Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance

by Nicolette Dane

  “You should just come back,” I said. “Just come back to New York early.”

  “Yeah?” she said. I could tell she was thinking about it. “My scenes are done filming. But I may have to come back if they need any reshoots.”

  “So then you hop on a plane and fly back to LA,” I said. “No biggie. C’mon. Come back.”

  “I wish we could just stay out in LA,” said Corinne, still playing with my panties.

  “Fall in New York,” I intoned. “You know it’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” said Corinne. Then, after another moment of thought. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll come back with you.”

  “Really?” I said excitedly. “Oh Corinne, that’s perfect. I could really use your attitude back at home.”

  “Let’s give it another try there,” she said with a smile. “But you know, we still have to be discreet.” Corinne, with impassioned eyes looking up my body at me, slowly pulled the fronts of my panties down to expose just my fine fur and gently planted a kiss atop the coarse little hairs. I couldn’t help myself and I squirmed.

  “Whatever you want,” I said, feeling giddy.

  “I want you,” she said. She kissed my pubes again.

  “Mmm,” I moaned softly, enjoying Corinne’s attentions. I fluffed up her hair with my fingers. “I love you, Corinne.”

  “Oh Tab,” she said with a growing grin, her nose nuzzling now against the tingling skin underneath my navel. “I love you, too.”

  I felt a wonderful fullness in my heart at Corinne’s words. Although our relationship had been a bit rocky to start, things were finally starting to come together for real. It amazed me at how lucky I was to have landed a girl like her. In my previous life, back in Chicago, I thought it would have been a smashing success to land a woman who did something cool like worked as a head chef or maybe was some high powered type-A lawyer who could be the responsible one while I screwed around. Never had I imagined that I’d be in bed with one of the most famous celebrities there was.

  “Oh, okay,” I chimed, watching as Corinne impishly began to pull my panties down my thighs. I felt a slight bit of a chill as the air around us sent an evaporating prickle to the humidity that was mounting between my legs.

  “Is this okay?” she teased, striping my panties now off of my feet, twirling them once around her finger, and then letting them slip off and fall down to the floor.

  “Um… yes!” I said, widening my legs open a bit and grinding my butt down into the sheets.

  Corinne grinned at me, sitting up on her knees to my side, dropping a hand down to my middle and she began tracing a finger along my glistening thin line. The sensation was magical, her adoration of me was apparent. As her finger slipped upwards repetitively, lovingly petting me, my body shivered each time she reached the wonderful ball of nerves at the top of my slit.

  I couldn’t help but watch her as she attended to me. It was like being in one of your wildest sex dreams, the kind where you’re getting intimate with the hottest person you could imagine, and they’re just seductively fondling you. It’s tender, it’s slow, it’s almost indolently casual. But that’s what makes it so intimate. Corinne just simply stroked me with her fingers and I could feel myself moistening. I could feel the ache in my stomach. I could feel the beating of my heart.

  “You’re so pretty, Tab,” she lazily mused, her eyes focused between my thighs, a wry smile curled across her lips, watching herself as she touched me. “I’m so happy we’re together.”

  “This is perfect,” I sighed, my head dropping back to the pillow, falling to the side. My cheek felt cool against the fabric of the pillow. Then I felt Corinne’s lips place a soft, sweet kiss on my wetness. I wanted to live in this moment for ever. I wanted this to be my new reality, Corinne giving me these sensual considerations all day, every day. I mean, wouldn’t that be nice?

  Not long after that I felt her tongue lap against me, causing my mind to take a leap into the deep end, and then I felt the incredible pressure of her fingers parting me and entering. I took a long, deep breath, crossing my arms over my chest to hug myself, and gave in to this wonderful woman’s skillful play.

  She was coming back to New York with me. That’s all I could think about. This didn’t have to end. It was only going to get better from here. I was totally in love with Corinne. I was really feeling it. And I like to think the moans that were leaving my mouth gave her a hint as to how I was feeling for her.

  She knew.

  *

  Corinne and I sat next to each other in the large cushy seats of the First Class cabin on the airplane. It was obvious that the passengers around us knew who she was, as a few of them whispered to each other and pointed, but we were mostly left alone. Corinne only had to sign a handful of autographs as we walked through the airport terminal, her floppy hat and overlarge sunglasses doing the trick to obscure her identity. However, in the cabin of the airplane, having taken these items off, it was much more apparent who she was.

  “Can I offer the two of you a drink?” said the convivial flight attendant, her dark blonde hair pulled back into a bun, her face shaded with a bit too much blush. “A mimosa?”

  “Why not!” I said.

  “Sure,” said Corinne, smiling at our flight attendant, her eyes twinkling.

  I was ready to get back home. I missed my condo. I missed my life. As much fun as I had had in LA, and as much positivity it had given me, my life was in New York. I was eager to get back to the This Saturday studio and start work on the new season. And I was even more excited to sit down with George, show him the treatment I had worked up for my own show, and get the ball rolling on getting it made.

