Jerking against his restraints, Kit rocked the headboard hard against the wall and tried to get away. The lift of his hips from the mattress threw Jeremy off balance, and he gripped tight, arched backward, and shuddered. A groan tore from his throat, and he collapsed forward, his abs quivering with little jerks as he spent the last of his orgasm.
“Fuck.” Kit collapsed.
Still plastered against Kit’s back, Jeremy reached up and yanked free the makeshift restraints. Kit turned his head to the side and pillowed his arms beneath his cheek and drifted slowly back to earth, secure in the weight of his lover’s body against his own. Jeremy’s cock softened by gradual degrees until he withdrew and rolled over. Kit rolled with him and curled into his side to fall asleep. His last coherent thought, he voiced out loud without meaning to.
“Let’s just stay here. Like this. Forever.”
Chapter Nineteen
The last month of filming straddled February and March. Mostly involved in retakes and voiceover work, Jeremy found his days taken up with activities that didn’t involve Kit. On the final day of production, Greg called everyone together—cast and crew—for a party on the only remaining set, rooms built to look like the interior of a New Orleans mansion.
Greg raised his glass and tapped his fork, the crystal chime resonating throughout the high-ceilinged warehouse structure.
“Do you think he’ll be long-winded?” Kit asked out of the side of his mouth.
Jeremy jumped, not realizing he’d arrived. Wearing a sapphire-blue Armani dress shirt and charcoal trousers, Kit projected a suave sophistication with only a hint of simmering rebellion in the silver neck chain he sported. Jeremy itched to pop every button free and explore the renewed golden tan beneath the expensive fabric. He gave Kit a languid toe-to-head sweep before replying, “Only if he thinks you have a problem with it.”
Two actors put their heads together and whispered, then suppressed a laugh.
“Watch it.” Kit stepped into the shadows near a scrim and surveyed the room as if he scouted for enemy combatants.
“Watch what?” Jeremy asked, feigning innocence.
He knew very well what, but something made him push. Arriving to the wrap party in separate cars even though they’d spent the early afternoon together set him on edge. And the date Kit had with Amber last night to keep up appearances hadn’t helped.
Shooting Jeremy a glare, Kit downed the rest of his champagne. “I need a refill.”
Jeremy took a gulp from his own glass and made a face at the way the bubbles burned his palate. He’d thought… He didn’t know what he’d thought, but whatever he’d envisioned on their return to LA hadn’t been sneaking around back alleys and sharing his lover with a woman who had a bra size larger than her IQ.
“Fuck.” He muttered the curse.
He didn’t want to fight. Not when he knew what Kit didn’t—that beginning the day after tomorrow, they’d likely spend more than four months apart. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, with Jeremy renting his own apartment but spending most nights at Kit’s. He knew everything about him now, from the flavor toothpaste he liked—cinnamon—to the alarm codes to his condo and car.
Jeremy watched as Kit tilted his glass toward the meandering waiter. As the liquid arced into his flute—bubbling and golden—it reminded Jeremy of Kit’s energy and personality. Despite the closeted nature of their relationship, and Kit’s occasional dates with Amber, Jeremy cherished the intimacies that allowed him to see beyond the Hollywood persona he pulled about himself even now. Unconscious and reflexive in nature, Kit couldn’t help using the second skin to protect himself. Jeremy saw that now. Respected it.
“Jeremy?”
At the sound of his name, Jeremy refocused on his surroundings. Greg beckoned to him from across the room, and everyone turned to watch him make his way up front. Obviously, Greg intended to make some sort of statement at the end of the speech Jeremy’d zoned out on. Jeremy felt himself color at the knowledge that whatever Greg wanted to say concerned him.
Kit paused, glass partway to his lips. Jeremy took in his narrowed gaze as Greg pulled him close, the heavy weight of his arm circling Jeremy’s shoulders. The warm gesture surprised him—would have flattered him—had Kit not looked like he wanted to spit nails into Greg’s jugular from one hundred paces.
“As I was saying, making this film took a lot of bravery—from all of you—and I want to acknowledge the sacrifices everyone made, both politically and financially. Sometimes, however, the world still manages to surprise me. For instance, I never expected the news I had today from my friend Avery Levine.”
