Текст книги "Child Star: Part 1"
Автор книги: J. J. McAvoy
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 6 страниц)
Chapter Five
Amelia
“Cut,” the director sighed, taking of his violet-tinted glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Amelia, why don’t you take a break? Everyone else, let’s pick up from scene twenty-five, Damon’s offer.”
Humiliation: if anyone deserved to copyright that shit, it was me.
I knew it was bad when even Ollie didn’t have words as I walked back to my chair. He handed me my phone, a bottle of water, and shades, because apparently I was so goddamn bad today that he was going to have to make up some excuse.
“Is she hungover or something?” someone whispered much more loudly than they needed to. But I kept my head down and scrolled through Tumblr, because I didn’t have the heart to get on Twitter. We were in the Art Institute of Chicago. Only a section of it had been closed, but I was willing to bet that some fans had managed to capture my shitty display to provide yet another reason that I didn’t deserve to be here.
“Action!” the director called again, and I looked up to see a woman dressed in a tight red dress and black heels standing beside Noah¸ who was dressed in a fitted gray suit, vest, and blue tie. He was probably uncomfortable as hell, but if he was, he didn’t show it. With ease, that smug smile of his spread across his face as he leaned closer to her.
“How much do you think this painting is worth?” he questioned.
Brushing her fingertips over the tops of the pearls around her neck, the woman pretended to think.
“Probably a few million?” she offered.
“Wrong,” he replied.
“The same price as that suit?”
“Still wrong, but cute,” he said with a wink, and I wondered how “Blair” would feel about them flirting out in the open like this.
“Well then, Mr. Shaw, tell me. What is the painting worth?”
Raising his hand, he pointed to the corner of the frame. “It’s a trick question, because the painting is worthless.”
“Worthless? That’s impossible.”
“Why? Because it’s in a museum?” he questioned, turning to face the piece. “The truth is, museums don’t buy art. They buy names. Van Gogh, Monet, Matisse. Whether it makes sense or not, whether it’s beautiful or tragic—as long as there is a name that matters in one of those four little corners, it is as good as gold.”
“Why are you telling me this?” the woman asked.
“Because you’re going to help me steal a name. I’ll be in touch, Ms. Beaulieu.” He pulled out his phone, as his character was supposed to be talking, and causally walked off scene.
“Cut. Brilliant. I liked the wink, Noah,” the director yelled, rising from his chair as the makeup artist went to the woman in red.
“Don’t you think she’d make an amazing Blair?” the same bitch, not evening bothering to whisper this time, said beside me.
I saw Ollie move to talk to her, but I shook my head. The last thing I needed was to be a talentless actress and a diva. Handing him the water, I stood up and walked away myself.
“Don’t let anyone notice you,” Ollie called out, but I was too focused on my own thoughts to care. Anyone watching today would have thought I was the one who had a fight with my father in the hall and spent the morning shaking on my bedroom floor. It was like it never happened for him, none of it.
In all of my other scenes, I was fine. But in the ones with Noah, I just couldn’t focus, and if I couldn’t separate my personal and private life, what kind of actress was I to begin with? I’d always thought of myself as a professional. Yeah, a professional idiot.
Taking out my phone, I dialed the one of four people I had on my contact list.
“Well if it isn’t Blair Hawthorne,” Mayko laughed on the other side of the phone.
“Oh, not you, too!” I groaned.
“Everyone is a sinner,” she recited the tagline of the book and now movie.
“Shouldn’t you be building a rocket ship for NASA or something and not reading smut?” Her dream was to become a rocket scientist, go to space, and build a colony on Mars.
“Why can’t I do both?”
Giggling, I shook my head. “How are you?”
“Well, I was great until my older sister called me at seven in the morning.”
“Shit, the time difference. I’m so sorry, Mayko.”
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” a male voice muttered on the other side of the phone.
“Who was that?” I asked, puzzled.