  Once the flight attendant laid our drinks in front of us, the coach cabin still boarding with passengers, she lingered for a moment to try to get Corinne’s attention.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” said the woman. “But are you in Corinne Holmstrom?”

  “I am,” said Corinne happily.

  “We get a lot of celebrities on this route,” said the attendant. “But I just want to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. You’re probably my favorite actress.”

  “That’s so kind of you,” answered Corinne. “You should meet my friend here,” she went on, motioning toward me. “This is Tabitha Bloom and you’re going to be seeing a lot more of her on your TV very soon.”

  “Is that right?” said the flight attendant, now looking toward me and grinning. “Are you an actress, too?”

  “I, um—“ I said, really not knowing how to answer that question.

  “Tabitha is head writer of This Saturday,” said Corinne for me. “And she’s about to have her own show.”

  “You’re kidding!” said the woman. “Well, I just feel so lucky to have this shift. You ladies let me know if you need anything at all. I’m your girl!” She gave us one final smile and then moseyed off.

  “No,” I said, once she was out of earshot. “I’m Corinne’s girl.”

  “You,” said Corinne, bumping her shoulder into mine. The two of us reached for our mimosas simultaneously and took a sip.

  Me indeed. I knew that playing the game we had to play to be together would be tough. I wanted to joyfully lean over and kiss her right there on the airplane. I wanted to knit my fingers into hers and lovingly hold her hand. I wanted everybody to know how happy we were together. But I had to wait. I had to exercise patience, something I wasn’t always the best at. But for Corinne, I knew that I could do it. This was real. This was the relationship I was meant for.

  Just as with Adam leaving the show, with the work I had ahead of me, with all the buttering up of George I would have to do in the coming weeks, it all required me to slow my roll and accept the things I could not change. But I have to admit, I had it pretty damn good. And I knew that Corinne and I would eventually be able to work it out and go public with our relationship. As much as I wanted that all to happen immediately, I was in this for keeps. I had to play the long game. I was happy to hav
e the chance.

  Being pretty sure nobody could see us, I dropped my hand to my side and slipped it toward Corinne’s, threading my fingers into hers. Corinne looked over to me and smiled happily, returning my hand-hold, gripping onto me tightly. Her expression said it all. I knew that this is what she wanted, too. Private now, public eventually.

  I had so much to look forward to, so much left to accomplish. Once I got back to New York it was going to be my world. No more unsure and cautious Tabitha Bloom, all wishy-washy about her place in the world of film and television. As weird as it was to admit, I was somebody special. I was ready to come into my role as funny female lead, or whatever it would be, and there would be no stopping me from here on out.

  “Please place your trays in the upright position as we prepare for take off,” we heard over the intercom. Everybody in First Class had their trays down and nobody put them up. One of the perks up there.

  The plane taxied down the various streets to get to the runway and it wasn’t much longer before we were rushing to get up to speed. Just like this plane, I was about to take off, spread my wings and hit the skies. I know it’s a pretty hackneyed comparison to make, corny really, but it was true. I gripped harder onto Corinne’s hand as we left the ground, that familiar wobble causing my stomach to drop slightly as we speedily cut through the air.

  Deep breath. Smile. Feel grateful. Seize opportunity.

  Corinne leaned her face close to the side of my head, her lips closing in on my ear. She planted a soft, sweet kiss on my ear and burrowed her nose into my hair. Then another kiss.

  “I love you,” she whispered in the faintest buzz. I could barely hear her over the sounds of the plane and my ears slightly popping.

  But I did hear her. I heard her and I melted. Corinne Holmstrom, high profile celebrity actress and my sweetheart starlet. And this was only the beginning for us. We were on the rise together. Up in the air. Catch us if you can.

  *

  Thank you so much for reading Sweetheart Starlet! I write these stories for you and sincerely hope you enjoy them. If you liked this novel, please leave a positive review on Amazon and let me know what you loved most. Reviews not only help to inform potential readers of a good book, but they also let us authors know we’re on the right track. Writing and publishing is a tireless profession, and there’s nothing more rewarding than positive feedback from readers. Thank you so much for your support!

  Love,

  Nico

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  From Nicolette Dane

  ***

  Plus Excerpts From

  CHEF CUTEGIRL: A NOVEL

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  DORMITORY DEAREST: A NOVEL

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  AN EXCERPT FROM: CHEF CUTEGIRL

  *

  I REALLY COULDN’T believe it. After going through the rigorous audition process, which included multiple interviews, references from people I had worked with, and a number of kitchen demos, I had actually made the cut. I was offered a spot on Hot Chef, the most well-known cooking competition show in all of reality television. I mean, this was the big time. Chefs who won the title of Hot Chef went on to open their own restaurants and build their own empires. Even chefs who didn’t win often hit the big time, getting their own television shows and cookbooks. Hot Chef was a career-maker and I was going to be on it. Mind… blown.

