by Lila Dubois
“A year.”
“You haven’t been with anyone since I came to LA?”
“I was waiting for you.”
Henry’s finger withdrew and his tongue was back on her clit. Soon Akta was moving restlessly against the bed. She could come like this, the orgasm was there, just waiting to sweep her away, but she didn’t want that. She wanted to come with Henry’s cock buried in her, his body hard and hot against her skin.
“I want you in me,” she gasped.
Henry paused, then slid his finger into her while his tongue still worked her clit.
“More,” she gasped, unable to think past the need that was thick and hot in her belly.
A second finger entered her as he licked and kissed her clit. He matched the rhythm of his thrusting fingers with that of his tongue. A few heartbeats later, she came, the pleasure in her belly coiling into a hard knot of sensation. She grabbed his hair, grinding his face down against her sex as she came.
When it was over, she unclenched her fingers, combing them through Henry’s hair as she gasped for breath. His fingers were still in her, and his gaze was intent on her face as he slowly withdrew them then pressed them back in. Akta moaned.
“You came.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered. “Yes.”
“I want to be inside you.”
“I want that too.”
“How long do we have to wait?”
“Wait?” Akta propped herself up. “We don’t. Girls are a little different. We can go right on to the next time. Are you ready?”
In answer, he stood up, showing her his cock, which was once more rigid. Akta scrambled back, making room on the bed. Henry reached for her, but Akta motioned him away.
“Lie down.”
Henry paused, as if trying to figure out what she meant, then lay down on his back. Akta swung her leg over him, straddling his thighs.
“Akta, wait.” Henry looked worried, even as he pulled at strands of her hair so it lay over her shoulders, framing her breasts.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?”
“You were tight, even with just my fingers you were tight.” He sat up and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered against her lips.
Tears made the back of Akta’s throat tight. “You won’t, I promise. We’ll go slow.”
Raising her hips, she positioned herself above Henry’s cock. His hands lay tentatively on her thighs, so Akta put one on her breasts while the other she drew around until he held her ass. Connected, gazes locked, she sank down onto him.
She was tight, and he was big, but inch by inch he filled her. Akta knew a moment of pure pleasure when he was seated fully within her. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d craved for so long—this man inside her, filling her. It was even better than her fantasies.
“Akta.” Henry said it almost reverently. “Akta, I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For being a fool. We should have done this a long time ago.”
Akta let out a little breath of laughter. She agreed, but now wasn’t the time to tell him that. Now was the time to see how much more pleasure they could find.
Bracing her hands on his chest, she started to move. Rocking back and forth, she began simply, then, when that wasn’t enough, she rose up off him, sinking down on him again, needing that moment of penetration.
The hushed quiet was broken by gasps and moans of pleasure, the creak of the bed as Akta’s movements grew more aggressive and erratic as she became more aroused.
“Akta, I need…” Henry’s words trailed off, but she knew what he needed.
Lifting herself off of him, Akta lay back and spread her legs. Henry knelt between them and guided his cock to the entrance to her body. He was tentative at first as he braced himself on either side of her. His hips flexed as he struggled to find the right angle. Akta lifted her legs, linking her ankles high on his back. He sank in another inch and they both groaned in pleasure.
“Is this right?” he asked, thrusting in and out with small movements.
“Yes, that’s perfect. Do what feels good.”
“Akta?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. Henry watched her as he started to thrust harder and faster.
“Henry.” She touched his face as she said his name.
He kissed her wrist, her arm, then bent and kissed her as he continued to thrust.
Wrapped in her arms, Henry fucked her with a skill and precision he had no right to have. Akta had wanted the night to be pleasant for her and amazing for Henry, but she was the one who was shivering and gasping in pleasure. She’d underestimated how much even the simplest touches would affect her.
“Akta, I’m going to come again.”
“Yes, yes,” she encouraged. Henry shuddered above her, holding still for a long moment. Then he drew back and pounded into her, hard and fast and relentlessly. Whatever finesse he’d had was gone as he rode the crest of his orgasm. These thrusts rubbed against her inner walls, providing that extra bit of sensation she needed to find her second orgasm.
Digging her nails into his back, she watched his eyes widen as her body tightened around his.
He collapsed on top of her, his head on her shoulder. When she pushed, he rolled to the side. “Akta?”
“You’re too heavy for me,” she said with a smile. He lay back and she curled against his side, cheek on his chest. Henry’s arm came around her.
As she started to drift off to sleep the magnitude of what had just happened hit her. She’d finally had sex with Henry.
What were they going to do now?
Padma sat at the king’s feet. She was dirty, her clothes torn and hair a mess. A heavy silver manacle around her ankle was attached to a thick chain. The chain snaked across the floor to a ring embedded in the mortar between two of the massive stone slabs of the floor.
