by Frankie Love
"Good." Her lips part, and I run my hand over her full breasts, tugging down the lace cup of her bra and pressing my mouth to her hard nipple, sucking her perfect tit as her hands run though my hair. "I've saved myself for this moment, Holden."
I pull my mouth from her tit, using my other hand to unclasp her bra—because fuck, I just need to see her bare before me. "Saved all of yourself?" I ask as her breasts fall from her bra, so full and made to be titty-fucked, crass as it may sound. I want to push my cock between them until I come all over her face.
I know I should imagine more gentle things with Bexley, but I’ve fantasized fucking her for so many years.
I'd be a liar to say I hadn't imagined taking her every single possible way.
"I've saved every inch of my skin. My mouth has only been kissed by other actors. Never a boyfriend. Never a lover. I've waited for you. I always wanted you to be my first."
I'll also be her last, but I don't say it out loud, not wanting to scare her with my desire. Still, I can't hold back anymore. My cock is so stiff and needy.
I pick her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her to my bed where I plan on pulling off her panties and admiring her pious pussy, a pussy saved for me.
Setting her on the bed, I tell her to lie back. Her head rests against the pillow of the twin-sized bed, and I unbutton my slacks. They fall to the floor and I step out of them.
"Have you ever seen a cock before, Bex?"
She shakes her head, a smile spread across her lips, as if knowing she's in for a fucking treat. You don't have as much pussy as I do without a cock that porn stars dream of. She must have heard rumors.
I take off my briefs, and my thick cock springs to life. I stroke it, letting her know it doesn't bite, and watch as innocence is wiped from her face.
She sits up, as if the idea of lying back is ludicrous. She wants to see my cock up close; she wants to get real personal. She sits on the edge of the bed, her perfect tits full and perky.
Her mouth is at my waist, and if I pressed her face a few inches closer she could be licking my length in a matter of moments.
"Holden, show me how to touch you."
If there’s one thing I remember about Bex, it's that when she wants to learn something, she goes all-in. I remember her staying behind at the theater, refusing to leave until she nailed every one of her cues, every one of her lines, until she could deliver every inflection with precision.
That’s what made her such an amazing actress.
And that’s what is going to make her such an amazing lover.
My lover.
Chapter Eight
Bexley
His cock is huge. Which is something I prepared myself for ... in theory. But in reality? Oh, holy hotness.
Everything inside me is screaming to get closer. All I want is him. In me. Anywhere in me. My mouth. My pussy. My ... well, I haven't ever considered it, but yeah, my ass is just fine. If it means his long, thick, throbbing cock is all up in my grill, I will take it any way it is offered.
Also, maybe I judged those girls too harshly back in high school, those girls who were willing to jack him off in the library or meet him for a quickie after sixth period. I'm beginning to understand it now. They’d seen him naked, had him inside of them, and knew what he was capable of.
I want to know what he’s capable of.
"Holden, show me," I ask again, wanting to get it perfectly right, if this is our one and only shot at being together. Not wanting to mess up or do it wrong. I know I won't have more chances to sleep with the biggest movie star in Hollywood.
Holden just smiles, "Girl, you can't do it wrong. It's instinct. It's human nature. It's biology. You do what feels good, what feels right. The rest takes care of itself."
"Says the person in the room who is decidedly not the virgin."
"Listen, trust yourself. Trust this moment," he says. His abs are rock-hard, chiseled and tan. He strokes his cock, and I'm at eye level. If I'm supposed to listen to my instincts—follow human nature—then right now I need to wrap my lips around his length and suck.
Which … when exactly did I become so comfortable with the idea of Holden and me?
Maybe because I’ve been imagining it for so long.
I lick my lips, spread my legs, and grab his ass, drawing him closer to me. He drops his hands, watching me. I feel his gaze as I gingerly reach for him, and stroke his shaft.
