by Stacy Travis
I held up a finger. “No one should murder kittens. What do your people do that’s so bad?”
“Just the usual celebrity-fucking. People who like being around actors because of what it might do for their careers, their image, their bank accounts.”
“That’s gross.”
“I agree.
I thought about that for a minute. What must it be like to always wonder if a person liked Chris for Chris or because he was famous? His earlier comments about how I made him feel normal made more sense now that I was starting to understand the demands of his celebrity. “What makes you think I’m not a celebrity-fucker?”
“Well for one thing, you didn’t know who I was.”
“You got me there. So I guess I’m just a regular fucker,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but he looked like his brain might explode. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me. “Don’t be nervous. We’re going to have a good time. You’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who’s so normal you’re making me feel normal.”
“You’re welcome, I guess?” I wasn’t sure if being normal was such a great thing. But what was great was this plane. It had leather armchairs and stellar views of the landscape below since it could fly lower than other planes. Chris wasn’t even looking at the view. “I guess you’re used to the views?” I asked.
“I do a lot of flying,” he said. He was looking at me instead of checking out the landscape.
“Doesn’t matter how much flying you do, you should still see the view. Look out there—the farms are beautiful.” He looked and he smiled.
“Thanks. You’re right.”
The flight was quick. Forty-five minutes and we were circling the private airport. “I’m almost sad to arrive because I really like this plane,” I said. It was like its own luxury hotel, with armchairs and couches in the main cabin and a bedroom in the back. On a longer flight, we might have made use of that.
“I’m glad you like the plane, but I think you’ll like the house more. It’s on the beach.”
I nodded. Something told me I had no concept of what a multi-million dollar house on a beach really was. But I had a feeling I’d like it.
Chapter Seventeen
Juan-les-Pins – Antibes, the French Riviera
The Côte d’Azur city of Antibes was nothing like I pictured. I’d expected a few sunny beaches and clear blue water, but my imagination didn’t take me far beyond that. I lived in California. I thought I knew what a coastline looked like, even a French one.
Antibes, however, was a postcard-perfect swath of white sand, with the most picturesque view of the bluest water I’d ever seen. Built onto a promontory, the warm-beige stone buildings arose from a wraparound fortified wall that had been built during the Roman occupation of the area more than two thousand years earlier. A château rising at the point served as the Picasso Museum, which I was dying to visit. The private car that took us from the airport drove through the town on the way to Chris’s recently purchased villa, and I tried my best to stay calm at the sight of the exclusive hotels we passed on the road through Cap d’Antibes.
“Are you following the politics of this place too?” I asked, trying to connect a little with his interests and also keep my mind off what he’d look like without his clothes. The nervous anticipation of feeling his hands and tongue on my skin made me tremble a little now that it felt like we were hurtling headlong toward it.
“Actually, yes. Leonetti, the mayor, is president of the Republicans, but he’s also part of the Radical Party. He was a doctor before he got into politics. So, interesting guy,” he said, and I nodded, intentionally not meeting his eye. I knew if I did, I’d feel all kinds of things and I was trying to maintain a little perspective and keep my nerves at bay. I could tell he was watching me, but I glanced around the car, trying to land on anything but him. The flapping wings of butterflies were making a playground out of my belly and I knew if I looked at him, I’d collapse with wanting.
He gently reached a hand out and turned my face to look at him. His eyes were clouded with sudden desire. “I don’t want to talk about goddamn politics.”
His lips met mine with crushing intensity that matched what I felt and I was so swept up I forgot to breathe. Within seconds he’d unhooked my seatbelt and pulled me toward him, angling so we were half-reclining. Normally, my cautious self would be all about automobile safety, but my physical need put a muzzle on my cautious self.
We were a tangle of lips and limbs. Chris pushed his hands into my hair, and I ran my hands under his shirt and over his tight muscles, grateful to whatever on-set trainer forced him to do eight-bazillion crunches. I continued to be convinced he had special superhero powers. How else could he be that good at kissing and instinctively knowing the route to every pleasure center on my body?
He snapped his own seatbelt off and we fell the rest of the way to fully reclining on the seat. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m very okay.” I pushed up onto my hands as our hips circled and pressed against each other. We were dry-humping in the back of the town car like a couple of teenagers on prom night.
An unconscious groan escaped my lips as Chris trailed his fingers under my shirt and gently massaged one breast through the lacy fabric of my bra. He kissed down my throat to my collarbone before using his tongue to set my skin aflame again.
I still had the wherewithal to find it amusing that for all the self-restraint we’d shown for hours last night, we were seconds away from banging it out in this car. And in the light of day, I was very okay with that.
I felt breathless and light-headed when he slowed the pace of his assault, my hazy, lusty thoughts starting to come back into focus. I pushed away and did my best to put a little space between us so I could look at him. I watched his face as he smoothed out my hair and reached to kiss me lightly on the lips.
“We’re almost at my house,” he said, gesturing out the window with a nod of his head.
“You timed that well. Or maybe you’ve practiced,” I said, wondering if he had a set series of moves he knew he could get in between the airport and the house.
