by King, Thayer
Finally, he ripped his mouth away. “Shit,” he growled. “Let me fuck you.”
She reacted as though he’d slapped her, jerking and dropping her hands from his face. “N-no.”
He dropped his head onto the seat of the couch. He knew he could convince her but she would regret it once the passion of the moment had cooled. “You have to be the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met.” She moved. He gripped her thighs. “No.” He pinned her with his gaze. “Now tell me, did you like my kiss?” Her lips were swollen and red from the intensity of their make out session. “Did it make you hot?”
“Let me go and I’ll answer you.”
“So you can lie about it?”
“No, because I want off of you.”
He grinned. “You seemed to enjoy it a moment ago. Why can’t you just admit it?”
“Fuck you.”
He laughed. “Then we’re in agreement.” She made a move to stand and he grabbed her small waist. “Mystique, you want me. Your breathing is accelerated. Your nipples are hard. And I’ll bet a year’s salary that your pussy is wet.”
“You’re infuriatingly full of yourself.” She shoved at his shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed a becoming pink. He didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger heightening her color. Whatever the reason, she was anything but apathetic towards him.
“That must be infuriating to you since you want to be full of me.” She gave a disgusted cry and struggled to free herself. “Stop wriggling like that or I might forget my good intentions and lay you out on the floor and give you the fucking both of us need.” She stilled so fast it was comical. “Say it. Admit you want me.”
“Never,” she said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want you. Your kissing is acceptable but nothing special. I felt nothing. You’ve had your kiss and you’ve had your answer. Now you can leave.”
His eyes narrowed on her. “Your pussy’s not wet for me?”
“No.”
“Liar.” He slid his hand beneath the waistband of her pants and her panties. She gasped as he covered her mound. He groaned. “Your panties are soaked.” He maneuvered his fingers around the triangle of cloth and rubbed her plump engorged clit. She bit her lip. He circled the moist flesh, flicking it with his finger. “Want me to stop?”
She whimpered. “Sean, please….”
“God, I like the sound of my name on your lips. Want to hear it when I’m buried to the hilt in this sweet pussy.” He thrust two fingers inside her welcoming cunt and just like that she climaxed, her hips jerking. She clung to his shoulders, moaning his name and cursing at the same time. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. When she’d calmed, he removed his fingers and licked them clean as she watched. She was sweet and tangy and he wanted to taste her from the source.
She climbed off him slowly. “I think you should go now.”
He’d pushed her enough for tonight. He nodded and stood. At the door he turned back to look at her. She was staring off into space. “My room is next door if you need me.” She closed her eyes at his words.
He entered his hotel suite. His cock was killing him. He struggled to lower his zipper and took himself in his hand. Leaning against the door, he stroked his rigid length, wishing he were buried in Mystique. He recalled her taste, the sight of her tight nipples pressed against her shirt, the feel of the tight clasp of her cunt. He exploded, hot cum flowing over his fingers as he groaned Mystique’s name.
“Shit,” he muttered. He hadn’t masturbated this much since he’d been a teen. He made his way to the shower to clean himself.
Chapter Seven
Mystique shivered. She’d known letting him in was a bad idea. His asking for permission to enter only reinforced what she knew about him. As a witch, he couldn’t have entered without her invite.
But she’d realized the truth of his words. If she didn’t learn to loosen up around him, they were going to have to reshoot all of their scenes. She didn’t want that. Soon they would be shooting one of the love scenes. After tonight, she hated to think what would happen when they did.
She couldn’t believe how horribly wrong this evening had gone. He was a witch, damn it. She knew better than most what a mistake cavorting with their kind could be. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and rocked back and forth. What to do? She’d never been so turned on in her life. They hadn’t even begun shooting the scenes she dreaded most. How would she be able to resist him for months?
She needed advice. There was only one place to turn. Only one person she knew of would know how to break the spell he had over her.
Biting her lip, she picked up her phone and dialed her mother.
“This is Meadow Gray. How may I help you?”
“Meadow, this is Mystique.”
There was a long pause. “Yes. I assume it’s important for you to call.”
She swallowed. Their relationship was strained at best. “That wasn’t my choice.”
“Let’s not rehash the past. What has you calling?”
“I’m starring in a movie with a witch.”
“Bring him to me,” Meadow said eagerly.
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that simple. He’s famous.”
“That doesn’t matter to me!”
“Meadow, listen!” She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’ve had dreams about him,” she said slowly. “I think I may be his…soul mate.” She closed her eyes for the angry barrage of words sure to follow her declaration.
Silence greeted her. “Then give in to him.”
“What? That’s your solution? Tie myself to him?” She began to pace.
“No. I suggest that you purge yourself of your feelings for him. You think you’re his one. Maybe you are. Most likely you are not. The best way to rid yourself of him is to sleep with him.”
“You’re letting your experience color your advice.”
“You want him. My solution is best. You both get what you want and go your separate ways.”
Mystique noticed that her mother’s plan didn’t take her feelings into account. She dare not ask what would happen if she fell in love with a witch. Meadow wouldn’t see that as a possibility. “Thanks for your help,” she said, disconnecting the call. “I don’t know why I bother,” she muttered.