Crouched on an iron-and-basalt throne was the king. He had maroon skin and leathery dark wings. His hair was shaggy and coarse, and the iron-and-bronze crown he wore sat heavily on his brow. He looked like a gargoyle, crouched and ready, but he wore a thick silk robe, pinned at the shoulders with elegant wood brooches. The massive throne room was all stone, with thick rock columns supporting the arched ceiling above. Statues of primitively carved beasts lined the wall and metal basins of burning oil filled the space with flickering orange firelight. Sitting and lounging along the walls, on benches and chairs designed to support their wings and backward-bending legs, were other monsters.
Iron clanked and a massive white tiger, larger than any true jungle cat, prowled out from behind the throne. A thick metal collar around its neck connected it to the same embedded ring that held Padma. As it prowled, the chain dangling from its neck scraped and clanked. The tiger lowered its massive head to Padma and bared its teeth.
She gasped, flinching away from the tiger. Scooting back, she stopped only when her back was against the base of the throne. The king shifted, coming out of a crouch to sit, one leg brushing Padma as he did so. She screamed, scrambling away, and the monsters laughed. The king regarded her with black eyes, never saying anything as she moved as far from him and the tiger as her chain would allow.
The boom of a gong vibrated the air. It was loud and deep, so much so that the metal basins of oil seemed to vibrate in response, making the fires dance.
Everyone in the room looked up. The king’s head rose slowly, his gaze fixed on the thirty-foot-tall doors at the far end of the room.
Slowly they opened. Ebon had a hand planted on each of the doors, his muscles taut and straining as he forced them open. His wings were blood-red, his skin black as pitch. With a roar, he shoved the doors so hard that they crashed back against the walls. Around the room, monsters came to their feet, snarling and roaring.
“Silence.” The king’s voice boomed out, bringing an instant hush to the room. That silence
was broken by a little sound—Padma’s gasp.
She was on her knees, eyes fixed on the monster who’d just entered. “Ebon,” she whispered.
“The human is mine,” Ebon snarled, head swiveling as he looked around the room. “Give her to me.”
Runak stepped from the shadow, his naturally black skin not quite as dark as Ebon’s. “You killed our brother. For the sake of this human.” He spat the last word, stalked over to the throne and grabbed Padma’s chain, yanking it so she slid across the floor. Padma screamed.
“Cut there. That was beautiful.” Cali spoke quietly to the director of photography and then hopped out of her chair. “Let’s reset to do it again.”
The set flooded with crew. Akta twisted to a sitting position and accepted the bottle of water a production assistant handed her. Sticking out one leg, she waited as the manacle—plastic with a metal overlay—was carefully unfastened from her ankle.
“You okay?” Runako asked, helping her up.
“Yep.”
“You should have a stunt double do it. Margo would kill me if I hurt you.”
“Getting pulled across the floor hardly requires a stunt double,” she told him. Runako was engaged to Margo, and though he wasn’t the gentlest of the monsters, he would never deliberately hurt her. Plus, she was wearing a full body suit under her torn wardrobe pieces that protected her as she slid.
“Then next time I won’t hold back,” Runako told her.
“Bring it on, tough guy,” Akta said as a makeup artist added to the dirt smudges on her neck.
“No, you won’t.” Henry’s voice was low but carried a note of threat. He’d come up while they weren’t looking. His skin and wings were back to pale blue.
Runako narrowed his eyes, then looked between Henry and Akta. Akta held her breath, wondering if their secret was about to be exposed.
She hadn’t planned to keep what happened between them a secret, but she hadn’t had a chance to tell her friends yet. The day after her night of passion with Henry, they’d moved to this soundstage to shoot on the sets Jo and the art department had been building. Everyone was worried about being exposed, so they’d ramped up the already tight shooting schedule, and Akta hadn’t been alone with Henry since that night.
“I won’t?” Runako’s question held a bit of challenge.
“It’s bad enough they’re actually chaining her up. You might hurt her.”
Akta was both touched by his protectiveness and wanted to smack Henry—even the crew were looking at him strangely. He’d done a complete one-eighty, from seemingly disinterested in Akta outside of their scenes together, to facing down the most volatile of their cast members over her safety.
“I might hurt her?” Runako’s wings twitched and he widened his stance to brace his feet.
“Guys, enough. I’m fine. I’m enjoying my Princess Leia moment.” Akta smiled and touched Henry’s wrist, giving it a little squeeze. He relaxed under her touch. The way Runako was looking at them, she had a feeling he’d caught that. Akta needed to talk to her friends before word of her and Henry’s relationship got to them.
“Princess Leia?” Luke, who was playing the king—and who’d chosen the human name Luke for himself because he loved Star Wars—ambled over, the crown dangling from one clawed hand. “I’m hardly Jabba the Hutt.”
Akta laughed, dispelling the last of the tension. “I’m sorry, you’re not Jabba.”
Luke was the most mild-mannered of the monsters, making it almost comical that he was playing the brutal yet brilliant king of the monsters.
“At least you get to be king.” Seling, trailed by a makeup artist, came over, looking a little bedraggled. His character had already been killed—by Henry’s—so technically he shouldn’t have been in the scene, but Cali had decided not to let a monster go to waste. The special effects makeup people had gone to town on him, changing him from green to brown so that he could lounge in the background. Other monsters would be added with CGI, and as camera angles shifted Seling would be painted different colors so he could continue to serve as a very large extra.