He returned my suspicious look with a smirk. “Just lucky, I assure you.”
I was aware that the air had changed even in the temperature-controlled car. I inhaled the smell of sea air and sat up a little straighter, needing to look out at the magnificent view of the coastline. It was blue water and bluer water.
No sooner had the town car delivered us to the circular driveway of Chris’s villa than he put a key in the lock, thanked the driver, and scooped me up in his arms and carried me upstairs like Scarlett O’Hara. I had a momentary thought of wondering what happened to our luggage, but that thought escaped me as he planted a soft kiss on my lips and I lost myself in lust again.
The master bedroom was down at the end of the hallway. I didn’t see much else along the way. “What, no house tour?” I asked.
He didn’t even smile. “Fuck the tour. I want you. Now,” he said, laying me down gently on the cool white expensive Egyptian cotton. His eyes ran over me with an appreciative gaze that made me feel wanted for the first time in a while.
“That might hurt your Airbnb rating,” I said, my nerves giving way to an attempt at humor. But I wanted him too, and it felt like my pounding heart was tearing through my chest. I’d spent most of the flight thinking about this moment and most of the car ride building up to it. I took in a slow calming breath to quiet my nerves and give in to the moment.
Chris slid next to me on the bed and pulled me toward him, running a finger over the contour of my cheek. “So beautiful,” he said, his eyes moving over my face. Normally, my self-conscious inner voice would force me to say something self-deprecating like, “Well, you haven’t seen me in the morning” or “I’m so happy to be with someone who’s nearsighted,” but that voice was drowned out in the chorus of goodness he evoked. It shut up my inner critic, and that had never happened before.
>
Then his lips were on mine, hard and demanding, like the ride in the car had been amateur hour. He tasted like mint and all kinds of delicious, and I felt myself pressing harder against him, wanting to feel his body flush against mine.
I craved him more than seemed logical for someone I’d only met the day before. I couldn’t explain my overwhelming desire for this man. The vacation infatuation factor had to be at play. Or he was just that seductive. When I was good and dizzy-brained, he sucked on my bottom lip and I was done for.
“You’re good at that,” I practically panted. He took my meaning as intended—as encouragement to do it again.
“And you’re delectable.”
His hands brushed over the sides of my face and he edged my lips apart with the tip of his tongue. I responded to every subtle searching stroke, wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling my semi-collected wits scramble even more under his influence. What was he doing to me?
I felt breathless, dizzy, and a little nervous that I was fully committing to sex with him. Even though it was the next morning, it still felt crazy fast. I was going to be naked in front of a guy I’d met one day earlier, and I wasn’t brimming with confidence about my body. I’d always been fit and active, but I’d also always been curvy and soft in places where other people had angles.
And he was an actor, so he was used to perfect faces and bodies being directed into camera-perfect performances.
I didn’t know how I could possibly measure up.
Almost like he knew where my thoughts had wandered, he ran a hand over me from my thigh, over my hip and along my waist. “You’re just so sexy, I hope you know that.”
No, I didn’t know that, and I had no response. So I kissed him instead.
When I saw his eyes flashing a more intense shade and his smile that lit up only for me, I started to settle into the idea that he wasn’t judging me like I was on an audition. He was enthusiastically appreciating the curves and I slowly started to believe I had nothing to worry about.
“Do you mind taking this off?” I asked, tugging the hem of his shirt up and marveling at the six-pack I’d felt earlier but not seen in all its glory. He raised himself up to his knees, pulling me up with him.
“Only if you do the same,” he said, mouth crooking into a grin. He threw his shirt across the room and I ran my hands over his chest, appreciating the hard muscles under hot skin. He was tanned as if he’d already come back from two weeks at the beach. And those abs—they could have starred in their own movie.
Chris pulled my T-shirt over my head and lowered the straps on my bra. He paused and looked me over, hungrily. “It’s really not fair,” he said, running his fingers over the lacy cups.
“What’s not?”
“This looks so good on you and yet, I’d really prefer to take it off.” He reached around and unclasped the back and it fell to the bed. Chris’s appreciative gaze never strayed, but his hands did, covering every inch of my hips, waist, and then cupping my breasts. We stayed on our knees, facing each other, and kissed some more, hands everywhere on each other’s bodies.
Then he lowered his mouth to one breast and slowly began running his tongue over every contour. I inhaled sharply, feeling a rush of need for him and everything his tongue could do. He circled the taut peaks with the tip of his tongue and I felt a rush of heat to my center. And with every graze of his hands and every word he said to me, I felt my nerves settle and my second-guessing cease.
I let my hands work their way lower to his taut hipbones that led down below his belt. I reached one hand below the waistband and felt how hard he was. And how thick and perfect in my hand. He let out a low groan before shifting us so we were lying facing each other.
“Let’s not rush,” he said.
“I have no other pressing plans.” I titled my face to kiss him, my hands running over the smooth skin of his back and coming around to rest on his rippling abs.
Things slowed down as our earlier desperation settled into the rhythm of longer, deeper kisses and the reality that we didn’t have anywhere else to be. His hands caressed different parts of me, working their way lower. Then he moved me again, so I was lying on my back and he was sliding my shorts down my legs.
