by Chase, Jenna
“Really?” I remember that. Stephanie May was one of the biggest up and coming actresses around. I had met her a few times at some functions. Even exchanged numbers with her. Then it came out that she had lied about her age and had a secret baby somewhere. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember it annihilating her career. I don’t recognize the new actress in the movie at all.
The vignette ends with both mother and daughter deciding they don’t need the professor who was leading them both on. They drive off into the sunset in Camilla’s Thunderbird, laughing and talking about California. Applause ripples through the theater.
As the second vignette starts, a hand reaches for mine in my lap.
Why am I surprised when I look down and see that it’s Logan’s? I shouldn’t be surprised. This is a guy who has been seriously flirting with me since I went to his apartment. He came up to me on the red carpet, in front of every pap in America, and asked me to sit with him. People are already going to be gossiping.
Not to mention, this was the guy I was making out with and thinking about fucking. In fact, we were so close to doing that nasty deed that I still get trembles thinking about it.
Like right now. So many trembles.
I don’t mean to give him an encouraging look in the darkness of our balcony. Don’t mean to, and yet I do. It’s like I can’t help myself when I’m around him. The moment those dark eyes pierce my soul? My legs spread open and I turn into a slobbering mess.
It’s only handholding. Right? So why is my heart still thundering in my chest while some has-been actor yucks it up on that huge screen? Fuck. I can’t even focus on the movie anymore. I don’t know who these actors are. Bit before my time, you know? Why should I work so hard to pay attention? The other couple isn’t paying attention. They’re getting up and exiting the balcony, snickering over some private joke between them.
My perverted brain imagines them sneaking off to make-out somewhere. Meanwhile, Logan Dean has decided that holding my hand is way too innocent for a playboy like him.
His fingers slip off my hand. At first I’m sad to see it go.
Then it lands on my thigh. My inner thigh.
No prelude. No touching my knee or the outer parts of my leg. Logan’s going straight for the kill, using the slit in my long dress to his advantage.
The air is thick and hot. You know what else is thick and hot, Daphne? No! No way. Not going there. Stop it, brain.
I make the mistake of looking in his direction. He’s staring at me. Not at the theater below us or the movie projected onto the wall. Me. Only me, as if I’m the only thing in the world worth gazing at.
For as warm as it is in here, I’m frozen in my seat. I’m not powerless, but I’m immobile as Logan’s fingertips graze against my underwear and tease my aching slit. No, not the one in my dress. The one in me.
My clit wakes up, firing off a billion signals to my brain. Hey, yeah, hey girl, let that happen over here! I bite my lip and suck in my breath. Logan touches my thigh and my slit at the same time, a brilliant cacophony of sensations that wants to completely destroy me. In a public place, no less!
He inches toward the top of my underwear, finger tugging at the fabric. His eyes remain on me, even though I now look straight ahead into the blinding darkness of the theater. Logan Dean is waiting for me to tell him no. To tell him to back off and stop touching me so intimately. I can’t. No matter what I do, I can’t say no. Because I want this.
Heat engulfs my thighs. Tingles… so many damn tingles spread through my body. My nipples are suddenly sensitive. I’m not wearing a bra with this dress. Behold, my nipples poking through pink fabric. Logan sure as hell is beholding them. What is he thinking of? Sucking them? Biting them? How badly does he want me naked? How about turning in my seat and pulling aside my dress so he can bang me right here, with his mother somewhere around? Is that other couple ever coming back? Not that I want an excuse to put a stop to this. Not that I need someone else… some strangers… to hold me accountable while I dive into folly.
My breath is sharp in my nostrils when his finger finds the width of my lingerie. Logan also sucks in his breath. He’s found me hot and wet, after all. I’ve all but advertised how willing I am to have him touch me. Finger me. Make me come, make me his.
I hate that line of thinking. That I’m somehow his. The last thing I want to be is a man’s possession. It’s what I’ve been running from for so long. It’s what I’m afraid of whenever I go back home and my father says he has “big news” for me. I am not a possession.
