Action: A Hollywood Romance

by Grey, Parker

  The sensation shudders through me, warming me from my belly to my back as I arch up and hold onto his shoulders. I can feel his muscles in my hands tense and relax as he reaches the end of the long slow thrust.

  At last, I open my eyes, and I’ve never felt higher, raised up, looking over the edge of an endless expanse, and I feel like I’ve reached the top of a roller coaster.

  Then he starts to move, pulsing into me, and we find a rhythm. I let my weight sink onto his hips, letting him hilt himself with every stroke. Soon I’m turning my hips with each push and sliding against his abs and Nolan’s fucking me harder and deeper than I ever imagined possible.

  The sensation is rising up again with each stroke. His arms, hooked under my legs, start to flex, and his hands grip my ass, and the tide within keeps growing, until it’s more intense than ever.

  “Oh god,” I gasp. “Oh fuck.”

  I can’t believe I’m not coming again yet, the feeling is so intense, but it just keeps rising. I claw at him, grabbing onto any part of him I can. He’s moving slower now, somehow penetrating even deeper, and I can’t stop. I arch my back out, lifting my head up above his.

  He moans and his hands grip me so tight that I think they’ll leave a bruise on my ass. The sound of him pushes me over the edge and I’m coming at last, a deep wracking wave that straightens my neck and curls my toes.

  “Fuck, Emma,” he growls, and over the waves of my own orgasm I feel him emptying into me. The waves are still coming, more intense than I’ve ever felt, and they don’t stop for a long time, until I'm practically a melted puddle pressed between Nolan and the rock.

  He gives me a long, slow kiss before he pulls back, with me still pinned against the rock wall on his property. The feel of his lips linger, and before he puts me back down, he smiles at me.

  It lights up his face. It’s not the same smile he gave me before – the hungry, want-you-now smile. It’s a real smile, one that brings a glow to his eyes, sinking his dimples deep into his cheeks before he steps back, still with one steadying hand on me.

  “You’re wonderful,” he murmurs, and I can only nod, still dazed.

  “Thanks,” I say. “For everything.”

  He smiles again, and I realize how weird that must sound, but I just shake my head, looking around for my clothes. Nolan hands me shorts, and I find my shirt by myself, along with my sandals.

  But my bra is nowhere. We look around for at least ten minutes as I grow increasingly nervous about it – it’s a bra, it can’t walk or fly, it’s gotta be here somewhere – when Nolan finally says my name.

  When I look up, he’s pointing over the cliff. I come up beside him, and he puts his arm around my shoulder, as if to keep me from going over. It’s sweet. Warm. Protective.

  Nice.

  “Is that it?” he asks, and I follow the line of his finger to an outcropping thirty feet below us, where an ugly beige piece of fabric is blowing gently with the breeze.

  I sigh.

  “Yeah, that's it,” I confirm.

  Chapter Six

  Nolan

  Emma falls asleep as soon as we start to drive. The sun has already set, but there’s still some light in the sky, and it lights her face softly, relaxed and free of worry. She’s back in her thin shorts and her shirt, and with her bra lost somewhere to the mountainside, I can see her breasts bounce with every bump in the dirt road. It’s like she’s naked and clothed at the same time and I can barely stand it.

  But I guess I’ll have to. It might be late, but the industry never sleeps. I drive through a coffee shop to fuel me through the night, then drive her back to her car, and wait a minute before waking her up.

  “Emma,” I say to her.

  She doesn’t move. I say it louder, but she still does nothing but breathe gently.

  I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Emma, we’re here,” I say.

  At last she opens her brown eyes. Even after everything we did earlier this feels intimate. It’s one thing to sleep with someone. It’s something else entirely to wake up with someone.

  She smiles when she looks at me. Then she opens her mouth.

  “Where?” she asks.

  Not fully awake yet, I guess.

  “Your car. I’ve got to go to work and you’ve got to drive your car home.”

  “Okay,” she yawns, climbing out of the car.

