“Think so?”
“Know so.”
He gently turned her around, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small square packet, held it up for her to see. “Brought it to work because I knew we had this date….”
“Even after our, uh, episode on the set, you still brought it to the Good Vibrations contest?”
“Never say never.”
She smiled, taking it from him. “Me, too.”
“That’s what you were thinking, too?”
“Not thinking, saying. I made a vow this afternoon to jump your bones.”
He choked back a laugh. “Before or after our, uh, misunderstanding?”
“After.”
“If I’d known you were that confident, I wouldn’t have worried.”
“Not confident.” She ripped open the packet. “Determined.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt her touch him, gingerly, on the outside of his shorts with her free hand. He grew instantly harder, his urgency rising like a tidal wave. “I’ve been so horny, so worked up,” he whispered, spreading his hand around the back of her head, pulling her closer, “I could probably come with a single touch.”
She laughed low in her throat, the sound incredibly seductive. “You’re stealing my line.”
He leaned his forehead against hers, strangling back a groan as she caressed him. “I’d like to steal you,” he murmured hoarsely. “Steal you away, keep you with me forever.”
When she pulled down his shorts, he emitted a sharp hiss, biting back his need as she gently rolled the condom over his aching, swollen member.
Then she stood back, quickly removed her fishnet stockings and undies.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered, tugging her to him, roaming his hands over her naked bottom, back, massaging and squeezing her breasts, finally taking her arms and wrapping them around his neck.
“Hold on,” he whispered. When she did, he lifted one of her legs, hooking it around his hips.
She clung to him, teetering on her one standing leg. “I don’t know if I can—”
“Just lean into me. I’m strong.”
“You can say that again,” she said, followed with a lusty sigh as she found her balance.
He wedged his erection up hard against her cleft, stroking it against her wet, slick opening, then rubbing it against her apex, around and around, teasing and tormenting her hot, sweet little clit.
“Right there,” she suddenly gasped. “Oh, yes…there…”
She dug her nails into his shoulder, the sharp stings spiking his arousal even higher.
“Take it easy,” he murmured, half meaning it. Her released inhibitions excited him, made him want her more than ever. He pressed his hips forward, while guiding himself into her stretched opening, filling her slowly, slowly.
He lowered his mouth to hers, took her deep into a hard, rough kiss. Whatever subtlety, whatever lingering finesse he’d pretended to have, shattered to pieces. He tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard, grinding his teeth as he sank into her, holding her arching body. As he seated himself fully within her, she released a deep, guttural groan.
“You…feel…so…good,” he moaned.
He lightly rocked his hips, keeping his movements short, controlled, syncing his rhythm with hers. She clung to him, whimpering, begging for more. He gave it to her, thrusting as hard and deep as the position allowed him, her gasps of pleasure taking him higher, hotter, her pulsing hips pulling him in.
Need pounded through him, merging with the sounds of the distant thundering waves. He wanted to devour, ravage, plunder her sweet, ripe mouth, her hot skin…his need so hot, so raw. He spread his legs, leveraging himself as he stroked deeper, harder….
Her body tightened, tensed, then with a shriek she clawed at the air, her insides clamping down around him, squeezing, milking, driving him to that glorious point of no return….
In a mindless fever, he clutched her body tight against his, giving one last thrust.
His breath exploded as he cried out her name, clutching her as release exploded through him, again and again, to a mind-jarring satisfaction.
For a long moment, they simply held each other, their spent bodies moist with exertion, their heaving breaths mimicking the rhythmic tumbling of the ocean.
Finally, she dropped her leg, laid her head on his chest. Bill ran his fingers up and down the bumps in her spine while she fiddled lazy fingers at the nape of his neck. Balmy breezes lifted strands of damp hair, offered cooling respite to their skin.
“Wow,” Ellie finally murmured.
“You can say that again.”
“So…” She pulled back, looked up into his face. “How far is it to that billboard again?”
