Miri came awake slowly. Disjointed memories crowded her subconscious. Laughter. A bad movie. Pizza delivery around one o’clock.
Kissing, kissing, and more kissing. Mason’s hands stroking under her dress, her fingers tracing the outline of his abs under his shirt. The shirt coming off. The hard warm wonder of his skin against hers. Nothing more, to her chagrin. She’d fought sleep just to keep touching him, to have him keep touching her, but then he’d insisted that she rest. He’d pulled one of his tee shirts over her head and hung her itchy, uncomfortable dress in his closet. She fell asleep almost instantly, in the shirt that smelled like him. Somehow, she’d slept all night in his arms with his hard body wrapped around hers.
The sun on her face was too strong to be anything but afternoon sun.
She sat up with a start, looking around the room for a clock. “What time is it?”
Mason pulled her back down beside him. “Time for you to stop waking me up.”
“My dad—”
“Fuck your dad. Sometimes big girls sleep away from home.”
Miri shifted in his arms, fascinated by the unfamiliar sensation of him beside her. The hard limbs, the muscular chest. His ticklish dark hair against her temple. “I’ve never slept away from home before. Not with a guy.”
He touched his nose to hers. “Obviously.”
His eyes were sleepy, warm blue. His glance strayed to her lips and back up again. He shifted his lower half away from her, which only drew her attention to what he was trying to conceal.
“Is it true what they say?” she whispered. “That you’re really...big down there?”
Mason grimaced. “‘Down there?’ Can we use grownup words so this isn’t so squicky?”
“Is it true you have a big cock? You’re on the Hollywood Hung List.”
“The Hollywood Hung List is bullshit, baby.” He grabbed one of her hands and slid it across the front of his boxers. “But I suppose I do all right.”
Her eyes went wide as she traced the outline of his shaft. She’d sensed his largeness before, during the rape scene, during their marathon makeout session the night before, but she really understood it now. His whole body drew up, tensing. She moved her hand away with a nervous laugh. Yeah, he’d been gifted in that area.
He studied her from half-lidded eyes. “Still want me to pop your cherry?”
She flushed but managed to hold his gaze. “Why don’t you do it now? While you’re hard?”
“I have news for you. I’m always hard.”
“We should get it over with then.”
“No. No way. If I didn’t give in last night, I’m certainly not giving in this morning. There are things we need to do first. We’ll need STD tests for me, birth control pills for you.”
Miri frowned. “Birth control pills? Why can’t we just use condoms?”
Mason drew her close, smiling down at her. “I’ll probably get exactly one chance in my life to thrust into a virgin. I’m sure as hell not going to do it with a rubber over my dick.”
“It’ll take a while for me to get on the pill.”
“We’ll figure it out. As long as I’m not wearing a condom. I want to feel you skin to skin. I mean, it’s your virginity, for fuck’s sake.” He traced a lazy fingertip over her hip. “I want it to be memorable for you.”
“If you did it now it would be memorab—”
“No.” He rolled away from her, onto his back. “With that said, I’m reaching critical mass. I have to do something.”
As Miri stared, Mason yanked down the waistband of his boxers and took out his outsize, upstanding cock, stroking the shaft, rearranging the balls. Wow. Wow.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Mason asked, his voice low and hoarse. “It will make things easier for me.”
“Uh, yeah, go ahead. Do what you have to do.”
He laughed and spit in his hand. Miri was repulsed and yet fascinated.
“It will take about two minutes,” he said. “Maybe less.” He arched one eyebrow. “Even with you staring at me.” His hand moved up and down, manipulating his length in a jerky rhythm. “Actually, I think it turns me on more, you watching.”
“Does it?”
“It can be really hot, being watched.”
The really hot thing at the moment was the burning flush on Miri’s face. How could he be so uninhibited? Honestly, it was beautiful. He was beautiful. His face tensed and relaxed as he pleasured himself. His eyes closed and he groaned again. Miri felt an ache of need between her legs, a strong urge to put her hands down her own panties. Or on him.
