by Andrea Wolfe
Jack and I both nodded, our Lindsay Lohan knowledge already exhausted—and ready to enjoy ourselves.
The inside was great, the space filled with all sorts of attention-grabbing, stylish eye candy. Beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling, overlooking the fun that was taking place down below. It was dim and sexy, dark enough that you didn't have to feel self-conscious—but not so much that you fell over because you couldn't see where you were going.
Lights pulsed with music, the crowd was tireless and enthusiastic. The soundtrack was a blend of techno and Top 40, a combination I was okay with. Jack grabbed us all some drinks—I never really liked dancing while holding a glass or bottle, so I would drink fast—and then we prepared to have fun.
I'm not going to lie, I wasn't usually one for going out to clubs like this. Jack had joked about it early on, speaking of his party past like it was something that he was ashamed of or had totally outgrown.
But something told me I just needed to embrace this weird scenario, to take the plunge and go for it. I hated to keep harping on the same redundant fact—yes, I was hanging out with Stacy Levons in Los Angeles and I couldn't believe it as usual—but damn, everything felt fresh and new when you added an element like that. There was no other way to describe it.
On top of that, it baffled me that I hadn't even considered the fact that Jack might have brought me to meet Stacy. I mean, even when we had arrived in Los Angeles and I had been elated to just be within the city limits, I hadn't considered it at all.
We danced and danced, all three of us, for what seemed like hours. I wasn't checking my cell phone, wasn't concerned about any worldly thing. After the incident today at the party, it was exactly what I needed. The dancing was a perfect catharsis, a full purge of my neurotic, panicked state.
Jack was goofy and charming on the dance floor—oh God, and it made everything far more fun than it should have been—always impressing us with a new move after we assumed we'd seen it all. He was totally uninhibited, and it only made me more comfortable with my own awkward dancing. Well, I felt awkward dancing most of the time, anyhow.
"There's no right or wrong way to dance," Jack had said, real wisdom for the ages. It was as if he had sensed my initial apprehension.
And even cooler than that, Stacy didn't feel like a third wheel at all. There were no awkward dynamics or anything else. I danced with her sometimes, I danced with Jack other times, and we all danced together most of the time. It was hot and sweaty and loud, but that was just what I needed.
Although I wasn't sure of the exact time when Stacy left, it seemed like she stuck around longer than she had planned originally. It made me feel good to know that perhaps she had had fun in my presence. She was also an actor, so maybe she was just acting—but it felt real to me.
We screamed our goodbyes to her, deciding to remain on our own for a short while after she departed. She waved as the crowd scattered enough to let her through. If anyone had paid attention, they probably would have been begging her for an autograph. I was somewhat surprised to see that not everyone was attacked at all times by screaming fans.
I guess that was a good thing.
Things started to get hot between Jack and I—both figuratively and literally; it was also about a hundred degrees on the dance floor—after Stacy left, so hot that we starting thinking about sneaking back toward our room, desire surging in our veins like a designer drug.
"God, I want you so fucking bad, Effie," Jack said into my ear, his voice loud enough to be audible over the music, but not to anyone other than me. When he pressed his hips against mine, I knew he wasn't lying.
"I wish you could fuck me right here," I said.
Jack ran his hands along my wet forehead, pulling the sweaty strands aside as his eyes stared deep into me. He gripped my ass with his other hand and pulled me against him, meeting my lips with a deadly kiss. There was the saltiness of sweat, our saltiness, present.
His tongue fiercely stroked mine before withdrawing and subsequently focusing on my lower lip. He rolled it between his teeth and tongue, nibbling gently.
"Maybe I should."
It was clear that it was going to take herculean effort to resist him now. I was entirely in his hands now, drowning the only word I could come up to describe how I felt.
I didn't even realize that he had led me toward an empty space on the wall until my back flattened against it. He kept his tongue in my mouth, grinding his pelvis against mine. My hands found a place in his hair, tousling it and caressing his head as I contributed to further chaos.
Honestly, I was never one for public displays of affection, and definitely not a fan of public displays of intercourse. Right now though, I didn't know how far Jack would take me. Would he actually try to inconspicuously fuck me in this open space full of strangers, this pulsing, sexy, throbbing—
"C'mon." His voice interrupted my chain of thoughts as he pulled me toward a booth in the back. We fell into it together, his body dragging mine in behind it. The kissing continued as wetness pooled between my thighs.
Not long after, his fingers had found a comfortable spot up my skirt and self-consciousness hit me. "Jack, what if somebody—"
"What if they what? Nobody cares about us, Effie."
My brain had suggested that we were on stage, putting on some sort of public sex act. People would start throwing money our way any moment now—or calling the police.
But damn, my brain was wrong. No one cared about us. The angle was just right that someone would have to walk right up to our table and drop down to the floor to see anything at all.
And I could not argue when his fingers were inside of me. My uptight nature had nothing to say, not with Jack. It didn't take long to realize that hey, I wanted to have experiences like this with him, wanted to accept whatever he could give me.