“Not far,” he murmured. He kissed the tip of her nose. “As long as we resist the urge for more rest stops.”
15
FORTY MINUTES LATER, they walked into Bill’s Venice apartment, located on the third floor of an old brick building on Ocean Front Walk, the famous paved beach path that ran the length of Venice Beach. The windows were open, filling the place with the scent of the ocean. The distant sounds of laughter and bongo drums could be heard from the ever-present partiers along the walk.
She looked around his perfectly ordered room, which looked more like an office than a home. Against the far wall sat a metal desk and its swivel chair, bracketed by a bookcase and a large metal file cabinet. Over the scarred wooden floor lay a faded rug, its corners at precise angles to the walls. A black leather couch sat opposite an entertainment center that looked like a guy’s dream world—oversize TV, video game player, an XM radio setup.
On the clean white walls were some framed certificates, a few film posters. No photos.
Bill stood in front of the entertainment center. “What would you like to hear?”
“Got Lou?”
“Lou Reed, eh? That’s right, you like his music. The former glam rocker, current rock and roller, right?”
“Close enough.” She was pleased he didn’t sound critical. He’d taken what she’d said to heart the other day.
He picked up the XM radio. “But you have to admit, that guy’s had more styles than a Macy’s department store window. Let’s see what we can find.”
“Lots of people go through different styles. Look at Madonna.” She wandered over to one of the film posters. The background was a man’s face in blue, in the foreground was a dancing woman. Frederico Fellini and La Dolce Vita were in big yellow letters. “Do you like Italian films?”
“Not Italian films as a genre. More I like Fellini for his inventive filmmaking.”
“La Dolce Vita. That means—”
“The Sweet Life.”
“Remember how they used to call the hood la vida loca—the crazy life? Now with all the new businesses and money moving in, people are calling it la dolce vita.”
“That’ll be the day,” he muttered. “Hey, can’t find anything Reed-like. If you don’t mind groovy beach music, how about Jack Johnson?”
“Sure.” She crossed to his bookcase, checked out his collection of books on film, a shelf of bounded scripts, a slew of Kellerman, Hiaasen, Patterson novels. Funny to think of him directing a Baywatch clone when his tastes ran to more complex stories and characters.
The moody surf tones of Jack Johnson started playing. A song about a guy wanting to make love to his girl.
Bill’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his body swaying in time to the beat. He hummed along with the tune.
She leaned against his warmth, her concerns fluttering away. Being with Bill, listening to sexy, sultry music was definitely la dolce vita.
“If I don’t eat something soon, I might collapse before we get to the good part.” He straightened, turned her around. “Like pastrami?”
“Pastrami.” She gave a breathless little laugh, struggling with the quick switch from hot to mild. “I like. Yes.”
“Good. Remember when I told you I make the best sandwiches this side of New Yor
k? Now I’m going to prove it to you. You can wash up while I get it ready.”
“Wash up?” She touched her hand to her face, realizing what their heated beach interlude must have done to her makeup. “Please tell me I don’t look like a Rorschach test.”
He chuckled. “Bathroom’s down the hall. There’s cleanser in my medicine cabinet, hand towels underneath the sink. Dinner, my sexy lady, will be served in bed.”
Moments later, she stared at herself in the mirror, groaning at the black smudges around her eyes, the smeared red on her mouth, the mottled white on her face. Fortunately, it’d been dark all the way from the beach to his building, so he’d only had a few minutes to see her like this.
She found the cleanser, wondered if it was Vi’s, but so what? If she’d found other girlfriendlike stuff it would have felt weird, but the bathroom was all male—no extra toothbrush, no makeup, no tampons.
Smearing the cream over her face, thinking of all the other times she’d spent hours putting makeup on and taking it off, for the first time she wondered if she really wanted to keep doing this. Not that she wanted to stop cold turkey being a glam goth, but maybe like Lou Reed, she could shift a little, ease up on her style, on her life, on herself….