“The reason I don’t have to read smut,” she giggled, followed by a few other noises that I did not feel comfortable identifying. “Sis, I’ll call you back, okay? Antigone was up all last night, so I’ll let her know you called when she is alive…Kevin…oh my god…haha!”
The line dropped right after that, and I was too stunned say anything.
“Wow, you really have no shame.”
When I spun around, there, in torn blue jeans, flip flops, and a black shirt, was a man glaring so intensely you would have thought I had insulted his mother, his father, and all of his ancestors. His hair was pulled back into a bun, and he had a five o’clock shadow that looked like it had reached its twelfth hour.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, was I interrupting your phone call? Here I was just trying to appreciate the piece of art you are standing in front of…still.”
Following his gaze, I saw the blue painting he was so passionate about and took a step to the right.
“Better, your majesty?” The sarcasm dripped from my lips as I practically bowed.
“Well, now that you’ve moved—”
“You really are an ass,” I said before laughing for some reason. I could not catch a break today.
He laughed and shrugged. “It’s all about perspective. Here I was, silently trying to enjoy Picasso, when some strange woman in shoes she can barely walk in starts mouthing off about smut. And to top it all, she’s wearing sunglasses inside a museum.”
“I can walk fine, thank you very much!” I said, taking off my shades.
Again, he chuckled at me. “That’s the only thing you have a problem with? Not the rudely interrupting my view or talking about smut or the glasses?”
I nodded, proudly crossing my arms. “Yes, because I can fix the other things, but if I still haven’t mastered how to walk in heels at twenty-five, there is no hope.”
As I spoke, couldn’t help but laugh, brushing my hair behind my ears. “Okay, I apologize for being—”
“An ass,” he finished for me.
My mouth dropped open, and he waited.
“Fine. I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“Apology accepted. I’m Léo.” He extended his hand, and I tried to remember the last time I had to introduce myself.
“Amelia.” I shook his hand. His palm was hard, and I noticed his hands had paint and graphite on them. Not too far from the windows was a sketchpad. “Are you an artist, Léo?”
“What gave me away? What are you doing in an art gallery if you don’t like art, Amelia?” he questioned, moving to get his bag and supplies.
“What makes you think I don’t like art?”
To that, his eyebrow rose.
“It’s not that I don’t like art,” I said. “I’ve just never really understood it. I’m more of a words person.”
“You don’t think there are words in that paint?” He frowned, rising again. He stepped right in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“What are you—”
He turned me to face the painting. “What do you see?”
“A man holding a guitar,” I replied.
“Okay, but what do you feel when you see it?”
“I—”
“Shh!” he cut me off.
“Did you just—”
“Shh,” he shushed me a second time with a laugh. “Just stare at it. Imagine it’s someone you love, and you walked in to them like this. They didn’t say a single word. They just stayed frozen like this.”
Tilting my head to the side, I did what he asked and tried to see someone in the image, but the person I saw bothered me too much to keep staring.
“What would you ask?” he asked softly.
“Why are you so blue?” I joked.
“Right,” he answered seriously. “Why. So. Blue? Of all the colors, why did Picasso choose blue?”
“I’m guessing you know the reason,” I said.
“Yeah. It was during his blue period.”
“You’re fucking with me now,” I laughed.
“Nope,” he said, and I noticed how he didn’t back away. Yet I didn’t mind it. “During this time, he was struggling with depression. Some sources say he even thought of giving up painting. Nothing he did was good enough anymore. Under this very painting, there are three other figures. I always wondered how it must have felt to be one of the greatest and most influential artists of the twentieth century and walk into your own studio not once or twice but three times and hate the very thing you created with your own hands so much that you had to cover it up.”
“Amelia?” We both turned toward the entrance where Noah stood, staring at us blankly. “Everyone is waiting for you.”
“Shit! Really?” I rushed toward him, but stopped halfway. “It was nice meeting you, Léo, and thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“Calling me out.”
“Anytime,” he responded with a grin.
“Yeah, I found her. We are on our way back now,” Noah said on the phone, still waiting. Waving once more at Léo, I followed Noah out of the gallery. “You shouldn’t be walking around by yourself,” he said.