Jeremy froze, hearing his new director’s name. Closing his eyes, he tried to will Greg not to continue. Kit didn’t know Jeremy had gotten the part yet. Jeremy hadn’t had a chance to tell him—had only just found out himself.
“When Levine’s lead actor dropped out at the last minute, Jeremy here took an offer to play the part in his new action film, which starts shooting on location in Vietnam the day after tomorrow.”
Forty people whistled and cheered. Jeremy opened his eyes to search for Kit. Staring steadily, Kit put his hands together in a measured approximation of clapping. All stony sarcasm and swagger, the series of gestures didn’t bode well for good-bye sex.
“It seems you can find your way in Hollywood even if you don’t ride a motorcycle or date a string of starlets.” Greg raised his glass in Kit’s general direction. “Who knew? Enjoy the party.”
Greg dropped his arm and walked away to socialize with another producer—a last-minute backer who’d jumped on the bandwagon when No Apologies began to generate Oscar buzz on the press circuit. Why or how was anyone’s guess, because the NSA didn’t have anything on the security and gag orders for this film.
Jeremy found Kit talking with a couple of the actors and waited for him to finish. Though his back stiffened when Jeremy sidled up to the group, Kit didn’t make room for him and didn’t turn to acknowledge him during the fifteen-minute conversation. Shifting from foot to foot, Jeremy finally said, “I have to mosey.”
“Whatever,” Kit shot back. “Have a nice life.”
One actor coughed and turned away while everyone else shuffled their feet. Jeremy felt his face flame, and he tried not to let his anger and hurt choke him.
“Yeah.” That was his comeback? He wanted to smack himself. “See you around.”
He’d heard about on-set romances—how they often exploded to life with the beginning of filming and died a quick death the day of the wrap. After everything he and Kit shared, he hadn’t expected this to be it. Today to be it. They couldn’t exactly have it out here, though, and if Kit wanted to do this now, in this way, what choice did he really have?
“Hey.” Kit caught up to him in the parking lot. Face inscrutable, he said, “Tonight. The Viper. Let’s celebrate your new film.”
“What happened to have a nice life?” Jeremy asked, palming his car keys in a shaking hand. “Whiplash much?”
Kit shrugged and looked around. “Look, I’m not going to pretend I’m not pissed, ’kay?”
“Fair enough.” Leaning back against the car door, Jeremy folded his arms. “I found out right before the party. You weren’t here yet. I didn’t have time to tell you.”
Part of him wanted Kit to just be glad for him. He’d really made something of himself—had been noticed in a major way. While going halfway around the world to film in a humid jungle, doing things he had no experience doing, terrified him, it also occurred to him that if he rose higher than Kit, he might lose what mattered most—his relationship.
Brows drawing together above the curved line of his sunglasses, Kit clenched his jaw and looked away. “You had time to tell Greg.”
“No. I didn’t.” Annoyance with Greg cut an even more jagged line through Jeremy’s rapidly deteriorating mood. Sometimes he understood beyond a doubt what Aaron found so infuriating about the man. “Greg found out direct from Levine because he vouched for me.”
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Kit gave him a look that said he didn’t believe a word Jeremy said.
“He did.” Jeremy’s voice rose. He understood Kit’s anger. His disbelief, he found insulting. “How else would someone as green as I am get a part like this?”
“Whatever.” Kit looked away. “You coming tonight or not? I’ll get the guys together.”
“Sure. Do you…” Jeremy started to ask if Kit wanted to spend the night together—likely their last night for months—but Kit’s guarded expression stopped him. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Eleven o’clock.” Snugging his helmet up under his arm, Kit walked away.
Jeremy watched him leave, a feeling of unreality lapping at his ankles in increasing waves with each step Kit took. Something told him the tide in their relationship turned as an unseen force as strong and relentless as gravity pulled them apart.
Five hours later, he identified that force.
“Amber?” Jeremy glared down at the bleach blonde, the pulsing club lights alternating the eerie white highlights in her hair from pink to green. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Eyes like slits, she glared up at him, and he waited for the hissing and spitting to begin. Kit intervened, standing before Amber could open her mouth.
