faire l'amour

by Jessica Gadziala

  "How about something a little different?" Preston asked, taking my elbow once again to lead me into a room with a half-closed door.

  My gaze shot up, finding him already watching me, his free hand pressing a finger to his lips even as he pulled me inside.

  Inside a room.

  Where a scene was being filmed.

  My heartbeat - and my feet - skittered to a stop as my gaze saw what was going on in front of me.

  A, ah, I guess the PC term for it would be a 'group scene.' Or a menage? I needed to brush up on my sex terminology.

  Whatever the correct phrase was, it was three people in a living room setting. A woman - long-legged, lean, red-haired, her top and bra off completely, her pillowy pink nipples hardening by the moment, her ribs visible as she took deep breaths as a hand pushed up her skirt to reveal panties the same color as her hair.

  The hand, yeah, that belonged to one of the two men with her, one on the couch beside her - dark-skinned, square-jawed, well-built, his shirt gone, but his jeans still on. The other was at the woman's feet - an almost translucent pale with dirty blond hair and a somewhat softer, almost baby face, with a body that only had muscles because he was skinny enough for them to dance around under his skin. His head was ducked down, pressing a kiss to the skin above the woman's knee.

  Preston pulled me further inward, behind the crew, then behind a half-wall that I suspected might have been the original cubby wall around a reading nook in the classroom, left for some unknown reason. But whatever the reason, I felt oddly grateful for it, for the small bit of privacy it seemed to afford us as Preston moved me in front of him, his hand settled at my hip, his chest pressed to my back.

  In front of me, the blond's lips pressed kisses up the woman's inner thigh, his tongue moving out to trace the line of her panties from the hip and inward.

  Incredibly, inexplicably - given my own feelings about being observed - I felt the sizzle of a spark starting in my belly, moving lower.

  The blond's head shifted, his mouth closing over her cleft through her panties, sucking, making her body arch backward, pressing her chest into the chest of the man whose face was ducked, tracing his tongue up the side of her neck to tease over her earlobe. His hand slid up her belly, large palm closing over her small breast, squeezing as the man between her thighs pulled her panties to the side, tracing his tongue up her cleft to circle her clit.

  I swear I could feel the sensation myself, something that made my thighs press tightly together on their own.

  Preston's head lowered, the side of his face touching mine, his breath fluttering over my ear.

  The woman's hand traveled down the well-built man's chest, fiddling blindly with his zipper, reaching inside, pulling out his cock - thick, straining - her hand curling around it, stroking it as his head dipped, lips closing around her nipple.

  At her feet, the blond's fingers slid inside the woman, turning, thrusting.

  My breath shuddered out of me as the need gripped my system.

  From my hip, Preston's hand started to trail, up a few inches, grazing over my lower belly, then down, over my thigh, fingers bunching up the long, flowing material of my skirt.

  Inch by inch, my skin got exposed to the cool air. And I had every opportunity to grab his hand, to cover it, to hold it still, stop it from what it was doing.

  I didn't know what it said about me that I didn't take any of those opportunities, that I allowed the skirt to slide over my knee, up my thigh, bunch up high at my hip as his other hand slid over the warm skin of my thigh, gliding inward, suddenly pressing over my cleft even as the woman across the room from us let out a choked moan.

  Preston's finger stroked over my clit, making my head loll back into his shoulder, my eyes closing as I took a deep breath, trying to keep myself from making any noise.

  "Watch," Preston demanded, lips against my ear. "Don't close your eyes," he added, the quiet demand making my desire-heavy eyelids flutter open, watching as the woman stood, having her skirt and panties finally removed by the blond as the other man lowered himself down on the couch cushions, hand stroking his cock for a moment before the woman moved to straddle over him, her back to him, blindly getting into position as the man behind and beneath her stroked his cock up her cleft before pressing it against her, his hand going to her hip, urging her to slide down, to take him in.

  She did, slowly.

