by N. K. Smith
Julie is between Devon and Anita now, and has an ear turned toward me as she pretends to care about her fingernails.
I get up and walk between crew members and equipment until I’m near my trailer.
“Cole?” Oliver asks when I don’t reply.
“I’m not sure what to say. I mean, it’s not like our meetings ever work out, and what is there to talk about?”
“A new film I’m producing. I need someone else to help me with it. I’ll tell you more at dinner, but you’re the only person I want producing it with me.”
“I’m not sure I have time to—”
“We’d star in it as well. It’s about Russia in the Boxer Rebellion.”
“Because I look like a Russian, right?”
“You know that doesn’t matter.”
“So you’ll be a Russian soldier and my bit role will be either your wife, or the mistress who sends you off to war? Or am I held captive, waiting for you to rescue—”
He laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to be in a movie like that. I know how you despise the traditional female role. Frankly, I’m hurt you seem to think I’d even take on such a clichéd film.”
I let out a breath as I’m about to respond, but I’m too late.
“Just let me take you out for dinner. We can get more in depth, and I’ll give you the rough draft of the script I should be finished revising soon.”
“Jesus, you wrote it, too?” My resolve about not working with him again is crumbling because the words “more in depth” makes me think instantly of sex. Oliver, while older than a lot of the men I like being with, is incredible in bed. He’s attentive and makes sure he hits the spots he knows I like the most. Once, he spent an hour with his face between my thighs, and his fingers in my depths. There was no way to keep track of how much I came that day, because after that, his long, steady, slow strokes drove me to the brink, over and over again. Oliver is the one person who can make me want the slow, tender stuff.
“Cole, I’ll be a gentleman.”
This makes me smile. “When aren’t you a gentleman?”
“Will you have dinner with me?”
Before I can seal myself and become nothing more than an actor playing Collette Shroud, I say, “You can take me out for Thai.”
I wasn’t even fifteen minutes into dinner with Oliver when I surrendered. His honeyed voice and daring intellect charmed me back into his arms, which is what always happens. We will both enjoy the night, but I won’t fool myself into thinking it’s a true reconnection and a new beginning of an actual relationship. Our bodies together will make the night beautiful, but I can’t and won’t get swept away again.
Not with Oliver. Not with anyone.
Now as he presses me down into the rented bed of my hotel suite, I keep my body open, but my heart closely guarded. We’re still fully clothed, even though we’ve been pawing at each other for the past half hour. He has a way of making foreplay last forever.
The light scent of his cologne mixed with the heady pheromones we’re both sending out has me spun. I feel intoxicated, but had nothing to drink but water with dinner. Situations like these are dangerous, and I can’t allow myself to enjoy him too much. He’s temporary.
Oliver is always temporary.
Finally, he slips his hands underneath my ruffle sleeve camisole. He doesn’t go straight for my breasts like a young man would. He never goes straight for anything. Oliver prefers the scenic route.
When my shirt is off, he runs his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, across my belly, then, and only then, does he cup my breasts. Oliver lifts the left cup of my bra, and runs his palm over the mound of flesh. My nipple hardens under his touch, and I arch my back in hopes of gaining more of it. He repeats the action with my right breast, and I tighten my legs around his hips in response. I can feel his hard cock between my legs, and I want it.
I won’t beg though. At least not yet.
Oliver pulls back and flashes that sexy, devilish smile down at me. “Have you missed me like I’ve missed you?”
I don’t want to talk so I lean up and kiss his throat and run my hands up under his T-shirt. When it’s bunched up under his arms, he complies and raises them so I can remove it.
His chest is just as defined as the last time I saw it. It’s as if the past two years haven’t elapsed. He never seems to grow any older.
With one hand in the middle of my chest, he presses me carefully back down. I use my leverage to rub myself on him, then grab Oliver by the neck and bring him down to me. The sparse, soft hairs of his chest tickle my breasts and send chills up and down my flesh.
Oliver thrusts his hips while he sucks on my neck. He knows how much I love it, but he asks anyway. “Want more?”
I’m breathless, and while I don’t want to be needy, and I don’t want to beg, I’m ready to.
He doesn’t give me the chance. His mouth covers mine, and his tongue enters. I suck on it, giving him a preview of what I’ll do if he just takes off his pants.
We kiss until I grow frustrated. I push him away and start unbuckling his belt. He lets me slip it out of the loops, then unzip his pants and tug them halfway down his hips. Oliver hates underwear and avoids them most of the time. I’m thankful for this little quirk as I wrap my fingers around his thick cock and start to stroke it. His eyes are close as his lips part. When he starts bucking into my hand and lets out a solitary grunt, Oliver grabs my wrist and stills my hand.
Without a word, he stands up and pulls my jeans off. They go flying behind him and hit the wall with a smack. His hand is between my legs. “I like these panties.”
I start to move with his hand. The rhythm is perfect, and I’ll be able to come in another minute.
“They’re so wet though.” His smile is apparent in his voice. “Did I do that to you?”
“Of course you did.”
Oliver steps out of his pants and grabs his dick with his free hand. “I make you wet?”
I don’t answer, and he takes his hand away.
