Already Written (Hollywood Exchange #1)

by Xavier Neal

  “And if this were a scene in one of my books, I'd be doing something beneath these bubbles.”

  The fact we have our own little code of communication makes me grin again.

  It's not exactly award winning. That's not what matters. What matters is this works for us. Minka feels freer when she can think of the world or a situation the same way she would one of her manuscripts and while I don't like to admit it to anyone other than her, sometimes life is easier when you take it scene by scene. Sure, I don't get reshoots when I make the wrong action and can't call for line when I need to know what to say, but the importance of doing more than waiting for your cue and being in tune with what's around are the same. You know what else? It's her refreshing take on reality that I can't get enough of. Knowing when she talks to me she's actually listening soothes my soul. Knowing when she looks at me she doesn't see dollar signs is worth any sideways language I have to learn to make her feel more comfortable in her gorgeous brown skin.

  “If this were a Minka Knight novel, what exactly would the heroine be doing in the water?”

  “Well,” she starts and turns her face to the camera. “If one of my characters were taking a bath in the early evening, like this, chances are she would probably be relaxing after a hard ass kicking day at the office.”

  “As a lawyer?”

  “Or a scientist. Or a doctor. Or an FBI agent. But for since you suggested lawyer, we'll say lawyer.”

  Cockily, I say, “Glad my opinion counts.”

  After she rolls her eyes, her legs bend, so they're peeking out of the water, which is when she strolls a finger up one. The less than innocent gesture swells more than my tongue. “She's feeling rather stressed. The woes of being the best in her profession are taking their toll lately.”

  I stifle a groan as her finger slips down her thick thighs. “She...she should have someone help her with that.”

  “She does,” Minka answers matter of factly. “He's this sexy accountant built like he was manufactured in some top secret gym run by Special Forces.”

  Her depiction of me causes my face to rubricate.

  What! I know...I know! And I am. I'm used to be fucking flattered but there's something extraordinary about knowing the woman I'm into has me at the top of the pyramid for sexy, that adds more than pride to my face. To know she truly means it and isn't just saying it to string me along creates a yearning to want to express that I feel the same way about her.

  Clearing my throat, I continue the game. “So, why isn't he there now?”

  “It's forbidden.” The word rolls off her tongue and prompts her to bite her bottom lip.

  I wanna bite that lip. That's my lip to bite.

  “See, his father, is the opposing lawyer on the case she's working on. They're not supposed to be together.”

  “Scandalous.”

  “In deed.” Minka's hand roams across the top of her boob. “But it doesn't stop her from thinking about him all the time. From wishing he was there with her. It doesn't stop her from wanting him to be the one to touch her here...” Her hand gently runs her touch around one of her nipples.

  My breath hitches.

  “Or here,” she repeats the action while my dick painfully throbs in protest. This time her hand slips back between her thighs and she whispers, “Or here.”

  It takes a moment before my brain can kick my mouth into functioning. “And if he could touch her there, what would that sound like?”

  Minka's hand moves in the unseen, yet her eyes roll back into her head as her lips leak a loud moan.

  My imagination drifts until it's not her hand in that water but mine. I request, “Do it again.” She instantly repeats the action. I swear I can feel the pulsating of her pussy around my fingers at the same time she offers up an exotic cry. My cock complains at our distance from her in the form of pre-cum. I ignore the desire to give it attention and firmly encourage, “Keep going...”

  As if she's completely forgotten we're physically apart, Minka is rocking her body against her pumping fingers the same way I imagine she would if they were actually mine. Captivation with her every motion freezes my body in place. While the rest of my body is suspended in the moment, my balls constrict tightly again, begging for release. Begging for the slightest surrendering from my own hand. Suddenly her movements shift. They become greedy. Her hips are lifting higher. The thrusting is sharper. The water begins to spill over the tub and I know with just a few more pushes she'll explode.

  “Show me, Minka,” I command, hungry to experience the smallest taste I can of her orgasm even if means having my own caged in my jeans. “Show me what it looks like when you come.”

  The word demolishes whatever restraint she was holding and spirals her into pure abandonment. As my cock stiffens in complete agony, she releases a deep sigh of ecstasy, my name mouthed in the process. Clumsily, I try to apply much needed pressure to my crotch to prevent my dick from following her actions, but it's too late. Her eruption strips the one I had been holding at bay. Hot rushes coat the inside of my boxer briefs as a light pant seeps out.

  There's no way in hell, I just came in my fucking jeans...

  My cock gives one final kick before lying dormant.

  Shit. I did. I really did. I'm not telling her that. You're not telling her that!

  Finally, Minka's heaving chest begins to settle and she resettles herself in the water. When her eyes finally open, they immediately enlarge at the sight of me.

