“I thought you were going to fuck me.” His voice caught on the remaining edge of his passion, and he cleared his throat.
Rolling his head to steal a kiss, Jeremy answered, “I will. Just not today.”
Kit sat up on his elbow and traced the dark purple bruise on Jeremy’s lip. “How come?”
Black lashes fluttered closed against translucent skin, then opened to reveal eyes dark with need and repressed passion. “You’re not ready.”
“I’m not scared,” Kit lied. “I woulda let you.”
Jeremy quirked a faint smile. “Okay. I’m not ready.”
Settling his cheek into his palm, Kit stared down at his…what? Lover didn’t seem right. Friend seemed too companionable for how little they knew of each other, but costar felt too cold and distant given what they’d just shared.
Shared.
It hit him then. He hadn’t given a damned thing. The only one doing the sharing around here seemed to be Jeremy. Throat closing, he licked his lips and flicked his gaze to study the dappled color in the industrial carpet. More on impulse than decision, he reached out and grasped Jeremy’s cock through his jeans.
“Shit!” Jeremy shot upward, the top of his head coming a hair’s breadth from Kit’s nose.
Kit snatched his hand away. Tugging up his pants, he started to get up from the floor. Jeremy touched his shoulder, and he stilled.
Staring up at him with raw need etched into the regal lines of his face, Jeremy said, “Stay.”
“Why?” The question dropped from Kit’s lips in self-defense. He’d made an ass of himself. He just wanted to get out of here.
Jeremy pressed at Kit’s shoulder, coercing him back to the floor. “To fix it.”
Chapter Eleven
They played tug-of-war, Kit pulling back and Jeremy pressing with quiet insistence until Kit gave in and fell forward. Bracing his hands on either side of Jeremy’s head, Kit asked, “You want it up the ass instead?”
Slapping his palms against Kit’s shoulders, Jeremy expelled a laugh, then undid his jeans. Pushed them and his underwear low on his thighs. “Blow me, wiseass.”
Kit flicked his gaze down to Jeremy’s cock. Took in the wide column of pale skin and royal-blue vein capped with a flared head. Meeting Jeremy’s heavy-lidded stare, he said. “No way you’re ever getting that in me.”
“There’s only one hole of yours I’m interested in currently.” Jeremy pushed Kit down.
“Encouraging thought,” Kit muttered.
He slid lower, circled Jeremy’s straining, rigid flesh, and used the pad of his thumb to explore the satin skin just under the crown. Kit flicked out his tongue and caught that same sweet spot, wetting it for his ministrations. Jeremy’s hum of approval turned into a low growl, signifying pleasure.
Pleasure.
He’d just given Jeremy genuine pleasure—not the kind people faked because they were fucking Kit Harris. A warm glow spread from his chest to his limbs. He’d never known making someone else feel good could make him feel good too. The thought gave him pause, then encouraged him to explore this strange new power further. Exactly how happy could he make his lover with his mouth?
Remembering how Jeremy’d taken him to the back of his throat and how good it felt, Kit decided to try the same. Eyeing that cock like an engineering project—something to be scaled and conquered—he grasped it firmly and opened wide. Dove deep. And gagged as the wide head grazed the back of his throat. He came up sputtering and coughing. Jeremy, stomach muscles quivering with quiet laughter, trailed his fingers in Kit’s hair.
Kit shook his head and sat back. “I can’t do this.”
The light left Jeremy’s face, and he shouldered his way to a sitting position. “Can’t or won’t?”
Kit looked away. He wanted to explore Jeremy with his mouth. The taste of salty musk and satin heat still tingled across his tongue, tantalizing his senses. He wanted the taste of his precum, the pulse of his veins beneath his fingertips. He just didn’t know how to accomplish it without humiliating himself or breaking Jeremy.
He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “I’ve never been a very good lover.”
“What?”
Kit closed his eyes. “Don’t make me say it again. You heard me.”
Jeremy kicked their clothes out of the way and pulled a couple of pillows off the couch to arrange behind his back. Slinging a hand over his knee, he asked, “Other than the heavy gag reflex, why don’t you think you’re a good lover?”
