Costars (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (11 page)

My hands go back to the front of his
pants, and I find the strap of his belt, which I quickly remove.

Taking a break to kiss his chest, I feel
Damian’s package with the palm of my hand.

Yeah, he’s on board.

I’ve spent all this time with Damian doing
my best to avoid something like this because I didn’t want to be one of his
skanks, but having gotten to know him a little better, I’ve learned that he’s
more than meets the tabloid.

I unbutton Damian’s pants as he starts
slipping mine from my hips.

This is actually happening.

The carpet is soft beneath my knees as I
slide down between Damian’s legs and guide his erection through the opening at
the front of his boxers.

I kiss his tip a bit to savor the moment
before taking him into my mouth.

Above me, Damian grunts his satisfaction
and I’m just hoping the liquid courage doesn’t wear off. I can just see myself
turning all bashful at just the wrong moment and ruining everything.

Damian’s first few inches take up a lot of
room in my mouth, and I look up at him looking down at me, smiling.

I slip my mouth back toward his tip and
wrap my fingers around his shaft. Pulling back with my head a little further, I
ask, “How’s that?”

“That feels good,” he says. “Let’s move
over to the couch, though,” he continues, “more comfortable over there.”

He helps me off my knees and we’re all
over each other on the way to the couch. I’m walking backward, kissing his lips
when my legs hit the arm of the couch and I tumble backward laughing.

“You all right?” Damian chuckles.

“Yeah,” I snicker. “I am a little cold
here all alone, though.”

He grins and moves to my side. Bending
down, he kisses me on the lips while his right hand slips through my hair and
over my shoulder, across my neck and between my breasts. Damian’s hand
hesitates a moment as if he’s trying to decide where to go from here, but he
decides fast enough and his hand continues to travel over my stomach and down
between my legs.

As soon as that first finger is within a
few inches of my center, I’m already moaning. My hips are moving, and I’m so
wet that I’m starting to worry about the upholstery on this couch.

His touch is white heat, and I’m melting
into ecstasy.

He fingers me a moment, just long enough
to wet his digits before his hand goes on to explore my labia, making frequent
stops on and around my clit.

“I want to know how you taste,” he says as
if he’s asking for permission, as if his dick in my mouth wasn’t already
indication enough that I’m on board here.

“I want a full report when you’re done,” I
moan and his mouth settles over one of my breasts, sucking my nipple into his
mouth.

As he did with his hand, he works his way
down my body with his mouth, kissing every bit of me on the way down.

I open my legs a little farther to
accommodate him, and I relish the feel of his hot breath against my cool skin.

When his mouth arrives between my legs, he
adjusts my lower body, his hands under my butt, until he’s in the perfect
position, his tongue picking up where his fingers left off.

“Oh fuck,” I gasp. “Eat that pussy.”

He looks up at me and, with a somewhat
disoriented smile, he asks, “Has this been you the whole time?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I know you said that you’re not a prude,
but the way you talk around me and the way that you act around me—” he starts.

“You thought I was a prude anyway?” I ask.
“I don’t blame you,” I tell him. “It’s rare anymore that I do something
spontaneous.”

“Is that what this is?” he asks. “Is this
just a one-time, spontaneous thing?”

“How many sex scenes do we have in the
movie?” I ask him.

“One,” he says.

“Yeah, I think we’re probably going to
have to make this a regular thing,” I tell him and casually place my hand on
the top of his head and ever so lightly, I push his head back down between my
legs.

I don’t mind listening to him talk, but
right now, there are more useful things he could be doing with that mouth of
his.

“Has Dutch gone over the play-by-play with
you?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Damian says, between kisses. “Quick
make out lead-in, shot of me on top, your breasts hidden either by my arm or by
the bed covers, depending on which is going to end up looking better, shot of
you on top from the shoulders up, quick shot of both of us from the side where
we’ll see your nipples for no more than three seconds, but it’ll help to
implant the scene of the two of us in the throes of—”

“Yeah, you need to stop talking,” I tell
him. “We’ve got a scene to rehearse for tomorrow, so let’s rehearse for it.
After tomorrow, who knows?”

So we’re supposed to start with a quick
make out session and then move to missionary. Got it.

First, though, I think I’m going to enjoy
a few more minutes of Damian’s attentive tongue and mouth, his hands moving
over my body, my fingers in his hair.

It’s impossible to tell whether I’m this
turned on because I spent years building up the image of Damian in my mind,
never meeting him, but imagining a moment like this, or if it’s because it’s
just been a while since I’ve been with someone the way I’m with Damian now, but
it doesn’t matter.

He kisses one side of my pussy, then the
other, and then he takes my clit into his mouth for one explosive second before
lifting his head and saying, “We should probably get to it, then.”

It’s not the sexiest thing he could have
said given the situation, but it’s enough to get me to my feet.

I take one of Damian’s hands and, feeling
an extra surge of energy and excitement, I lead him into my bedroom.

“You know,” I tell him, “we could always
make a sex tape. That would probably send
Flashing
Lights
’ ticket sales through the roof.”

“Why don’t we just start with getting to
know each other a little better and then, if one of our careers starts to flag,
we can make that sex tape,” he says.

I lie down on the bed and climb under the covers.

“Did Dutch say how he wanted the scene to
start?” I ask.

