by Ana Sparks
“Only the blue flavor,” Billy laughed, playing along. I could sense he was relaxing due to the alcohol, as well. He drew his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close. I could feel his heartbeat, and it soothed me.
We were a united front.
As we ate our meals, Billy touched my hand beneath the table often. I worked hard to laugh at Clark’s jokes, to banter about the “stupidity of Americans”—nothing I actually believed in, of course—but something that Clark seemed to appreciate a great deal.
“You should see the kind of stuff I can get away with, when it comes to Americans,” Clark bragged, halfway through the second bottle of wine. “They’ll buy anything, if you phrase it properly. If you link it to their favorite celebrity, or if you tell them it’ll give them better mental health. These Americans. Of course, not you, Mike. You’ve clearly got it together. You’re practically one of us, now.”
“We did meet in London, after all,” I smiled in Billy’s direction and kissed his cheek gently, but kept my eyes on Clark.
After the plates were cleared, Clark slapped his hands together with a dramatic flourish. The sound echoed across the open space of the restaurant, which had emptied out, as it was getting late.
“Mike. Claire. I think I know you two well enough to make a deal on this,” he said, cracking his knuckles. The harsh sound made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “If you’ll just enjoy a bite of dessert with me, we can take the last steps toward finalizing. What do you say, Claire?”
I paused for a moment, my heart hammering. Involving ourselves with this man seemed ill-advised, almost dangerous. But Billy’s hand clung to mine, squeezing hard once, in a silent prompt to speak. I nodded, stretching what I hoped was an alluring smile across my face.
“I’d never turn down the chance to enjoy some sunshine.”
The crème brulée followed swiftly, served in a crystal ramekin. Clark handed me a spoon, watching as I pushed it into the center of the crisp, burnt sugar top. It crackled, and then broke, revealing the creamy custard beneath.
Leaning forward, he whispered to me, “Take the first bite, my dear. Go on.”
I dug the spoon into the cream and then drew it out slowly, placing it into my mouth sensually. My eyes closed with the pleasure of the flavor. I was certain that I hadn’t tasted anything so delicious in my life.
“Tell me that’s not better than anything you could get in London, or Paris, or the south of France, or anywhere,” he breathed. “Tell me that’s not the best you’ve had in your life.”
After a long, almost religious pause, I nodded. I’d passed his test. He shot up from the table, and then thrust his hand across the table in Billy’s direction. My pretend fiancé shook it, nodding.
“We have a deal, then?” Billy asked.
“We absolutely do,” Clark replied. “We can complete the transfer in the next few days,?”
“I don’t see why not,” Billy said. He stood, and I saw his grip tighten, ever so slightly. The crème brulée continued to steam. My spoon remained in my hand.
“And you,” Clark said, eyeing me. He plucked my non-spoon-holding hand from where it rested on the table, pressing his mouth to the soft skin between my knuckles. I still smelled like the perfume sample I’d tried in the mall hours before. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice its cheapness? Perhaps he wouldn’t suspect? “It has been a sincere pleasure to meet a compatriot such as yourself. I wish I could find myself a bird as stunning as you.”
My stomach flipped as his lips met my skin. I wanted to yank my hand back, to destroy the game. But I told myself, in firm words, that it was nearly over. Claire was nearly dead. I smiled demurely.
“It’s been a lovely evening.”
With that, Clark was gone. He swept from the restaurant, moving much more swiftly than his large, fatty frame should have allowed him. He ducked into a black vehicle that was waiting out front, and it whisked him away into the night.
We were alone.
I turned back to Billy, catching my breath. It seemed incomprehensible that it was over. The hours had flashed by like seconds, and it had all seemed too easy. I shook with laughter, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Did it go all right?”
Billy nodded, pressing his nose against mine. “It went perfectly,” he whispered.