“Yes,” I say.
He rewards me by rubbing me again. “Do I make you hot?”
“Yes.”
His fingers curl around the thin fabric of my pink thong. “Do you think about me when you fuck other guys?”
“Sometimes.”
“When you’re alone and you think about me, about how we used to fuck, does it make you so hot and wet you have to get yourself off?”
I nod, but know Oliver wants me to say it when he gives my panties a tug, then brushes a knuckle over my clit. “Yes.” I breathe out.
With one quick motion, he rips my panties clean away. “Show me.”
My fingers are between the lips of my sex before my mind can even tell them to do it.
“God, you’re so sexy,” Oliver says. He slowly pulls on his cock.
I want it deep inside of me, hitting the spots that make my toes curl. The sooner I come, the sooner he’ll give it to me, so I manipulate my clitoris quickly and I feel the heat begin to rise up from my feet.
“Do it slow, Collette.” Oliver sits down, spreads my legs open wide to get a perfect view.
I slow my movements, and he gives me a treat by pushing one finger into me. He curls that finger up until he massages the flesh directly underneath my clitoris,
I roll my hips against him. Moans escape me.
“Is that it? Am I getting it?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it nice to slow down just a little and enjoy the journey to your orgasm?”
“I want to come.” I move my hips a little faster. My fingers continue to circle. “I want you,” I say. “Please?”
“Come for me nice and slow first.”
The resulting whine I give is completely involuntary and outside of my normal behavior.
“Do you want me to help you?”
“Uh-huh.” It’s the best reply I can give.
“What do you want?”
“Your mouth.”
&nb
sp; “Where?”
I feel starved for oxygen. I can’t breathe, but my need for his touch overpowers all else. “My pussy. Eat my pussy.” Before the words are even out of my mouth, I gasp as I feel Oliver’s hot mouth on my even hotter flesh. My toes curl right away.
He puts his finger in me again, then adds another. Oliver is true to his word. He gives me a drawn out, slow orgasm. When he straightens his back, I see his face is damp with the evidence of my climax.
He leans down and rubs his wet cheeks over my breasts, then laps at my nipples. I thread my hands in his long, dusty brown hair. I love the way he keeps it while he isn’t filming, and hope to God he fucks me soon.
I follow him up as he walks away. I’m up on my knees, one hand squeezing a breast, the other lightly grazing my swollen bundle of nerves. It’s almost too sensitive to touch.
Oliver grabs his cock again. “You still like giving head?”
It’s my turn to be dirty. “Put your cock down my throat, and I’ll show you.”
He spins me, and I lie back, my head off the mattress as he stands over me. This is somewhat of a specialty for me, but I don’t do it for just any guy.
But I trust Oliver. At least physically; I don’t trust him with my heart.
As his hips move toward me, I suck his cock into my mouth. Giving head upside down doesn’t sound awesome, but it is. It’s the easiest way to let him penetrate deep and not choke me.
I let him fuck my mouth while I tickle his balls with the tips of my fingers. He makes all the right noises—the ones telling me how good I’m giving it to him, but he pulls back, spins me again, then wastes no time nestling between my legs. My hand on his stomach stops him. “On the nightstand.”
Oliver glances over at it, then back down at me. “Cole. Really?”
I nod. Hollywood can be a sleazy place and being careful is a necessity. It has been two years since our last encounter, and even longer since we were together exclusively. I can guarantee we’ve both been with multiple partners since.
He gives me his signature look of reluctance, but knows I won’t budge on it, so he moves quickly. I hear the package rip, and before I know it, he gets between my legs again. One of his hands is on my hip, the other low on my abdomen as he guides me onto his cock.
I arch my back and close my eyes. He stays still for a moment, like always, to allow for both of us to adjust to the sensation. The incense I lit when we got here is burned down to nothing when he finally starts thrusting.
My first inclination is to make him move faster. I can use the leverage of my body to pull him in quicker, but I know he won’t like that. His strokes are long and slow, and it won’t be until he wants to fuck me hard that I’ll get what I want.
The ride will be worth it. The one thing Oliver and I have, is a history of the most satisfying sex.
Oliver presses his chest against mine.
I can feel his breath on my cheek as I wrap my arms around his lean body.
“I miss you,” he whispers.
Pushing his words out of my mind, I’m aware of only physical things. The heat of his body. His thickness slowly driving into me. The hairs of his chest tickling my flesh. The moisture of his breath. The pressure of his lips on my neck. The soft sounds of his gentle groans.
With his hands tight on my shoulders, Oliver presses me down onto him as he thrusts into me. Cool air sweeps over us and heightens everything. I’m suddenly cold and burning. The fragrance wafting through the room is one of my favorites, and mingled with the scent of his body, it drives me crazy with want.
He whispers something else, but I don’t interpret the sound. I just meet his body’s thrusts with some of my own. I want him closer to the brink.
It’s the look in his eyes, the hopeful one that makes me change the position. With my heels on his hips, I push him back, then get on my hands and knees. I can control things more like this. I can speed us along, and I won’t have to see him looking at me as if we’ll ever be anything more than just two bodies that know each other well.
