Indulge My Fantasy

by Whitley Gray

  “Who else is in it?” I took the can and dug in. The first spoonful gave me a headache, but my belly said, Thank you, sir. May I have another?

  “Emily Lightfoot. Bruce Wilde. David O’Mara. Brendan Miller directed it, and he’s so brilliant, it’s scary. Be on the lookout for a high-action thriller called Seconds. It’s going to be incredible.” His face lit up as he dug into the tub again, scraping from the sides with the muscles of his arm flexing and shifting and bunching. Heat pooled low in my belly, and I immediately knew going commando had been a mistake. His gaze met mine, and he smiled, which only made the juices flow that much more.

  I took the can from him, my hands shaking. Maybe from the sugar rush. Maybe not. “How long does it take to make a movie?”

  “Depends on the script, the director, the cast, and even the weather. Six weeks. Two months. Sometimes less, sometimes longer.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “There’ll be a few weeks after shooting’s over when we have to make changes in postproduction. Foley. Edits. They can say it’s a wrap, but nothing’s ever finished the first time.” He handed me the tub again. Halfway through. My competitive nature kicked into gear, wondering which of us would finish it. It was like frosting roulette.

  I kept my gaze on his face as I scooped out yet more, fighting off the sugar shakes and corresponding headache. “And you don’t film the movies in order? I mean, the way the story starts isn’t the first thing you film.”

  “Never.”

  “That must be hard. I mean, who the character is in the beginning isn’t who he is at the end, right?”

  His eyes flashed up to mine. “You’ve thought about this.”

  I tried not to squirm at the way he looked into me, but there was something in his eyes. Respect? Curiosity? I shrugged. “I had an English elective with an associate professor who was a film student. We studied The Godfather as literature.”

  “I like the sound of that class. But then your class didn’t cover Jane Austen either.”

  “I’m glad they didn’t. I can’t take that froufrou stuff.”

  His laugh echoed in the kitchen. “You’re not much of a girly-girl, are you?”

  “Never have been, never will be. I wear my scars with pride.” I held up my hands.

  He put the can aside, taking my hands in his. “Wow. When was the last time you had a manicure? You really beat these things up.” He lowered my hands, laying our palms together. A warm peace floated through me, like when I was a kid eating fresh chocolate chip cookies on a sunny spring day and my world was perfect. He pointed to a mark on my index finger. “What’s that?”

  “Changing oil. The wrench slipped.”

  Raising my hand to his lips, he kissed it. Then his finger traced a pale streak of flesh near my thumb. “This?”

  His touch set off sparks under the scar. “I was putting on tires. I hit the trigger on the air gun, but it wasn’t on the nut right. The nut went one way, the gun went here. Three stitches.”

  “Three?” He touched his lips to it, but it was the tip of his tongue that shot a bolt of heat through me. “I’m sorry. You’re in a dangerous line of work.”

  “I don’t fall out of airplanes for a living.”

  He smiled warmly, totally opposite from the feelings beginning to sizzle close to the seam of my jeans. “No,” he said. “You get hurt in real life.”

  “At least I don’t get paid to kiss beautiful women.” At least he couldn’t see all my scars.

  He grinned. “I’d like to see that.”

  “I bet you would!” I laughed, taking my hands back before his touch fried my circuits. “C’mon, tell me. Of all the women you’ve kissed in the movies, if you had a choice, who would you want to kiss again?”

  He didn’t look away. “None of them.”

  “Really?” I felt his body slide against me. Closer. Firmer.

  “Nope. Not a one.”

  “Why?”

  “Because something most people don’t realize is that those kisses in the movies? They aren’t real.”

  “They sure look real.”

  “I know. That’s what’s called movie magic, but they’re not real. They don’t even feel good.”

  I laughed. “No way. So, if I were making a movie with you and we had to kiss for the cameras, I’d hate it?”

  “I didn’t say that. I suppose it depends on the actor, but no, it might not feel as good. You might even hate it.”