I listen to my body and lick the palm of my hand, before bringing it back to his cock, moving up and down with ease. His tip is soft and his length is veiny, hard, and throbbing. My other hand reaches lower, rolling his two tight balls in my fingers.
"Oh, fuck, Bex," he groans. "That’s...."
"Good?" I smile, looking at him as he runs his hand through his hair, shakes his head. And I know he likes it. A lot.
I lick the tip of his cock, wanting to taste him, and as I bring him in my mouth my pussy seems to awaken. I clench myself together—a pointless effort, because I am soaking my silky panties through, seeping with excitement because his cock is in my mouth.
I wrap my mouth tight around him and begin bobbing up and down, keeping my mouth tight as I suck hard. He's so big, but I like it, my mouth being filled with him like this. Entirely.
I keep sucking, feeling his dick harden in a way I didn't know was possible.
Then his hands find my breasts, and he plucks my nipples. In an instant my panties are soaked clean through, and that's just fine. I want them off anyway.
I want to be completely bare before Holden, and I want to let him do to my body what he likes.
I want him to take me and lick me and fuck me.
And then I want to fall asleep in his arms for just one night.
He comes in my mouth, hard, his cock hitting the back of my throat as his release fills my mouth. It's creamy and salty and him. I swallow, still sucking because it feels like that's what he needs. I run my hands over his firm ass, pulling him as close to me as possible.
When he finishes, he pulls out, looking down at me, shaking his head. "Bex, who the hell have you become?"
I resist the urge to say yours. He and I made no promises, not since the day I broke them. And I won't ask him to make any now.
"I need you in me, Holden. It's what I've wanted for so long."
He seems to growl, not able to say a sentence, not even a single word. Instead he just eases me back on the bed, and pulls my panties off. His hands run over my thighs, spreading my legs; his head lowers to my skin and he kisses my tender inner thighs. I bite my lip, because Holden is actually inches from my pussy, his fingers fluttering over my mound.
The heat of his breath blows against my entrance, and I whimper in anticipation.
His tongue moves over my slit, running up and down, causing me to close my eyes, drop my shoulders. Any apprehension I had about doing this, with Holden, has dissipated. I know this is for just one night, and my life is so far from his ... but I’m finally making right the wrongs of my past.
Forgiveness has never felt so good.
His fingers roll over my clit, moving in circles, over and over again, teasing me with a touch that’s all new to me, and forcing me into submission. I have zero body control at this point. All I have is the way he makes me feel.
The way he’s always made me feel: vulnerable and over my head and out of control, in a way that I always knew would be dangerous.
Because I always knew that I need the line in the sand, because I knew that if I crossed it I would never return to solid ground.
"Girl, you're so ready," he groans, rising closer to me, his finger still buried in my pussy, come-hithering against my folds as my release soaks his hand. My thighs are slick, but he keeps his finger inside me, easing me farther and farther out, to the point of no return.
My eyes flutter open; his chest hovers over me. He reaches into the bedside table and grabs a condom, slipping it on as I catch my breath. My body is so warm, so completely sp
un up.
I run my hand over his bronzed chest, over the tattoo he got on his eighteenth birthday. "Do you regret it?" I ask, tracing the double H emblazoned on his skin.
I drew them in Sharpie, the letters HH, representing his dream and my belief that he would become Hollywood Holden. I marked him with those letters in the green room before the opening-night performance of Our Town ... when he second guessed his ability to deliver the lines. He thought for sure he was going to eff it up.
I remember holding my tongue, wanting to tell him to stop coming to rehearsal high if he wanted to do better … but I never wanted to be that person to him. To be his mother.
Instead, I got the Sharpie and wrote the letters on his chest. I wasn't nervous to be so close to his bare skin. Holden and I poured out our hearts on the stage every day; this was nothing more than a pep talk.
"You're Hollywood Holden. You're bigger than Our Town, and bigger than this town. You can do this, Holden. You can." I looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand.