Yet…
I want to be his so badly.
Is this some biological fuckery? Something in my brain turning me into a sex demon whenever I’m around Logan Dean? Like I’m some lowly animal that goes into heat and demands a virile alpha male to mount and pierce her with his cock? To find a way to tell and show the whole world that I’m his.
Logan is a brazen, brash man. I shouldn’t be surprised that a guy like him, who is always with some new tawdry thing in the papers, is pushing aside my lingerie and running his finger along the wet skin of my nether lips.
A million thoughts burst in my mind. This empty balcony. Asking me up here, knowing that we would more or less be alone… did he plan this? Did he think that because I made out with him that I would be easy? That I would give up sex like he does? He would not be my first. I’m adept enough at sex to know what I want and when I should have it. Should.
He leans in close and whispers into my ear. “You’re wet, Daph.”
“Thank you for the professional commentary,” I mutter. “And it’s Daphne.” Just because he’s trying to finger me doesn’t mean he gets to call me Daph.
“That’s good. Because I would like nothing more than to take you out of here and somewhere even more private. How about a hotel? I’m dying here. I want to know what this tastes like.” He rubs my naked slit.
I shudder. “I bet you would.” Few guys have ever offered to eat me out. I wouldn’t mind it. Ahem.
“Then do you know what I would do?”
No. Don’t meet his gaze. That’s what he wants. “What? Do tell?”
His teeth touch my ear, and my shudder turns into a full-body groan. “I would fuck you so hard that everything would spin in front of you for a whole week. I wouldn’t let you walk away from my bed unless your thighs were sore and your pussy begging for mercy. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop since you teased my cock in my apartment. You wouldn’t have to do anything. I’ll do all the work. Whatever you desire, Daphne, I’ll give it to you. Tonight.”
I close my eyes. “Would you give it to me until I came?”
“Absofuckinglutely.”
“How would you give it to me? Paint me a picture, Logan.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you lying down, kneeling, or riding my cock in my lap. Once I’m inside of you I won’t care what it’s like. I won’t stop until you’re screaming my name in pleasure. I want all of me in you. I want you to know what it feels like to have me give you something so sinful that you’ve never dared to have it before.”
Lump after lump tumbles down my throat. I’m so aroused that he could plunge his finger inside of me and I would barely notice. “What makes you think I’ve never done that before?”
“Because you’ve never met a man worthy of having that honor. Until me.”
This arrogant bastard is going to end me!
“Oops,” he hisses in my ear, that damned finger pushing ever so slowly into me. Even though my legs are hardly apart, Logan has no problems spreading my nether lips and dipping his finger into the source of my wetness. I grasp the armrests and allow my eyes to blur. There is no one else in this theater except for Logan. “Well, how about that? I’m inside of you, Daph. Right where I’ve wanted to be since I first met you.”
Another finger joins the first. Because any man who is adept at fingering knows you need at least two to accomplish anything.
“Was that a hate fuck you wanted? I
s that all you’ve wanted until now?” Somehow I’m able to put the pleasure grazing my clit out of my mind. I do know that the other couple is due back at any moment. Right? We should cut this out before we get caught and I’m embarrassed out of my mind.
“I’ve never wanted a hate fuck.” Logan lightly bites my ear. The combination with him slowly fingering me is not only easing my legs open through the slit in my dress, but making me slide ever so slightly down my seat. My right hand releases the armrest and massages his left leg. It’s dark in here, but my eyesight is excellent, thank you. I can see what’s happening in Logan Dean’s pants. He intends to make good on his promises. All I have to do is say yes.
“Then what is it you want, exactly?”
I rub his erection through his soft trousers. What designer is he wearing? Valentino? How suave. Good thing I’m not impressed by designers. I won’t have any qualms ripping this fabric off his hot body!
“I want you to do that. Mostly I want to fuck the priss out of you.”