Stealing one of the spare pillows for himself, Kit cradled it to his abdomen as he sat cross-legged and tried to remember if he’d ever had a naked powwow with a dude before. Girls, sure—but they were always yammering after sex. Since Jeremy hadn’t gotten off, maybe this didn’t count as sex?
Playing with the fringe on the pillow, he blew out a breath. “I never had to be because…”
“You’re Kit Harris?” Jeremy finished for him.
Kit shrugged and suddenly found the nap in the carpet fascinating.
“Well…” Tone more hopeful than judgmental, Jeremy encouraged, “There’s always a first time.”
Kit shook his head—a minute movement that showcased his confusion and growing wariness with his state of undress. He began to stand.
“Kit, please.” Jeremy grasped his arm. “Don’t do this to me again.”
“Do what?” Kit tried to play stupid.
Liquid pain filled Jeremy’s eyes before he looked away and dropped his hand. “Make me feel like your whore.”
“Jesus.” In less than three seconds, Kit intuited all sorts of things about himself and about Jeremy he’d been more comfortable not knowing.
When Kit didn’t immediately respond, a protective shell seemed to form around Jeremy’s shoulders. If Kit let it harden, he knew it might never crack. Reaching out, tentative, he traced Jeremy’s lip with the pad of his thumb and leaned in to renew the softer kisses they’d shared earlier. Breath by breath, he reeled Jeremy closer and rolled him to his back with a gentle push.
“I’ll do it right this time,” Kit promised.
In a series of gentle, suckling kisses, he released Jeremy’s mouth to nibble his chin. Scraped teeth along the corded muscle of his neck, and reached down to grasp his flagging cock. For the first time in memory, he paid attention to his lover’s body. He knew he’d hit a hot spot when Jeremy’s cock lengthened in his hand, then leaped, as Kit sucked hard on a nipple. Pulling the nub of flesh deep between his lips, he played as rough as he dared and drank in Jeremy’s responsive gasp. He diverted to the other nipple and teased it between his teeth. Alternating little nips with soothing licks, he discovered Jeremy had a thing for extreme sensation and increased the intensity of the love bites. Kit pushed at limits until Jeremy cried out with a jerk of his hips, his cock weeping over Kit’s fingers.
Lifting his head, Kit asked, “Enjoy that?”
Eyes glazed, cheeks a mottled red, Jeremy nodded and pushed Kit lower with a beseeching look. Settling, Kit studied Jeremy’s balls before sucking first one and then the other into his mouth. Jeremy’s breath came in gasping pants, and Kit’s brain chose that moment to wonder if Jeremy’d ever done this with anyone else. He sucked a little too hard, and Jeremy dug his fingers into Kit’s shoulder. Gentling, Kit ran his tongue along the delicate seam between the two sacks. At the same time, his fingers found Jeremy’s perineum.
“Fuck!” Jeremy’s ass cheeks clenched, and his cock jerked.
Kit raised his head for a sustaining breath. He dipped once more and swirled his tongue into the glistening slit at the crown of Jeremy’s cock. The salty, viscous, fluid surprised him with its earthy pleasantness. Guiding Jeremy’s cock in his mouth, he applied pressure in all the right places and squeezed on the downstroke as he suckled with the flat of his tongue.
Only the stop-measure of his fist prevented a full-on assault to his tonsils as Jeremy’s hips jerked up. Hot and thick, come hit the back of Kit’s tongue in pressured spurts. He swallowe
d convulsively. Lifting his head, he took in the sublime wreckage of Jeremy’s expression and grinned. Yeah, he’d done it right.
A rap sounded on Kit’s trailer across the way. Bolting upright, he locked Jeremy’s door, then lay back down. Pulse still pounding a warning, he rolled his head and looked to Jeremy. Eyes closed, breathing shallow, he formed a picture of repose so arrestingly angelic, Kit had trouble believing anything bad had ever befallen him. Rolling to his side, he gazed upon that gentle face—traced a finger along one of the more visible coin-shaped scars on Jeremy’s shoulder.
“What did this to you?”
Jeremy’s eyes flew open, and he seemed to study Kit as a potential threat.