She swiped the towel across her forehead, down her cheek, her glowing tan-in-a-can skin showing through. She was starting to feel like an archaeologist, digging through the layers of Ellie. What was underneath the glam goth makeup, the fake tan, even below the pale skin, was, she realized, a mystery even to her.
SETTING THE PASTRAMI, mustard, pickles on the counter, Bill doubted she did things like this for herself. After a day of making coffee and serving food, he imagined her collapsing into a chair with a nuked meal, listening to…Lou Reed? He shook his head, smiling. Marilyn Manson, Siouxsie Sioux, Lou Reed. Other women were often too predictable, too cookie-cutter. They worked out at the same places, ate the same things, shopped for the same clothes. Eventually, predictability led to boredom and he bailed.
Unlike Ellie, who had a habit of shaking up his world, keeping him on his toes. He liked that.
Layering the meat on a slice of bread, spreading the mustard on another slice, evening it out just so, he thought she needed somebody to do this for her. Maybe she surprised him, but he surprised himself even more realizing he wanted to be that somebody. As he selected the best pickle in the jar for her because only the best would do, he finally admitted to himself how deeply his feelings for her went.
It seemed funny to have these epiphanies while making a sandwich, but on the other hand, he took great pride and care in making sandwiches. Not so odd that other things he cared deeply about would float to the surface.
He remembered a bag of chocolates he kept in the back of the cabinet. He set one, wrapped in shiny gold foil, on the edge of the plate. It stood out, nearly perfect, bringing that special extra touch to the ordinary.
Carrying the plates to the bedroom, he realized he would love Ellie Rockwell until he drew his last breath.
“DINNER’S SERVED!” he called out, rounding the corner into his bedroom. He stopped cold, his breath halting in his throat.
Ellie, naked head to toe, smiled shyly. “Hi.” She looked at the plate. “That’s an awesome-looking sandwich.”
He looked her over, from her dark glossy hair, over her heart-shaped face, lingering a moment on her lush, pear-shaped breasts, quickly dropping over her tummy to a final stop on the curling hair at the dark apex between her thighs.
“I have legs, too,” she whispered teasingly.
He ducked his head with a laugh, feeling like a schoolboy caught with mirrors on his shoes, as he scanned her legs.
“Very nice legs,” he agreed. Looking back at her face, he murmured, “All in all, you’re awesome-looking, too.”
She laughed, pleased.
He set the plate down on his dresser. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. For food anyway.”
As he approached, that simmering look in his eyes leaving no doubt what was coming next, she felt her nipples tighten as a sweet, liquid heat permeated her body.
“I thought you said if you didn’t eat first,” she whispered teasingly, “that you’d collapse.”
“I did.” He stopped right in front of her, his gaze melting into hers. “And I will.”
Ellie gasped with delight as he dropped out of sight, collapsing to his knees in front of her.
He cupped his hands around her bottom, and tugged her to his mouth. Gently opening her folds, he inhaled deeply, emitting an animal sound of pure pleasure at the scent.
“You smell so sweet,” he moaned, planting kisses on her mound, flicking teasing licks along her opening. He nudged her legs farther apart, his pulsating tongue slipping inside, a man on a mission, going after exactly what he wanted.
“Oh, yes!” She grabbed onto his head, teetering slightly as he delved deeper, stroking and licking. His lips were a marvel as they lapped at her tight knot, made her crazy, on fire, her hips and thighs quivering with the exquisite torment.
Just when she didn’t think she could take more, he delved a thumb into her wet core, settling it masterfully alongside his relentless tongue.
The combination was like a torch to jet fuel, shooting her heat and moans sky-high.
Keeping his thumb going, he looked up at her, an unholy grin on his face. “I love seeing you like this,” he murmured.
“Good,” she gasped, pushing his head back into place.