"Thanks, Bex," he'd said, looking at his ink in the mirror. "You're the only person I can count on to make me feel better."
I remember wishing that his words were true. Because he could have had me if he'd stopped the partying and the girls, and quit being so blasé about school. If he would have taken something seriously. Taken us seriously.
But I would never have asked him to change for me.
If I was going to be with him, he'd have to change on his own.
"Hey," Holden says now, looking down at me. "There’s so much I regret, Bex. But that tattoo? Never."
I nod, remembering sitting with him at the tattoo shop. His knuckles were white, even though he so wanted to be a badass who could take it. I kept laughing at him, because it was funny to see him freaking out as the needle neared him.
But I also remember being amazed by him. Because by that point I already knew I wasn't going to follow him to LA, and I had no clue how to tell him, but he sat there tattooing his destiny on his skin, sealing his fate. There was no going back.
Maybe I should have gotten words inked on my skin that day, too.
I wonder what it would have changed.
And now, Holden's eyes are on me, and while in reality nothing has changed, a lot has. He eases his cock into my opening, the tip of it pressing in me, and I close my eyes again. The relief of finally getting this moment with him, throwing all caution to the wind, is overwhelming.
"You okay, Bex?" Holden asks, his arm cradled under me as his other hand guides his cock into my tight pussy, widening me. It hurts. But also ... it feels so right.
"It's okay, just push through," I tell him, then laugh at my own indelicate phrasing. "It's okay."
His cock is so big, and my body stretches to hold him. When he’s in me, filling me, I open my eyes; my mouth drops open into an O, because oh, holy shit, this is bliss.
He starts moving in me, deepening our connection. My pussy throbs with pleasure as his cock presses tight against my pussy walls, every ridge of him hard and alive and pulsing within me. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he snakes an arm around my back, holding me to him.
He rocks against me as I near climax, looking down into my eyes, and I know he sees me the way I see him.
What could have been.
I moan in pleasure, tears in my eyes, as an orgasm floods over me. It breaks down every barrier I’ve built to keep myself from feeling so much goodness, all at once. My trusty vibrator is a joke in comparison. His cock presses deep in me as he holds still, coming in my pussy, and I wish for a stupid moment that there was no condom on his cock. I want all of him in me, no barriers on his end either.
Our bodies are sweaty, and we can't speak, so instead he kisses my lips, my forehead, my neck and my nose. He rolls to my side, not letting me go, and all I can think is finally.
Finally.
Finally.
Chapter Nine
Holden
When we wake in the middle of the night, Bexley looks more beautiful than ever. She's glowing, her skin drenched with sweat and her long brown hair covering her full tits. Nestled in my arms, she’s the perfect fit. Even though the twin-sized bed requires her to be smooshed up against me, I don't mind. Not in the least.
Maybe she and I could be everything we haven't had the chance to be before.
"Oh, crap," she says, sitting up. "What time is it?"
I look at my phone. "It's after three," I tell her.
"I've got to go. My parents will be worried."
I raise an eyebrow. "Still got a curfew?"
"Not a curfew, but I know they'll expect me to be home. I don't want to worry them."
Instantly, I'm reminded of dozens of similar conversations with Bexley. What she can't do, or can't be, or can't try, because her parents will be disappointed, angry, sad, scared.
Never anything about what she actually wants. Who she wants to be.
"Them. Right." I nod, getting up from bed and slipping on my boxers, even though what I really want to do is lift her ass up and test out her pussy from another angle. She has no fucking clue how hot she is in bed. "You okay to drive?"
"We didn't get wasted, we slept together," she says, pulling on her black pants. White blouse. Ballet flats. Still the quintessential Bex uniform, even after all this time.
Damn it looks good on her.
"Maybe not wasted, but I sure as hell ruined you."
"Ha," she deadpans. "Sorry, to leave like this, but...."
"It's cool. I'll walk you out."
