Action: A Hollywood Romance

by Grey, Parker

  Oh god don’t stop.

  It explodes within me. I push up and pulse with the waves of it, Nolan’s hand tight on me, holding me in place so I don’t fall to the floor as I come.

  The waves continue forever until I’m catching my breath, feeling the sweat on me that wasn’t there before. I must be bright red.

  My eyes refocus as Nolan pulls his fingers out of me and reaches for his tie.

  “Are you warmed up now?” he asks as he pulls his tie off with ease, a smirk flickering across his face.

  It takes me a minute to realize what he means. I don’t think I can go on after that.

  At least, that’s what I thought until I see him slip off his shirt, and the tight white undershirt he’s wearing underneath. It’s dark outside now — when did that happen? — and his muscular abs and chest flicker in the firelight beneath the fabric of his shirt.

  I can’t believe it, but I want more.

  “Fuck yes,” I say, clawing at his shirt, unbuckling his pants.

  He pulls my bra and panties off and stands me up.

  “Couch,” he orders.

  I listen, circling around the fire to the beautiful living room. I’m a little worried about letting him see me in this way, with my body a little softer and hips a little wider than most of the girls in L.A.

  I wonder what he thinks as he watches me walk ahead of him. I lie down on the couch and look back, but I don’t see Nolan. Above me, through a skylight, a few stars are starting to appear in the dark blue sky. Without thinking, my hand reaches down between my legs as I anticipate Nolan Maddox, but I can’t do what he did to me.

  Then I hear his voice, a low growl.

  “God, you’re perfect,” he says.

  He’s standing fully naked, lit only by the flames, hard. I’ve never seen him like this before. He looks like a marble sculpture come to life as he walks towards me, all long and straight and strong. Looking at his cock, I can almost feel it inside of me, and I can’t wait.

  I jump up off the couch, feeling my tits bounce as I do. In the back of my mind, I realize that I would usually be embarrassed by that, but right now I don’t care. I pull his arm to me and the couch.

  Laughing, he lets me lead him there, and I jump onto his lap eagerly. As I straddle him, he nestles a hand against my pussy and guides himself into me. It feels amazing to ride him, swinging my hips back and forth, pushing and pulling with him, feeling his cock opening me and pushing into me.

  I straighten my arms and lean my hands against his chest, noticing how my arms push my breasts together, and I realize that I look good, too.

  He reaches up and puts a hand on my breast, his thumb pressing across my nipple. Then he rolls and I fly over, landing on my back on the couch, my arms over my head.

  He’s got both of my wrists entwined in a single hand. I can’t move anything but my hips, so I push them up and down with his rhythm. All I can do is follow him and enjoy myself.

  While he pushes into me, he reaches down with his other hand and presses a thumb against my clit, and all the feelings double. I can practically see the orgasm now, like a train coming around a curve.

  “Don’t you come yet,” he growls at me.

  All of a sudden I’m rising up off the couch, as he lifts me up and over, and puts me down on my feet, facing the window. Nolan kicks my feet apart from behind, spreading my legs, and then he’s inside me again. I twist my back until his face is beside me, and I kiss him. It’s sloppy at this angle, but I don’t care. Words come unbidden to my lips, I fucking love you, but when I open my mouth the only sound that comes out is a meaningless moan of pleasure.

  Nolan lets out a growl, growing with his rhythm, and then the train is on top of me, bearing down on me, overtaking all my senses. I feel him coming up inside me and I explode.

  It’s so much more intense than the first one, I don’t know if I can take it. Every muscle in me tenses. I feel like I’m being squeezed to my breaking point, and then the release comes with incredible bliss.

  I lean against the window because I don’t have the strength to the stand, as the rhythm of it starts to stretch and subside with each squeeze and release. I see my breath fog the window in front of me, until the night sky is completely hidden by my damp sweat and breath.

  Finally, Nolan pulls away from me, leaving me dripping against the glass. It takes another minute before I have the energy and breath to back up a few steps and lie on the ground.

  I lie there on his rug, looking up at him. He’s looking down on me with that smirk.

  “Now,” I say between gasps for air. “Now I'm hungry.”

  Chapter Ten

  Nolan

  I hold out my hand and pull her up from the floor, careful not to let her slip away from the sweat between us.

  Mine? Hers? It’s all the same now.

  But as she stands up, and catches her breath, she pulls away from me, crossing her arms across her breasts. Like she’s ashamed.

  I feel bad, disappointed. I want her to feel safe. But it seems that Emma doesn’t let her guard down easily, or for very long.

  She doesn’t realize how thin and transparent that guard is, though. I can see past that formal demeanor to her real soul. I know she’s real. Funny. But only when she’s relaxed. And even now, she’s not relaxed.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her.

  She gives me the answer I know she will.

  “Nothing,” she says.

  Bullshit. I don’t even have to say it out loud. She can see it on my face.

  “This just seems too perfect. It makes me think about what you said. Murphy’s Law.”

  I nod.

  “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. But remember what I said after that? That’s what you should be thinking about right now.”

  “You said something about… what was it? Cole’s Law? What’s Cole’s Law?”