“Good to see ya, bro.” He clapped Jeremy on the back in a manly gesture. “Congratulations on the part.”
The rest of the crew held out hands for fist bumps, and Jeremy made the rounds. He felt like a complete fraud as he stared at Kit and gave him an I’m-not-a-fairy handshake.
“Look, I can’t stay…” Jeremy started to say, his shoulder flexing toward the exit.
Shoving a glass at him, Kit shouted, “Drink! One drink!”
Darting a glance to Amber, he saw the way her eyes narrowed. She stood, her hand going possessively to Kit’s ass where she tucked her fingers into his back pocket. Kit draped his arm around her shoulder and stretched a tight grin over the canvas of his face.
Jeremy shook his head. The celebration… He’d thought maybe he and Kit might be able to talk after—to resolve some things. Obviously that couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t happen. Perhaps he couldn’t control his nightmares when he slept, but he didn’t have to stick around to watch this one wide-awake. Without explanation, Jeremy pivoted and walked out of the club.
Hand shaking, he found his key fob and pressed the unlock button. The car chirped. Sirens sounded in the distance. Moisture in the air promised rain. He looked at the rare clouds rolling above and wondered at the hollow feeling in his chest. He wondered if getting shot felt like this. Getting blown wide open by shrapnel couldn’t hurt as much. Could it? At least if you got shot, you stood a chance of dying—of escaping from the pain. From this kind of injury, his wounds might gape and bleed forever without respite.
Unlatching the car door, he paused at the sound of the club door opening—the din of voices and backbeat of the music pulsing outward in mini shockwaves. He looked over his shoulder, hoping. A renewed barrage of emotional fragments pelted his gut when he saw a couple of women weave unsteadily down the sidewalk as they left. He turned, opened the car door once more, and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone shoved it mostly closed from behind him and boxed him in—arms to either side of his shoulders.
“Don’t go,” Kit rasped in his ear.
“Fuck you,” Jeremy said with quiet sadness.
“I’m sorry Amber showed.”
Jeremy stiffened, the roadmap to his anger suddenly clear at the sound of the woman’s name. “Why’d you do it?”
“She’s always up in my business.” Kit stepped back. Jeremy turned to see him holding his palms up in a helpless gesture. “I invited the guys. She found out.”
The car alarm went off behind him, making both Kit and Jeremy jump. He hadn’t realized he’d been clenching the fob in his hand until it shattered, raining plastic pieces on the ground while more stuck in his hand. It hurt, but not as bad as the holes he knew existed in his middle even if he couldn’t see them.
“Fuck.” Jeremy tossed away the broken electronics and plucked slivers out of his palm before trying to open his door the rest of the way. “I think I have a spare in the glove box.”
“Here. Let me.” Kit moved him aside and leaned over the driver’s seat to rummage in the compartment.
Jeremy tried to ignore the tight fabric of Kit’s jeans—the way it stretched at the place where the seam disappeared between his ass cheeks, cupping each globe and showcasing the firm flesh beneath.
“Got it!”
Triumphant, Kit emerged with the fob held high as he thumbed the alarm button. The blaring cacophony abruptly cut off, and Kit let his arm fall slowly as he took in Jeremy’s expression.
“Get in the car,” Kit said, hoarse. “I’ll drive.”
Jeremy shook his head against the arousal drugging his brain. “Call her. Break it off.”
Nostrils flaring, Kit breathed deep as if cut. “Not yet.”
“Do it.” Jeremy stepped in, making Kit back into the car. “Do it now.”
Kit dropped into the bucket seat sideways, his legs sloping out. Staring down at him, Jeremy had the same perspective as Kit’s character in the graveyard scene. Godlike, he could bend Kit to his will in this moment. He tasted the power and possibility that lay within himself. Force could win out here where gentler patience failed over the past few months.
Tilting his head, he contemplated the possibilities as Kit stared up at him, looking helpless for all his rangy strength. But Jeremy didn’t want to force this. He wanted Kit to choose, to know whatever they had together mattered more than Amber. More than Kit’s career. More than anything. Deflating a little, Jeremy let his arms drop and walked to the passenger side. He slid into the car.
