by J Lerman
He grips my wrist. ‘Stop,’ he pants. ‘Too close.’ He lifts my chin away from him, and sits back on the bed, getting his breath back.
‘What was too close?’ I ask.
‘Me. To you. A few more seconds and I would have come.’
‘What’s so bad about that?’ I ask. ‘I want you to. I want to share with you -’
Marc shakes his head. ‘What you want from me, I can never give you.’
‘What are you saying? That you’ll never come with me?’ I ask. ‘I don’t understand. Why not?’
Marc pushes himself back in his trousers. ‘I don’t want to lose control in that way. Not ever.’
‘But you were saying acting is all about being vulnerable. And you’re the most amazing actor.’
‘Acting is all about being in control,’ says Marc, climbing down from the bed. ‘Every performance, I show my soul, but I’m in perfect control. You – stay in here tonight. There’s an ensuite, towels, whatever you need. I’ll make sure there’s a safe way you can leave tomorrow. I’ll be leaving first thing. Have Rodney bring you whatever you need – I’ll tell him to be here first thing tomorrow.’
‘Aren’t you staying in here with me?’
Marc shakes his head. ‘It’ll be safer if I stay in the next room.’
He leaves the room and closes the door.
I lie on the huge Alice in Wonderland bed, feather duvet folding me in softness, and think about what just happened.
Part of me feels good that I can have that effect on Marc. Part of me feels sad that I can never be close to him in that way. To make him feel as good as he makes me feel.
I watch the silver moon outside the tinted window. It must be gone midnight. Thoughts turn around my mind, some good, some bad.
I get up, drink water from the bathroom tap and splash some on my face. The ensuite is just as grand as the bedroom, with a huge, round swimming-tub bath and two different sinks to choose from.
I think about the fact Marc is in the next room. It’s a little chilly in my underwear, so I put on my jumper and creep to the bedroom door. It opens with a loud creaking sound, and I stop dead, listening. Then I poke my head out into the hallway.
The room next to my bedroom has its door slightly ajar, and I guess this must be where Marc is sleeping.
I creep out of my room, and go to the other bedroom door, pushing it open little by little. Inside I see another giant bed. It’s not as tall as the one I’m sleeping in and it’s not four poster, but it’s still pretty big.
There’s a sleeping figure on top of the duvet. I see Marc’s beautiful profile. He’s fully clothed, and lying on his back, his chest barely moving.
I creep closer, my heart pounding at the sight of him.
Marc’s chest moves more quickly as I approach and I can smell his cologne and see the pores on his skin. It’s amazing to be this close to him. To be allowed to look at the details of his handsome face in the flesh, see light brown stubble growing through his skin.
He’s all straight lines, I realise. Straight nose, straight jaw, straight teeth. The only curves are the quirks of his lips and eye lids, the curved lines either side of his mouth, and the round hollows of his cheeks.
I crawl onto the bed, listening to his breathing. I’m tempted just to rest beside him and put one of his arms around me, but that would be too easy.
Instead, I gently climb over his body and sit with my legs either side of him. We’re both still clothed, but I begin to move back and forth.
I feel him hardening beneath me, and my heart beats faster. Should I be doing this? I know the answer. I have a reality check, all of a sudden, and realise I have crept into Marc Blackwell’s bedroom and am now sitting on top of him. But his growing hardness keeps me moving.
Marc begins to moan, and I feel myself smile.
What if he says someone else’s name? I think suddenly. But it feels so good moving on top of him like this, and watching his eyelids flicker with pleasure.
I move faster and faster, and Marc moans louder.
I see his eyelids flutter and suddenly I’m staring into his blue eyes, still moving back and forth.
‘Oh God,’ he shouts, ‘Oh Sophia. Oh God. Don’t.’
‘I don’t want to stop,’ I say. ‘All I want is to make you feel the way you make me feel.’
‘No.’ Marc shakes his head and grits his teeth. He throws me onto the bed, and for a moment I think that’s the end of it. But suddenly he’s reaching into my panties and thrusting his fingers back and forth inside me.