The lack of trust after what they’d just shared—what Kit had just done for him—rankled when Jeremy remained silent. “Why won’t you talk to me?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Jeremy said finally.
“What? You think I don’t know abuse when I see it?”
At the word abuse, Jeremy’s eyes deadened. He reached out, snatched up his shirt, and tugged it over his head. “I think you know how it’s supposed to look on screen.”
The verbal slap stunned Kit, taking his breath away. Exactly how shallow and sheltered did he appear to Jeremy?
“You don’t know shit,” Kit said, quiet. Turning, he made his second true confession of the day. “I might not have the scars to prove it, but my life hasn’t been all rainbows and kittens.”
Jeremy jerked on his jeans. “So? You had to grow up with nannies and never got to go to a real school?”
“I don’t get a penny from my family, and I never will. My father is a famous director. I’ve never been on one of his sets. I haven’t seen my mother since her last stay at Betty Ford for pill-and-alcohol addiction when I was seventeen.” Kit spoke in flat, emotionless tones. “Is that fucked-up enough for you, or do you want me to go into all the ways I’ve been manipulated or used—sometimes abused—by the people who were supposedly hired to take care of me so my parents didn’t have to bother?”
Head rotating first, shoulders following, Jeremy turned to take Kit in. Looking as if the world had suddenly done a little jig and ended upside down, Jeremy collapsed more than sat on the sofa.
“They were cigars.” Jeremy stared down at hands that hung loosely between his knees. “I hate being touched. Always have…” He met Kit’s gaze. “Until you.”
Kit moved to the sofa. Sitting, he bumped his knee against Jeremy’s and said, “Hey.”
Jeremy looked up, obviously stricken. “Yeah?”
“We don’t have to talk about it, ’kay?”
Nodding once, Jeremy looked away. “Want some coffee?”
“No thanks.”
Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, Jeremy shed the tension from his body with audible pops and snaps.
“Dude, you sound like a breakfast cereal,” Kit teased.
Jeremy laughed, then seemed to consider his next words carefully. “For what it’s worth, I think the director was right. You were amazing today. I’ve never been so convinced by a performance.”
“Shut up,” Kit murmured, self-conscious.
Still, a part of him thought Jeremy might be right. He’d really hit his stride with this part. Each time the director had called “Action,” he’d slipped into a second skin that allowed him to intuit all the right gestures and inflections. Shoving down a suspicion that his personal connection to Jeremy had a lot to do with the strength of his performance, Kit stood. “Let’s get some lunch.”
RELIEVED THEY’D REACHED equilibrium after their argument, Jeremy slid his feet into his sandals.
Kit, shoulder against the jamb, contemplated him from the doorway. Hands shoved in his pockets, tan skin contrasting against his snowy white shirt, he appeared quietly self-assured. Knowing what the actor could do with his hands and mouth, if he chose, made Jeremy’s stomach do a funny little flip that trailed in a tight line to his awakening cock.
“Want to go somewhere besides the canteen?” Kit asked. “There’s a great Mexican place somewhere near here I went to once a couple years back. Their burritos are heaven, and the salsa is so spicy it’ll ignite your ass for a week.”
“Not so sure that’s the glowing recommendation you think it is, Kit, but sure.” Jeremy scooped up his wallet. “Why not?”
Not quite certain how to get to the Hellfire Hacienda, Kit paused the motorcycle, Jeremy on the back, at the gate to ask directions from the security guard.
“I shouldn’ta done that,” Kit said as they took off again.
“Why?” Jeremy asked.
“Paparazzi’ll be all over the place now. Maybe we should go somewhere else?”
Not believing the guy would have sold out two actors working at his own studio, nor that it could really be that bad if he did, Jeremy said, “Pussy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
It really could be that bad. By the time they arrived, seven SUVs were parked in the choice spots and four more paparazzi had arrived on motorcycles.
“What? Do these guys have levitating vehicles?” Jeremy asked as they parked Kit’s Monster around the corner and took a back alleyway to the rear of the restaurant. “Does LA traffic not apply to them?”
Not stopping to knock on the kitchen door, Kit surprised the chef with his unconventional entry. Jeremy followed, mentally taking notes on the evasion tactic.
