Fill Me (6 page)

I lean into him. His breath is heavy, strained. He moves the showerhead over me again and again and again. It's almost too good, too intense, too much to take.

"Fuck," I say. "Don't stop."

He does it again and again, moving faster. The water streams over me, hitting every nerve in my cunt. My body buzzes with pleasure and I get closer and closer and closer. One more time and the pressure is so much, so intense, so fucking good.

"Luke," I groan as an orgasm rushes over me. I press my hands into the wall, pushing my body against his. His cock presses against me. He's still hard.

"Fuck me," I say. "Fuck me now."

He brings his mouth to my ear, sucking hard on my earlobe. Then he slides inside me.

Jesus Christ.

He grabs my hips, thrusting into me slowly. "Mhmmm," he groans. "You feel so fucking good." He scrapes his teeth against my neck, his nails digging into my thighs.

"Fuck me," I say.

He thrusts into me again, deeper this time. I sigh in relief. It's so much sensation--the water from the showerhead against my clit, his cock filling me, his hands on my body.

I groan, arching to meet him as he moves harder and faster. I lose track of anything I thought five minutes ago. I'm only here, with him, our bodies joining. I arch my back, pushing against the wall to give him better leverage. He pushes deeper inside me, so deep it almost hurts. My sex clenches. Pleasure floods my body, radiating to my chest, my ass, my fingers and toes. Every part of me feels so fucking good, and every part is begging for his touch.

I lean back into Luke, my back rubbing against his hard chest. He's wet, slippery, and his body feels so good against mine. He nuzzles my neck, then tilts my head back, kissing me hard.

"Come for me," he says. "I want to hear it."

Breath leaves my body. I turn back, one hand against the wall, the other on the showerhead. I move it up and down, the water rubbing my clit, pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Luke runs his hands over my body, only his slick fingertips. Then he brings them to my breasts. He plays with my nipples, rubbing them with slow circles. He thrusts into me, harder and deeper, and I get closer and closer.

I close my eyes. Jesus. He kisses my neck again. Then it's teeth, a hard scrape. His touch gets harder, rougher. He thrusts into me again and again, and I fill with pleasure. Almost. Almost.

An orgasm washes over me. I groan, dropping the showerhead and grabbing his thigh. He kisses my neck, thrusting into me harder and faster. His breath gets heavier, harder, deeper.

He sinks his teeth into my neck and groans. He's almost there. I press my hands against the wall, arching into him.

He groans one more time and he comes, his cock pulsing inside me.

We stand like that for a moment. Then he turns me around and we kiss until we're both soaked to the bone.

***

The next twenty-four hours are bliss. We kiss. We touch. We fuck. We break for dinner, for drinks, for a few hours of sleep. When we're both too exhausted to move, we lie on the bed, our bodies tangled up in each other.

We don't talk. We don't listen to music. We don't watch TV. Instead, we listen to our breath and heartbeats.

I have no sense of time. No sense of tomorrow or yesterday or anything except Luke and me in this apartment. I don't even know how many times we have sex, how many times I come from his cock or his hands or his mouth.

It's perfect.

But it's only perfect for so long.

At six o'clock his phone rings with an alarm. We pull ourselves apart. "I'm sorry, Ally," he says and he kisses me. I push away any feelings of concern. I still have him a little longer. I want to savor every last minute that he's here.

I watch him get dressed. He's slow about it, putting on a show for me. He steps into his boxers, making a point of stretching his arms over his head. He smirks as I take in every inch of him, every perfect inch. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but you don't need to put this image in your spank bank. I'm happy to send you pictures."

"My spank bank?"

"Don't you think about me when you touch yourself?"

"Oh. Sometimes."

His lips curl into a smile. "Don't tell me you're shy now."

"I'm going to miss you," I say.

"I'll be back before you know it." I pull him onto the bed and kiss him hard. My hands are at his jeans, on his button. But he stops me. "I wish I could."