  “Wait,” I say, rolling down the window.

  Emma turns back and leans over to look through the window. Her shirt hangs down, showing me the swell of her breasts and her nipples. It’s hard not to stare but I turn my eyes back to the cup holder, where a second cup of coffee waits. “Don’t drive sleepy,” I tell her as I hand over the cup.

  “Thanks,” she smiles softly again. “Talk to you soon.”

  “Will you?” I ask with a smirk.

  She starts to blush, realizing what she just said. I cock an eyebrow at her and give her a long look, taking in the curves and swells of her body.

  It’s been a long time since I saw a woman twice. It’s been an especially long time since I saw a woman again after we fucked, but right now, looking at Emma, I realize: she’s right.

  And I’m helpless against it.

  “Talk to you soon,” I answer.

  She smiles, and it lights up her face as I drive off.

  I love to drive in Los Angeles at night. Quiet roads, open freeways. It’s no time at all before I’m at the gates of Marwin Studios. Quick wave at the night guard and they open up for me.

  I park the Tesla in my spot next to my office, but I’m not going to my office, at least not right away. I head instead to the screening room.

  Most people think the sound stages are the most exciting places on a studio lot, with the crush of technicians crowding around beautiful and famous people. Some like the leather and hardwood executive suites on the top floor of the offices.

  But my favorite place on the Marwin Studios lot is the screening room.

  Screening room doesn’t do it justice. It’s a movie theater. No, it’s a movie palace, a beautiful room decorated with the architectural flourishes of half a dozen torn down movie theaters.

  Comfortable seats, heavy curtains lining the screen, free fresh popped popcorn. And at this time of night, it’s all mine.

  I scoop myself a bag of popcorn and settle in. Tonight I’m not watching a movie, or the rough-shot dailies from any of my productions. I tap my phone, dim the theater lights around me, and project Emma’s photos up on the screen.

  They looked great out in the field, but now that I can see their true color and detail, I’m transported.

  I tap a few notes on my phone. Shooting locations, logistics, thoughts for the movie inspired by Emma’s photos.

  But I’m distracted. The more I look at the pictures, the less I think about my job, and the more I think about Emma, her hands on my back, her sweat on my neck, the way her eyes locked onto mine.

  Talk to you soon, she said. I’ll make sure of that.

  And more.

  My leg starts to cramp. How long have I been here? I suppose I can’t stay any longer. Time to go to the office and read scripts.

  I prefer to read at night, without people around to distract me.

  I turn off the projector, turn up the lights, toss my empty popcorn bag, and trek back to my office. It’s a long walk across the studio lot, but I prefer to walk rather than drive — or take a damn golf cart.

  Golf carts. Has anyone ever looked sillier than when they’re driving a golf cart? Fuck that.

  By the time I make it up the elevator, past the empty desks of my assistants, through my private meeting room, and enter my office and sit down at my desk, it’s after midnight. There’s a script waiting for me, so I sit down and flip it open.

  It’s still hard for me to focus though. There are other things I’d rather think about. The weight of Emma on my hips. Her nipples grazing against my chest. The breathy moans I don’t think she knew she was making.

 
This is what is bouncing into my brain, stopping me from working, when a phone call interrupts my thoughts. I glance at the phone.

  Marwin.

  I hit ignore.

  A second later, a text message from him. He’s a persistent bastard.

  My office, the message reads.

  The phone dings again. Now.

  His office is on the other side of the building. I walk around, past the empty desks, to the dark hall, and to the one lit suite.

  Marwin’s taste differs from mine. He’s got a lot of expensive art, all of it very shiny. It makes the light bounce across his office, lighting him up from below, giving his eyes a hollow, tired look.

  “You’re here late,” I say to him.

  Marwin looks up from his screen and grins at me. He’s got his desk aimed at me so I can’t see what’s on his monitor. At least, he thinks I can’t. He still hasn’t figured out that the enormous mirrored blob of a sculpture behind his desk reflects all of his open browser tabs.