I instinctively tried to keep a straight face as he finger-fucked me, trying to hide an expression that might hint that shenanigans were taking place below the surface of the table. Jack's thumb was firmly planted on my clit while two fingers pulsed pressure against my g-spot. My back writhed against the smooth material of the booth, my eyes closing periodically as my neck strained.
Suddenly I heard a voice, but I couldn't respond like I wanted to. "Can I get you two anything to drink?"
Fuck. It was a server, one who had noticed us sitting here and initiated the whole table service thing. I had a hard time deciding whether or not I should speak at all since I had a feeling that Jack just wouldn't stop. I choked back moans as I literally fought to keep a straight face.
"We're just fine for now," Jack said coolly, no hint of I'm finger-fucking this girl while I'm talking to you in his voice. He shoved his fingers even deeper into me, the sensation making my vision blur.
"Holler if you need something." She turned away and walked toward another group of people that definitely needed her more than we did.
"You can come now," Jack said matter-of-factly.
"Dammit," I moaned, partially because I was mad at how good he was, and partially because fuck, I was having an orgasm—in public.
I fought the urge to cry out, my eyes catching glimpses of Jack's each time they opened. Several choked moans escaped, but only Jack heard them over the swell of the music. Jack's deft fingers blasted me toward a deep climax, one that I hadn't expected given the impromptu nature of the act.
I guess that's why people did this stuff in public...
As soon as I came down, my eyes were on the alert again, suspicious of every person that was nearby. I knew my cheeks were flushed bright red, but nobody could probably tell.
Jack's fingers left me, and when I turned to face him again, I noticed his erection standing proudly from his unzipped fly. "My turn?" he asked.
My heart started pounding even worse than when the waitress had been here. "Jack, uh—"
"You know you want to. I swear I'm not just being a guy. You liked that a lot."
Once again, he knew what was up in my brain.
I was flooded with a weird kind of desire, a desire to reciprocate, but also to do something so raw in front of all of these people. I wanted to risk getting caught, but I couldn't explain why.
Well, it was fun. Why did I need to dig any deeper than that?
I shrugged and spit into my fingers. "You'd better be quick," I said.
"I promise." He gave me a wicked smile. The first stroke cleared that smile away and replaced it with a series of scrunched, hot-as-hell, photo-worthy expressions.
At first, his length made my hand rise above the surface of the table, something I was way too nervous about. "Tilt your hips toward me," I demanded. He complied.
Saliva blended with his pre-cum, my strokes smooth and rapid. I watched him intently, studying his reactions. His eyes opened and closed at random, his chest rising and falling like the tide. I pumped frantically and consistently, my grip tight and focused.
"Is that good, Jack?" I whispered in his ear.
"God, no fucking games right now." His words expressed nothing but confused bliss.
My eyes remained on lookout the whole time, going back and forth across the horizon. I was so fixated on that that I didn't even feel him start to come.
His groan hit my ear as his semen spilled across my thighs, his cock twitching between my fingers.
"Shit!" I said quietly cursing myself for not keeping up.
"I told you it would be quick!" he said, mid-groan. He had a point.
Come continued spilling against me—I hadn't even thought about that part when I started—but I just let it happen since it seemed to be the only logical thing to do. Jack was struggling to catch his breath—and I really liked that.
He finally calmed down and I politely handed his erection back to him. "I don't want to get it on your pants," I said. It was funny watching him hold it in his hand beneath the surface of the table.
"Thanks. But what about you?"
"I hadn't really thought about that." I started giggling after looking down at the sticky mess on my thighs. It was obvious that I wasn't going to be able to stand up yet.
Before I finished surveying the damage, I heard that voice again and immediately tensed up. I caught myself this time, however.
"Two waters and some napkins," Jack said.
"No drinks?"
"We've been drinking all night at the bar," he said. "And her nose is running like a faucet." Jack froze and smiled.
"Whatever." The waitress gave a tired smile and then headed away.
I burst out laughing. "God, if only she knew."
"Do you want her to know?" Jack asked. "Should I tell her?"
I promptly shook my head.
She returned a couple of minutes later with our waters and a leaning tower of napkins, almost like she knew we were up to something. "Thanks," Jack said.
"They're on the house." She smiled again.
"We're so lucky!" Jack said to me. I nodded.
After she left, I wiped up the mess and guzzled my water. I couldn't believe how dehydrated I was. Jack's water disappeared almost as fast as mine did. Our "drinks" gone, I dumped the evidence in the bathroom trash and then joined Jack in the hotel lobby.
The elevator ride was quiet and subdued. I cuddled up to Jack and stayed that way until the bell dinged. Something felt so right, even amid all of this childish behavior. I scolded myself for even referring to it as childish, because what did I know? That had been thrilling and fun, a distraction from the rigors of everyday life.
Oh yeah, that. Didn't matter; in his arms I felt inviolable.
Despite my assumption that Jack was tired out, when we got back into the room, he unremittingly fucked me until I was really ready to sleep.
Chapter 17
After a short shower that was more fooling around than washing, we went out for brunch on Sunday morning, sharing over-filled plates of deep-fried French toast and blueberry pancakes. On the side were the usual breakfast suspects—eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, orange juice, and mere cups of coffee, no fancy drinks. Oh yeah, and real maple syrup.