The vibrations of his muffled laughter only added more exquisite sensation to his wickedly talented tongue and thumb, making her delirious with need, her body shaking like a missile on a launch pad, ready to blast off any moment. “Oh yes…right there…”
She suddenly sucked in a breath, holding it as her entire body froze, suspended, on edge….
Tears stung her eyes as the first orgasm rocked her, hard and fierce and swift, the sensations crowding each other, one hitting before another ended. She clutched his hair, back, shoulders, her body undulating, pulsing.
His thumb working her, he looked up. “Want another?”
“Are…you…crazy?” She blinked, looked down. “Yes!”
He drove her pleasure on, giving her another climax…and another…until, exhausted and spent, she grasped his hand and pulled it away, her core still spasming from his touch.
He kissed her tummy, her breasts, her cheek, then nuzzled her neck as he held her quivering body.
“Wow,” she murmured, “that’s the best I’ve ever had.”
A throaty chuckle. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“Yeah, but this time I really mean it.”
He led her to the bed, helped her lie down.
“We’ll see about that,” he said, positioning himself over her.
AN HOUR LATER, they sat up in bed, naked, munching on the sandwiches.
Ellie wiped her mouth, picked up a pickle. “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever eaten.”
He nearly choked as he swallowed. “Ellie, c’mon, the best sex…but also the best sandwich? You’re going to give me a big head.”
She snapped a bite of pickle, giving him a lecherous look. “Speaking of which, I’d like to do that next….”
He held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Rain check, okay? This man needs his sleep before the alarm goes off in—” he looked at the clock and groaned “—five hours.”
“What time is it?”
“Midnight.”
They looked at each other.
“So,” he said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “Is the carriage turning into a pumpkin?”
She looked intently into his eyes. “I’d almost forgotten about that. No, it’s not. But maybe Cinderella’s dress is turning into sackcloth.”
He frowned. “What?”
She thought this would be easy. Especially after his softening on the topics of Marilyn Manson and Lou Reed, he didn’t seem judgmental about how people looked. Because that’s all that her confession was ab
out, right? How she liked to dress and wear makeup differently, like the way she had tonight…no big deal, really.
But her throat had tightened, and her nerves felt hopelessly tangled. Because this was more than how she looked. On a deeper, visceral level that she didn’t completely understand, she needed to know Bill accepted her no matter what she looked like.
“I’m not who I’ve been pretending to be.”
He set down his sandwich. “You’re married.”
She rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “No. As I told you, there’s nobody else.” She took a breath, released it. “Remember a few days ago, before the festival opened, you were at the beach trying to get a Benz moved?”
A funny look crossed his face. “Yes, but how did you know that?”
“I was the goth chick reading the Sin on the Beach festival poster.”
He stared at her.
“You called out to me. Asked if that was my Benz.”
Awareness dawned. He blinked, feigned a double take. “The spiky black hair?”
She nodded.
He looked at her black hair, which fell softly about her face. “No wonder you asked if I’d like your hair to stay black. You were…testing me.”
An edge had crept into his voice. “Bill, I’m really not a manipulator, if that’s what you’re thinking. Yes, I tested you, but…can you cut me some slack here? Maybe I liked that you liked what you saw, and I didn’t want…to lose you.”
God, she felt pathetic. She felt like the twelve-year-old Ellie again, idealistic and dreamy and angst-ridden over Bill Romero, who could squash her world with just a look.
I’m better than that, dammit.
Outside on Ocean Front Walk, somebody whooped, followed by a clanging sound like a bell.
Bill glanced at the window. “That’s Venice Beach for you, never a dull moment.”
“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” she said sarcastically. She picked at a spot on the bedspread. “Look, as silly as it might sound, I’ve been freaked out ever since we got together about admitting my goth self to you, and after my confession tonight, I would have appreciated the respect of a Bill Romero truthful answer, like ‘I hate glam goths so get out of my life,’or ‘glam goths are better than French women’or even ‘I don’t care let’s go to bed.’”
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