Oliver pushes in, and I push back, the result is a beautiful sound of skin on skin. He holds my hips. I put one hand between my legs to deliver my orgasm. The constant and steady pace quickens as he lets himself go. I meet every stroke and together our sounds fill the room.
He tightens his fingers on my body. I dig into the duvet with one hand and skim my clit with wild abandon with the other. Oliver slides one of his arms around my belly, and he brings me up and back against him.
He can’t go as deep like this, so I wriggle out of his hold and make him fuck me harder. I grunt with the effort, but know I’m going to come soon. Just as the heat rises out of the base of me, my arm gives out, and my face is buried in the bed. My shout is muffled as I still my hips.
Oliver is good to me, though, and keeps my body in motion, lovingly drawing out the best orgasm I’ve had in a while.
I can tell by his ragged breath he’s only moments away from his. He drapes himself over me. The short, rapid thrusts make me come again until finally, I recognize Oliver is coming, too. After two final stabs into me, his movements stop.
After some time, he rolls off me and deals with the condom I made him wear. I crawl up the bed, my body tired and spent.
Oliver kisses my shoulder, then lays down next to me. “Say you’ll do the movie.”
I run a hand down my face as I stare at the ceiling. “I can’t.”
“But you said you like the story.”
“I do, and if it works out that I do the movie, then awesome, but I can’t—”
“You can do whatever you want.” Oliver’s voice is too loud for this quiet space. “You’re Collette fucking Stroud, the highest paid actress and most influential woman in Hollywood.”
I let out an audible sigh. “Yeah, I can do what I want, but I don’t know if it’s what I want. My schedule is pretty full as is, and—”
“We’ll shoot it whenever you’re free.”
He’s going to force me to say it. The real reason I’m hesitant to commit to the historical drama. “I’m just not sure it’s wise for us to work together again.”
“What? We were great in From Here to There, remember? The critics—”
“I’m not worried about the critics, or our performance.” I sit up. “Working together is intense and seems to lead to us thinking we can be together, and I’m not doing that again.”
He sits up, gathers me into his arms, and presses against the back of my shoulder. “But we’re good together.”
“Until you decide you can’t handle my life anymore.” I scoot away from him. I get off the bed, and go to the en suite bathroom to rinse out my mouth.
“Baby, I—”
I lean against the doorjamb, and level my eyes at him. “Look, we’re great when we’re just fucking, okay? But you don’t like the photographers who can’t get enough of me, and you can’t handle the pressure.”
Oliver looks down. He knows I’m right. Every time we’ve tried this in the past it doesn’t work.
“Look, even if we hide again, you’ll start freaking out because you don’t want to hide. And if we go public, you’ll freak out because you’ll be on every website and magazine that makes money off celebrity life. I can’t get involved in this again.”
I want to tell him that I can’t because it hurts too much, and I won’t hand over that kind of power to him again. Instead I say, “It’s late.”
“It’s barely after eleven. Are you shoving me out the door?”
The smile I give him is supposed to be kind, but I’m not sure if he takes it that way. “Not shoving you, just nudging.”
“Why are you being like this? You know we’re good together. You know we have a great time together.”
I nod. “Yeah. I know, but we’re not meant to be. I can’t give you the life you want. I’ve tried to stay out of the public eye, but it finds me. I’m not willing to get close to you again when I know you’ll just break it off in a few months. If I’m going to
put myself out there again, it’s not going to be with a guy who has a history of leaving when I need him the most.”
“I won’t—”
I hold up my hand. “You will.” I go to him and slip my arms around his torso. “The feelings we have for each other are real, but this just can’t happen again.”
When I pull away, I grab the robe on the chair and wrap it around me, then bend to pick up his pants. I hold them out to him and say, “Send the finished script over. I’ll read it and see if I want to be attached to it. If I do agree to star or produce, it’s only because I believe in the project and not because I want to get back together with you.”
The encounter with Oliver ruins my mood for the next two days. I lied to him. Of course I want to get back together, but there isn’t any hope for us.
I speak very little. Julie keeps asking questions, but she has been around me long enough to know what all my moods mean. I feel no need to tell her about anything since she was the one who decided I was going to talk to Oliver again in the first place.
I call Jesse. “I fucked Oliver,” I say as soon as I hear Jesse’s voice.
“And?”
“And nothing. It’s stupid. He and I won’t work out. We’ll never work out. I should’ve just used that energy on someone who doesn’t matter.”
“You mean someone who can’t hurt you.”
“I have to go,” I say. “I shouldn’t be talking to anyone with the mood I’m in.”
Jesse tries to stop me from hanging up, but it’s done.
It’s my mood that compels me to go to a little gathering of cast and crew the next night. I overheard Julie talk to Devon about the outing. No one invites me. I’m used to stuff like that. People already think I won’t be interested because of my celebrity. And then there’s the fact I’m the boss. While I don’t really want to be around people, I feel like I need to be.
When I show up, everyone is shocked, but seem genuinely happy I’m here. As always, everyone goes out of their way to make sure I’m comfortable. Do I have enough to drink? Where do I want to sit? Is this okay? Is that okay? How about food?