“Why, because some crazed fan is going to jump me in a museum? It’s like no one knows me here.” For a few seconds, I was just Amelia, and I liked it.
“Just because someone doesn’t say they know you doesn’t mean they don’t know you. You should get a bodyguard.”
“I’m fine, Dad, thanks,” I muttered under my breath. We turned the corner to find the whole crew just standing around. Even worse, the director looked pissed. Checking my phone, I noticed almost an hour had gone by since he told me to take a short break.
“You really are trying to prove everyone right, aren’t you?” Noah said, leaving me to face them on my own.
“Amelia, there you are,” Ollie’s voice went up two octaves.
Shit.
Noah
What the hell happened?
I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling it had to be that guy—Léo, I think she said his name was. Leave her alone for a few minutes, and she was attracting strays, like always. I wonder what it must be like to be so blissfully ignorant to the dangers of our lives. Either way, the person she was this morning and the person she was now were light years apart, so again, what the fuck happened?
“Cut. Amazing, Amelia. Let’s just go straight into the next scene at the vault, alright?” The director jumped up. Everyone scattered like bugs hurrying to get what they needed. They moved quickly, most likely worried that whatever had inspired her latest performance would evaporate.
“Great. Do you mind if I do at least part of the stunt myself?” she asked with a wide smile, downing the bottle of water and following behind them.
“Yeah. I mean no. Sure, but your contract—”
“I want it to look as real as possible. I swear I’ll be careful not to push beyond anything I can do,” she assured.
Huh? I was so lost.
“What did you say to her this time?” Austin whispered beside me, making me even more confused.
Clenching my jaw, I took my spot next to her. She didn’t look at me. Instead, she just inhaled, whispered something to herself, and focused on the camera in front of our faces.
“And… Action!”
Consecrate.
“Damon, we have two minutes and forty-nine second before the alarm goes off.” She glanced around the corner and then back at her watch.
“More than enough time,” I said, slowly turning the lock.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Hey! We made it out, didn’t we?”
“Whatever you say.”
When I made a face at her when she turned her back, I saw the director smile.
Beep.
“Damon…”
“Shh...”
“Shush me again.”
Standing up, I got in her face. “I swear to God, Blair.”
She didn’t back down. “Two minutes twenty-seven seconds. Should I get it, sweetheart?”
Lifting my hands to her face, I clenched my fist as if I wanted to choke her and then turned back to the task at hand.
“Thought so,” she said, even though it wasn’t in the script.
Oh, we’re improvising now?
“Keep mouthing off, babe. I’ll remember that when you’re on all fours begging me to fuck you harder.”
Her mouth dropped open. Smirking, I winked at her.
“Two minutes—” she said.
Click.
“Told you, more than enough time.” I pushed open the vault. “Now, can you do your job in time?”
Stepping out of her heels, she dropped a good six inches. After taking her gloves out of her purse, she handed me her bag.
“Don’t stare at my ass.”
“When you say ‘don’t’ you really mean I should, correct?” I asked, handing her the fake rolled-up painting.
Grinning, she took the painting from me before bending slowly.
“As much as I enjoy the view, Blair—”
“Shh…It’s part of my process.”
I glanced at her ass again and then back at the camera, winking.
“Shit!” she said.
“What?”
“Each title has a different pressure sensor,” she replied. She crouched down, glancing at the doors of the vault.
“Blair, we only get one chance at this.”
“I know. I just need to think—” Grabbing her arm, I pulled her to her feet, forcing her to look me in the eyes. My lips crashed down on hers, grabbing a handful of her ass and pressing her into me, our tongues circling one another.
“Figure it out. We have just over a minute,” I said.
“You know when you kiss me like that I can do anything…” her thumb grazed over my lips.
“Good. Now get a move on.”
“And cut! Beautiful!” The director clapped, and so did a few others. However, even I noticed the looks Amelia was getting.