  Don't. Tell. Her.

  Her jaw drops. “Holy shit. I didn't just-”

  “You did.”

  “Not in front of you!”

  “With me.” I quietly grumble, giving my jeans a glance.

  My admission is thankfully not heard as two hands fly over her mouth to catch a fit of ridiculous embarrassed mumbles.

  She's not the one who just came in designer pants.

  In a reassuring voice, I argue, “Don't be ashamed, Minka. That was by far the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen or did with someone over the computer.”

  Her eyebrows dart down like I'm not helping.

  “You were....fuck baby, I don't even have the right words to describe how sexy you were. I swear, watching you come just made the days until I can see you face to face again even longer.”

  At that she drops her hands. “I miss you.”

  With a tilt my head, I whisper, “I miss you too.”

  There's a heavy pounding on my trailer door. Without waiting for an answer, Caroline pops her head in and says, “J.J.'s ready.”

  “Tell him I'll be out in a sec,” I reply. As soon as the door shuts, I look back at the screen where the biggest breath of fresh air in a stale world is waiting for me. “Hey nottie, I gotta get going. Can I call you after dinner?”

  “Can't guarantee, I'll be awake,” she giggles and pushes her up glasses. “But for you, I'll at least try to answer. Don't judge my Barry White voice that happens when I've been snoring too hard all night.” Before I can comment, she hits her forehead. “Oh my God. I can't believe I just admitted I snore.”

  On a light chuckle, I shrug. “So do I.”

  “You're a guy. You're required by nature to snore.”

  “That's not true.”

  “So true.”

  “J.J. doesn't snore, which is an anomaly all it's own with the way he deep sleeps. Come to think about it, neither does my brother Preston, who you'll get to meet when I get there.” We smile together at the thought. “Have a good night my nerd hottie....”

  With a wide grin, she echoes, “Have a good night, Pierce. Behave or at least try to.”

  I give two of my fingers a kiss and then touch it to the screen. Minka mimics the action from a distance. After one last look, I reluctantly close the computer, and hit my head against the back of the couch.

  Ten more days. Ten more days and I'll finally have the best part of waking up, back in my arms.

  Minka

  “Come on!” Emerson shouts at her phone. “You're fucki
ng with me!”

  I lick the peanut butter off my middle finger. “Is that a sports yell or work yell?”

  “Sports,” she answers from my living room couch where she's got her legs stretched out on my coffee table.

  With a smirk, I lick the rest of the peanut butter off the spoon.

  “Did you see Tommy Miller and Camille Bell were spotted making out in a coffee shop?”

  Leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen, I ask, “Should I care?”

  “Camille Bell is your current boyfriend's, ex-girlfriend and co-star.” Emerson looks up at me. “That's according to this article by the way. I didn't just know that off the top of my head.”

  The information stiffens my face.

  Everyone has exes. I get that. However, I had momentarily forgotten my boyfriend's ex-girlfriend is not only the woman he works with regularly but has been on the cover of Cosmo for sexiest slut or something. Shit. I shouldn't have said that. Forget that I did.

  Emerson says in a snarky tone, “She's not even that pretty.”

  “Well she's probably better in bed than I am,” I ramble off.

  My best friend's face snaps upward. “What?”

  “Em,” I let out defeated sigh. “Let's take a brief look at my sexual history shall we? My first boyfriend who I lost my virginity to after waiting for a year and half dumped me a week later. My next boyfriend who I dated for three years turned out to be gay. And now...here we are with my current boyfriend whose sexual history roster could probably cover at least a year’s worth of Playboy center folds. My sexual confidence is unstable enough without having to actually be reminded how I'm about to have an epic fail in the bedroom the first time we're together.”

  Emerson completely lowers her phone.

  “What if I'm the worst he's ever had?”

  “Mink-”

  “It's not like I've had a lot of practice!”

  She folds her hands together. “You dated Jack for three years-”

  “We had sex like we had been married for 70 years. On holidays and special occasions.” My head bobs back and forth. “Well, I mean with each other. Jack did have a secret boyfriend for most of our relationship.”

  Emerson lets out a sigh. “You're probably just over thinking this. Pierce clearly is attracted to you and that's what matters. All the other bullshit you can work on together.”

  “This isn't a chick lit novel,” I correct. “I need actual help.”

  “Use your own novels as a study guide.”

  “I need real life help.”

  Perplexity pops on her face.

  “Pierce'll be here in two days, Em. TWO DAYS! Fix me...Please fix me?”

  “What the fuck do you mean fix you?”

  “The same way you do with hair and makeup and table manners. Fix me! Prep me!”