  “It’s kind of like a shredded cabbage salad,” I explain.

  She looks at me for a minute then punches me in the arm.

  “That’s the worst joke anyone has ever told me.”

  I smile back at her.

  “But I looked good telling it. Trust me, you’ll feel better after you eat. You can shower and get dressed upstairs. Shower is on the right, the bedroom is on the left. I’ll round up some food while you do.”

  She chuckles as she heads upstairs. Seeing her laugh like that, climbing the steps naked, feels somehow more intimate than everything we did before.

  I’m pretty sweaty myself, but since the shower is taken, I decide to do what I’d prefer anyway. I step out into the dark private meadow behind the house, naked, feeling my sweat turn cold in the thin mountain air. The ground is frosty beneath my feet, so I walk quickly to the river bank, feeling the mud in my toes, and dive in. The cold water hits my chest and it feels like breaking through a brick wall.

  The water fills my eyes and ears, and I hear the sound of the rushing river loud in my brain, driving out all other thoughts. Then I come up, look up at the stars, and in the emptiness of my mind only one thought can surface: Emma.

  After a deep breath, I return to the world around me. Snowflakes are drifting down, touching the water around me, melting on my skin. It’s incredibly quiet, even the sound of running water sounds hushed and muted by the snow.

  I head back, watching the first flakes of snow stick fast to the trail before me. At the steps of the cabin, I rinse the mud off me onto the ground, and I towel myself off. Then I go into the warm indoors and head upstairs. There’s steam coming out of the shower.

  I’m tempted to open the door and join her, but I’m afraid that between the hot steam and the empty stomach, Emma might faint before we finish another round. So I turn left instead, into the bedroom, and put on jeans and a t-shirt.

  As I come downstairs, I see the glow of my phone screen. Someone is calling me. I ignore it, looking through the kitchen, seeing what the Redwoods Retreat has farmed and foraged for us.

  My phone glows again,
and I ignore it again. Wild raspberries, elderberries, wild onions, fish. I can work with this.

  One more time, my phone glows. I can’t help but read the text message on the screen. It’s from — who else? — Marwin.

  Just convinced your director to cast Kitty in your movie.

  That’s a problem. A problem for tomorrow.

  Tonight, I’m here with Emma, and that’s all that I need.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma

  I must have lost track of time in the shower. Actually, shower doesn’t quite describe it. It’s practically a sauna, with big wooden panels and huge crisscrossing spouts of water.

  By the time I get out, the bathroom is completely steamy. The mirror is fogged, so I wipe it off, and look myself over before it fogs up again. For the first time, I can start to see myself the way Nolan sees me. It feels good.

  I wrap the towel around myself and step out of the warm room, across the way. To the bedroom. It’s a beautiful room, with a high sloped ceiling, and a massive bed of natural wood.

  Through the big window, I’m surprised to see that snowflakes are drifting down.

  Where’s my bag?

  Then I remember I don’t have one. I didn’t bring anything with me.

  This is crazy. What am I even doing here?

  On the one hand, I’m thrilled to spend time with Nolan. I can’t get enough of him.

  On the other hand, I hardly know him. In fact, I’m not even sure what he thinks of me. He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world, and then I can’t help but fall into him.

  But then I remember the look on his face as he pulled me up off the floor. He looked… disappointed. He probably wished he had brought someone else, someone better.

  That’s fine, I tell myself.

  Just enjoy the moment.

  Where are those clothes? I wish I had packed something. I’m not looking forward to wearing whatever size-large sweatshirt and baggy jeans they had laying around. I open a drawer but it’s empty. Then I try the closet door.

  At least, I thought it was the closet door.

  But after seeing the size of the room on the other side, I’m not sure “closet” captures it. It’s a display room for clothes. Nolan’s clothes line the left, everything from suits to serious looking hiking gear.

  And on the right hangs rack after rack of dresses, tops, skirts, shoes. It’s almost overwhelming. I’ve never had more than three or four good outfits in my closet at any one time. It seems like as soon as I splurge and buy myself something nice, my last dress, the one I thought would last forever, has already started to stretch and fade and slump like a sock that had lost its elastic.

  Now there are at least three dozen outfits looking back at me, all brand new.

  Who are these for? I wonder. Did Nolan buy all these?

  Does he have a different girl up here every weekend? He must, if this is what the closet in this place looks like.

  My stomach grumbles, and I shake my head, trying not to get carried away.

  Maybe it belongs to the studio, not Nolan, so they’ve got emergency ball gowns for… formal emergencies.

  Sure, that makes sense.

  Just stop overthinking it. Find one, see if it fits.

  I pick up a hanger with a long green piece of fabric hanging off of it. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. A dress, I guess, but I’m not certain how to take it off the hanger, let alone put it on. I eventually wriggle it free, afraid of ripping it the entire time, and turn it over and over until I think I understand how it works.

  I slip it over my head, and to my surprise it settles into place on me easily. It fits. Slim along the sides, loose on my shoulders. It calls attention to my waist, never my favorite part of my body, so I’m surprised how good it looks. I never would have picked this dress for myself but I’m glad I tried it on.