  Tonight it’s porn. Last night it was porn too.

  “Did you sign our newest star?”

  I shake my head.

  “Kitty seemed difficult.”

  “That’s funny. She texted me and said the same thing about you. And whoever it was you were working with.”

  Marwin taps on his keyboard and spins his monitor around. It’s a shot of Kitty in the pool of the mansion. It doesn’t look bad on the screen, but all I can see is the hours of talking, entreating, badgering, and exasperated encouragement that it took to make.

  Marwin doesn’t see any of that, though. He just sees another hot piece of ass.

  “You can’t deny she has a big… presence.”

  “She’s not worth the trouble,” I tell him.

  Marwin turns the screen back towards him. He taps the keyboard and I can see that he’s back to his old habits, a buxom blonde paused mid-bounce on the screen.

  “I’m going to have to overrule you on this one,” he says, not making eye contact.

  Not a big surprise. Marwin knows he doesn’t have my talent. He knows he should let me do things my way.

  He knows that if he leaves me alone, I’ll make money for both of us. Enough for the entire company, which he inherited from his father, who inherited it from his father.

  Most of the time Marwin makes the smart decision and stays out of my way. But he also needs to feed his ego, so he can’t help but insert himself now and then, so he can take credit.

  And once he’s dug his heels in, he won’t budge. You can’t talk sense into someone who doesn’t listen to anyone else.

  “Sign Kitty. The crew that gave Kitty all of that trouble today? Get rid of them.”

  I stand, because it’s obvious our meeting is over. By tomorrow, Marwin will have forgotten about everyone except Kitty, and I’ll be free to hire whoever I want for the rest of the crew.

  Including Emma.

  “And I mean all of them. Emma, whatever her name is. Make sure she’s gone. Kitty was very specific about her.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but in the shiny sculpture I can see that the blonde on his screen is bouncing again, her mouth open in fake pleasure. He’s staring at her, not me, and I know that any argument with one of the most powerful men in Hollywood is pointless at this moment.

  “You’re welcome,” he intones, his eyes glued to the screen. “Close my door on your way out.”

  Chapter Seven

  Emma

  It’s all around me, in the air, in my mind, and I can’t ignore it. My chair is scratchy, and now I’m thinking about how the small jagged points of the rock wall prickled against my naked back.

  Across the street, there’s a suit on a mannequin in a window display of a shop, and now I’m thinking about the way Nolan’s jacket brushed across his hard abs, the way the sleeves were almost too tight on his bulging biceps.

  Someone else’s ringtone? Now I’m wondering when I’ll get to talk to him again, like he said I would. The feelings jump from one to the other like I’m swiping through photos on my phone.

  I’m giddy thinking about our next meeting, then I’m horny thinking about what might come after, then I’m overwhelmed by the feelings I have for this man who I only just met, then I’m wistful for the first time already come and gone, then I’m…

  Then I’m jerked back to real life by Jen, carrying two coffees and a cinnamon roll back from the counter. I look around the coffee shop, remembering where I am.

  “You have to take some,” Jen says.

  She saws through the cinnamon roll with a plastic fork, cutting in half.

  “I can’t eat all of this on my own.”

  It tastes great, better than I expect from a stale pastry from a coffee shop case.

  Maybe it’s not the pastry. Maybe it’s my mood.

  I take out my camera and snap a picture of Jen, who hides her face.

  “Don’t waste your film on me,” she says. “It’s expensive. I can’t believe you still use real film anyway. Digital is so much cheaper.”

  “I’ve got digital cameras too,” I say.

  “Aren’t you always complaining that you’re broke?”

  “It’s important to me,” I say. “Besides, Nolan Maddox was impressed.”

  “Was he?” Jen asks knowingly. “Do you even know who Nolan Maddox is?”

  My mouth is full of pastry, so I just nod. Too late, I’m wondering if I should really be eating this. I’m no waif. But Nolan didn’t seem to care.