"You could stay."

"You'd be okay with that?"

"No," I say. "I'd hate myself for making you quit your job."

"I would if you asked."

"I know," I say. "That's why I'm not asking."

He offers my bra but I shake my head.

"No underwear."

"That's just cruel," he says. He watches as I slip my dress over my head, practically licking his lips. "That's all I'm going to think about the entire flight."

"I can't believe you've got anything left in you." I pull him close, enveloping him in a hug. His arms are so safe, so warm, so Goddamn comfortable.

"I love you," he says. "More than anything."

"I love you too."

For a minute, I feel like everything is going to be okay.

But then we're in the hallway. Then the elevator. Then we're on the street, hailing a cab. He's kissing me good-bye, a long, sweet kiss. Then he's in the cab, and it turns a corner, and I'm standing on a street corner all alone.

I'm in New York City all alone.

And soon he'll be three thousand miles away.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Luke

The next few days are awful. Work consumes me, and I barely have time to call Alyssa to wish her goodnight. The three-hour time difference isn't doing me any favors.

She calls late one night, late her time anyway. I'm still at work, but I answer without hesitation.

I answer. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"How is everything?"

"I'm too tired to talk much right now," she says. "But I can't wait anymore."

"Miss Summers, you're being awfully mysterious."

She laughs. "I got you something. It's in my room, under my bed." She yawns. "And now I'm too damn tired to think. So I'm going to fall asleep picturing you with the present."

So it's a sexy present.

"What if I'm desperate to talk to you after I find it?"

"I guess you'll have to stay desperate."

***

It feels wrong entering Alyssa's room, even though she gave me explicit permission. But there's no way I can resist this kind of promise.

Under the bed there's a small gift. I pull the wrapping off. It's a gourmet honey set, and there's a card attached that reads "think of me when you're licking your lips."

I turn the card over and there's another message. "Check the iPad. There's a new folder. You'll find it very interesting. Very, very interesting."

Damn. Where did I leave the iPad? On the couch. It's sitting in the middle of the couch, its glass screen as innocent as could be.

I unlock the screen and open the pictures application. Sure enough, there is a new folder. Alyssa's Special Secret Folder to be Opened Only by Luke.

My fingers hover over the screen, my tongue sliding over my lips.

This is going to be good.

It's better than I imagined. Pictures of Alyssa. A slide show of sorts. She starts off fully clothed but loses layer after layer until it's just her in lingerie--the most gorgeous black lace lingerie I've ever seen. It hugs her body beautifully, barely covering her chest or ass.

But this isn't it. This is only photo fifteen of a fifty-photo set.

My blood flows to my cock. There are thirty-five more pictures of my gorgeous girlfriend. They are here for me to savor at my leisure. It almost feels wrong how lucky I am.

And these aren't tits and ass photos. She's looking at the camera, looking at me like she wants to fuck me. She trusts me enough to give me these pictures. She trusts me enough to leave me with photos that could cause major damage to her career.

She trusts me.

I abandon any intention I had of waiting. I'm overtaken with instinct. I need to see these, to see all of her.

She slides out of her bra over three pictures. And it's just her, a coy smile on her face, her hair hanging over her eyes, her hands digging under her panties.

Then she's out of her underwear. She looks so fucking sexy. So confident.

But it gets better.

In the next picture she's touching herself. It's not shy or coy or demure. She's looking at the camera, at me, as she fills herself with pleasure. It's a demand or a dare or maybe just payback for every time I've tortured her.

I don't know, and I don't care. It's hot as hell, and there's more of it. A dozen pictures of her, every part of her, while she brings herself to ecstasy.

My breath catches, heavy and strained. It's a dare, right? I'm not about to let a dare go unanswered.

CHAPTER NINE

Alyssa

My phone greets me bright and early. Seven a.m. Somehow the sun is already high in the sky, the streets below me already filled with people. At least, they look like people from here.

As I swipe away the ever so tempting snooze, I see a silver lining. A new message from Luke.

