I guided him onto his back, then took the bottle from him, snapping it closed and tossing it behind me. I didn’t care where it landed. I would find it later. When he was in position, I slowly straddled him. It took me a minute to find a comfortable position, then I reached behind me and grabbed his slick and leaking dick. I held it against my entrance, just rubbing the soft head there for a long moment, and then, as slowly as I could manage, I sank back onto him.
It was different in this position. He felt bigger than he ever had, and going at my pace meant I could drag it out as long as I wanted. I played, raising up a little to feel the head of his dick catch on and stretch my rim, then sinking back down a few inches. Over and over again, a little at a time, moaning and groaning as I took him inside. Finally, a little thrust from him had him seated all the way in, my balls pressing on his stomach, and my ass stuffed full with his cock.
It was so much more this way.
“Oh God, baby,” he whispered, his hands stroking my thighs, his hips rocking ever so slightly. I whimpered and leaned forward just a little, pressing my hands into the bed. “You’re so tight and hot and soft inside. It feels perfect.”
“So full,” I managed on a whimper. The stretch was amazing, my body accommodating his girth and wanting more. I loved having him inside me. I pushed back, taking all of him again. I needed him buried inside me forever. I stayed like that for a long time, just breathing and feeling him deep inside.
“You going to move?” Vincent teased breathlessly. He was flushed and sweaty, but he looked healthy and glowing. He was gorgeous.
I shook my head, panted, circled my hips. I wanted to be fucked, I wanted to feel it, but God I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay exactly like this, wanted this feeling of connection and peace to never end. I was made to have him inside me, and the thought of him sliding out was making my heart pound.
He made a soothing noise, then smoothed his hands up my thighs and took hold of my hips. Gently, he got us moving, me rocking forward as he pulled down his hips, then pushing me back as he thrust up. I howled as his cockhead slid over my prostate, and my inner muscle clenched on him.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaxed as I started to get into a rhythm. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Make yourself feel good. So beautiful like this. Riding me. Gonna make me come with just how sweet your ass is.”
His words, his tone, were revving me up. I was sweating and panting, and my thighs were burning with the strain and the exertion. But I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, until he came inside me. Vincent wrapped his fingers around my dick, squeezing and milking me, as he adjusted his hips just a little. On my next thrust down, he banged into my gland, and sparks exploded behind my eyes. Suddenly, I was racing for the finish, slamming down on him until I came. Cum spurted from the end of my dick, overflowing on his hand and stomach. Vincent took over the motion then, and thrust up forcefully a couple of times until he went still, breathing hard, and my insides were washed in heat.
He rolled us to our sides the second I started to collapse on him, and he angled his hips and mine so that he could stay inside. He kissed me over and over, passionate, bruising kisses, and kept thrusting gently. When he finally went soft, he ever so slowly pulled out. I felt a trickle of his cum slip out with his dick. Vincent touched my tender hole, sliding his fingers around in his cum and the lube. I whimpered, pushing myself closer to him, wanting to crawl inside him.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered into his skin, burying my face in his neck. I lifted my leg over his hip so he could reach better.
He kissed my temple. “Not too sore?”
I shook my head, pushing even closer. When one of his fingers slid inside me, I relaxed completely against him. He didn’t do anything, just left his finger there, but I felt that immense peace wash over me. This was where I was supposed to be, in his arms and loving him. I didn’t know how to tell him, but I didn’t worry about that now.
“I know,” he said, even though I hadn’t said a word.
Somehow I was certain he did.
Chapter 11
The soft rainfall on the roof and the ticking of the grandfather clock were the only sounds I could hear. I was stretched out on the couch, a thick paperback in my hand, and enjoying the quiet. It was wonderfully peaceful, and I was luxuriating in it.
Until I wasn’t anymore.
The more I thought about it, the more I started to worry. As nice as the quiet was, it was a little too quiet. Vincent had been banging around for the last week, bitching and muttering, finding things to do, as the forced relaxation really started to get to him. He’d threatened to sign onto another project and start working again. I’d asked him when was the last time he’d actually had vacation, then pointed out that we weren’t going to be able to spend this kind of time together for long. There were only two months left to hiatus, then one or both of us would be constantly working.
I’d batted my eyelashes as I asked, “Don’t you want to enjoy our time together while we can?”
Vincent grumbled, but agreed, and I could tell he liked the idea of being with me, too. When he pulled me down on the couch with him, stretching out so he could have me cuddled against him from head to toe, I knew he wanted me close. And since that’s exactly where I wanted to be, I had no objections.
But our restful state hadn’t lasted long before he was up and moving again. And he’d been going for days, only being quiet and calm when I forced him to. Or right after he’d fucked my brains out. So to have quiet from him now made me worry, and I pushed up from the couch and went in search of my missing lover.
I started in the place I was most likely to find him, and it was only a short walk across the twenty-foot room to the wooden door on the right. I was not surprised when I found Vincent stretched out on the wicker chaise. His reading glasses were perched on his nose, and a thick script was open on his chest. I watched as he read through the last two pages, then set the script on his lap. He focused his attention out the window, and I could tell by his slightly pursed lips that he was thinking.