I smile at him.
‘You started this,’ he says. ‘Now I’ll finish it.’ He pulls a condom from the bedside draw and struggles out of his trousers. Then he puts the condom on, and pulls off my underwear.
He gets on his knees between my legs and slides himself inside me. It’s a tight fit, and he only gets around halfway in. I feel the fullness, and as he moves back and forth he touches all the right places.
‘Oh, Marc,’ I moan.
‘Have I been a good teacher?’ Marc whispers.
‘Yes sir,’ I say.
He pounds against me, getting further and further inside, and I stuff a knuckle into my mouth to stop myself crying out.
‘You want it harder?’
‘Yes sir.’ I watch him. ‘You won’t pull out?’
He shakes his head. ‘Right now, I couldn’t if I wanted to.’
He keeps going and going until I can’t take anymore. My world explodes into stars, and I feel like I’ve been dipped into a warm bath.
Marc moans and keeps moving. It feels too much, but then the pleasure begins to build again and I hear myself crying out.
I see sweat on Marc’s forehead, and feel his hand gripping and squeezing my buttocks. I come again, and as I do I feel Marc push right into me, going deeper than I ever thought possible.
‘Oh God, Sophia,’ he shouts. I feel the base of his cock beating against me, and then he wraps his body around mine, strong limbs holding me tightly.
Did he just come? No. I can feel he’s still hard.
I lie under him, feeling safe and warm and protected, and wonder what just happened. Because something has changed in him – I feel it.
Marc rolls me against him so we’re both laying side to side, him still inside me, hard and throbbing. He’s breathing heavily as he slides himself out of me. Then he pulls the cover over us, wraps his arms around me, and I fall into a deep sleep.
Chapter 51
When I wake up the next morning, Marc is watching me, elbow propped up on a pillow.
‘Morning,’ I mutter sleepily, feeling shy. He doesn’t look angry. I wonder how well he remembers last night.
‘Morning,’ he says quietly, still watching me.
‘I thought you had to leave early,’ I say.
‘I do,’ he says. He watches me for a while longer, then, without saying a word, he climbs out of the bed. He leaves the room and comes back fully dressed, a suit jacket over his arm.
‘Rodney will bring you breakfast.’ He stares at me a moment, and I think he’s about to say something, but instead he throws on his suit jacket and heads for the door.
‘Marc, about last night -’
‘Things got out of hand,’ says Marc, his hand on the door. With that, he leaves the room.
I pull the thick, feathery duvet over myself, feeling tired and hurt, and longing for him to come back. He’s right, he can’t offer me what I want, which means I’m always going to end up wanting.
When I hear the front door click and his car drive away, I dress and head to the kitchen. I smell coffee and fresh pastries.
Rodney is in the kitchen, wiping the marble surfaces with a look of deadly determination on his face. He looks up when I come in.
‘Oh! Sophia.’ He throws the cloth in the sink and washes his hands. ‘Let me fix you breakfast.’
‘You don’t have to,’ I say. ‘Honestly.’
‘No, Marc gave me strict orders.’ He brings a bowl of
Bircher porridge, topped with fresh pomegranate seeds and toasted granola. ‘There are pastries too,’ he says, opening the oven and bringing out a tray of maple pin wheels. ‘And coffee.’
He pours me a cup. I’d prefer hot chocolate, but this coffee smells delicious.
‘Thank you,’ I say, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. ‘This looks great.’
Rodney beams at me. ‘It’s nice having guests. Marc is so rarely here -’ He stops himself. Does that mean he’s out with other women? I don’t like that thought at all.
‘Is Marc a nice person to work for?’ I ask.
‘The best employer I’ve ever had,’ says Rodney. ‘The kindest and most generous. And he’s never, ever made me feel like his inferior. We’re equals. You’d have to go a long way in London to find someone who thinks like that. I guess it’s because he grew up without all this.’ He waves his hand around.
‘He did?’ I ask, taking a sip of coffee. ‘The way he is, I always sort of thought he’d always been rich.’