At first I thought he said something else. When I realize what he did say – while his fingers continue to fuck me and my hand is encircling his erection for a glowing round of mutual masturbation – I am struck with the idea that part of the reason Logan Dean is attracted to me is because of my image.
To be fair, isn’t that what attracts me to him as well?
He’s rubbing me faster, harder now. My thighs are on fire with a need to come. I don’t doubt he’s feeling much of the same way based on how hard his cock is. His thick cock that I can barely wrap my hand around. Granted, I have small hands, but…
There’s only one way to settle this. How big is Logan Dean’s cock? I must unzip him to find out!
“Oh…” His growls are infectious. Or maybe that’s me growling by now. “You may be a stuck-up princess, but you’re no stranger to a man’s finest asset, now are you?”
I know what he’s implying. I choose to ignore it and instead smile in his direction, my hand pulling aside his boxers so I can touch his flesh. Warm. No, hot. Firm. Hard. Rushing with blood like I am.
“For a man who claims to have bedded many women, you sure are taking your time in making this one come. Or maybe you’re not as good as you think you are?”
Them be fighting words. Good.
I’ve barely begun to stroke him when he’s going harder at me, his fingers taking me two knuckles at a time. Perhaps that doesn’t sound too interesting to some of you, but you best keep in mind that Logan has large fingers that more than make it a delectable experience. I can safely say that none of the other guys I’ve been with were this good at fingering me even when my legs were spread wide open and their tongues were right on my clit!
“You better deliver,” I mutter. “If I’m going to let you put your fingers in my pussy, I better get something good out of it.”
“Your wish is my command, your highness.”
I close my eyes and focus on the pleasure spreading through me. The source is Logan’s dexterous fingers plunging into me, the rest of his hand rubbing against my clit and my wet folds. I’m about to crumble from the inside. All I want is to throw myself into orgasm. As if I were home alone, safe in my bed and touching myself. Instead, it’s Logan touching me. Logan. Fucking. Dean.
The guy who pissed me off so badly that I stormed into his apartment and proceeded to make out with him.
“Look at me,” he commands, making my eyes snap open as I approach the cusp of climax. “You’re going to look me in the eyes when you come. I want to know what you look like.”
While making me come harder, I’m sure! Because what other effect is this supposed to have on me? I’m looking right into Logan’s passionately dark eyes in a darker room in one of the most respectable movie theaters in America. His lips slightly part. So do mine. We don’t dare kiss when someone could look up and see us in this moment. It’s bad enough they would catch us locking gazes while we jerk each other off. Yup. That’s what my hand is doing now. Jerking off this cock in my hand. Between his gaze and his swelling, I’m about to…
“That’s it.” Logan’s voice is right in my ear but also a million miles away. Orgasm hits me, my inner walls closing tight around his fingers, refusing to let them go until I’m done riding out my pleasure. My eyes want to close. They can’t. They’re too busy looking for Logan’s approval… which they get, if I can count on that grin to be telling me the truth. “Come for me, Daphne. Come undone.”
Composure. Carefully trained composure I’ve been practicing since I was a little girl in the world of the rich and famous. That’s the only thing keeping me from moaning in this public balcony. Do I want to, though! I want to thrust hard against Logan’s fingers. I want to grab his wrist and feel it tremble in my grasp. I want to kiss him and let go of his cock so it’s still hard when he throws me down on the floor and fucks me senseless with it. My thoughts are consumed with more than fingering while I ride out a long orgasm.
Logan sits back in his seat, fingers going to his lips as he licks my essence off them. His gaze never leaves mine. He’s making love to his own fingers like he probably wishes he could make love to the place they just were.
“You’re exquisite, Daphne DeMarco.”
I crash back to reality.
Oh my God.
What have I done?
I snatch my hand out of Logan’s pants. The closer my hand gets to my face, the more I smell his natural scent. It’s so heady that my instincts tell me to fall face first into his lap and suck him for all he’s worth. What the fuck! I hate giving head! It’s so boring and…
Something tells me it wouldn’t be boring with Logan.