  “You want a sex coach?”

  Is that a thing? That's not a real thing. That should be a real thing. Book idea?

  “Stop it.” Em points a stern finger at me. “Do not even think about turning this into something for one of your stories.”

  I whine, “But it's so much easier to think about things that way.”

  “You live in the real world, Minka.”

  Sorta...

  “Minka this isn't football. I can't sit on the sidelines and give you plays for a successful game.”

  “But you can give me tips to help me not strike out before the final period.”

  Her face cringes. “You know how much I hate when you mix up sports references.”

  Innocently, I shrug. “I'm trying to speak your language.”

  “Don't,” she huffs. “It gives me a migraine.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Okay...go....grab a banana from the kitchen and come in here.”

  “Maybe a lollipop would be better?”

  Emerson's face scrunches. “If a lollipop is better than we have much bigger problems.”

  As soon as her point sinks in, I turn around and grab the piece of fruit from the bowl on my kitchen table.

  His cock is far from lollipop size yet I still wanna run my tongue all around it. You would think some part of him would not be perfect in an attempt to give the rest of the world a fighting chance yet...nope. Everything about him is exactly that. Me on the other hand? Not so much.

  Once the banana is in my possession, I relocate to the other couch, and flop down in the middle of it, all my attention on my best friend. “Should I peel it?”

  She rolls her eyes and instructs, “Grip it firmly with one hand and stroke. The pressure and speed will be obvious by his reaction, so pay attention. But don't gawk and make it creepy.”

  “Got it.”

  “Now, some men like it rough and fast. Some enjoy the slow jerk. Typically, I prefer a combination of the two to torture them.”

  I try not to frown at her comment.

  Sexual torture? Seems not necessary.

  Awkwardly, I stroke the object, my face trying to concentrate on the suggestions just given.

  “It's not a sales report,” she scolds. “Relax. Remember the objection is to make him feel good. You have the power. Use it.”

  Letting a deep breath out, I try again except this time my mind slips back to when Pierce jerked off in front of me.

  That memory and my returning the favor in the bathtub have been leading all masturbation sessions. Apparently from a distance I can handle him like a champ. He even admitted to coming in his pants from watching me in the tub. All I did was giggle. I didn't know what else to say! Knowing that just proves further, behind the computer screen, I am unstoppable. Up close? I'm still the same awkward, confused, mumbling mess he spilled his snot milkshake on.

  Effortlessly my hand motion switches to match what's seared into my memory. Afterward Emerson praises, “Good. Much better. Now open your mouth slowly, lick the head once, twice, then ease it into your mouth.”

  I shut my eyes and follow her directions. As soon as it's in my mouth, I'm no longer sucking on a piece of fruit, but Pierce's thick cock.

  My imagination is the shit by the way.

  A pleased hum escapes me and Emerson's voice faintly informs, “Keep your throat relaxed. After a few more sucks, slide it down further.” There's a short beat before she adds, “Now suck and bob. And the minute you feel yourself about to gag, ease off, give the tip a tongue roll, and start the process over.”

  My pretend blow job on the banana continues. Each additional minute that passes by, I somehow gather even more enthusiasm and effort, the faint sounds of Pierce's hearty groans faintly echoing in my ears. Lost in the scenario I've created in my mind of being on my knees with him pressed firmly against the bathroom counter, fresh from a shower, I push past the initial gag border, surprising myself when I don't rush to remove it.

  All of a sudden there's a clearing of a throat, which shoots my eyes open to the sight of the UPS driver in my door way.

  Wow. Really? Of course really! This is my fucking life.

  I quickly remove the object, wipe away the spit, and sigh, “Hey Tom...”

  He gives me a one handed wave. “Minka.”

  Emerson leans on the door handle trying to hide her smirk. “I tried to grab your attention twice before I opened the door.”

  Looking at Tom, I sigh, “I can explain.”

  “No need.” He surrenders his hands. “My wife reads your books. I can assume the rest.”

  I've met her before. She's a real sweetheart and a huge fan.

  “She's actually hoping you'll let me buy an autographed copy of your newest release from you for our anniversary.”

  “After what you witnessed. No...charge...Hell I'll package it and send it so it's completely a surprise.”

  Tom offers me a grateful grin. With a simple hand motion to something outside of my apartment, he states, “Your latest shipment has come in. Same place as usual?”

  Sheepishly, I whisper, “Yes please.”

  He nods and disappears back outside.

&n
bsp; The second he's gone, I harshly glare at Emerson who is snickering.

  “Did you really try to stop me?”

  “I did.” She smirks wildly. “On a good note, if you give that much passion and attention to your actual blow job with Pierce, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”