‘Not at all,’ says Rodney. ‘All his money, he earned himself. He grew up in a normal terraced house in London.’
‘Really?’ I put my elbows on the breakfast bar, intrigued.
Rodney nods. ‘His mother died when he was very young, poor thing. He idolises her. And then when she passed away, his father took him and his sister to America. He’d already seen Marc’s talent for acting, and thought he could make him a superstar.’
‘Poor Marc.’ I shake my head. ‘My mother died when I was young too.’ I wonder for a moment if that’s why Marc feels a connection to me. ‘It’s hard. You envy the other children, growing up. There’s always a part of you that feels missing. And for me, I had to look after my father too – he went through some dark times after Mum died.’
Rodney nods, pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘That must have been hard.’
‘I don’t really see it that way,’ I say. ‘Really, I feel tremendously lucky. I have a father who loves me and who made it through a really bad depression. He’s got a new girlfriend now and he’s happy. I have a best friend who’s like a sister to me, and her mum was always taking care of me when I was younger, giving me good advice, buying me girly stuff.’
‘How do you get on with your dad’s new girlfriend?’ Rodney asks.
I think about that. ‘I don’t think she likes me being around much, except to clean and look after the new baby.’
‘New baby?’
‘My dad and his new girlfriend had a baby. Samuel. He’s gorgeous. Six months old.’
Rodney smiles. ‘Mine are all grown up now, but I remember that age. They’re lovely, aren’t they?’
I nod and take out my phone. ‘Here he is.’ I show him the hundreds of pictures I have of Samuel, smiling, looking serious, chewing things.
‘How did you meet Marc?’ Rodney asks.
‘I ... I’m on his course at Ivy College.’
‘You’re his student?’
I nod, looking at my coffee.
Rose doesn’t say anything, but his silence speaks volumes. Eventually he says, ‘Well, I’d better go start on the bathrooms.’
In the silence of the kitchen, I sip coffee and think. Rodney clearly loves Marc, but his reaction to me being Marc’s pupil was perfectly normal. In fact, he’d probably be more understanding than most. So what chance do we have? Even if Marc does soften – even if I manage to soften him – everyone will judge us, and for good reason. It’s not a normal way to start a relationship.
I look out at Marc’s garden through the patio doors. It’s overgrown, covered in ivy. It’s been left to go wild, and needs to be arranged better. I’m itching to go outside and start tending to it, but when I try the patio door it’s locked.
Suddenly I feel out of place. A stranger in this huge house. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave without the paparazzi seeing me.
‘Rodney,’ I call up the stairs. ‘How should I leave?’
He comes to the top of the sweeping staircase. ‘The press have all gone now,’ says Rodney. ‘They never stay outside if Marc has just left. They know he won’t be back all day.’
‘So I just walk out the front door?’ I ask.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Marc has left his driver for you. He’s waiting in the garage. He’ll take you wherever you want to go. Marc had an idea you might want to see your family today.’
‘He did?’
Rodney nods. ‘Do you know your way to the garage?’
‘Yes,’ I say, heading around the staircase. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 52
In the garage, the limo is waiting. I knock on the driver window, and see a cheerful-looking grey-haired man in a peaked cap.
‘Sophia?’ He rolls down the window, and I hear radio two announcing the traffic news. ‘Where would you like to go today?’
‘Home,’ I say. ‘Back to my village. I’d like to see my dad and baby brother.’
‘And where’s home?’
‘Halstead. Essex.’
‘Not too far then. Hop in. Let’s get going.’ He gets out of the car and opens the back door.
‘Do you mind if I sit in the front with you?’ I ask. ‘I’ll feel lost in the back on my own.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ says the driver, his face crinkling. ‘I’d love a bit of company.’ He holds out his hand. ‘I’m Keith. Nice to meet any friends of Marc.’ He runs around to the passenger side and opens the door for me. ‘Hop in.’
The drive back home is quicker than I expect, and mostly made up of motorways and electricity pylons, with a brief drive through the Dartford tunnel.