My heart hammered in my chest. “Perfectly, you say? And exactly what just happened here, may I ask?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s an American secret that I simply can’t share with you,” Billy said, stroking the blond curls around my face. “All I know is, I can’t stop touching you. I had to try so hard not to get lost in those beautiful blue eyes. You were magnificent, Claire Harrington. My gorgeous fiancée.”
The tension was palpable, making me unable to breathe. In the moments that followed, the world seemed to spin around me. Our surroundings blurred into a red and gold haze. The candles flickered, the cutlery shone, and the crème brulee cooled on the table.
And then, he kissed me.
The kiss was electric. His lips parted mine, allowing space for his tongue to enter, to flick against mine, to run along my teeth. Immediately, I leaned into him, wanting nothing more than his touch. My head swam with wine, with lust. Wrapping my arms tighter around his neck, I drew myself closer, inhaling his scent.
From afar, we looked like a very rich couple, making out in our natural, ritzy environment.
The reality—that I was a dirt-poor nobody, that Billy Jay Johnston was more comfortable in ratty V-necks and was in the midst of some kind of scam with Clark Lambert—no longer mattered.
After a long, passionate kiss, Billy drew back. His eyes were intense, his lust revealed by the reflection of the candlelight. He whispered, “Come home with me.”
He led me out the door, into the bustling streets of Los Angeles. The stars twinkled above, matching the lights of downtown. He hailed a taxi quickly, and then drew me close to him in the backseat. He gave the name of a motel near to the agency, and then leaned over me, kissing me deeply. His tongue and mine kept up their playful game as his hand drew a line from my clavicle, down between my breasts. His fingers slid beneath the low-cut neckline line of my dress, lightly grazing the sensitive circle of my nipple. I moaned, long and lazily into his mouth, and he smiled against my lips.
“I want to make you moan all night,” he whispered.
The taxi stopped in front of the sad-looking, almost derelict hotel, and it was a sudden reminder of who really we were, where we’d come from. Billy paid the fare and led me up the steps, never taking his eyes off me. I stumbled slightly on the stupid high heels, and with a grunt of frustration, I kicked them off and wrapped my arms around his neck in a dramatic fashion. He lifted me into the air, laughing, and carried me the rest of the way to the second-floor motel room.
“You are royalty, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Darling, I don’t walk like the rest of you peasants. I’m much too good for that.”
The motel room was barren, but cleaner than I had expected, with a single suitcase in the corner—the one he had brought from New York, I assumed. Several black T-shirts protruded from its open zipper. Billy tossed me on the bed, watching as I bounced. I giggled, feeling free, as the bouncing made the low-cut dress almost indecent. Billy couldn’t keep his eyes off me.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Without waiting another moment, he was sitting beside me on the bed. Gazing at me with ravenous eyes, he reached forward and wrapped his hand around my left breast, squeezing the nipple slightly. With his other hand, he began to unzip my dress, loosening it around my waist. I stood up on the bed, shaking the fabric from my frame, peeling it away from my body to reveal my slender torso, my firm ass. I threw the dress to the corner of the room.
Feeling more confident than I should have, I placed one foot at his hip and draped the other leg over his shoulder. I stood with my pussy near his face, on full display for him. I reached down and undid his tie, ripping it from his collar and tossing it into
the corner with my dress. He exhaled sharply and wrapped his hands around my upper thighs, squeezing them tight.
“I love the way you smell,” he murmured.
Without a moment’s pause, he moved forward, placing his mouth at the nub of my clit, chin pressed up against my wet lips. I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse in my groin, and raked my fingers through his hair. After a long pause, he ran his tongue along my clit, toward the inviting opening, and up again. My legs shook with pleasure.
He began to lick me with more ferocity, forcing me to cling to his shoulders. He held my legs tightly, ensuring I didn’t collapse or move away. I inhaled sharply, forcing my breasts to rise and fall with each breath. After finding the hardness of my clit again, he sucked on it for a long time, forcing my eyes open with sudden alarm. I felt sure that I was going to cum.
But moments before I did, he released me.