“And you—” Seling pointed at Runako “—got a character name. I died before I got a name.”
The script had been an ever-changing thing—driving Jane, their screenwriter, to distraction—so at a certain point she’d given up and started using the monsters’ real names.
“My character’s name is Runak. That’s hardly a stretch,” Runako grumbled.
“And you’re getting a character name in the credits,” Akta said to Seling, lips twitching. “Bad Monster Number Two.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“None of you may complain.” A very disgruntled Tokaki padded over. Despite the warrior’s stoic, quiet and reserved nature, he’d succumbed to Hollywood and asked to be in the movie. Akta was fairly certain that he hadn’t wanted to be a pet. Jo, his fiancée and their production designer, had talked him into it after Cali had come up with the idea.
“Don’t be grumpy, kitty.” Runako reached out to pet him and Tokaki snapped, almost taking his arm off. Runako just laughed.
With all of them surrounding her, Akta was starting to feel a little claustrophobic. She was only five foot four, making her short enough as a human. When the people standing around her were eight feet tall with twenty-foot wingspans or a scary dragon-tigerlike thing as long as a freight car, anyone human would have been overwhelmed.
She took a step back, stretching, then sipping from the bottle of water. As she popped the straw into her mouth, Henry slid over to her.
“Akta.”
She could feel the blush heating her cheeks, and could only hope the makeup dirt covered it. “Hi, Henry.”
He searched her face. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. You have to stop acting like you care.”
He frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ve never cared about me before and people are starting to notice.”
His eyes widened and he took a step back, as if she’d hit him (not that her hitting him would have any great effect). “You think I wanted you hurt?”
Akta winced. “No, that’s not what I mean, and now I understand, but you’ve never asked if I was okay before, in scenes way more dangerous than this one.”
His jaw clenched and she could see the first swirls of black beginning in his skin.
“Henry,” she warned him.
He looked away, and the black retreated. After a moment, he spoke, but he didn’t look at her. “I’m surprised you still wanted me, since I’d been such a…” he made a pained noise, then finished, “…a monster.”
“Henry, that’s not what I mean.”
“Places,” the assistant director called.
Henry left her, exiting the set to circle around to the outside of the doors. Akta dropped down to the floor and held out her leg as Luke leapt lightly onto the throne above her. As the actors returned to their positions and Cali made her rounds, speaking quietly to the principals, Akta decided talking to her friends would have to wait. The first free moment she got she needed to get Henry alone.
Chapter Eight
Henry lay on his belly on the futon in his trailer. He was too tired to move, though he wasn’t exactly comfortable. He was lying on one wing, his arm dangled on the floor and his dinner was sitting on the table, probably cold at this point.
His trailer was actually a converted refrigerated big rig. From the outside it still looked like a truck, but on the inside the furnishings and amenities made it just as nice, if not nicer, than the other talents’ trailers. The refrigeration system kept it cool.
He should have been comfortable—the trailer had become his sanctuary, not only from the set and its endless streams of people and action, but also from his condo, which had been a monster halfway house for the past year. He’d moved in there with Michael and Luke. Almost as soon as they’d gotten settled, Luke had moved in with Lena. Then Michael and Jane started house shopping. Runako had
spent a night or two with him, but when he’d moved out to LA he and Margo had already been together. Tokaki and Maeve had each stayed with him in the condo, but now they too were all but living with their human lovers.
Only Henry was left. Only Henry was alone.
And it was no wonder.
He was horrible. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. After his conversations with Akta, he’d realized that his lies and half truths had hurt her—which he hadn’t wanted. He’d assumed that only Akta felt that way, because she was the one he’d been trying hardest to keep at arm’s length. It wasn’t until she’d warned him not to be nice to her or act like he cared about her that he’d realize it wasn’t just Akta who would have gotten the wrong impression about him—it was everyone.
Had he been so distant and rude that showing even a little bit of concern for a fellow actor was enough to raise eyebrows?
“You suck,” he told himself, the words muffled against the futon. “You totally suck.”
“Are you talking to me?”
Henry bolted up—or at least he tried to. With his wing caught under him, he was stopped short. Off balance, he rolled and fell, landing on his ass on the floor.
Akta, face clean and wearing soft cotton pants and a loose sweater, was standing inside the door to his trailer.
“Are you okay?” She hurried forward, the door clicking closed as she let go of it.
Henry watched her come. She was soft and petite, more beautiful than he could describe. “I don’t deserve you.”
Akta’s eyes widened. “Did you hit your head?”
“Am I really so awful that a compliment makes you think I have brain damage?”
“What? No.” Akta stepped over his leg and sat down on the futon, tucking her legs under her. “Henry, what’s going on with you?”
He lifted his wings up and back, then climbed to his feet. Taking a breath, he found the spell Maeve had made for him and pulled on it, forcing himself into his smaller human body. When the change was complete, he grabbed a pair of jeans off a chair and pulled them on. Akta had seen him naked plenty of times, but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have while naked.