  “Why are they so bad? I mean, what does a bad kiss with Rachel Roberts feel like?” I gnawed the corner of my lower lip. After Jeremy and a few other losers, I knew well enough what a bad kiss felt like. “There’s no way Cary Grant and Clark Gable could’ve been bad kissers.”

  “I’ve never kissed them, so I can’t say for sure. One of the first things you learn about stage kisses is, you have to cheat your face.”

  I giggled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you have to get just the right angle so the camera sees more of your face when you’re kissing the other person. You know how it feels when you lean in to kiss someone but you don’t quite hit the right spot?”

  “Pretty much.” My mind flashed back to my first date with Jeremy. He all but swallowed my face in one gulp. After a make-out session, I’d come away looking like I’d been molested by an overzealous golden retriever. My heart filled with pity if that was what an on-screen kiss felt like, but at the same time, I knew that wasn’t what kissing Aaron felt like.

  “Do you want me to show you?” He studied my lips. My skin tingled, and my breathing shallowed.

  “We’re, uh, we’re not going to go all Fifty Shades here, are we?” My pussy wept at the thought.

  Oh that smile. I’d seen it when he walked the red carpet with a starlet on his arm, in magazine photos, and on TV, but to see it in real life, at close quarters? It was a wonder I could sit upright and keep my pants on.

  He chuckled softly, laying his hand over mine. “C’mon, it’s not like we haven’t gone past that stage already.” One brow raised. “Though really, when I think about it, I don’t think I kissed you all that much. Not on your lips, anyway.” His gaze drifted down to my crotch. A shiver rocked my body. I couldn’t be sure if I came where I sat or had a minor heart attack. Maybe a little of both.

  He leaned over so we sat face-to-face, his hand on the floor past my thigh. I willed myself to relax. But he was right. Given the circumstances and where his lips had already been, I shouldn’t be afraid of a simple kiss, right? And I sure as hell didn’t want him to think I was afraid of him after all we’d done. I met his gaze.

  Oddly enough, he looked different. All business. No fun and games. It immediately made me think he wasn’t kidding around with me about stage kisses being work.

  “It’s pretty simple, but you have to do it right or the camera will see it. The biggest part of it is the performance. You have to make them believe you’re enjoying it.”

  “Try not to work too hard at faking it, okay?”

  His blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’ll try. So…hey, has anyone ever told you there are tiny gold flecks in your eyes?”

  I sucked in air that smelled like Aaron. “Wh…? No, I don’t think so.” My face went from cool to feverish in milliseconds.

  Leaning closer, he brushed some hair back from the side of my face, tucking it behind my ear. His touch was tender, like I was made of crystal. “It’s really pretty. They glitter.”

  How could he not hear my heartbeat? It was like thunder in my ears.

  “It’s dark in here,” I said.

  His voice went soft. He moved closer still, almost imperceptibly, but I felt the change. “Yeah, I know. That’s what makes it so amazing.” He raised his hand to my jaw, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “They’re deep too. I could get lost in them.”

  I breathed, “But…they’re brown.”

  A faint smile curved his perfect lips. “Yes, I noticed.”

  “Yours are blue. That’s
the color people get lost in. Not brown.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think so but yours…that’s what makes them so special. The color’s so…rich.” His hand slid down my throat to my shoulder, his thumb pausing a moment at my pulse, his fingers sliding under the neckline of my shirt. “They’re like dark chocolate or expensive coffee.” He moved closer. “Just as addicting.”

  The man could slice my throat at that moment, and I’d die smiling.

  He leaned closer still, whispering. “I want to kiss you, Grace. May I?”

  I forgot all words. The best I could do was nod. Had my voice worked, I’d have begged.

  The heat of his mouth drifted into me, the silken skin of his lips brushing mine when he breathed, “Thank you.” He leaned closer, his chest making contact with the stone buds at the ends of mine when…he kissed half my mouth and the side of my cheek.