“You okay?” The spark is gone from Logan’s eyes. Concern takes over. “Did something happen?”
Yeah, I let you finger me, asshole!
Holy crap. Holy shit. In a theater? At his mother’s movie premier? With the guy who told a national magazine that I’m a slut and into gangbangs?
What the fuck am I doing!
“Daphne?”
I fix my clothes before standing up. Before Logan can ask me what’s wrong again, let alone attempt to take me by the hand, I’m gone from the balcony and taking off for no place in particular.
You’re a bad girl and you should feel ashamed! I’d tell my conscience to take a hike, but I have no business telling that piece of shit anything right now.
Chapter 3
LOGAN
Did that happen? Did I finger Daphne DeMarco in plain sight? Furthermore, did she give my cock a few complimentary strokes for my efforts?
Ho boy.
It takes me about five seconds to realize she’s run out on me. Well, me and my erection, which I quickly, painfully tuck into my pants so I won’t embarrass myself when I race after her. Which I do, by the way. I catch glimpses of her brown hair and pink dress as it disappears around corners, past guards, and thankfully not into a women’s restroom, which she passes twice.
“Daphne!” She never responds. “Hey! Wait a sec! Let’s talk!”
Me? Talk? I must be high on her pheromones, because Logan Dean doesn’t talk, unless it’s dirty foreplay.
Daphne bursts into the lobby and stalls outside the main entrance. She probably doesn’t know where to go or if she should contact someone.
As I’m about to approach her and suggest we find somewhere private to talk, I bump into the one person I was really hoping to avoid for a while.
“Logan! Well, fancy that!”
I grimace, eyes darting between Daphne’s faraway figure and the woman now standing between us. “Mother,” I say with a sour grin.
Daphne turns around, gasping at the sight of my movie star mother and me conversing not too far away. I count my lucky stars that she’s not running away in terror.
“So good to see you here again.” My mother pats my arm and catches where I’m staring. “Who’s that? Some charming friend of yours?”
My throat is so dry that it feels like swallowing sandpaper whenever I try t
o speak. Here’s the thing: I have never, ever brought a girl home for my mother to meet. I have never voluntarily introduced her to a girl I’m sleeping with, or even casually dating. Nope. Not ever. It’s never been any of her business. Besides, I don’t want to get her hopes up. She would never understand that the women I’m with are nothing more than temporary fuck buddies.
Sure, she knows that I have quite the voracious appetite and reputation. She’s even bumped into some of the girls I’ve dated and had flings with, but I’ve never introduced her to a girl I’m currently pursuing, let alone the girl I just fingered. Hopefully she can’t see what I’ve got tucked in my pants. I think I would die.
“Mom,” I try to stay gracious as I suck Daphne into this terrifying fold. “This is Daphne DeMarco, of the department store chains.” I step aside, and my mother instantly gravitates toward the woman I would call my date. Run, Daphne. Why did you ever stop running? “Daphne, this is my mother… Camilla Dean.”
Daphne shakily raises her hand for a friendly shake. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Dean. I love your work.”
“No, pleased to meet you, sweetheart.” My mother’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Daphne’s appearance, from her coifed brown hair to her powdery pink dress. What ensues is one of the most awkward minutes I’ve ever endured around my mother. This is a woman who has read all about my exploits in the tabloids and I’m sure has heard some naughty things on the grapevine. My mother is sexually liberal – how else do you think I came about? – but it can’t be pleasant to hear these things about your own flesh and blood that you birthed during the peak of your acting career. What’s killing me is that Daphne isn’t anything like the other girl’s I’ve dated. There’s no reason for my mother to tear her apart with a mere glance. Yet here we are, and all I can do is rehearse how I’m going to apologize to Daphne later. If she’ll even talk to me, that is.
“I like your style, Miss DeMarco,” the venerable Camilla Dean says after that agonizing minute. “Fresh, but elegant.”
