"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.
Ellen is already here. She's sitting in the audience seats, drinking a cup of coffee. "Hey," she says, even and calm. Ellen is a force of nature later in the day. But before lunch she's quiet, almost shy.
She plays Stella, my character's sister. And she is a million times more pleasant than my usual fake sister, Naomi. "You run here or something? You look flushed."
So I'm that obvious. "No. I just..."
"Doing the old walk of shame, huh? I knew you had it in you."
"No, I... I have a boyfriend. In L.A."
She nods like she gets it. Then she shakes her coffee cup. It must be empty. "I'm in desperate need of cup number... too high of a number. I'll buy if you tell me all this juicy dirt about you cheating on your boyfriend."
"I'm not," I say. I bite my tongue. I can't exactly reveal I spent the morning touching myself to his dirty pictures. "Tried that before. It was too much of a headache."
She laughs and pushes herself to her feet. "I knew I'd like you."
Ellen leads me outside the theater. The sunshine is already blinding. New York may be cloudy half the year, but when it's bright, it's damn bright. The sun bounces off every inch of glass and concrete, landing right in my eyes.
"Have you heard the rumors about Kyle and our director?"
"I try and avoid rumors," I say.
"So don't spread this one. But supposedly, they're sleeping together." She sighs, tossing her coffee cup in a trash can. "Though... if you don't like gossip, you should probably get the hell out of the New York theater scene. It's nothing but drama and everyone is fucking everyone." She looks at me. "But you have that boyfriend. In L.A."
I nod.
"And this run is six months?" She shakes her head. "That's rough. I've never made it..." She taps her fingers like she's counting. "More than two weeks."
"We've been together a year," I say.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you and your..." Ellen smacks her palm into her forehead. "I'm really sorry. I'm probably freaking you out"
"A little."
"Sorry," she says again. "I'm sure you and your boyfriend--"
"Luke," I offer.
"Like Star Wars?"
"I think like the Bible."
"Well, I'm sure you and Luke like the Bible will be great. He sounds nice."
"Biblical?"
She laughs. "He must be great if you're committed to not fucking someone else for six months."
We make small talk through our coffee and end up ten minutes late. Nicole, the play director, reminds us to get here earlier next time, but she doesn't dwell on it.
The first few hours of rehearsal are tough. The other actors, especially Ellen and the male lead, Nicholas, are seasoned theater actors and they know their lines inside and out. I'm finally off book, but I'm still struggling to really make the words my own.
By the end of the day, I have a little footing. I'm still out of my league, but I'm not quite so overwhelmed.
I can do this.
I can absolutely do this.
***
The week passes quickly. Ellen invites me out most nights, but I decline. From the way she talks, I can tell she's not exactly a bastion of moderation.
I talk to Luke for a few minutes before bed every night. We're both too tired to say much, but it feels so good to hear his voice.
I spend the weekend rehearsing in my apartment. I know Luke would mock me or tell me I work too hard, but he doesn't understand how out of my league I am. I was in a few plays when I first moved to Los Angeles, but it's been years since I've seriously done any theater.
When I finally call it a night, I realize I haven't eaten dinner. I barely ate lunch. But it's nothing. No big deal. I've done enough recovery that I don't have to obsess over every single thing I eat or don't eat.
Come Monday morning, I am ready to kick ass and take names. I get to the theater half an hour early, bursting with energy. I am finally up to speed. Finally where I want to be. I understand Blanche--she lost everything she cared about. Her secretly gay husband killed himself after she caught him with another man. She's an outcast, but she denies it to herself, hiding behind a veneer of superiority. She claims to put great value in sexual roles and manners, but it's a lie she tells herself, to help herself understand why life failed her so utterly. She's insecure, desperate, terrified of losing her only value in the world--her beauty.
The only thing that lifts her up is attention from men. It doesn't just make her giddy. It reaffirms her belief that she deserves to exist.
People read Blanche as weak, as pathetic sometimes. But she's not. She's a woman in an awful situation, doing everything she can to hold it together. But her real self keeps sneaking out.
I put everything into rehearsals and the director praises my dedication. I'm proving my competence. Finally.
Ellen keeps me busy all night. We go to an amazing restaurant in the village, swig way too many cocktails, and meet her weird, artsy friends for an off-off Broadway play. The star is great, one of Ellen's ex-boyfriends. We meet him for drinks after the play and he picks my brain about acting in Los Angeles.
Ellen insults him. It's traitorous to even think of moving to L.A. Talking about it is practically treason.
It's beyond late when I get home. So late I forget to call Luke.
CHAPTER TEN
Luke
I think nothing of it when we miss our first call. We were never going to make it six months talking every single day.
But it eats at me all night. I bury myself at work. I run until I'm dead tired. I clean the damn house to keep my mind occupied.
Finally, sometime around ten, Alyssa texts me.
Give me one minute. I want to get into something comfortable.
I bite my lip. I'm going to have a miserable time resisting her if she goes straight to dirty talk and slipping her clothes off. But I have to be strong. She needs to talk.
I open my laptop and accept the incoming chat invitation.
The video pops on-screen. It's a little box of Alyssa, in her bedroom, in that giant bed. She's wearing a tiny tank top and it clings to every one o
f her curves. She smiles, catching me checking her out.
"Ah, so this is what it feels like to be you," she says.
"It is."
"This is so weird. I can't even remember the last time I did a video chat." Her voice is slightly slurred, like she's had a few drinks.
"I'm not sure that I ever have."
"Like you didn't have some college girlfriend who begged to see you naked over break," she says.
I shake my head. "You're the only girl I'd ever get naked on camera for."
She blushes and bites her lip. "I really, um, enjoyed that um... video you sent me."
"Enjoyed, huh?"
She giggles. "I did enjoy it."
"How are you, Ally? We've barely talked all week."
"I'm busy."
"Well, how was dinner?"
"You know. It was dinner. It was nothing." She contorts her face in a look of distaste.
"Tell me anyway."
"Why? It's boring."
"It's not boring if it's about you," I say. "Did something happen?"
"A dozen people from the production went out to dinner. And we had drinks. Ellen and Nicholas claim it's a tradition. To get drunk before the first day of previews."
"And?"
"I had a few drinks."
"What did you eat?"
She throws me a side eye. "This again?"
"Humor me."
"I don't know. I ate food. Some kind of salad. It was very healthy and wholesome and exactly what I should be eating. Are we done with this area of conversation?"
She's always resistant to talking about her recovery, but this is something else. Something more. "Ally, what's up? You're defensive."
"You always think I'm defensive."
"Talk to me. I want to hear it."
"There's nothing to say. I've been busy. I've been less than perfect about my recovery work. But it's fine. It's not a big deal that I've been skipping lunch."
My stomach drops. Alyssa is skipping meals.
She clears her throat, and I bring my gaze back to the little image of her on-screen. "It's really not a big deal," she says. "I've been too nervous to eat during rehearsals. So I have some coffee and that's that."
"You're too nervous to eat but coffee is fine?"
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