  No reason to try anything else on, but now I’m curious. I flick through the racks. There are gowns longer and flowier than anything I’ve ever worn, and miniskirts shorter. They all feel… different.

  Each dress is lighter than I expected, or heavier than I expected, or softer than I expected, or stretchier than I expected.

  Nothing is made of, I don’t know, normal fabric.

  I pull off the long green dress and try on a yellow dress with sleeves and a slit. I put my foot up on the chair and look at myself in the mirror, the thick material — silk? — sliding off my bare leg like water.

  Imagine walking into a bar in Pasadena wearing this. I would draw glances for sure.

  How about this black dress? It’s the only one. It’s got crisscrossed straps and openings in odd places. I’d never wear this.

  But then I think about the women I see walking down the sidewalks of Santa Monica, and I realize that it’s more modest than most.

  Still, not for me.

  I go through a few more. A beautiful and ornate gray piece with origami-like folds all across my body, a dress that wouldn’t be out of place at a gala. A simple light blue dress that sits on me as effortlessly as a dress on a doll. A silk wrap with a pattern I could get lost in.

  But in the end, it’s that green dress, the first one, that calls my name. I shimmy into it and look in the mirror. Simple, with just a bit of complication along the neckline, and cute flare at the bottom. It looks like something that I’d find in my closet at home, only it fits. It’s the platonic ideal of something I’d have in my closet.

  When I move it moves. When I breathe it breathes, like it’s made for me.

  A chest sits along the wall, and I already know what I’ll find inside. A quick pull on the handle, and the top hinges open, and two rows of shoes rise up.

  I find the pair I already knew would be there among the high heels. Strappy emerald-hued heels that probably cost more than my rent.

  The best part? They’re comfortable. It’s a shoe miracle.

  On the stairs, I can smell the food already. White wine, onions, something I can’t place. I come downstairs and he’s in the kitchen, pulling something off the stove.

  When he sees me, he stops, the pot in his hand hovering over the stove, completely forgotten.

  “Emma,” he breathes.

  He’s changed. I was expecting to see him in his suit, but he’s wearing a tight white t-shirt, his hair slicked back wet.

  And here I am, carefully arranged in this beautiful and expensive dress. It’s embarrassing. Or, it should be. In fact, I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I laugh out loud as I brush my hair into place.

  And that’s okay with me. I like dressing up for him, whatever he’s wearing.

  “You look incredible,” he says, his eyes moving slowly and hungrily over my body, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me.

  Well, maybe I’m a little bit embarrassed.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “That was in the closet?” he asks, finally putting the pot in the stove, but turning fully toward me once he does.

  I nod.

  “Why is there a closet full of gowns, by the way?”

  Nolan shrugs, still blatantly staring.

  “Movie wardrobe stuff,” he says, waving one hand. “Though I’ve got half a mind to stock it with something a little different next time we come here. Or maybe just nothing at all.”

  I laugh, even as I blush.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask, changing the subject away from me.

  “Trout from the river.” Nolan points with his eyes to the waterway flowing past the window. “Butter from the valley to the south. Wild onions from the mountains to the north. And wine from Châteauneuf-de-Papa, France.”

  He puts the plates down at the table and we sit down.

  “We’re doing this date in the wrong order,” I say. “Usually dinner comes before sleeping together.”

  “Seemed right to me. Why, would you rather fuck with a full belly?”

  I laugh.

  “I guess there’s no wrong way.” The food is amazing, rich but not heavy, and
the wine is light and flavorful.

  “Besides, people are more honest after sex.”

  I smile at him. “You think I’m not being honest?”

  He fixes his eye on me without smiling back.

  “I think you’re holding something back.”

  “Maybe I’m a little overwhelmed.” I break his gaze, take a sip of the wine. “I don’t always know what to say.”

  “Or there’s something you’re afraid to say.” He’s still watching me. “But here’s some honesty for you. You can tell me anything, because I’m falling for you.”

  I look back at his eyes, those shocking gray eyes. I believe him.

  “Well,” I say, then I swallow.

  The words are there, inside my head, and I’m afraid to say them but I’m not able to stop.

  “I’m yours.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nolan

  The sun hasn’t yet risen when I shake Emma awake. She opens her eyes and sits up in bed beside me.

  “Buh?”

  She looks at me like she expects a response.

  “Not a question,” I say. “Get up, you’ve got ten minutes to get ready to go. I’m not going to miss a second of daylight today.”

  I stretch the tight shirt over my head. Performance fabric, quick drying, warm. Lightweight pants. Even the socks.

  Maybe the most important item. Fast drying, less likely to freeze, keeps frostbite at bay.

  “Nine minutes,” I tell her. “Put these on and meet me downstairs. And don’t forget your camera”

  The air outside is bracing. The sky is just beginning to lighten, and I can see my breath by the light of dawn. And I can see a reflection on the ground, a tall layer of fresh-fallen snow.

  “What’s going on?” Emma asks.

  She’s wearing the clothes I picked for her, the tights and boots and the warm vest. Even through the vest, I can see the curves of her body, and my mouth goes a little dry.