  So you could watch each thick inch disappear inside her.

  Preston's finger slid my panties to the side so he could trace up my sex without a barrier as, across the room from us, the blond man discarded what was left of his clothing, going up on the couch beside the woman who was holding her body weight up as the other man thrust deep, fast inside her.

  Her hand went to his cock as his hand slid between her legs, teasing her clit as the other man took her.

  Her gasps became moans.

  My teeth nipped into my lower lip to try to keep any sounds buried within as Preston's finger found my clit again, working it in relentless circles, driving my body upward even as the woman crashed down into an orgasm that had her body pitching, two sets of arms reaching out to steady her.

  Position bending her more forward, the blond moved closer, grabbing the back of her hair, yanking her head up slightly, hard enough that her lips parted on a gasp. Holding his cock at the base, he slid it inside her open mouth.

  Preston's thumb pressed into my clit as his forefinger moved down my cleft, slid inside me.

  Across the room, bodies were moving.

  Blond on the couch.

  Woman straddling him, chest to chest, his cock sliding inside her. She only rode him for a moment before suddenly the other man was moving up behind her, pressing her body forward so her head was in the blond's neck, her ass angled outward.

  No.

  I didn't want to see this.

  Right?

  No.

  Of course not.

  I'd never fantasized about myself - or anyone else - taking two men at once.

  That wasn't something I was into.

  But even as the thought formed, I could feel my muscles tightening around Preston's finger, somehow telling me that maybe it wasn't something I was interested in, but that it did, in fact, turn me on.

  Across the room, the woman's eyes closed on a moan I would bet my meager savings on being real as another cock slid inside her body.

  "Pres..." I started to whimper.

  The hand holding my skirt dropped it, the palm closing over my mouth even as he shushed me quietly.

  Another finger slid inside me as the people across from us found a rhythm, as the sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, almost drowned out completely by the grunts and curses from the men, the whimpers and moans from the woman.

  The need for release was a vise grip on my system.

  Across the room, the men thrust harder, faster. The woman's fingers dug into flesh as a tremor racked her system, as she cried out.

  And as she did, so did I, the sound muted against Preston's hard hold as he kept working me, dragging it out.

  "Bonne fille," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple as his fingers slowed, eased, let me gently come back down before leaving me entirely.

  His hand left my mouth, but his arm anchored around my lower stomach, giving me a chance to recover before stepping away just as the crew started talking, moving around, the scene clearly over.

  "Deep breath," Preston told me before releasing me, moving away. Not, it seemed, wanting anyone to know what we had just done.

  Because it was breaking the rules? His rules? About not messing around with coworkers at work unless it was during a scene?

  Or because he didn't want to be seen with me like that? Outside of a scene anyway.

  Either way, I felt the hot, pink sting of embarrassment - maybe even something akin to shame - rise in my cheeks as Preston moved out from behind the wall to talk to the crew, to the actors - the woman openly wiping between her thighs with wipes ha
nded to her from a crew member, the blond sending her a smirk that was both silly and sexy at the same time, making her roll her eyes, but she was smiling.

  Was that going to be me?

  In another scene or two?

  I couldn't only star with Preston.

  Eventually, I would know the feel of another man's hands, would have to clean up myself after the scene, would have to try not to seem uncomfortable around new co-stars.

  Mind wandering through a field of all these possibilities, I had missed it when Preston left the group and moved back toward me.

  "Come on," he said, voice a little rough. Almost a little agitated.

  Not at me, surely.

  But, somehow, that didn't really matter, did it? No matter who he was aggravated with, it was me he was going to be locked in a room with, getting naked with.

  Would he come at me with that frustration?

  I should have been worried as I rushed to follow him down the hall.

  But that wasn't what I felt at the idea of his frustration and all the ways it might manifest. Rough hands tugging at my clothes, ripping them off of me, hands almost bruising into gentle flesh, palm slapping down on my ass, fingers curling into my hair.