  In fact, despite what I feared, he actually seemed to like my body. Good thing, too, because I’ve scarfed down more of this sticky white glaze than I can even believe.

  “But,” Jen asks, “do you actually know? Do you understand what a big deal he is?”

  That gives me pause, because she’s saying it like he’s a really big deal. I mean, I knew he was important, but…

  “I guess so. I’ve seen his name around?”

  Jen shakes her head.

  “This is so crazy. And he liked your work? Keep this going, and your money troubles are over.”

  She sips from her coffee and smiles to herself.

  “Just try not to throw yourself on him and his amazing body,” she says, raising one eyebrow.

  Some of my coffee goes down the wrong pipe, and I sputter, my eyes tearing up. Jen looks at me, and I swear that eyebrow gets higher.

  “Right. No. Of course not. What?” I say, then laugh awkwardly. “Does he even have a body?”

  Jen doesn’t look convinced. Not even a little bit.

  “Well, he’s sure not an incorporeal spirit floating through this earthly plane,” she says, examining my face like it’s a line-item budget.

  She leans forward.

  Crap. Be cool, act normal…

  “Wait. Did you…”

  I can feel my face turn bright red.

  Jen laughs, disbelieving.

  “Emma! Tell me everything.”

  I shake my head, my face completely on fire.

  Jen doesn’t believe me for a second.

  “You owe me, you know,” she points out.

  I sigh and lean forward, my coffee cup between my hands.

  “I didn’t set out to. We just… had a moment. Then we had another moment.”

  She watches me, waiting.

  “And then we had a really good moment.”

  Jen slaps the table.

  “That’s amazing! But fucked up. Aren’t you worried about the work? You finally find someone who can pay you what you’re worth. But now it’s all complicated.”

  That’s true. All through last night and this morning I tried not to think about that. But the thoughts crept back in.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  Jen pauses. For a while. Finally she opens her mouth to speak, but before she can my phone buzzes.

  It’s him. I grab it.

  “Well?” Jen asks, expectantly.

  I read the screen, disappointment trickling through my veins.


  “It says my paycheck is ready for me to pick up,” I tell her, still trying to sound upbeat.

  Not what I was hoping for.

  Jen’s face says it all, as she raises her eyebrows and looks away to sip from her cup.

  “You still haven’t told me what you think I should do,” I prod her.

  She shrugs.

  “I think you should pick up your check.”

  I stand, pushing my chair back from the table.

  “Emma,” Jen says, still seated.

  I raise my eyebrows, still trying to fight off the sudden heaviness in my chest.

  “If half of what I’ve heard about Nolan Maddox is true, your paycheck is all you’ll get. He’s not exactly known for calling the next morning.”

  The feeling in my stomach gets tighter, but I force myself to smile at her.

  “Thanks for the advice,” I say, and leave.

  * * *

  I’ve driven by Marwin Studios countless times, but I’ve never been inside.

  On another day, I might have been excited to see that gate open for me as I drive in, moving past the strange fake outdoor streets. New York over here, Paris there, a glimpse of Rome in my rearview.

  But today I’m distracted. I find my way to the top of the parking lot and follow the maps and signs to the executive offices. It’s a long way. The studio is like a walled city, a place of its own within L.A.

  It’s a little confusing, but when I reach the tall office building, I know I’m in the right place. That’s because Nolan’s black Tesla is parked right out front.

  I go inside and tell the receptionist I’m here to see Nolan Maddox. The guy behind the desk asks my name, looks me up on a list, and looks a little surprised when he finds it there.

  He looks at my ID closely, then points me to the elevator. I ride it to the top floor, where I find another receptionist. I’m a little confused, but I have basically the same conversation again, and then I’m pointed to a long hall.

  Finally, I find the door marked Maddox. Inside are beautiful comfortable chairs, several people behind desks tapping away at keyboards, and, yes, another receptionist.