“I want to taste you,” he said, kissing a path over my hip and down my inner thigh. “Can I?”
I was amused and impressed with his politeness. Would any woman ever say no to him? I desperately wanted to ask if anyone ever had, but it was not the time. “Um, yes… yes, that’s… sure.”
He let out a low laugh and ran his tongue up the opposite inner thigh, spreading my legs a little wider when he got back to the apex of my thighs. My breath caught when I felt the melt of his tongue sweep up my center and lavish the sweet spot with circles of endless attention. His merciless tongue took me farther and farther from control until I was moaning with pleasure and begging him not to stop.
I heard him chuckle. “I don’t plan to.”
I grabbed onto the expensive linens and tried to hold back, but the dam that held my desire was no match for Chris. I felt myself come undone in one more instance of never having experienced anything like him.
I was barely conversant in my native tongue when he crawled up my body and I guided his lips to mine, needing to express my gratitude without words because I had none.
“Ah, I’m just… that was…” I just couldn’t. He smiled and kissed a trail between my breasts to my throat.
“I want you to feel that again,” he whispered, and I could see the strain in his pants.
“Yes. But…” In a very ungraceful way, my hands fluttered around, as though gesturing at his hard-on, but not really, but needing to make sure he understood that I was concerned about the ever-present issue of a condom. I’d thrown caution to the wind in coming to Chris’s villa, but that didn’t mean I’d lost all sense of reason.
“Covered.” He rolled away and pulled open a drawer in his bedside table, digging around and grabbing a foil packet. “I don’t want you to think I have these because I have tons of women here all the time.”
“I didn’t until you said that.”
“Well, then, I’m going to do my best to make you forget I ever opened my damned mouth,” he said, rolling back toward me and kissing my neck and exhaling his hot seduction behind my ear. I heard the rip of foil and reached to take the condom from his so I could roll it on. Then I savored the feeling of his hard length in my hand while Chris gently reached down and slipped a finger inside me, sliding easily through the wetness that was so ready for him.
Then he was inside me, moving slowly, watching me to make sure I was okay with each movement, wanting me to feel the longing I could see in his face. I did. And then I was flooded with exquisite joy, exploding each time he moved an inch.
We moved against each other and with each other. None of the awkward first-time bumping and apologizing. It was all sighs and moans and mounting levels of passion. We fit together like our bodies were made to do only this.
It didn’t take long before he’d coaxed yet another orgasm from me. I was barely hanging onto my senses when I felt him start to thrust and quiver with his own. We lay under a ceiling fan, wrapped up in each other and silent for a while, both of us regaining control over our breathing.
“Thanks for making the trip with me,” he said finally. He smiled a boyish grin of having gotten what he wanted.
“Thanks for having me,” I returned. “I’m really glad we got the awkward sexing out of the way to we can just hang out now.”
He let out a surprised choke of laughter, then stroked my cheek with his finger. “That was the only reason I rushed us up here.”
“I could tell you were feeling awkward,” I said.
He laughed again and kissed the tip of my nose. “I can’t decide whether I’m exhausted or hungry. Or whether I just want to lie here with you,” he said.
“Can it be all three?”
“It can be whatever you want.”
“Okay, I wa
nt to see this place. You forgot to give me a tour.”
“I did. I forgot. I was… distracted.”
“I forgive you, but I still want the tour.”
He shrugged. “I still want my five star Airbnb rating.”
“It’ll take more than a tour. I’m rating your hostessing skills as well.”
“My hostessing?”
“Yes. I’d like you to wear an apron and serve scones.”
“We’re in France. We eat croissants here.” Chris rolled off the bed, went to an antique chest of drawers, and pulled out a bathing suit. It hadn’t occurred to me he’d have the place fully stocked with his things, but course he did. This was his house. I thought about my duffel bag and roller bag full of stuff. I’d packed for heat and thrown in a bathing suit because it was summer, but now that we were in a beach town, I realized I probably didn’t have the right clothes. I pulled my T-shirt back on and mentally went through my luggage, trying to recall what I’d brought.
He came back over and waited for me to finish my mental discourse with myself. “Sorry,” I said.
“It’s fine. It’s your process. I’m not trying to change it, just trying to figure out how to work within it.”
Could a person be this nice and easygoing for real? I didn’t fully trust it. I couldn’t help feeling like he was acting like the perfect guy, channeling parts of scripts he’d memorized. Then I chastised myself for my cynicism.
“So do you have any quirks or weird habits?” I asked. “Maybe a stormy dark side?”
He laughed. “I have weird habits, trust me. And even a dark side.”
“Care to share?”
“Not looking to spoil your quirk-free perception of me yet. But eventually, sure.”
“I’m holding you to it,” I said.
“From what I know so far, I’d expect nothing less.”
The house tour took longer than I expected. Chris had stories to tell about different parts of the house, like a professional docent, and the place was enormous. The house was a pale-pink two-story colonial with a red-clay-tiled roof and white shutters and balconies. Every west-facing window had a view of the ocean below the cliff on which the house was perched.