Some were confused. Others impressed. However, it was the looks of lust that bothered me the most, and I had no right to be bothered.
“That’s a wrap, everyone. Call time is tomorrow at six am!”
She didn’t spare me a glance as she casually walked to Ollie, smiling cheerfully, like it was such a big deal to do well on a few scenes.
“What do you want to eat?” Austin questioned while texting.
“Ms. London?” The sound guy awkwardly called to her. “Do you mind if I get an autograph? I’m a fan.”
“He’s completely unprofessional,” I complained as she laughed, signing his shirt.
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been annoyed since you both came back. Did something happen?”
“No. Going for a smoke,” I said, reaching into my pocket.
What was wrong with me? I was annoyed, and horny from kissing her, and on top of it all, I had a headache bigger than Texas.
The cool air helped when I walked out on the steps in front of the museum, but only for a moment when I saw him—the guy with the ponytail and ripped jeans. He was speaking to some older man at the bottom of the steps.
“Noah, we’re all set.” Austin stepped up right beside me, following my gaze. “You know Léo Lémieux?”
“Who?”
“The artist you’re glaring at, Léo Lémieux. He recently came down from Montreal. I’ve seen his work. They call him the modern master of the female nude.”
“Oh God, my feet hurt,” a voice said.
I didn’t need to look back to know it was Amelia.
It was like everything in that one moment slowed down, and I could clearly see what would happen if I stood out of her way. She’d see him, and he’d see her, and—
“Hey, I know him.” She paused right beside me, raising her hand as she called out to him. “Léo?”
He glanced around, confused.
“Léo!” She waved, leaving all of us—Ollie, Austin, myself—to run toward a guy she’d never met before.
This was one of the side effects of being a child star. We all lacked the ability to reason and act like normal adults sometimes. We weren’t around many kids our age unless we were working, and everyone was always nice to us because we were celebrities. We could do whatever the hell we wanted and speak to whomever we wanted like we’d known them our whole lives. But worst of all, most of us were eager to meet new people—Amelia especially.
“Hey, finished creeping around the museum?” he asked, waving goodbye to the older man he was with.
“’Creeping’ is a harsh word, don’t you think?” she asked.
He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. “I call them as I see them. So you are an actress?”
“How did you find out?”
He most likely already knew, like I fucking said. Come on, Amelia.
“Because three people came in after you left and asked how I knew Amelia London?” he replied.
“You aren’t going to stop this?” I asked. Oliver smirked.
“As long as he’s not you, I’m fine,” Oliver replied.
Fine. Whatever.
“I was just about to get dinner—”
Walking down the stairs I stopped right before them, “Amelia, we’re going out to eat.”
“Here to steal her away again?”
“Let’s go.” I ignored him.
“I’m fine, Noah, thanks. We haven’t eaten a meal together in years. I’m not sure why we should start now,” Amelia said.
Clenching my jaw, my gaze shifted to him. “Sorry, we have an early call time in the morning. She’ll take a rain check.”
“Is that so?”
“No. I mean yes. But it’s not a big deal. I’m used to it,” Amelia explained.
“Really? Because you looked like hell when you crawled out of my bed this morning,” I said, pulling out my phone as Austin texted me not once, not twice, but several times to figure what the hell I was doing. It was a good question.
“It’s not—” Amelia began.
“No need to explain. When your guard dog isn’t around, call me. I’d love to talk some more with you,” the man said, handing Amelia his card and waving before marching up the stairs. It was only when he was gone did she smack my arm as hard as she could.
“What is wrong with you? You can sleep with all the women you want, but I try and talk to one guy and you become a douchebag?”
“Oh…you wanted to sleep with him?” I cringed. “I thought you wanted to become one of his nude models.”
“Why? Because it’s so impossible for anyone else to want me, too?”
“Sorry. Next time I’ll butt out of it,” I said lifting my hands in mock defense.
“Ugh. You’re such a son of a bitch!” She was so angry that she looked like she wanted to hit me again, but instead she stomped over to Oliver, who was waiting next to her car.