“Do you want to help?” His tone was lightly encouraging. “Do you want to touch me?”
She only had to think about it a second. “Yes.”
He took her hand in his and showed her how to stroke him, up and down, squeezing the bulbous head with her palm. He pushed her fingers lower to caress his balls. They felt hot and rough, and strangely delicate. She was afraid of hurting him, but the sounds he made communicated only pleasure. Wow. She was jacking off Mason Cooke.
“God, Miri, I’m going to come so fucking hard. Ever seen a guy come before?”
Her whispered no was lost in the guttural bark of his orgasm. He clasped her hand beneath his, jacking himself in long, pulling strokes. She could feel the pulse of his organ against her palm, and then the viscous streams of cum shooting and shooting. And shooting. The ejaculate fell on his chest, his stomach, and down over the top of her hand where she still clutched him. It felt warm and had a faint musky smell.
As his spasms subsided, he made a noise between a laugh and a sigh and grabbed the sheets to clean himself off. “I’m sorry. You look traumatized.”
She shook her head. “I’m not traumatized.”
“You can let go now.” He nodded at her fist still clenched around the head of his cock, oozing with semen. “Why don’t you go wash your hands?” he suggested gently.
He didn’t have to ask twice. Not that she was disgusted. Well, she didn’t want to be disgusted. This was sex, this was what she’d asked him to show her. She went into the en suite bathroom, a showplace in black marble and glass. Mason’s bathroom was bigger than her entire bedroom back home. She washed off the fluid and dried her hands on a nearby towel, trying to be matter of fact about it all. She peed and yanked at her hair in the mirror. It was hopeless. She looked like a bedraggled rat. His baggy tee shirt wasn’t making her any more attractive.
He came in after her, took a noisy piss and then stood at the other sink to brush his teeth. He dug in a drawer and slid a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste her way. She noticed that he’d somehow fit the monstrosity of his cock back inside his boxers. She couldn’t help but stare at the front of his fly, wondering about the physics of that. Wow. Just wow. And watching him come...
He spit in the sink and smiled at her in the mirror. “You okay?”
She nodded. Yes, she was okay. A little warm in the face maybe.
“Can I do something for you?”
She almost choked on a mouthful of toothpaste, but managed to spit. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Because I’m an equal opportunity provider. I try to be.”
Her face gave her away. She was a virgin, but she wasn’t sexless. She had needs, and he clearly had the means to satisfy them. “Will you do it now? Take my virginity?”
“There’s this thing guys have called a refractory period.”
She turned off the faucet and arranged her toothbrush and toothpaste side by side on the counter. “I wouldn’t think someone like you would need one.”
His chuckle rumbled in her ear. She looked up in the mirror to find him sidling up behind her. He pressed the front of his body to her back. One of his palms brushed her ass. She was suddenly terrified that he’d take off her damp panties, her borrowed shirt, and make her face her naked self in the mirror. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t that free and easy. Even for him, she couldn’t do it.
“Sweet Miri.” His lips brushed her ear. “Relax.�
��
She let out a slow breath as his fingers traced down over her panties.
“Why don’t you put your hands on the counter?” His voice was like a dream. Hypnotic. So calm and reassuring. She put her hands on the counter beside her toothbrush. His body cradled hers, a fortress at her back. He moved his fingers lower, where the silk of her panties met the gusset. He pressed on the seam and she gasped. Oh...
He slid his fingertip across the sensitive place, then back, then lower. She knew he was watching her in the mirror, studying her face. She pressed against him, trembling slightly. Her legs inched apart without any lucid intention. He made a soft approving sound she knew she’d never forget for the rest of her life.
“That feels good,” she whispered.
“I know.” He nuzzled against her cheek, and yes, he knew just how to touch her. Before long, she was making involuntary noises, pleas and whimpers. When he inched his fingers down inside the front of her panties, she didn’t resist. She let him discover the wetness he’d caused, the depth of her need. Now his touches were sparks of sensation, each one surprising her. She’d touched herself many times, sure, but this was different. His scent, his solidity, his soft breaths as he explored her were all new to her. Her hips jerked, seeking more, seeking some pathway to release. He teased her in that hot swollen place until she thought she would die. When she grasped at his hands, he shook his head and guided them back to the counter.