Keith and I talk the whole way. He’s been employed by Marc for nearly ten years. Marc’s a very loyal employer, apparently. He likes to have the same people around him. Keith has watched Marc go from a teen heartthrob to an Oscar-winning movie star, and the whole time Marc paid Keith all year round, even when he was in LA.
I ask about Marc’s girlfriends, and Keith gives me a knowing smile. ‘Oh, you want to know about his love life, do you?’
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘Well, there’s never been anyone serious,’ says Keith. ‘Not in the time I’ve known him. He has flings, but no one stays the night. You’re the first.’ He gives me a sideways glance and a smile.
‘I am?’ My heart glows. It’s not much, but it’s something. Something to lift my mood after Marc’s sudden, cold exit this morning.
‘Yes,’ says Keith, pulling onto a country road that leads to my village. As usual, there’s a tractor bumping along and we get stuck behind it, moving at ten miles an hour.
Keith honks his horn, and the tractor pulls over and lets us past.
We drive onto the village high street, and down the back roads that lead to my family home. Everyone turns to stare at the car – it’s a very unusual sight in this part of the world.
I ring Jen to see if she can get free from work for an hour and come over to my dad’s place, but she can’t. I tell her it’s fine, and that I’ll try and give more notice next time.
When we arrive outside Dad’s cottage, it feels extremely strange to be pulling up in such a fancy car.
My dad’s girlfriend, Genoveva, comes to the door with Samuel in her arms. She looks exhausted, and Samuel is crying, but she’s not so exhausted that her eyes don’t widen when she sees the car.
When I step out, I think her eyes are going to pop out of her head.
‘Sophia!’ she says. ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘I came to see you and Dad, and Sam,’ I say, going to Samuel and giving him a kiss on the head. Sam reaches out for a cuddle.
Keith calls out: ‘I’ll come pick you up in a few hours and take you back to your college. Until then, I’ll make myself scarce.’
‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘No, no. You’ve got a family reunion. I wouldn’t want to interfere.’ He drives away.
Genoveva holds Samuel close to her, and I can see he’s grown, eve
n in the short time I’ve been away.
‘Well I must admit we’ve missed you around here,’ says Genoveva. ‘Your father has been talking about you non-stop. I’m utterly exhausted. I was expecting you back last weekend. I had a hair appointment booked. I had to cancel it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I wanted to come back, but Dad insisted I stay put, and I was glad to, really. There was a lot of settling in to do.’
‘So I see,’ she says, watching the retreating limo.
‘I’ll try to come back at least every other weekend,’ I say. ‘I miss you all. Can I hold Samuel?’
Genoveva holds out the baby, and I take him and kiss him all over his blonde head.
‘Sams! You got big, didn’t you? You’ve grown.’
He clings to me.
‘Will you help me do his washing?’ says Genoveva, running a hand through her long caramel-coloured hair. ‘He’s got nothing left to wear. I don’t know where to start. It’s all built up since you left. And we’re nearly out of milk. Your dad tries but ...’
‘I know.’ I smile. ‘He’s a domestic nightmare. Don’t let him near anything, he’ll make twice as much work for you. I figured that out years ago.’
I walk into the house, bobbing Samuel on my hip. It’s an absolute bombsite inside. A tower of washing up in the sink, piles laundry on and around the washing machine, Samuel’s toys all over the floor. A fly buzzes around the dishes, and three tied-up rubbish bags sit by the bin. I can tell by the smell that at least one of them is full of Samuel’s nappies.
‘Here.’ I pass Samuel to Genoveva and he gives a little whimper. I pick up the rubbish and run it outside to the wheelie bin. Then I start putting away plates from the draining board, but half of them are covered in dried food. They’ll have to be washed again.
I take all the washing out of the machine, frowning as I see some of it has shrunk or been damaged at the high temperature it’s been washed at. The washing smells of mould, so I put it straight back in again with a mould removing tablet and set about doing the washing up.
Samuel crawls up to me and starts tugging at my leg. Genoveva collapses on the sofa, complaining of a headache. It’s like I never left, and in a weird way I’m glad I’m still needed.