  I blinked, only initially aware of the breadth of my disappointment. The contact was still nice, don’t get me wrong, but definitely not what I’d expected. When I backed away and looked at him, he grinned.

  “Oh my God. You did that with Rachel Roberts and Laura Miles and all of them?”

  He nodded as he backed away, giving a Redford-esque tap to my nose. “Bingo.”

  “That sucks! That’s like ordering a hot fudge sundae and getting raw carrots instead. How do you do that all the time? And it looks so good!”

  He shrugged, turning his attention back to the can of frosting. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”

  “You’re really good,” I said, slouching a little, not yet past the frustration. “I have a whole new respect for actors now. If someone comes to me with a bad transmission, I don’t tighten a few bolts and replace the spark plugs. Jeez.” I brushed my mouth with my hand. It still didn’t make the ache go away.

  “You learn to deal with it.”

  I shook my head, still marveling. “I’m starting to think I made the right career choice. I’d rather take rusted lug nuts off with my teeth than cheat myself out of the good stuff with all those hot actresses.”

  He swiped his finger into the frosting and then stuck his finger in his mouth. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

  I shoved my hand past his, dipping my own finger in frosting before flicking it at him. A nice little glob of sugary stuff hit him on the cheek.

  His eyes went so wide I almost fell into them. The smile that spread across his face lit the ends of all my nerves. “You did not just do that.”

  Where my bravado came from, I had no idea, but I sat up straight and faced him. “Yes, I did.” He dug three fingers into the tub and eyed me with criminal intent. I shivered inside, but my mouth said, “Go ahead. After that half-assed kiss I have nothing left to live for anyway.”

  “I’ve killed for less.”

  “Yeah, right. You sensitive Hollywood types, getting your nose out of joint if your name isn’t spelled right in the headlines.”

  He paused. “Is that what you think of me?”

  I looked at him. Into him. I had to admit, I couldn’t see it. I knew him for just a matter of hours, but already I knew there was more to him than the superficial crap I saw on the covers of gossip rags. And really, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw his name on a headline anywhere. He wasn’t in it for the attention.

  He sat there looking back at me. Honestly waiting for an answer. One I couldn’t give, even if something inside me did feel…different. But the spell broke when I felt something hit my cheek.

  “What the hell?” I swiped a sticky substance off my face, then looked at my fingers. My mouth fell open. “You threw frosting at me.”

  “So what if I did? You threw first.” Smiling over at me, he looked ready to duck and run. Also good enough to eat.

  I snatched the can out of his hand. “Even if we did have running water, I wasn’t planning on doing your laundry for you, so I hope you have a change of clothes after I make you pay for that.”

  “You wouldn’t.” He got to his feet before I even saw him bend his knees. Damn, he was agile.

  “Want to dare me?” I stood, taking the can with me.

  He backed into the living room, stealing a glance at the fireplace. “Oh look at that. We need more firewood. I’ll just— Hey!” He wiped a splotch of frosting off his forehead.

  “Did I mention I pitched softball in high school?”

  He laughed as he licked the sugar off his fingertips. “Oh shit.”

  “‘Oh shit’ is right. How fast can you run?” But seeing him lick his fingers stirred something inside me. I focused on that for a second before looking into the can again, picturing myself licking frosting off his cock. I wasn’t sure which would taste sweeter, the frosting or his flesh.

  His expression changed too. My insides heated like a popcorn kernel on an open flame as he reached for the button on his pants. “I bet you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

  I fought for air, my eyes watching his fingers nimbly release himself from the jeans. “I’m afraid to think.”

  “Then let me take care of that for you.” He put the can aside and slid his hands beneath the hem of my shirt. His fingers were firm, brushing my skin as they raised the shirt over my head. Without a word he dipped two fingers into the can and then painted my nipples with frosting. His eyes grew hungrier than I’d seen them before. “Now I really get to eat something delicious,” he murmured before his tongue stroked my breast.

  I gripped his shoulders for dear life because the impact of his touch left my knees damn near useless. He must’ve noticed, because he slid his hand around my waist, leading me to the floor. I met his eyes.

