Hollywood Lies (14 page)

But still, the quiet little piece of my mind I can’t control is telling me that I
could
have something with him. We like the same things. He is totally into me. I don’t know him well, but the studio’s background check leads me to believe he is not a criminal or a deviant. What I do know of him, I like. I could help him in his journey, because he is going to need help soon.
 

My mind begins to wander and I can’t help but think of a potential version of us.

I think about walking red carpets with him, his hand in mine or placed gently against the small of my back. We smile that same subtle smile as the photographers and fans snap our pictures. We keep in constant physical contact because we draw energy from each other, and when the interviews are over and we’re inside the theater or ballroom, we exhale together, and set off for the next act of the evening.

I take in a deep breath, unsuccessfully try to shake out of that fairy tale and mentally kick myself. More than likely, if we
did
walk the carpet together, it’d be several feet apart, and as soon as we got inside, we’d find a private little nook to steal away into. He’d press me against the wall, pawing at my fine clothes. I’d want him to rip them off me despite needing them for the next few hours. We’d be quick bringing each other pleasure, but the promise of a lengthier encounter after our job here is done would linger over us. This is just the pre-show.

I come out of my fantasy and push the worry about his intentions away as I enter the auditorium. I see I’m the last to arrive. The high school in which we’re filming smells old and dusty. The studio wouldn’t pay to have this area deep-cleaned, so I know the dust will find its way into me and create a lovely headache.

Three people sneeze simultaneously. I tell myself just to get through it. Soon enough this shoot will be over, and I can be in New York, hopefully with Devon as the lead.

There is a tingle deep and low inside my belly, and I’m suddenly aware I’m getting wet just looking at him.

Don’t sexualize the relationship yet.
Jesus. There’s that word again.
Relationship
!

I turn to Julie and—shit. Julie isn’t here. Instead, I find X. As the head of my security detail, I know I can rely upon him for many things. “Xavier, baby, do you think you have someone who can play Julie for me today?”

“What? You mean someone who can run around acting more important than she is?”

I frown. “Be nice. She’s very important to me.”

X is unimpressed. “What you need? Coffee?”

A glance down at myself reveals I need a bit more than that. “Right now, yeah, but I’m going to need my cell. She usually keeps it. I also need my music because I’m not going to be able to work without some tunes. Julie usually keeps all my notes for scenes, and if I have an idea, she—”

Xavier holds up one hand to halt my words, then places a call on his cell. I turn back to the cast. They’re up on the stage, messing around. Landon and Lucas are goofing off with Liliana and Miranda, dancing like they’re in the ballet. Devon stands apart from the others, script in one hand, a black and white composition notebook curled in his back pocket and a paperback in the other hand.

Wonder what he’s reading today.

When Devon glances at me, my body temperature increases, and my breath actually hitches. This has only happened a few times in my life, like with Oliver. Not now when Oliver and I only hook up to regain a brief, fleeting feeling of the past. No, this is the fluttering high of when I first met Oliver, and we danced around the truth of our mutual lust and interest in each other.
 

It happened with Quin, too. It’s the fast and furious hormones reacting to something I want so desperately. But it’s not so simple as that either because in terms of lust, I’ve been attracted to a lot of men. This is something
more
. Indescribable more. Like the way I fell asleep next to him. How the weight of Devon’s arm lulled me into a secure peace. Like how I want to know what goes on in his mind just as badly as I want to know what is in his pants.

“My daughter’s on her way.”

I turn back to X. “Shafira? Is she going to help today? What about—”

“She don’t have classes today, and she wants to see you.”

“Holy shit, Xavier!” I clap my hands once and bounce excitedly. “How long has it been?”

He shakes his head. “Years. She’s doing good though.”

Shafira was such a smart little girl. When Xavier started working for me years ago, I fell in love with the little girl he would bring by. After her mom died, I wanted to do something for her, so I set up a college fund. Every opportunity I had with her, we’d talk about what she wanted to do or be when she got older. When she turned eighteen, she told me she had been accepted into Harvard.

At first Xavier didn’t want to accept the money, but I reminded him it was a gift for his daughter, not him and gifts aren’t charity, they’re gifts.

I glance at the clock. We have to get going. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see her.” I put my director’s game face on and call the group on stage to order.

There are no more thoughts of Devon’s intentions or mine. A relationship is the furthest thing from my mind. The primal drive for sexual satisfaction trumps it. In this moment after a long day of shooting, of watching him deliver great performances, it doesn’t matter if he wants something deeper than sex, but right now, all I can think about is how his body feels against mine.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper against the stubbly flesh of Devon’s neck. He uses his body to press me down into the sofa as he sucks on the skin of my shoulder.
 

As if we’re young people with surging hormones, we get hot, our breaths get heavy, then we stop before the real action can begin. I can tell he wants more, and I do, too, but this almost-innocent stuff is incredibly arousing. I’m not great at denying myself much of anything, especially when it comes to sexual sensations, but with Devon every time we stop, it makes the next time we start that much more erotic.