“Leave them there.”
Miri shuddered and stole a look at his face in the mirror. His lips were parted, his eyes half closed in concentration. Slowly, one hand slid up past her waist to caress the tips of her breasts. Just a touch. A tease.
She almost cried out. She needed relief, completion. “Mason...please...don’t stop doing that. Do...do more. Please.” She could feel his broadening smile against her cheek. Still, he gave her only the teasing touches, light flicks and caresses over her nipples that made her entire body ache. After several minutes of this, she was so aroused she wanted to bawl in frustration. “Please, more. Mason!”
He shushed her again, but his finger moved faster, harder on her clit. Her blood rushed, her rapid pants outpacing the slow intake of his breath. Her whole body drew up like a slingshot. He closed his fingers on one nipple, tugging, gently at first, but then harder. It was like her pleasure bloomed, became something more fierce and acute. He pinched her other nipple as she braced herself on the counter, jerking her hips against his hand. So close, so close to coming.
The tug on her nipple transformed into pain, attenuated, and her climax arrived in an almost unbearable rush. Waves radiated from her pussy to her clit and down between her thighs. Her entire center contracted as she shook uncontrollably. He still worked her nipple between his fingers, drawing out an orgasm ten times stronger than any she’d ever experienced at her own hand. She would have collapsed if he hadn’t supported her from behind. When the shattering pulses finally subsided and she could think again, she was aware of his face pressed against her neck. She reached back to touch his tousled hair, his rough stubbly cheek.
He took a breath and drew his fingers from her panties.
“Well,” he said softly. “Wow.”
“Don’t let go of me yet.” Miri grasped the counter. Her legs still weren’t working. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” His hand slid around her waist, holding her close.
She looked up in the mirror to find him gazing back at her, his eyes bright and wild.
*** *** ***
Miri watched Mason putter around his kitchen. Charmingly, he was making her breakfast, although it smelled like he was burning the toast.
Mason had a movie star house, but it was a smallish movie star house. It seemed almost too small to contain him, for sure. His energy and charisma radiated outward even now, when he was stumbling around in cotton boxer shorts with scruffy, unwashed hair. Not that she could criticize. She looked down at the beige, drooping tee she still wore. It probably looked great when Mason filled it out with his muscles. On her, it fit like a shapeless bag.
She had her phone in her hand. She had to talk to her dad eventually, but she had no idea what she’d say. He would be beside himself, if he hadn’t already alerted the police. But he wouldn’t do that, because it would be bad for her image. Her confounded good-girl image.
“Dial the number,” Mason said. He rooted in the refrigerator and came out with a bag of grapes and some fresh pineapple. He dumped it on the table next to butter, coffee, and cream. Miri didn’t drink coffee for breakfast, but she loved the tangy tartness of pineapple. She reached for some of the crushed yellow fruit, but he stopped her. “Call first. I’m tired of the worried look on your face. Or text him, if you don’t want to talk.”
“And tell him what?”
“That you stayed here last night and can’t leave because there are paparazzi camped outside. Tell him the truth.”
“How long are they going to stay there?”
“I don’t know. If they stay all day, I’ll smuggle you out after dark.” He gave her a dire look. “Dial.”
Miri called her dad. When he picked up, his voice was cold as ice.
“You’re with him, aren’t you?”
Why did he have to make her feel like a misbehaving teenager? She felt her buoyant mood of the last hour or so plunge to the floor.
“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because you’re obviously not, to make such a terrible error in judgment.” Her father sighed. “But are you alive?”
“I’m fine, dad. We just hung out and watched a movie. It got so late, I decided to sleep here. Now he’s fixing me”—she took a look at the clock—“lunch.”
“Spare me the reassurances. I don’t want to know what you’re doing there together. The point is, no one can see you leaving his place.”