Gluttonously good.
To be honest, the breakfast joint we chose actually had great coffee. At the very least, it was brewed in a French press; I noticed the oil on the surface. And it was fresh since we did the pressing ourselves.
Jack looked so urbane in his sports coat and dress shirt, diligently sipping coffee while he paged through a newspaper that had been left on the table next to ours. Every now and then he'd take a cute little nibble out of the remaining piece of toast and place it back on the platter.
"Is that actually interesting?" I asked. There was only a small piece of French toast left, the cream cheese filling leaking out of it like a very sugary puncture-wound. I decided to end its suffering and drowned it in the syrup—and then it disappeared. "Can't you just look news up on your phone?"
He gave me a wry smile. "I like the feel of the paper. I'll probably never get over that."
"What about ebooks? Do you really like carrying around physical copies of books?"
"I'm getting used to them," he said, pausing to sip coffee at the end of the sentence. "I like the idea. I mean, look what it did to music. Can you believe I had a hundred-disc CD changer in my car in high school? It was full too. Now I can just use an MP3 player."
"I hadn't really thought about that," I said. "And you're crazy for needing a hundred CDs on the go."
"I don't disagree with that observation one bit. Prior to my parents stepping in and saying no, I was ready to fork out the cash for a 300-disc changer. Now with an MP3 player, I carry around thousands of CDs with me at a time. Am I crazier now?"
I tapped my chin, thinking aloud and gave him a studious look. "Quite possibly."
After eating, we went back to the hotel and got our things together. It was nice not having to plan to go through airport security. Hell, I could bring entire bottles of shampoo in my carry-on on Jack's plane, and no one cared at all.
I didn't want to leave the comfort of the room, but then again, I was fairly certain we'd be back soon. A lot had happened here in the room—well, mostly sex—and it had definitely been significant to me. Hollywood had been significant too. I had a new friend who was perhaps even more famous than Jack!
The room tidied up, we checked out and hopped into the limo, tossing our bags near the front to keep the driver company. Jack asked for a few minutes to himself to respond to an email on his phone, so I obliged.
In that moment without Jack-related distractions, I started to think about the fact that on the plane ride back, we'd finally talk about work and the deal, coming up with a plan—well, more like a slap in the face, actually—that would cement me back in reality. Dammit, I didn't want to go back and lose this feeling at all. But honestly, no matter how idyllic this had been, I sort of felt like it was only because of the tedious nature of my regular life that made this so desirable, a real escape.
People talked about that all the time, that you needed the bad to fully appreciate the good. Was it because that was a real thing, or maybe because their individual situations were less than ideal and they needed some way to justify them? As Hollywood crawled by, I kept thinking about days with Jack and how spontaneous and fun they were. I wished I had a time machine so I could figure out if time with Jack could ever be boring.
I sincerely doubted it.
I watched Jack tap away on the touch-screen, his mind presumably working faster than his cramped fingers. He looked so innocent and relaxed, a man who had made his own way by standing up for what he believed in, rather than just compromising his values to make a quick buck. Talent was the tool that enabled him to create what he wanted, and he possessed an overabundance of it.
No, I didn't want to be jealous of the world he had. But there was something so appealing about living every day exactly how you wanted to live it. How many people got to say that was the case? Sure, you could be satisfied with what you have, but that doesn't mean that it's exactly what you want.
This was hea
vy material, for sure, so heavy that I couldn't believe that we were already at LAX by my first break in thinking.
"God, I'm sorry, Effie," Jack said. "I meant for that email to be a short one. It didn't happen."
I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "It's fine. Really. The scenery is mesmerizing to me."
"I forget that sometimes. To me, it's like being in my own backyard. It's nice, but I don't get excited when I look out the window."
"Maybe because the grass is overgrown and you don't want to deal with it?"
"Maybe."
We boarded our private jet and Jack spent a few minutes up front, laughing and joking with Tim. His name alone was enough to bring my mind back to my own former Timothy problems. Shit, he was supposedly still in New York City too, not that I actually knew for sure. He could have been lying, for all I knew.
Life was getting too confusing for me, the answers approaching gray instead of black or white. But gray wasn't totally a bad thing either.
I settled down briefly, buckling myself up for takeoff. Soon after, the plane rose into the sky and I said a silent goodbye to Los Angeles.
***
"Can we talk about it now, Jack?" The flight was roughly half over, but our own meandering conversations had kept us away from serious business.
Jack ran a scratched his forehead and straightened out his posture. "Effie, I'm not going to beat around the bush anymore—I'm not going with MCI. We decided to release it ourselves and go through a bigger company for distribution. I'm starting my own label, finally."
I gulped, feeling words rising in my throat like hot air. Should I even mention what Sam said?
Sounds started to emerge from my mouth, but I stopped them immediately. Jack looked upset about the fact that I had blatantly censored myself.
"Effie, say whatever you want. I'm here for you. You're not going to offend me."
"Well, it's just that Sam, well, Sam said—" I buried my head in my hands, wishing that this wasn't a part of my life.
"What about Sam?" Jack asked. "Did he do something to you?"