When Austin stepped up next to me, I could feel the lecture coming.
“I know what you’re thinking. Don’t say word.”
Amelia
Closing the doors behind me, I tiptoed toward the balcony since Ollie was asleep on my couch. I took the card out of my back pocket, trying to decide whether or not to call him.
Léo Lémieux.
After a quick search on Google, I was exposed to all of his…art.
Screw it, I thought, dialing.
“Bonjour, qui est-ce?” he answered.
“Hi, it’s Amelia from the art museum.” Great. Just beautiful. That’s the best I could up with.
“Amelia from the art museum? Hmmm, I apologize. That’s not ringing any bells.”
“Not funny,” I said, even though I was smiling.
“Oh, Amelia London. Sorry, you would not believe how many Amelias I randomly meet in art museums.”
“Are you an artist or an aspiring comedian?” I asked.
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”
“Is it too late to take you up on your dinner invite?”
He paused before speaking again. “What about the man with the scowl permanently glued on his face? There’s no point if he’s just going to pop up and steal you away again, is there?”
“The only way anyone can steal me is if they own me first. He’s just … an old friend.”
“Okay. Do you know where the Le Vieux Château Laurier is?”
No, I did not, but I wouldn’t mind if he said it one more—a few more—times. His voice in my ear was sexy.
“Amelia?”
“Yeah, I got it. What time?”
“It’s eight now, so how about we meet there in an hour?” he asked.
“Perfect. See you then. Au revoir.” That was about all the French I knew.
“Not ‘au revoir’ but ‘à bientôt’…see you soon,” he replied, hanging up.
I swear everything sounds better in French.
Chapter Six
Amelia
Ollie was sprawled on the couch, papers all around him. He was beyond exhausted, which only worked to my advantage as I got ready. I did my best to shower, brush my hair, and do my own makeup within forty-five minutes. Luckily the restaurant he chose wasn’t too far from my hotel. At first, I reached for a pair of black heels, but remembering his comment earlier, I took the flats instead. Picking up my purse, I snuck out the door. I’m twenty-five. I shouldn’t have needed to sneak anywhere, but I didn’t want to fight with Ollie about this tonight. No matter what, I was going to do what I wanted to do.
Thank god, I thought when I shut the door.
“You look nice,” said a voice behind me.
“Jesus Christ!” Startled, I jumped, spinning around to find Austin, dressed in—but of course—a suit and tie. I don’t think I’d ever seen the man relax.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Yes. But that’s none of your business.”
“It wouldn’t be to see a Canadian artist, would it?”
“Again, none of your business. Good night, Austin,” I repeated, reaching for my phone as I headed down the hall.
“You didn’t even see him,” Austin said.
“What?”
“Every night, Noah sits on the balcony and smokes. Of course, you’d never know that because you don’t come out. Or at least you didn’t until tonight, when you were you so taken with your phone call that you didn’t check,” he said when he caught up to me at the elevators.
“So what? I should feel bad? Noah and I aren’t anything but co-stars. He’s made that perfectly clear, so why would I even bother checking—”
“Because he checks for you,” he interrupted me, as though the words coming out of my mouth didn’t even matter. “He checks for you every time he goes out there. If your curtains even move, his whole body language changes. And now to stop himself from chasing after you, he’s in the bathroom popping pills.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you want to know!” he snapped. “You want to know why you and he don’t work. You want to be in there, but because you can’t, you’re going elsewhere. You both were children who were forced to become adults, and now you’re adults who are acting like children. Him self-destructing, you utterly confused because you don’t want to love him, so you try and love someone else. I’ve seen this movie before. We’ve. All. Seen. This. Movie. Before. So spare me, Amelia, and ask yourself where you really want to be right now. Pick a place. Don’t look back. Stay there.”
As if he timed it, the elevators door opened, and he stepped inside, exhaling deeply.
“I’m too old to be dealing with this shit,” he mumbled as the door shut, leaving me completely alone in the middle of the hall.