****
Mystique paced her trailer, the hair stylist following her around trying to do her hair. She’d sat down five times already but found herself bounding out of her seat within minutes. Today they were shooting the first love scene. Nerves had her stomach so tied in knots that she hadn’t been able to eat all day.
“Please, miss, if you could sit for two minutes, I’ll be done.”
“Sorry,” she murmured to Janelle. She sat and gripped the arms of her chair to keep herself in it. She bit her lip. Janelle was as good as her word, finishing up in less than the promised two minutes. Her hair had been flat ironed and fell in a shiny curtain around her shoulders. “Thank you. Sorry I was such an ordeal today.”
Janelle grinned, showing her dimples. “It’s okay. I’d be nervous too if I was getting my freak on with Sean Savage.”
She blanched. The makeup artist was next. Jeffrey was in a huff that he’d had to wait so long and made no attempt to hide it. She apologized but it didn’t seem to soften him up any. She sighed and concentrated on not fidgeting.
Jeffrey leaned back to survey his work when he was done. “Damn, I’m good.” He picked up his supplies. “Knock ‘em dead. I’ll be around if you need a touch up.”
****
The scene called for him to back her into a wall and kiss her. Only this movie was going to be lucky to be rated R from the way he kept going at her. He kept grabbing her ass and grinding his blatant erection right into her. Steven had given up on giving him directions as to how to hold her and kiss her. They had been filming for some time to get the kiss from various angles. This wasn’t her first onscreen kiss, but it was certainly the first time it had felt so real. Even with an audience, Sean made her feel
like it was only the two of them in the room.
She was going up in flames as he ate at her mouth. Her sex was molten and dripping for him. Occasionally, he would forget and penetrate her with his tongue. She barely contained her moans.
Sean undressed her several times. They took breaks to fix her hair and makeup and to follow them to the bedroom. In this scene, it was her home so the room was frilly and full of white lace. The beach house was rented. All the furnishings were props that they had brought in for filming.
She felt like a punch drunk boxer in a daze as she situated herself in bed and watched Sean strip in front of her. He had no issues with onscreen nudity. His backside was to the camera. He was covered in the front for her modesty.
In the film all the action would be continuous. In reality, she was carefully staged to look as though she were bare. Her makeup was retouched. Lighting checks were performed.
For a change, Sean wasn’t grinning as he covered her and slid between her thighs. There were fewer people onset. The sizzle between the two of them was tangible. He held himself above her until the cameras started rolling. He fitted himself to her, and as he’d warned her, he was as hard as steel. The sheets were arranged so that the sides of their hips were visible. She wore a high thong with ties on the sides. It was pulled carefully to the side so that her mound was protected as he began to move between her legs. Her fingers dug into his muscled shoulders. It was all she could do not to toss her head back and moan as he rode her. She bit her lip to control herself. Sound was not necessary for this scene as music would play over it. Moviegoers would be treated to perhaps a three to five minute clip of their actions. She felt like she’d been beneath Sean for hours.
He buried his face in her neck. “I want you so bad,” he groaned. “This is torture. I’m going to explode.” Unable to speak, she threaded her fingers through his soft black curls. “Tell me that you want me.”
“Cut!” Steven clapped his hands. “Great work, kids. I think we’ve got enough.”
“Shit,” Sean muttered. “I don’t think I can move.”
“Roll over,” she said, relieved Steven had called a halt to their scene. She pushed at Sean’s shoulders. “We’re not alone,” she hissed when he didn’t move right away.
“How do you do it?” He shifted, bunching the sheet about his waist so that his erection was not visible.
“Do what?” She tied her thong and pulled up the straps of the tank she wore. Her robe was on the floor beside the bed. She shrugged into it.
“How do you turn it off so quick?”
She swallowed. “Do you ever quit?” Her gaze travelled over his bare torso, taking in his sculpted arms, hard pectoral muscles and ripped abs before skittering away.
“I would if I truly thought you didn’t want this as much as me.”
“Has it occurred to you that even if I wanted you, I might not want to act on it?” When he didn’t answer, she left to get dressed. She looked forward to a long cool shower once she got back to the hotel.
Chapter Eight
Sean was brooding. He glared at the beautiful night view out his window. Mystique was driving him mad. Today they’d filmed a carefree frolicking beach scene to be used in a musical montage. For the first time, his emotions were getting in the way of his acting. Mystique had worn a skimpy white one piece swimsuit that was classy and sexy at once. Portraying a light and whimsical mood was difficult for him when he was so frustrated with her.
She’d played with him in the sand and water as though nothing was amiss. They’d danced together under the stars and she’d pretended as though the rigid bar of his cock wasn’t digging into her belly.
He admitted to himself that he was at a loss as to how to get through to her. He’d asked her to dinner and she’d turned him down. Aside from work, she wasn’t willing to spend any time with him. It was novel to have a woman spurn his affections.
His phone emitted a tone from his front pocket. He pulled it out and answered without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Go to sleep already. It’s almost two in the morning there,” Keith lamented from California.