Valentine looked up from where he was lying on his dog bed under the bench when I let the door close behind me. He let out a soft woof in greeting, which made Vincent startle and look around. He smiled when he saw me and scooched over to give me room to sit on the edge of the chaise. I leaned in for a kiss before I did.
“What’s this?” I asked, gesturing toward his lap and trying not to get irritated that he was working. It had been long enough now that he could, and he was doing well. Healthier now than he’d been four weeks ago, even. That didn’t mean I wasn’t worried, however illogical it was.
“A script,” he deadpanned, his expression neutral.
I laughed for him and smacked his shoulder. “Ha. Ha.” I shook my head and grinned. “What’s it for?”
He sighed. “A friend of a friend passed it along. Wanted my opinion. A new screenwriter with big ideas.”
I nodded as I picked it up. “Talking with Ghosts,” I read off the cover. I looked up. “A horror flick?”
Vincent shook his head, sitting up a little straighter and taking off his glasses. He folded them, then reached to set them on the end table to his right. His shirt rode up a little at his midriff and it was all I could do not to reach out and pet the exposed skin.
“No, it’s a drama. Six friends have been tightknit and sharing their deepest secrets with each other since they were in high school. One of them, John, dies, and the remaining five gather together to say goodbye. They all have conversations with their dead friend, and it’s never clear if they actually see his ghost or not. Two of the characters are gay and with each other, but fighting it and hiding it. One guy is the consummate peacemaker, constantly fixing everything, but he was able to do it only because he had John’s support. Another has been hiding her addiction to painkillers. And the last friend was hopelessly in love with John but she never told him.”
“Sounds sad. And compelling if it’s written right.” I could see the litt
le spark in his eyes, so I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “What’s your opinion?”
Vincent sucked in a breath, and I watched the passion infuse his eyes. “It’s a fantastic script. The dialogue is clever and funny and intelligent. There’s some tough subject matter in there, but it’s handled with care and aplomb, never diminishing it but not overinflating it either. It’s incredibly well written.”
“Okay. So what’s the problem?”
He exhaled sharply and shook his head. “It’ll never get funding. Not right now. Maybe in a few years, considering the changes in the world, but not yet. Not without the studio severely reducing the gay romance storyline. And maybe even the drug-addict part. A studio would hack this script to bits right now.” His shoulders slumped as he fell back against the cushions. “This kid is going to have to sit on the script for a while longer yet.”
Watching him light up with passion was always one of my favorite things. And for everything that he said, I was focused on the one thing he didn’t: he wanted to direct it. It was as clear as day. Something in this script spoke to him, and he wanted to capture it on film. I worried about him putting that much time and energy into a new project, but I couldn’t deny how much like his old self he’d been in the few minutes he talked about it than in the last few weeks. And if he went with my suggestion, then there would be a way for me to be involved as well, so that I could keep an eye on him and help him out.
“What about without a studio?” I asked. I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him. I opened the script instead and started leafing through it, not really looking at anything.
“What?”
I peeked up at him, then dropped my gaze back to the pages. “You want to direct this film, right?”
“Yes. I do.” He didn’t hesitate.
I nodded and leaned against his hip, but I looked at him only through my lashes. I had to tread carefully here or he might shut me out. “So what if you do it on your own? You’ve got the contacts. The favors. You could do it.”
He was silent for a long moment, and I finally took a risk and looked at him. His gaze was fixed out the window at the churning ocean, but I knew damn well he was thinking, turning it over in his mind, trying to figure out a way. Suddenly, he jolted upright, his entire body tight, but a smirking little half-grin graced his face.
“We could film it here. This house is the perfect setting, and that would minimize location hunts and permits. I bet I can pull together financial backing with just a few calls. And we could get by with a minimal crew, a couple of camera and sound guys.” He turned his attention to me and my breath caught. I loved that his use of “we” seemed to include me, but when I saw the passion in his eyes, I knew that this was the right choice. My entire body grew warm when he grabbed my hand. “I know enough actors to cast this movie with a few calls. And I already have the perfect actor to play John.”
I barked out a laugh, and I knew what he was offering. Truthfully, it made things easier because I wasn’t going to have to try to convince him I needed to be involved. “I’m going to have to call my agent,” I said with a grin.
“Rocio will be glad you’ve booked something while on hiatus. She still gets her cut, right?” Vincent laughed. I could see the restlessness in him, but it was different than what he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. This was an anxiousness to get started, to put the wheels in motion. I stood, then offered a hand to help him up.
“Yeah,” I agreed, laughing too. I hugged him and kissed his temple. He took my face in his hands, and I smiled down at him. “So, we’re going to make a movie together, huh?”
Vincent kissed me, long and hard and sweet, until I was breathless and wanting. But he stepped away, when I would have kept going. He was already pulling his phone from his pocket, his fingers swiping at the screen. But he took a moment to look back over his shoulder and floor me with his devastating grin.
“We certainly are.”