I had to pick a place. Noah’s room, or a restaurant with Léo.
I didn’t know Leo enough to choose! But wasn’t that the point? I knew Noah, or at least I knew enough about him to know that I shouldn’t hesitate at the chance to try something new. Anything was better than being heartbroken once again by Noah Sloan, right?
“I’m here,” Léo texted me.
I stared at for what felt like forever before texting back, “À bientôt.”
Noah
“Fuck,” I sneered. My hands were shaking so damn much I couldn’t open the pill bottle. “Austin!”
No answer.
“Austin…I need…” The lid snapped opened, and the pills flew everywhere but the one place they needed to go.
Of all the times Austin had to disappear, it had to be now.
Sliding to the tile floor, I clenched the bottle in my hands as they trembled, tucking my legs to my chest.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Keep breathing. Nothing else mattered. I just had to keep breathing.
“What happened?” Austin finally returned, but I kept my eyes closed.
“I missed my mouth.”
“Not funny, especially taking into account what I had to do to get these pills,” he muttered. “I really thought she’d come.”
That got my attention. “Who’d come where?” I asked.
“I tried to stop Amelia from going—”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re still in love with her, you idiot.” He took two pills off the counter and stuffed them in my mouth. “And because I knew this would happen. My job is to get you what you need, right? Well, you need Amelia.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Yeah, you definitely look fine right now.” He helped me up from the floor, and I leaned on the counter for support.
“So she went to see him,” I said. I hated the fact that I cared enough to ask him, even now.
“Yeah. I made her late, so she had to run—”
“A ‘yeah’ would have sufficed.” Why was she running? She was just going to make herself look desperate. She was an Oscar-winning actress, for God’s sake. If the dimwit didn’t wait, she shouldn’t want to see him anyway.
“Do you need anything?” Austin asked.
“I’m fine.” It was my default answer, and I knew it annoyed the hell out of him. My feet felt heavy, and even though I was no longer shaking, my hands still ached. All I wanted to do was lie down.
“Why do you always say you’re fine when you’re not fine?” said a woman’s voice.
There she was, sitting in the middle of my bed in a bright yellow dress, her shoes forgotten at the edge of the bed and a bottle of vodka in her hand. When I turned to look at Austin, he was staring at her with just as much confusion as I was.
“Didn’t you have a date?” he asked her.
“I did,” she smiled, twisting the top off the bottle. “And funny enough, he was actually there on time, with a flower for me. It was cute. No, it was romantic…or it would have been romantic had your manager not screwed with my head before I went to see him. So I only stayed for a second, bought a bottle of vodka, and came back here…to you. Because I’m a fucking idiot. So, let’s get on with it.”
Austin quietly tried to make his escape behind me like I wouldn’t notice, but I let it go. I leaned against the wall opposite her.
“Get on with what?” I asked.
“The part where you jerk me around. Where you are kind one moment and then you’re an asshole the next.” She drank straight from the bottle, her nose bunched up, and then she shook her whole body like a wet dog before focusing on me. “The part where I find myself falling in love with you all over again and you kick me to the curb. That part.”
“Amelia, tomorrow is going to be—”
“Austin told me to choose and I chose. I’m here. I’m always here. It’s been how many years, Noah? How long are you going to push me away? I can’t be with anyone else until I get closure from you. So tell me why? Why aren’t we together? Why are you taking pills? Stop being a little bitch and finally make a choice—”
“Why is it always so easy for you to say or do whatever the hell it is you want?” I didn’t want to do this now.
“Nope, you’re not going to blame me for this!” she said with tears in her eyes as she took another drink. “I want to know. Do you—have you ever loved me?”
“Amelia—”
“Answer the question, Noah.”
“Amelia—”
“Answer the question!” she said, her voice louder now.
“I—”
“Answer the—”
“Yes!” I shouted at her. “Yes, I am, I was, I will always be madly in love with you. I will always wonder what you are doing and be jealous of men around you because you are the one woman I’ve wanted to be with, but never could be!”