He grinned. Only one year separated their births. Keith was the older sibling but in many ways, they were like twins. They shared a close connection. He could always tell when Keith was hurt or unhappy. Likewise, his brother could do the same for him. “I’m not sleepy.”
“Well your brooding is making me antsy.” Keith yawned. “Want to tell me about it so that I get some work done?”
He hesitated. “It’s Mystique.”
“Yeah?”
“I know she wants me, but she keeps telling me no.”
“What is it with you and this woman? Is this just about sex or do you want more?”
“More. Everything. I want it all.”
Keith paused. “Do you think she’s your one?”
“One what?”
“Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. You were happy enough to skate by with just looks and charm and not actually do any studies.”
“Spare me the lecture.”
“Every witch has his one—his soul mate. Once you find her, you begin to have vivid dreams of her that she will share with you. There’s more but since you aren’t in the mood for a lecture…”
He was beginning to remember now. “Wouldn’t she have to be one of us?” He’d avoided his fellow witches for just that reason. He was happy being single. He enjoyed his freedom. Or at least he had before he’d developed this obsession for Mystique.
“Not necessarily,” Keith said stiffly.
“The bookstore owner that you’re scared to ask out, is she your one?”
“I am not scared. But yes, she’s my one.”
“Then what the hell are you waiting for?”
“She’s not one of us. It complicates matters. I didn’t call to discuss Imani. Did you tell her you’re interested in more than sex?”
“No,” Sean grudgingly admitted. He grimaced when he thought of how he’d given her the spare card key to his suite. “But she has to know that.” He’d asked her to dinner. If it had been simply about sex he wouldn’t have bothered asking her on dates. It was so clear to him that they were meant to be together. Why couldn’t she see it?
Keith emitted an exasperated sigh. “Then tell her to make sure that she does. If she still says no, then ask her why. Now go to bed. Your thinking is getting all muddled with mine and I can’t write.”
“Good to know this call was motivated by concern for me,” he muttered sarcastically.
“As always.”
****
They were on the cover of Entertainment Weekly together, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist whilst she leaned into him for support, her head resting on his shoulder.
Mystique recalled the day the reporters had been allowed onto the set. The rumors and buzz Sean had created before filming had people anxious to know what was going on behind the scenes. The movie wasn’t even complete and everyone was saying the film was going to be a blockbuster.
Interviews were not her forte. She always came off as nervous. And she hadn’t been at her best that day. She’d still been keyed up from the love scene where Sean had simulated performing oral sex on her. Sean had come to her aid during the interview, throwing a casual arm around her shoulders. Somehow she’d felt…protected. It was probably some sort of witchy projection but at the time she’d been grateful for it.
Mystique opened her copy with trembling fingers. Inside there were more photos of her in his arms, him feasting at her neck, her sitting on his lap, and him pressing her into a wall. In each photo, she faced the camera her eyes heavy lidded with desire. He was completely focused on her.
The photographer had been very specific about what type of body language he required of each of them. Jacques Flemish hadn’t known the ordeal he was putting her through. Sean couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again. His behavior was shameful. Between shots, he’d run his hands over her body and tell
her how good she felt or how good she smelled. Mystique was mortified. Everyone thought they were a couple, placing her in an untenable position since she knew the magazine’s writers would question her about their relationship and she once again meant to deny any romantic rumors about the two of them.
Mystique quickly skimmed the article and photo captions. She winced when she noted that they had actually talked to the photographer and his crew. As she’d feared, they mentioned their chemistry. She closed her eyes with a groan. They’d quoted one of them as saying that they thought the two of them were going to make love right there.
This is what she got for not causing a scene and slapping him outright! No, she had to be the good girl—the one directors called a joy to work with. Couldn’t they tell she was uncomfortable with the way he was treating her?
She never should have agreed to do the photo shoot. This was going to make her look like a first class liar. In the attached article, she denied any romantic feelings between the two of them. She’d been non-committal about the reasons for her changing roles in the film. She need not have bothered. Sean told the unvarnished truth—she had been given a larger part because of the onscreen chemistry between the two of them.
If they were trying to create a media sensation, they couldn’t have done a better job.
Mystique instinctively felt that that’s exactly what Sean was doing. He was a master at keeping the press begging for more. His comments were carefully worded to inform and yet titillate the reader with the unseen possibilities. Without uttering an untoward phrase, he somehow still gave the impression that they were shagging like crazy—or would be soon.
They’d chosen the most risqué photo stills from the movie also. All of them were of the two of them making love. She’d been asked too many times to count if they’d really made love before the camera. Once the film debuted, she knew she’d hear that one more than once or twice.
Mystique threw aside the magazine. She dug aspirin out of her purse and tossed two pills into her mouth before washing them down with water. She wasn’t getting enough sleep and the headache was a byproduct. If she wasn’t such a control freak, she would take a sleeping pill. She was determined to handle this on her own. The damn dreams with Sean were getting worse, more explicit. They felt so real. Seeing him every day was wreaking havoc on her. Now this magazine debacle.