I’m not sure I want to prolong this anymore. The sex will happen soon; it’s undeniable, but I know it will lead to something else. Something deeper. I’m not sure I’m ready for it, or that I even really want it, but the fluttering of my heart hasn’t stopped. That damn word,
relationship
, is popping up more and more. I’m too weak to withstand it. This is a relationship, whether I want to admit it or not.
 

Devon nestles his hips between my legs, pushes his hands up my shirt, groping, grasping, kneading my breasts. I arch up against him and love the way he presses me tighter. One of his hands moves under me, squeezing my ass, pushing me up as he thrusts against me.

I push him back and sit up. His eyes are wide as he watches and waits. Devon keeps his hands on me while I pull off my shirt, remove my bra, then lie back down. Immediately, his mouth is on my nipple while his fingers twist, pinch, and tease the other one.

I moan, and my hips start rocking under his. I clutch his shirt from the back and tug it up. He stops just long enough for me to pull the fabric off him, but returns to my breasts as soon as he can.

“You’ve got great tits,” he mumbles against them.

I war with myself in my mind.
Should I talk dirty to him or increase his desire by staying mostly quiet?
Each guy I’ve been with likes something different. Oliver likes dirty talk, while Quin prefers soft moans and chaste little words. I go for something in between with Devon. “I want you inside of me.”

Again, I push him back, then stand up. He relaxes back into the sofa. His hand runs over his strained jeans. He has to be so hard.
 

In front of him, I slowly undo my pants, then shimmy out of them. I’m wearing a little black pair of panties. I step in between his legs and wait for his next move. He brings his hands to my hips, and he brings himself to an upright position.

Devon licks my abdomen and dips his tongue into my navel as his hands travel to my ass. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
 

I thread my fingers through his hair and breathe. Often, I’m the sexual aggressor. I know what I like and usually with the guys I bring home, I’m demanding, but I don’t want to go too fast, or push Devon too early. Since he is twenty-three and I’m over thirty, our age difference could be intimidating already. I don’t want to overwhelm the guy; he seems sensitive. Too much pressure is just too much pressure.

One of his hands curls over the curve of my ass; his long fingers move against the satin of my panties. “So wet,” he says right before he bites the flesh of my hip.

“You get me hot.”

He looks up at me, chin pressed against my belly. One hand moves to my breasts again while the other continues to tickle the lips of my pussy underneath the layer of smooth satin.

“I’ve thought about this since our first meeting,” I admit. “I wanted to kick everyone out and ride you on top of my desk.”

He pauses for a moment, then he says, “I want to fuck you, Cole.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Devon wastes no time pulling my panties off. He presses the back of his hand against the inside of my thigh, and I widen my stance. Devon slips off the couch onto his knees For a moment, he just stares at my shaved pussy, then he touches it.

I let my eyes slip closed as his index finger slides against my clitoris. The sudden feel of his mouth on me causes me to gasp, eyes open now. His fingers spread me open as his tongue laps at me.
 

After a moment, he moves and lays his head back on the sofa, and I move with him to keep his mouth where I want it. I rock on top of his face and brace myself with my arms on the back of the couch.

My breath is quick, and I’m rapidly approaching the point where I can’t control the noises I make. All I can hear above my moans is the lapping of his tongue. I grind my pussy on his mouth, and I feel his long finger circle around the opening of my vagina.
 

“Yes, please,” I whisper, and he obliges.
 

Devon curls his finger perfectly, then slowly draws a circle inside of me as his tongue swirls around the same spot on the outside.
 

“Jesus, yes!”

I throw myself down on him harder. The thought occurs to me that I should worry if I’m hurting him, but it feels so good that I can’t stop myself. When my orgasm hits, my legs buckle and my arms shake. My voice echoes around the suite.

He takes his finger out of me, and now his whole hand splays across my ass, which holds me to him. He lets me fuck his face.

I grind myself against him as I come. “Oh, shit,” I say when the sensations begin to ebb.
 

Devon pushes two fingers back into me and doesn’t let me stop coming until he withdraws completely and grabs me by my waist. He’s on his feet and crushes me to him. The kiss is intense. I can tell by the way he thrusts his tongue into my mouth, then turns his face, which makes me lick his cheek a bit, that he thinks it’s hot that I’m tasting my own pussy on him.

At some point he takes off his pants and now his cock is poking me in the belly, so I wrap my fingers around it and pump it in a tight fist. Devon pulls away just a little to hiss at the sensation. He tries to kiss me again, but I don’t let him.
 

Instead, I drop down and lick his chest and navel in turn, then trail my tongue over his hard, long shaft. I want him inside of me so badly, but I also want to extend the favor he gave me.
 

I lick the head of his cock with my tongue. His hips buck, so with my fist around the base, I bring his dick into my mouth. At first, I just suck the head, swirl my tongue around it and pump him with my hand, but then I sink down onto it. I push forward until I have as much of it in my mouth as I can get.
 

“Jesus! Just when I think I have you figured out,” he says and pauses to take a breath. “You . . . you become a wild animal . . . and  . . .” He never finishes his sentence.

I can hear him inhale deeply; I look up at him. His head is thrown back, and I can tell his mouth is open. His hands move to my head, fingers combing through my hair. When I don’t continue the action, he tilts his head down, and our eyes connect. The intensity in his gaze pushes me into action.