  "I have to go handle something real quick. Can you hang here?" Preston asked, gesturing around the front entry area.

  Ideas of rough sex flew out of my mind as I realized he was leaving me to, what, handle paperwork? There was nothing sexy about that.

  "Sure," I agreed, nodding a little too emphatically.

  Not that he noticed as he moved to throw open the office door, disappear inside.

  "So we meet again," Merrick's voice called, carefree, jovial, making me turn to find him walking toward me, his shirt in his hand.

  "You're done already?" I heard myself ask, brows drawing low. How long had we been on a tour, watching that scene?

  "Are you?" he asked, looking me over. "Cheeks are pink, but your hair isn't even mussed," he mused. "Couldn't have been very good if he didn't even smear your lipstick," he told me with a devilish grin.

  "Our tour, ah, ran a little long. And Preston needed to handle something before we, um, did our scene."

  "You get used to the half - or full - nudity," he told me, seeming to sense the way I couldn't seem to stop looking at his bare chest, abdomen. Even though he caught me, he didn't tease me, just pulled his shirt out of his hand, slid it up over his body, concealing himself. "If you plan to stick around, that is."

  "I think I will be here for... a few months."

  "Just?"

  "Hm?" I asked.

  "Just a few months?"

  "Oh, well, this isn't like... my usual career path," I explained, hoping not to sound insulting, like there was anything wrong with this being his chosen career path.

  "What brings you here then? Insatiable curiosity?" he suggested, eyes dancing.

  "Money," I corrected, then cringed, both inwardly and - I feared - on the outside.

  "Relax," Merrick said, shrugging it off. "I think the money is what leads a lot of people here in the beginning. Rent is overdue. Got student loans stacking up. Need to get some work done on your car. Not many places can you do a day of work and get over a grand right on the spot." I felt my body relaxing as he leaned against the wall beside me. "Couple months, though. More than a couple grand you need, huh?" he asked. He was prying, in a way, but something about the casual, familiar tone made it feel normal, natural, not invasive.

  "Yeah," I agreed. Even just a mention of the debt made my belly clench up painfully, praying I could make it work, that something wouldn't happen along the way that would mean disaster.

  "Hey, no sad eyes," Merrick demanded, nudging me in the side with his elbow. "You're going to do just fine here. And there are plenty of extra ways to make..."

  "Move," Preston's voice growled, making me jump, not having seen him coming, and maybe a little startled by the fierceness in his tone.

  "I'm sorry?" I asked, brows furrowed, looking to see if I was leaning against something important.

  "Not you," he said, voice just a hair softer. "You," he added, the edge back in his tone. "Move," he clarified to Merrick, whose face broke out into the biggest, most amused smile I think I had ever seen. But whatever the joke was, it must have been an inside one, because nothing about this seemed like a laughing matter to me.

  "Just getting to know Rosie a little better," Merrick said, but he did move away from me. By several feet. "It was nice chatting with you," he added, turning to me, the smile still in place.

  "You too. Thanks for the, ah, support, I guess," I said, giving him a smile that felt wobbly before he turned to walk out the front doors. But not before he slapped a hand on Preston's shoulder a few times with a low chuckle.

  "What were you talking about?" Preston asked, tone almost a little accusatory.

  "Nothing really. Just about people in the, ah, industry," I told him, not sure why I didn't want him to know about the debt, about the way I felt like it was pressing down on my chest, crushing my ribs into my lungs, suffocating me a little bit at a time day by day.

  "He's a flirt," Preston accused, as though it was some kind of crime.

  "He was just being friendly," I assured him. "Really. There was no flirting involved."

  Not that he would actually have been doing anything wrong if there had, indeed, been flirting. That was just how he was. Or, at least, that was how he seemed. A jocular, playboy sort. It wasn't like it meant anything. "Did you finish your work?" I asked, glancing back toward the office where I could see Cooper rushing around with a kind of calm efficiency I admired.