At her car, I open her door, not wanting her to get inside. Not knowing exactly what I do want.
Her. Me. Everything?
"Can I call you?" I ask.
"Call me?" She furrows her brow. "Like, to get coffee or something?"
I shrug, feeling a tinge of rejection. "Or, like, something more."
"Uh. Sure," she says, with little enthusiasm. She hands me her phone, has me send myself a text so I have her number.
"Right. Well, then." I pause. Why did this just get so fucking awkward?
Maybe because I literally never get myself into a situation where I ask a girl out for a second time. Hell, even a first time. I do hook-ups and threesomes, and giving out my number isn't something that comes with that territory. My assistant, Lindy, fields my calls. I don't make dates.
"Thank you Holden, for accepting my apology. For giving me a chance to finish what we started—what we should have done all those years ago," she says.
Before I can answer, or even fucking process her words, she practically jumps into her Volvo and drives away. The streetlights pour over the dark street as her headlights fade into the distance.
The next morning, Mom and I go for a long jog. It's my suggestion; I’m hoping it will allow us to avoid talking to one another about the fact that Bexley's car was in the driveway last night.
Mom, though, is never subtle. With our Nikes laced and the pavement dry, we head for a five-mile run, where she apparently plans on discussing everything about last night with me.
"Lindy is so fun. I had no idea. We went to a bar, had a blast. Did karaoke. When’s the last time I did karaoke?"
"I have no idea," I say, impressed with her ability to talk while jogging at such a good clip.
"She says I'm free to come to LA and she'll hook me up with more livin' la vida loca."
"Did she actually use those words?" I ask, re-indexing the Lindy I've known for the last year.
Mom matches me stride for stride, and slaps my arm. "Oh shush. Now," she says, an extra bounce in her step—which is remarkable, in my opinion, considering we're on mile three. "What happened with Bexley?"
"We caught up."
"Did you make up from your fight?"
"Mom, you remember that? It was four years ago?"
"I think everyone remembers."
My jaw tenses. "We made up." When I don't add any more details, Mom takes the hint and drops it altogether, instead using the final two miles to catch
me up on my sister Catalina and her summer plans.
Apparently Catalina wants to come out to LA, too.
The town car comes at noon, as promised by Lindy. She's already texted me three articles documenting my successful theater reveal—though apparently inquiring minds want to know the deal with the theater's name.
I pocket my phone, and tell the driver to head toward Central Ave. I need to see Bex one last time before I go.
The driver stops at her house, and I walk up and knock on her front door.
"Mr. Maddon, good to see you," I say, offering Bex’s father—my former shop teacher—my hand. He looks at it for a solid three seconds before reaching out and shaking it.
Some things never motherfucking change.
"Bex here?" I ask.
He nods curtly before swinging the door open wider, letting me step inside the foyer.
It’s the exact same: same framed Tolling Volunteer of the Year certificates on the wall, same row of shoes by the closet, same table holding a vase of fake sunflowers. Even though Bexley and I spent countless hours at the school theater, I never got further in her house than this front entrance.
"Bexley, Holden's here." Mr. Maddon calls. Turning back to me, he smiles tightly and asks, "Are you just in town for last night's unveiling? Going back to Los Angeles today?"
"Yes," I tell him. "Yes, sir. Uh, I come back a few times a year, but mostly my mom and sister come out and see me."
"I bet."
I narrow my eyes. "What does that mean?"
Mr. Maddon, shrugs, smiling in a way that feels hella condescending. "Isn't that the way it's always been with you, Holden? Always what you want, not considering what other people need?"
This comment really pisses me off. My mom and sister love coming to LA. I hook them up with spa treatments at the Four-fucking-Seasons and get them tickets to any premier I can. To hell with Mr. Maddon and his sweater vest and his family of the year.
But I don't need to justify shit with him.
Instead I smirk, which I'm sure really irritates him. "I'm sure you're right, sir."