  And the best part? This season was going to be filmed in my hometown of Chicago. I didn’t even have to travel. I had home field advantage. I knew the culinary world in my city. The scales were tipped in my favor. This was going to be Emily Gold’s time to shine. I was determined to win.

  You might have heard the name Emily Gold and thought, oh yeah, she’s head chef at Maison du Faisan in Chicago. She’s been featured in the Sun-Times as a young chef to watch, the 30 best chefs under 30. She was number 17. And, yeah, Maison won a James Beard award with Emily at the helm.

  No biggie, right? Actually, it was a biggie. It was exciting and thrilling and it made me so happy that my culinary career was really taking off. I had worked so hard for this, starting as a dishwasher when I was only 13 years old. And now, at 30, I was going to be on television, competing on Hot Chef, trying to make my face, my name, and my food known throughout the country.

  It was a dream come true. I had cooked my ass off, given up so much. The hardest thing to give up in my mad career chase was my love life. As a chef, you work tirelessly. We’re talking a lot of 18 hours days. And as the head chef of a popular restaurant, it’s even more difficult to maintain any semblance of a social or romantic life. Your world revolves around the restaurant. Most of the time, people in the restaurant world, chefs and front of the house alike, get involved with one another. Hey, you’re at work so much and you really only interact with this small group of other people. It can get incestuous. You start to factor people out of being a potential partner because they dated someone you dated last year. It’s a small world when it comes down to it, and it’s just a bit smaller when you’re a lesbian like me.

  The cooking world is very male dominated. Lots of bravado and all that. Lots of sexism. Lots of male chefs think they’re hot shit and that you, as a woman, will just drop your panties at even the hint that they might want to screw you. No, sorry boys, I don’t play for your team. My type is the cute and innocent waif. The Audrey Hepburn type. Not some hairy-chested, burly idiot. And there are a lot of hairy, burly idiots in restaurant life. Ugh. Avoid.

  But, on the same token, I don’t mind working with guys like this because they’ve got a lot to prove and they work hard because of it. It’s a cutthroat vocation. You don’t get promoted to a head chef position by navel gazing. And, as a woman, if you want to make it to head chef you have to work even harder. We have to prove ourselves double what the guys have to do, we have to withstand all the sexism, slimy owners, lack of respect from the male chefs. It’s messed up. But if you love doing this, if you love cooking and creating and making people happy, you’ll do anything to make the job work for you.

  I knew that being on Hot Chef was going to propel me into something even greater than I had ever imagined. As long as I, you know, didn’t get eliminated early. You never remember those chefs. It’s a field of 17 chefs and you know from watching, just as well as I do, that you don’t really start rooting for someone until it’s down to 8 or so. That’s when the world starts paying attention. That’s where careers start being made.

  Although I’d watched every season of the show, I still didn’t know what to expect. So much of it is edited for TV, of course, and it just appears so fluid and seamless. Like, how much would I really be cooking? What order do they film stuff? What about the little individual interview segments with the chefs? Is that before or after they get eliminated? It wasn’t just cooking I was concerned with, I knew I could do that well, but the whole role of being a reality television persona is what gave me a bit of anxiety. I didn’t want to look like a total idiot.

  You know the people. If you’ve watched a show like Hot Chef before, you know that there’s always a couple clueless weirdos, maybe someone who’s full of themselves and just says the most egotistical things constantly. You wonder… are they going to watch this all later and see what a fool they were? But my guess is that if it’s so easy for you to look that foolish on national television then, well, you probably won’t recognize your foolishness when you see it before you on screen.

  And what about the judges?
I’d always go back and forth as to whether or not I thought they were nice or not. Sometimes Tim Cicerone, famed chef and restauranteur, would come off as a total teddy bear. And other times it was like he had a stick up his ass, his bald head growing red because some chef over-steamed their broccoli. “If you can’t cook broccoli properly,” Tim would say. “What makes you think you can do foie gras in 3 hours?”

  Next to Tim was always Pema Sharma, former model, tall and buxom, Indian goddess. Pema was the host of the show and while she wasn’t a chef herself, she knew food and could critique the hell out of you. I had to admit that I was quite eager to meet Pema because she was so hot. Like, stupidly hot. You know everybody drooled over her. I’m sure even the straight girls wouldn’t turn down a night with her. But I don’t think anybody could handle it, male or female. Pema would wreck you at Chop Block and then turn around and wreck you in the bedroom.

  I’ve probably played that scenario out too many times in my head.

  It was just so funny to me to have this opportunity, to began daydreaming of what the experience would be like. It’s so easy to sit back on your couch, watch the show, judge the chef contestants for doing something this way, or not doing something that way. But I knew that when I was actually in their place, I was going to learn firsthand what these people had to go through to succeed in the various challenges the show threw their way. And while I psyched myself up and tried to prepare as much as possible for all the cooking challenges I knew I’d face, I had no clue that I would encounter an even bigger challenge while on the show.