“Why?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Instead, I looked anywhere but at her. However, she came closer, her hands on the sides of my face, and forced me to stare into her eyes.
“Why?” she repeated.
“Because I’m a mess,” I whispered, not caring that my eyes burned from how badly I was trying to stop the tears from falling.
“So am I.”
“No,” I chuckled bitterly. “You are silly and awkward and unconfident, but you aren’t a mess. You’ve never been a mess. From the very beginning, it was me dragging you down. I’m so broken I don’t know even know where to begin to piece myself together. So how do I look at you, let alone love you, when I can’t even love myself? I hate Noah Sloan.”
The truth would set you free, they said. However, admitting that out loud didn’t make me feel any better than keeping it in.
She closed the space between us, her lips on top of mine. Her breasts brushed against my chest as her hands moved back to my face and gripped my hair. She tasted like butterscotch, and I opened my mouth, wanting more of her. My hands slid to her hips and grabbed her ass under her dress.
“Do you feel better?” she whispered when we broke apart, breathing in one other deeply. “If not, fuck me until you do.”
She couldn’t be serious.
However, like she had read my mind, she stood up and took a step back, unzipping the dress she wore. Her blue eyes never broke contact with mine. Like I was in a trance, I stood up, unbuttoning my shirt. I licked my lips at the thought of kissing her skin. When her dress dropped, so did my belt. She stood in the middle of my room in nothing but her red lace bra and panties.
We shouldn’t be doing this. I could have given her a dozen reasons why, but I couldn’t think straight. Not with her like this.
“Stop,” I demanded when she reached back to undo her bra. “I want to do the honors.”
“As you wish,” she smirked, dropping her hands to her side.
If this was a dream, I was going to enjoy it to the fullest. Taking her hand, I spun her around, allowing myself to unclasp her bra and slide it off her shoulders. As I grabbed her breasts in my hands, she jumped, taking a breath. Her hands wandered into my pants, grabbing my cock, and my breath caught in my throat. I could see the desire and lust in her eyes that matched my own. Grabbing her thighs, I lifted her up, her legs wrapping around me automatically as I moved us to the bed. I kissed her, this time not as softly as she had kissed me. This kiss was dirty, wet, sexual, our tongues playful bashing against one other.
“Ah…” She moaned into my mouth, rubbing herself against me.
My lips traveled from her lips to her side of her jaw, and she arched her neck for me. Grinning at how eager she was, I bit her skin softly as I worked my way down her chest until her pink, hard nipple was between my teeth. I kissed it before moving to the other one.
“Noah…”
My tongue trailed down her stomach, causing her breathing to quicken. Her whole body trembled under me, which only turned me on more. Spreading her thighs, I sat up to see her face when I slid two of my fingers into her wet pussy.
“Mmm…” she moaned, her back lifting up.
“If I told you the things I wanted to do to you…” I whispered, my heart pounding against my chest.
“Fuck….Noah,” she cried out when I licked her clit. She grabbed my hair, and I held onto her thighs, pulling her closer to my face.
Jesus, she tasted good.
My fingers slid in and out her alongside my tongue. She rocked into my mouth, tugging harder on my hair. She was wet for me, and I never wanted to stop eating her out….but I was so fucking hard I couldn’t wait. Licking my lips, I sat up. Her body was covered in a thin film of sweat.
“Noah please…I need you.”
“You have me.” She’d always had me.
Positioning myself between her thighs, I tried—God did I try—to enter her slowly. But her pussy was fucking glorious. I couldn’t help but thrust forward hard, a wicked grin spreading across my lips as I felt how her body responded and arched up to me. Her nails dug into the skin of my shoulders, and her breasts rocked harshly as I fucked her. There were no words between us, just grunts and moans. I took out all of my anger and frustration on her poor pussy, slamming myself into her so hard that the bed moved and hammered against the wall. All I could smell was butterscotch, and all I could hear was the sound of our pleasure and skin smacking together. She matched each one of my thrusts.