  "For now, yeah," he agreed, taking a deep breath, seeming to make a decision to let his issue with Merrick go, breathing out that tension. "Come on," he said, voice a little softer, holding an arm out for me to move into as he led me down another hallway, smaller, narrower, with two sets of double fireproof steel doors with push bars on the left - a gym, I would bet. We went almost to the exit doors at the end of the hallway before stopping at another door, solid, as most of the doors were - replacing the old school ones that would have had glass cut outs so you could glance in easily.

  "The black room?" I guessed as he reached for the handle.

  "Merrick and Melody were talking, huh?"

  "Just to say that it hasn't been used before," I explained as we moved inside, having to awkwardly sidestep the film equipment in the somewhat cramped space.

  Behind me, the door closed. Clicked.

  Locked?

  He was locking the door?

  But before I could think on that, he was moving in beside me. "What do you think?" he asked. "Honest opinion," he added.

  "It looks like something out of some movie about super rich people," I told him, lamely. "It's very... upscale," I clarified.

  "That was what I was hoping," he agreed, moving past me to fiddle with one of the cameras, dropping his cellphone down on a small table behind the film equipment where a couple bottles of water were situated. And a box of unopened condoms.

  He moved around, coming closer to me again.

  But unlike the last time when his hands were on me, his body was coaxing mine into relaxation, we stood a solid foot apart, saying nothing, not touching.

  The awkwardness seemed to start in my feet and rope upward, a vine that was closing around me, tightening, making my gaze fall, my pulse skitter around, my belly wobble uncomfortably.

  Never mind that his fingers had literally been inside me not too long before. This felt different. Felt detached. Felt like, well, strangers about to have sex.

  Preston took a step forward. I took one back, my shoulders hitting the padded wall.

  Preston's hips pushed into mine, pinned them against the wall. His arm raised, settling over my head, making him tower over me.

  "You don't need to play shy around me, baby," he rumbled, not touching me save for where our bodies were pressed together, but it somehow felt like his hands were all over me. "I can still feel th
e way your pussy was clenching around my fingers," he added. "While you watched a woman come with two cocks in her," he added, making heat, molten, move through my midsection. "Maybe you're not the good girl you thought you were when you came in here."

  "I never said..." I started to object before the words fell away. Because while I may not have ever said the words, there was no denying them. I had thought I was a good girl. A normal, average, everyday kind of woman. Who thought about sex, sure, but in the confines of future relationship. One who didn't have unusual, kinky fantasies. One who would never find her orgasm over the idea of a woman taking two men, let alone right in front of her eyes.

  "Maybe you just never let yourself have fantasies," he suggested, finger suddenly on my skin, pressing into my throat hollow, then slowly gliding downward, stopping just between my breasts, finger hooking the front of my tank top between them, yanking down until the material tucked underneath my bra, causing the shoulder straps to dig into my flesh painfully.

  But I didn't pull away.

  I didn't try to readjust them.

  Almost enjoying the smarting sensation.

  Which was so unlike me.

  Then again, what part of this was like me?

  Maybe he was right.

  Maybe this situation was bringing things up that I hadn't ever known about myself. Maybe the necessity to abandon the parts of me that never would have allowed me to do this, to have sex with strangers, to film it while it happened... for money, was showing me some hidden depths, some previously undiscovered fantasies.

  I was starting, by the moment, to reconsider that questionnaire I had filled out during the interview process, all those little boxes that got checked - or not - about what I would - or would not - be willing to do.

  But then Preston's scruff grazed the skin on my neck, sending off a shiver through my body, wiping away things like coherent thoughts because, it seemed, when Preston was touching me, there was some sort of disconnect between my brain and my body. All I was around him was pure need, putty in his hands, ready to be molded any way he saw fit.

  I didn't stop to consider what shape that may be, if I even vaguely resembled the woman I knew myself to be.