The broad strokes are in the script, but
Dutch has all the details worked out in his head. Yeah, it would have been nice
if he’d filled me in on what he wanted me to do, but I guess telling Damian
amounts to the same thing.

“Why are you so ready to joke about making
a sex tape when you’re so terrified of a couple of nude pictures getting out?”
he asks.

I’m hoping he’s not serious and we can
just move on, but the look on his face tells me that it’s a real question.

“One’s a choice, the other one’s not,” I
tell him.

“But you’d rather make this guy a
millionaire than put him in jail and deal with the headlines?” he asks.

“Can we not talk about that now?” I ask.

He hit on something, though he doesn’t
know it.

There is a reason why I wouldn’t want
those particular photos to come out and it’s not entirely due to the fact that
I’m naked in them. It’s not so much the absence of something that should be
there as it is the presence of some things I’d rather not think about.

“Yeah,” he says, “sorry. I guess I’m a
little nervous.”

Well that’s going to be a well of
self-confidence for a while to come.

“So Dutch wanted us to start by making
out,” I say. “Did he have any insights or was that just a general thought?”

“I think the making out was the general
thought,” he says. “The rest, well, he put me in charge of the rest.”

“I thought you said it was kiss,
missionary, cowgirl, done,” I say.

“I was just thinking out loud,” he says.

To answer the question whether celebrities
say the same corny shit to each other that the rest of the world does before,
during and after sex, yes, yes they do.

“Come here,” I tell him and he climbs onto
the bed.

“This is pretty fast,” Damian says. “Are
you sure you’re all right?”

“I think we’ve gotten to know each other
enough for me to tell you that I’d really just like to stop answering questions
and start familiarizing myself with what your cock feels like inside of me,” I
tell him.

That gets his attention.

He’s moving over me, kissing me, and he’s
saying, “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am,” I tell him and he kisses
me again.

We’re both under the covers now and he’s positioning
himself between my legs and I can hardly breathe from the anticipation.

In a moment, the world goes silent and he
slides himself inside. I let out a long, pleasant sigh and I smile as I look up
at him.

He works himself into me a bit more and unconsciously,
I’m pulling all the covers on the bed toward me.

I put my hand at the back of his neck and
pull him toward me and I’m just marveling that the difference is between a
night of acting rehearsal where we pretend like we’re having sex and actually
having him inside of me seems to be an unspecified number of blueberry vodka
shots. Apparently, that loosens me right up.

“How do you feel?” I ask him while I play
with the hair on the back of his head and he presses himself again and again
into me.

“Pretty good,” he says and he takes a look
down at our bodies writhing together. “Really good, actually.”

I chortle a little. “Well I’m glad you’re
having a good time,” I tell him. “Maybe afterward we can have coffee cake and
various other desserts over brandy and a cigar.”

All right, I’m a little drunk.

He laughs and we kiss, but I’m tired of
being on the bottom so I wrap my legs and arms around him as tight as I can and
roll as best I can with him inside me.

It’s not the most graceful maneuver, but he
gets the idea well enough.

Looking down at him now, stretching my
arms back to rest with my hands on his thighs, I don’t feel drunk. I feel like
I’m dreaming.

I work my hips over him, leaning back so
his tip nudges my g-spot in regular rhythm and I’m breathing it in, the scent
of us.

With the dominant position now, I close my
eyes, riding him as that feeling begins to stir.

“Keep doing that,” I tell Damian. “Don’t
stop.”

He doesn’t. I don’t, either.

Sensuality grips me, and I lean forward,
moving my hands from his legs to his chest and I flip my hips, grinding into
him as my legs begin to shake.

“Oh…fuck…” I mutter only a moment before I
lose the capacity for coherent speech.

My legs are going and I’m riding him
harder and harder and I just keep coming harder and harder until it feels like
it’s never going to end and, for the smallest moment, I get a little scared,
and that’s when the foundation shatters.

I roll over to the side of Damian and ask
if he could just give me a minute.

He says yes, and I can see the concern in
his eyes. It’s not helping.

This is stupid, oh God this is so fucking
stupid. It’s stupid, but I’m lying on my back with my forearms crossed over my
face to hide the fact that I’m crying.

“Can I get you anything?” Damian asks.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, but quickly
realize the mistake I’m about to make and change my mind. “Actually, could you
possibly grab me a glass of water? I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I think I’m just a
little lightheaded, that’s all.”

I
think
I’m a little lightheaded? What the hell does that mean? Who has to think about
it? It’s one of the more easily recognized health issues.

“Sure thing,” Damian says and I try not to
laugh as he jogs, still completely erect, across and out of the room.

I close my eyes and try to dry them with
my hands.

What the hell is going on with me? Yeah,
the sex is incredible, but it’s not like I have this huge emotional attachment
to the guy.

Maybe it’s not even about him. Maybe
they’re tears of joy at the relief I can still
feel
joy after everything Ben’s been doing.

Whatever it is, it really needs to stop in
a hurry because the tap in the other room just turned off and Damian is on his
way back.

I dry my eyes as best I can and I sit up a
little, leaning back against the headboard.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“I think I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I
probably just got a little over-excited, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” he says, “you seemed to really be
enjoying yourself there. I was glad to be a part of it.”

“You’re a smug bastard, do you know that?”
I ask.

“I am well aware,” he says and hands me my
water.

I take a drink and glance down, away from
his eyes.