* * * *
Vincent had been in the business for almost thirty years, and because he was professional, courteous, and was exceedingly good at his job, he’d made a lot of friends. He spent days on the phone practically non-stop, talking to whoever he could think of. I made him put it down to eat, to take Valentine on long walks with me, and when we went to bed, the phone was shut off. But other than that, I didn’t see him without that phone at his ear. And when the battery ran low, he plugged it in and kept using it. It wasn’t unusual for him to be sitting at the computer and sending rapid-fire emails while simultaneously talking.
If he hadn’t been literally glowing, I might have made him slow down.
But because he didn’t protest too much when I asked him to take breaks with me, and because he looked fantastic, I let it go on. When each new day brought a happy, smiling, and healthy lover, my worry began to ease. If I was completely honest, I loved seeing him orchestrate and command. His confidence was just shining through and he was once again the man I fell in love with.
It still felt like it was too soon to be feeling that, and I certainly wasn’t ready to tell him yet. I wasn’t entirely sure of his feelings, and I was too afraid to put myself out on that limb if I wasn’t confident that he was with me. Until then, I was content to just bask in the feeling, to let it suffuse every part of me and just enjoy it. I was in love with Vincent Stevens and it felt good.
Six months ago, I would have been a basket case just thinking the thought. But I’d had time to come to terms with my sexuality before I’d even gotten involved with Vincent. And I wasn’t the least bit surprised that once I opened my heart to the man, he wormed his way in and stuck there. At some point, I’d have to talk to him about it. But right now, he was letting me be a part of his life, letting me care for him and hold him, and help him make his dream of this movie come true. I’d read the script, and I agreed with Vincent’s assessment. It was going to be a fantastic movie.
Within two weeks, Vincent had a couple of benefactors willing to foot the bill. He had crew lined up. He’d made arrangements with his housekeeper’s cousin, Milo, to come and feed everyone, and between his extra bedrooms and the Inn down the coast—which was all but empty this time of year and excited about the business—he was set on lodgings. He’d called several actors that he’d worked with in the past, and asked them if they’d like to sign on. His first choice for one of the female leads was already signed to start filming a blockbuster action flick, so he’d had to move on. Lena Marcus said “yes” right away. And Melora Young said if she could show up three days late, to finish her current project, she was absolutely on board. And of course, I had already agreed. That just left the other three male leads.
Vincent discussed some if his choices and ideas with me, and when he mentioned Brandon Culpepper for the sweet caretaker, I couldn’t contain my grin.
“Oh that’s perfect,” I said, feeling giddy. And knowing he’d just finished shooting a mini-series for Starz, I whipped out my phone and dialed him, leaving it on speaker. He answered on the second ring.
“Danny. Hey. H-how are you d-doing?”
“I’m really good, Brandon. I’ve seen the promo stuff for Robber Barons. It’s going to be a hit.”
“Th-th-thanks. We’re p-proud of it.”
“You should be. Hey, listen. Let me tell you why I’m calling.”
And listen he did, intently, as I explained the script, what Vincent was trying to accomplish, and what we wanted from him. Brandon made a thoughtful sound when I was done, confirmed a few details, then agreed that it sounded like a great idea. But he didn’t give me a firm commitment before he went silent again.
“Brandon?” I queried when it had stretched on long enough. “What are you thinking?”
“Being that c-close, Jared and I aren’t g-g-going to w-want to be apart.” Brandon’s voice was small, like he was afraid of what I would say in response. I opened my mouth to soothe him, but before I even could, Jared’s deep voice rumbled down the line.
�
��I don’t suppose you’ve got security already?”
I glanced at Vincent and we held a quick conversation with our eyes. Security probably wasn’t strictly necessary, given the remoteness of the locale and how small everything was going to be, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. And if it was the only way we were going to get Brandon to sign on to the project, then we were all for it.
“Jared, would we take that up with you or Riverside Security?”
Jared snorted out a laugh. “I’ll take a leave of absence from the firm. With what you guys are trying to do, you couldn’t afford their rates.”
We all laughed at that, his humor spreading to the rest of us. After confirming a few more details, we hung up with Brandon and Jared. I couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across my face. When I turned it on Vincent, he kissed me hard.
“One down,” I said when we finally pulled apart. I stayed close, though, breathing in the scent of his skin. I was reveling in having him around all the time, and being involved in his process. It felt like being a team, and I loved it.
He kissed my ear, then gently bit the lobe before standing and picking up his phone.
“I have some ideas about the other two leads. Let me make a few calls, see if they’re available.”
“Who?” I asked, standing, too, and crossing to the stove. I was curious because we hadn’t gotten that far in our discussions. Besides, if he was ready to make phone calls, he must have felt pretty confident in his choices.
Vincent waggled his eyebrows. “Alex Lockhart and Spencer Johns.”
I groaned. Their feud was legendary. Neither man ever lost an opportunity to snipe at the other in public. No one knew what caused it, only that they hated each other and that they made it known. But the thing was, Vincent was right, they were absolutely perfect for the two remaining parts left to cast. I just didn’t think there was any way they would both sign on, especially if they knew their characters were involved with each other. And things would probably go smoother as a whole if they didn’t. But I practically knew what Vincent was thinking, and if there was any way he could make it happen, he would.
Something Like Peace Page 8