“You have until I get back from Vietnam,” Jeremy said as Kit folded himself into the vehicle and closed his door.
The sound of the engine purring to life accompanied Kit’s jerky nod. “My place or yours?”
“Yours.” Still feeling the thrum of power beneath his skin, Jeremy said, “I’m going to make you scream like a girl…if you can catch your breath.”
Kit’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, making the vinyl squeak. Jaw jutting, Kit redirected the conversation. “Your car sucks.”
“Yeah.” Jeremy reached out a hand and squeezed Kit’s upper thigh close to the juncture of his legs. “I like things that suck.”
Jerking to a stop at a traffic light, Kit shifted his hips away from the seat to adjust the pressure of his too-tight jeans. Gaze trailing along the painful-looking bulge, Jeremy imagined all the things he could do to fulfill his promise—to make Kit scream. The light turned green, and Jeremy pressed the heel of his palm sideways along Kit’s cock. The car rocked forward in unsteady starts as Kit lost control of the clutch. Jeremy chortled at the mini “car-gasm.” In retribution, Kit took one hand from the steering wheel and grasped Jeremy’s balls none too gently.
“Shit.” Jeremy breathed the word as he rode the tide of pain to the crest of arousal.
“Who’s gonna scream?” Kit asked, throwing down the gauntlet.
Eyes sliding sideways to take him in, Jeremy saw the spark of Kit’s challenge shining in his gaze. They’d fight for the right to be on top this time.
It started in the elevator. Jeremy crashed into Kit without warning, sending him careening into the back wall so hard the elevator rocked. He gathered Kit’s wrists in his grasp, hauled his arms behind his back, and leaned toward the other man’s neck. Breath hot, he nipped and suckled. There’d be marks.
“This the way you want it to go down?” Kit ground out the words, fighting his arousal for control of his thoughts. He needed to plan.
Jeremy lifted his head. Dark eyes glittered with anger-laden passion. He nodded once. Sharp. “Yup.”
“Just making sure.” Kit let his body go limp, tugging Jeremy down—unsteadying him.
In an effort to stay upright, Jeremy released Kit’s wrists. The elevator door slid
open. Kit seized the opportunity and shoved Jeremy hard enough the other man tumbled out and landed on his ass. Kit dove onto Jeremy and didn’t bother to withhold his weight as he landed. Jeremy gasped for breath, then rolled in a futile attempt to gain the upper hand. Kit kept the momentum going with a shove of his hips, and they rocketed across the floor toward his door. Seeking mouths found each other in more than a kiss. Lips locked violently. Fists clenched. Fingers ripped at clothing. Something tore.
Jeremy grabbed Kit’s hair and tugged backward until their kiss released. “Truce till you get the door open.”
Wordlessly, Kit stood. Hands shaking with adrenaline, vision tunneled, he barely remembered his own name, never mind his code. When he got it wrong twice in a row, Jeremy bumped him aside and entered it for him. Anxious, even eager, they held their passion until they were through the door.
Kit kicked it shut behind him with the heel of his boot and turned to Jeremy. “Truce. Over.”
Jeremy crashed into Kit, driving him against the door. Their lips met again, eager as ever, yet with a new urgency. Tongues tangled, hands everywhere, Kit couldn’t tell where he ended and Jeremy began.
“Give and I’ll go easy on you.” Jeremy rumbled against Kit’s lips.
Kit shivered, his cock pulling tight at the dominant threat. Shaking his head, he denied his pleasure for the thrill of the battle. He thrust his hips against Jeremy. “You’ll eat those words, among other things.”
The fight was on. No object safe, they crashed against walls, tilting photos and scuffing the paint. A jade lamp fell from the entry table. The floor vibrated under Kit’s boots, and he made the mistake of glancing down to see if the prized object survived the impact. Jeremy spun him around and chicken-winged his arm. Face shoved into the wall, cheekbone smarting from the impact, Kit drank in every ripple of muscles pressed against his back as he caught his breath.
Acting Out Page 19