Alyssa Summers, you are the devil.

I grin. So he found the present. I have to admit, it was terrifying to take those pictures and even scarier to leave them waiting for him, but it's worth it knowing he enjoyed them.

But two can play that game. Check your email. Should be a very interesting link in there.

Fuck.

I rush to my computer and open my inbox. There is an email from Luke, a sweet little email just begging for my click. But can I do it now? I have to exercise, shower, and eat breakfast before I leave for rehearsals. And it's not like I can call him now. It's four a.m. on the West Coast.

Maybe I should wait.

But my heart is racing and my breath is shallow. Hell, I feel a lightness in my chest, a growing need between my legs. It might be nothing. Luke didn't necessarily send me several dozen pictures of his amazing body, naked.

My heart thuds against my chest. Fuck the gym. I'll go after rehearsals if that's what it takes. Or I'll skip breakfast. I have to see this now, even if I wait until later to...

I click on the link. It's a private website, password protected. There's a hint in the email.
I have an image in my mind of my favorite person covered in one of her favorite things. You could say I licked my lips and thought of her. It doesn't stop there. I can't help but envision my tongue against her skin, lapping up every inch of... well, I'm not going to give it all away.

My mouth waters. God, I'm already shaking, already wet. I try my best guess:

AlyssaSummersHoney

It works.

I close my eyes. Deep breath. I've sent Luke a few sexy pictures here and there, but never like the ones I left on the iPad. And he's never replied. God, I bet he looks just as good on-screen as he does in front of me.

My eyes open of their own accord. There are pictures, yes, but there's also a video.

Holy fuck.

I press my fingers together. There's a video of Luke. A video. A fucking video.

I look at the pictures first. They're amazing, out of this fucking world. Luke's chest, his shoulders, his amazing as all hell abs, his entire torso all the way down to the soft hairs below his belly button.

My legs rub together, my sex clenching. His body is so damn amazing. I could never get tired of looking at it. But this video... is it really?

I swallow. We've talked on the phone before, but we've never... I've never even seen a man touch himself. Any other guy, it would be awful, weird, creepy even.

But God, the thought of Luke stroking himself, looking at my pictures, coming while thinking of me... I can barely breathe.

I press play. It's our bedroom, our bed. It's dark. It must be late, after he got home last night. He steps into frame, his gaze flitting towards the camera. Then he smiles, that million-dollar smile of his. He's in his suit, like he just got home from work.

He takes it off slowly. First the tie, then an eternity at each button. He moves slowly but deliberately. Like he would if I was there, watching him. Then he undoes his belt and slides his slacks to the floor.

My mouth waters. I never get the chance to gape at him quite like this. There's so much else to take in when he's here, but this is something else. His body is a fucking work of art, and he moves so expertly. It's pure masculine sensuality.

Then his boxers are at his knees.

God damn.

That's his...

I blink, my nails digging into my thighs. It's not a close-up or anything. It's all of him--from his shoulders to his knees--naked and ready for me.

He starts to stroke himself. God, I wish that was my hand, that I was in bed with him. I wish I could feel him, hard under me. I could be the one making him come.

But I already am, aren't I? This is practically a dedication. He was so fucking hot looking at the pictures I sent him that he had to respond.

This is how he feels about me.

This is how much he wants me.

And it's so fucking hot watching him touch himself.

Maybe he's not there. Maybe it's not live. But I have to come with him.

I slide out of my boxers, his boxers really, and drag my laptop to the bed. There's no teasing. I'm already wet and needy and completely desperate.

I touch myself as I watch him. And I don't stop until I'm there, until I see his body careen towards an orgasm, his eyes closed, his lips pursed as he mummers, "Alyssa."

***

My mind is preoccupied all morning. But the second I step into the theater, I am all business. I am Alyssa Summers, amazing actress, TV star. Okay, I am Alyssa Summers, cable TV star, but that counts for something.