  He shook his head and whispered, “Trust me. Let me do this.”

  It was all I could do to nod and watch as he slipped my pants down off my legs and then moved my hands to the top of my head. He smiled, his gaze stroking me from head to toe and back again. He stroked himself a little, and I watched him shudder.

  “Normally I don’t want to wait,” he said, his hand parting my legs a few inches. “But for you? I’m going to take my time with you, and I think we’re both going to enjoy it.”

  “Aaron.” It was all I could think to say. The only word in my mind.

  One brow arched. “Are you begging me?”

  It took nothing more than the heat in his eyes to make me come. Lying there naked in front of him, my body rocked with tiny tremors. I nodded, not taking my gaze from him. He shifted to lie alongside me on his side, resting on his elbow. He moved the can to a spot behind his hip.

  “Keep begging me. I like knowing you want me.” When his hand came back in sight, his fingertips were white with frosting. “Where should I paint you first?” I sucked in air, desperate to breathe before I passed out. The motion drew his eyes to my breasts. “More?” he murmured.

  “Yes.”

  Two fingers danced across my breast, teasing the nipple as he drew frosting across my skin to my other breast. I shut my eyes in ecstasy, not sure what the shape looked like but forgetting shapes in general when his mouth followed the path of his fingers. As stars formed behind my eyes, he nipped at my skin, and I cried out.

  “Mmm. Too much?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “More.”

  His stubbled jaw scraped across my sensitive skin. “Ah. You like pleasure with your pain.” His mouth went back to work, sucking me in deep and hard, hard enough that I thought to cry out or to beg him to stop, but I didn’t. Instead I reached for his head, pulling him closer. My legs opened of their own accord, begging him for release.

  I felt his smile against my breast. “Uh-oh. Not yet. Let me have this.” He moved my hands back to my head. His voice was a low rumble like the threat of distant thunder. “Don’t make me tie you up, Grace.”

  I came again, writhing and gasping beside him.

  “Do you want me to?”

  Bracing my heels on the floor, I raised my hips, letting him know exactly what I wanted. “Please. Now.”

  “Not even clos
e.” His other hand held mine in place while his free hand reached into the can again, this time scooping out more frosting. I could’ve laughed at the absurdity of being drawn on with food, but I didn’t have time. Not when he stroked a bit of frosting around my belly button, which he then used to draw long lines down my body. Hot shocks coursed through me. His fingers dipped into the can again and then trailed lines of sugar beneath my thighs. A rich white light exploded behind my eyes.

  He shifted to lie atop me, his fingers giving mine a quick squeeze. “Keep your hands under your head, okay? I’ve seen how you move. I can’t let you get a concussion while I’m eating you.” The tease in his voice made me smile. I felt his breathing go rapid, shallow. “God, Grace, keep doing that. I love to watch you smile when I touch you. I want to know I make you feel good.”

  “I feel amazing,” I said, writhing beneath the fingers drawing who knew what in places where his heat and mine set off small fires under my skin. “Suck on me again, Aaron. Please. I miss your tongue.”

  “Hmm. The lady makes demands now.” He shifted to rise up above me, kissing me. His tongue dived quickly across mine, sweeping and possessing. “I must oblige.” Light kisses drifted down my jaw, my throat, and the bone over my heart. How he didn’t hear it beating, I couldn’t understand. It slammed against my ribs, threatening to explode. While his hips rested low between my thighs, swaying with a faint thrusting motion, his lips sealed around my nipple, his tongue flicking at the very tip. “You taste sweeter without the frosting,” he said before nipping at me. I saw stars and then floated among them. It was a battle not to lower my hands and hold his head in place. Part of me needed to know what kind of punishment he had in mind for me, but the other part was afraid to find out. Maybe later.

  His free hand slid between my pussy lips, parting them, the slide of his fingertips teasing a reaction out of me. I gasped, crying out his name. The man was trying to kill me, and if he kept up this torture, I’d die deliriously happy.