen was a one-time thing that won’t be repeated. We have to stay focused. We can’t let lust cloud our judgment.