I collapsed onto the bed, reaching for him, kissing him, devouring him. I began to undo his shirt buttons, stripping his black jacket from his shoulders, and revealing his muscular chest and his firm shoulders. I kissed the muscles and his neck. My fingers rubbed over his rippled abdomen, and then gripped his belt, undoing it.
His cock was firm, thick, and longer than any I’d ever seen. It pulsed in my hands, growing red with pleasure and anticipation. After the briefest pause, I moved forward and wrapped my lips around it, licking and swallowing it. He gasped. His hands found refuge on my hair, pulling through my strands. I deep-throated him, feeling the ridges of his veins beneath. His cock was pressed against the soft darkness at the back of my throat. Then, I pulled back, my eyes seeking his. As I brought my tongue to the very tip of his cock again, I surprised him, taking him fully back inside my throat once more. He gasped, thrusting forward into my mouth with incredible power.
Suddenly, he pulled my head away, my lips sliding over his cock, freeing him from my suction. He slid his pants off with haste, and pressed me against the flat mattress, exhaling gruffly above me. Sweat glistened on his firm chest, small beads rolling down the hard muscles of his stomach. I pressed my fingers against his chest, knowing we were about to come together.
“Darling, what is all this about?” I whispered, using my Claire voice.
Teasing me, he moved forward, kissing the tip of my nose. “Claire, darling. Just because you’re from the upper echelons of society, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have needs.”
I wrapped my hands around his shoulders, needing him inside me. In a moment, his cock was poised, rubbing deliciously against my sensitive flesh, pressing into me, and then filling me. I gasped, arching my back like a cat. His cock was so far within me, rubbing in all the right places. I cried out in pleasure, but he placed his hand over my mouth, shaking his head.
“You’re only allowed to make noises when I tell you to,” he whispered.
He fucked me like this, from above, making my eyes wide and my heart spasm. He pressed a finger against my clit and slammed into me, joining two wonderful sensations, and making me feel alive with desire. After a minute, I was biting at his neck, tearing into his back with my nails, wanting to swallow him whole, if he didn’t eat me first.
His stamina was incredible, taking us hours into the night. When he finally came, he railed into me, causing my inner walls to shudder, my pussy to pulse around his hard length. I came alongside him, gasping, and then felt the waves of ultimate release.
Collapsing against the paper-thin motel pillow, I watched as he collected himself. He crawled up beside me, cradling my body and kissing my cheek. We each smelled of the other and the scent of our sex mingled in the air above us. I stroked his hair, gazing into his eyes, trying to imagine life without him. In that moment, he was the only thing that existed in my world.
Perhaps I had always been hungry for someone like him.
“Did you think this would happen, when you ran into me on the street the other day?” I asked him.
The clock on the wall read three in the morning. My eyelids had begun to droop. I was beginning to remember the other life, the one I’d left behind when I’d become Claire Harrington. Billy didn’t respond for a long time, letting a long, easy sigh escape from between his lips.
“Billy?”
“I’m not sure,” he answered finally, giving me a sly wink. “Let’s get some sleep, eh, Ruby? We had a hard night of conning. And we deserve a rest.”
I cuddled deep into him, feeling foolish.
Would this be the last time I ever saw him? Even after everything that had happened between us? As I felt Billy’s breaths deepen, his heartbeat become regular, I began to panic, reminding myself that I could be back in England the minute the funds were in my account. Billy and I had arranged a business deal, nothing more. I needed to remind myself to not let my emotions get in the way and make things messy.
Love wasn’t a part of this equation. The story and relationship we’d made up were just that—fake, a fantasy, acting.
Chapter Nine
Ruby
When the clock on the wall read six in the morning, I slipped out from under the blankets. Billy’s sleeping form was so peaceful, his dark hair curling on the pillow. I wanted to reach out, to touch him. His smell filled my nostrils, masculine and gritty.
But I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want to hear him say that he didn’t really want to be with me. I didn’t want to hear him say that this had been a one-time thing.