Sliding into the booth, Jeremy took in the authentic Mexican lanterns and sunny decor. Woven blankets underneath glass tabletops provided a vibrant backdrop for the Fiestaware coffee cups and condiment containers scattered across the table. Glancing over his menu, he saw Kit warily eyeing the entrance. The tinted windows provided plenty of privacy, and surely the guys wouldn’t invade the restaurant for an impromptu photo shoot.
“Why bother to hide?” Jeremy asked. “Wouldn’t they pretty much find you no matter what?”
“Hollywood myth.” Kit spoke from behind his menu.
“Huh?”
“The paps aren’t as powerful as all that. It’s easy to outsmart them…if you want to.”
“So why do celebs complain so much about them?”
Picking up the salt and pepper shakers, Kit fisted them in one hand and clacked them around each other while he stared at the entrance some more. “Because they need to court the publicity while looking innocent for doing it.”
Sitting back, Jeremy closed his menu and considered the mutually duplicitous nature of the paparazzi-celebrity relationship. One guy needed fame. For fame, he needed press. Press didn’t come cheap. Unless you created news. Make it a game and you’d get all the free press you needed without appearing to court the attention.
“Wow.” Hollywood suddenly seemed a lot more complicated. He waited until their waiter came to take their order before he said, “Good thing I’m not famous.”
“Better study up,” Kit said, taking a sip of water, still staring at the door.
“Will you quit staring?” Jeremy asked, annoyed that Kit kept talking over his shoulder.
“Three…” Kit muttered, popping his napkin into his lap. “And here we go.”
“Huh?” Jeremy’s brain skipped a beat, thinking Kit had somehow picked up on Greg and Aaron’s game.
“There are three of them getting ready to come in here. They always do it that way. Spread out so no matter what, you have to walk by one of them on the way out.”
“Seriously?” Jeremy looked over his shoulder as the bell on the front door jingled and three men wearing sunglasses and slinging camera bags strode into the joint.
Birds of prey. Vultures. Without remorse or conscience. They’d snap their shots, make up the best stories to go with them, and sell them to the highest bidder. In under three seconds, Jeremy understood all this about these men without having to know so much as their names. Wiley as jackals, a sharp-toothed menace rolled off them that made Jeremy shrink inside his own skin.
He looked at Kit and fumbled his fork. The actor, arm slun
g over the back of his chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips, looked thoroughly reposed and incredibly famous.
“Since when do you smoke?” Jeremy kept his voice low, not bothering to point out the smoking ban—as if it would’ve done any good.
Bringing the cigarette to his lips, he took out a lighter. Drawing, he lit it and blew a stream of smoke into the air above Jeremy’s head. He lazily toyed with the end, and Jeremy realized the cigarette served as a prop. A way to look occupied and masculine—sexy and confident—while calming any nervous tics and tells that might make him less…well, less than Kit Harris.
Ten minutes of silent tension stretched between when the men entered and one approached their table. “Hey, Kit, how’s the new project going?”
Jeremy looked up to find one of the reporters looming at their table, his camera nowhere in sight. Just like any other friendly autograph hound.
Kit arched a brow. Jeremy had never seen him look so aloof. “We’re having lunch, fellas. Tell you what. Leave us alone, and I’ll answer some questions on the way out.”
The man gave him a thumbs-up, and Kit gave him a Hollywood smile. All three men shuffled out the front door, leaving their drinks unpaid for.
“Do you have to pick up the tab?” Jeremy asked.
“Unless I want to see something ugly about me on the cover of some rag?” Kit dropped his cigarette into his water glass and made a face. “Yeah, I do.”
“That’s like blackmail.” Indignant, Jeremy glared at the window. The photographers milled about on the sidewalk, smoking and looking like a bored gang of thugs waiting for a Friday-night rumble.
“It’s reality. And it’s not so bad.” Kit dug into his burrito and chewed thoughtfully. “You just have to play it right.”
“Soul sucking, if you ask me.”
Kit grabbed Jeremy’s water glass and took a slug, his eye roll marking him as annoyed. “You want to make it in this town or what?”
Acting Out Page 10