“There are photographers outside right now.”
Her father’s voice grew so loud on the end of the line that Mason looked over from his place at the stove. “You’ve done it now,” her dad yelled. “You’ve really screwed up. I can already see the headlines. Ugh. Did you think this would be good for your career?”
“They don’t know I’m here.” Miri rubbed her forehead as her father continued his harangue. Mason scowled, dumping burnt toast and scrambled eggs onto a plate. He brought them to the table and set them down with a bang.
“Give me the phone,” he said. When she didn’t, Mason pried it out of her hand. A change came over him. He spoke in a deeper voice and wore a dangerous expression. He became the movie star. The personality.
“Mr. Durand, this is Mason Cooke. I assure you they’re not going to see Miri here. They’re out beyond the gate, and we plan to stay inside until they leave.”
Her father’s voice cut in over Mason’s assurances. She didn’t hear what he said, but she saw Mason’s shoulders stiffen, his eyes grow hard. “Let’s be frank, shall we, Peter? Can I call you Peter, since you’re so sure I’m fucking your daughter?”
Miri’s eyes widened as he sat down across from her, stretching out his legs and scratching the mat of hair on his chest.
“Okay, Peter, this is how things are. I understand your concerns about Miri’s image. I’m not going to do anything to sabotage that. Let’s be honest, her clean cut reputation helps me too.”
Another stream of verbiage from her father. Mason nodded and leaned forward in his chair.
“Okay, but you do understand that this is her career, not yours? And our relationship, mine and Miri’s. Ours alone. Not yours, not the paparazzi’s, not the public’s or the Hollywood establishment.” Mason paused, frowning, listening to more yelling. “You think it’s not real? If it wasn’t real, why would she be sitting across from me in my kitchen eating pineapple and scrambled eggs at two o’clock in the afternoon after spending the night in my bed?”
Miri cringed and buried her face in her hands. Oh, no. No, no, no. She held out her hand and mouthed, “Give me the phone.”
Mason sh
ook his head. “She’ll be home when it’s safe to come home. But I’m not going to play dodge-the-paparazzi at the expense of her sanity, or mine.”
He paused.
“She’s a person first. She’s entitled to a life, whether she’s an actress or not.” He slid her a look. “Do you want to talk to Miri again?”
More short, sharp words. Mason ended the call and put her phone down on the table in a controlled movement, his fingertips aligning it just so with the edge before he looked back up at her.
“I hate your father.”
Miri stared at her lap. She was riddled with emotions, all of them unpleasant. Guilt, shame, embarrassment for what Mason must think of her. Understanding for her father’s anxiety, but yes, a lot of hate too. And surging, terrifying adoration for the man sitting across from her.
Mason Cooke had stood up for her.
After knowing her a few short weeks, he’d gone to bat for her, fought for her wants and desires in a way her own father never had in twenty-odd years of her life. On the heels of that thought came the second realization, the truth that had dragged her down for so many years. Her father didn’t love her. He didn’t care about her. Not her, Miri, but only Mireille Durand, child star. When that child star was gone...and she was quickly disappearing...Miri understood she would lose the only quality about her that her father had ever loved. And her father would lose the second of his twins.
Her appetite was gone, but she owed it to Mason to at least pick at the plate of eggs and toast he’d made for her. Her throat tightened as she choked down a bite of pineapple. In her grief it was tasteless. Tears came, unbidden, unwelcome. Everything on the table blurred, even the small black rectangle of her phone, and the man sitting beyond it. Somehow she swallowed what was in her mouth and pushed back from the table, making some excuse about needing to use the bathroom.
She stumbled into his living room and stopped, and turned, and let him take her in his arms. His equanimity, his wordless acceptance of her craziness was the last straw. She lost it completely. She hated to cry because once she started, she could never stop. There was a deep, lonely emptiness inside her that could never be healed, and when she broke down and cried, it was like she could see that empty space filling with tears, filling, filling, filling, but never full. The empty space was still there.
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