I dressed quickly, wearing the same slightly wrinkled emerald gown that I had tossed into the corner, and ordered a cab silently, using an app on my phone. I pulled the door closed behind me, whispering a final goodbye into the silence of the hallway, then trudged down the steps barefoot.
Early mornings in Los Angeles are bizarre, as it’s still rather warm. The heat from the August sun radiated from the pavement, burning my feet. I picked up my abandoned heels and held them in one hand, waving to the taxi with the other. With a final glance up at Billy’s motel room, I slipped into the cab and told the taxi driver where to take me.
Silver Lake. Home.
At least, home until I could return to my real home.
Back at my apartment, my two roommates were zonked out. One was spread across the slumped couch, while the other’s snore came from the crack in his door. I collapsed in my bed, pulling the cheap sheets over my head, and tried to sleep for the few hours I had before work.
Unable to sleep due to thoughts of Billy and the night we’d shared, I stared at the light coming through the thin fabric, instead.
After scrubbing the scent of him from my hair and my skin, I dressed in one of my ragged dresses and drove to the agency. Exhaustion made everything hilarious. I walked in to find Jeremy carrying three cups of Silver Lake Coffee to the back room, rolling his eyes.
“Martin’s friends want coffee now too, can you believe it? But I’ve found a route that’s even faster. And dammit, if this coffee isn’t still warm!”
“Congrats,” I said, shrugging and chuckling. I checked the schedule and then took my stance behind the reception desk, beginning to organize files. My brain was chaotic, reliving the scenes of the previous night, over and over.
The way he’d held my face when we’d kissed. The way we’d cuddled close, in the moments after our climax. The way he’d gazed at me, with something I couldn’t have translated any other way but “with love.” Love was a game to many people, but it wasn’t so to me. I hadn’t had it often.
But I knew he was older than me. Wiser. He’d seen action in Afghanistan, and now he lived in New York, conducting business dealings I “couldn’t even understand.” How could I expect him to reserve any feelings for me?
Jeremy appeared at my desk sometime after noon, giving me an awkward smile. Despite our recent “understanding,” it seemed as though he wasn’t accustomed to smiling. It was like he was trying it out on me. Like he’d read about it in a manual and wanted to see how he’d do.
“Hi Jeremy,” I said, pressing my lips together. “What’s up?
”
“I just wanted to let you know that we can swap, sometimes,” Jeremy said, gesturing toward the back rooms. “I’ve taken on more hours, to cover rent. You know how this city is.”
So, he wasn’t getting any parts either. I was right.
“I do,” I replied, giving him warm, understanding eyes.
“Like you, I’ll be here 40, maybe 55 hours a week, even. And if you ever want to switch, have me man the reception desk, and you do prop stuff, we can do that. I already talked to Martin about it, and he said he—”
“Probably doesn’t give a fuck,” I chimed in, laughing.
“Actually, yes. That’s what he said,” Jeremy admitted, looking at his shoes. After a brief pause, he stuttered. “You know, when you get into this job, you don’t imagine you’ll be here for six months, even a year. You think it’ll be what gets you through your tough time before you get your first role, and an agent. And then, you’ll laugh about it in interviews later. You’ll say you ‘can’t believe you had to do stuff like painting props and organizing Christmas decorations in the middle of August.’ And then, you’re still doing it. It turns into your career.”
Stretching my hand across the desk, I placed it on Jeremy’s. He flinched slightly, his eyes searching for anything else to look at. But in this moment, when I was still feeling hungover, and coming down from being around Billy, from being Claire, he was the only person I could relate to.
He was disappointed, just like me.
My phone buzzed. Glancing down, my heart leaped, hoping for a message from Billy. He’d ask why I’d left. He’d ask if I could meet for dinner, so we could talk about our victory over “men like Clark.”
No. The message was from my bank. With my heart sinking lower, I read it. One thousand dollars had been transferred into my account. The money I’d been promised. I officially had enough money in my account to head back to the U.K., if I wanted to.
