Her Hollywood Daddy

by Renee Rose

  She’d turned giddy with the attention, giggling and warm as he lowered her down and offered to take her out for a treat.

  Having Joel there yesterday made up for every single one of her mom’s absences. And now here he was, protecting her from her make-up artist and standing protectively outside her trailer, like he wasn’t the biggest name on the set.

  He took her hand. “Are you okay?”

  She looked back over her shoulder toward her trailer, where Becky was coming out. “Yeah. Totally. Thanks.”

  “Okay, so we’re going back to the same scene we stopped on. I know you know the lines this time, so just relax and shine, all right, baby?”

  He knew she knew her lines because he’d made her rehearse them all afternoon the previous day. Not that she’d minded one bit. She loved acting with him.

  “Do I seem nervous?” she asked.

  “I can tell you’re edgy, but that’s my job,” he said, giving her a wink.

  “It’s your job to know or to make me edgy?” she teased.

  His expression grew wolfish. “Both. In the appropriate times.”

  He led her to the set and into the elevator, where he wrapped both arms around her from behind. She leaned into his strength.

  “More light on the left side,” Antonio called out. “Let’s see the close-up of Marissa’s face.”

  She held still while they made the adjustments.

  “We are ready to roll.” A cameraman’s assistant hit the slates with the digitized scene and take number. “Cameras...and…” Antonio pointed at them, “Action.”

  They ran the scene. Joel brought his arm around her waist, the knife at her throat. They wrestled in the choreographed fight scene they had rehearsed the night before. The one that had ended with him on top of her, tickling until she squealed “mercy.”

  Electricity ran between them. Every touch made her want more, every line he spoke in his deep, resonant voice made her quiver. They finished the scene too soon for her taste and a silence fell over the set after Antonio yelled, “cut.”

  “Nice work,” Joel murmured, helping her up.

  Antonio was walking over with a strange glint in his eye.

  She resisted the urge to shrink back against Joel.

  “Very interesting,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The chemistry here.” He waved a finger back and forth between her and Joel. “That was totally different. I want more of it. I want…” he looked into space. “We’re going to re-shoot the warehouse scene. I want that energy, that—” he grasped air in both his fists, shaking them, “connection. In fact,” he said, thrusting one finger in the air, “we should add a scene. Get me the screenwriter—no, nevermind, I will write it.” He stared into space. “An evening scene. In the hotel lobby. He is having a drink, and she enters in a tight, red dress and sits down across from him. He orders her a drink. She won’t take it, but she drinks his instead. Cut scene.” He closes his fist. “Next scene, in the hotel room, they are fucking like cats—you know what I mean? Wrestling, pinning each other down, biting. Can you do that?”

  She tipped her head back to look at Joel, and found him focused on her, as usual. He winked. “I’m pretty sure we can.”

  *****

  Antonio went straight to the new scene. When he got excited about an idea in his head, there was no slowing him down. He barked at the costume department until they produced the red cocktail dress and altered it on the spot to hug Marissa’s tight little body like a glove.

  She played the hotel bar encounter perfectly: sultry glances, pouty lips. He wanted to screw her for real. Filming sex scenes was notoriously awkward. Even if he did feel like getting naked with a co-star, they had twenty-five other people standing around watching.

  The next scene happened in a hotel room, which Antonio found on another movie’s set. There were all kinds of phone calls and red tape, but when he insisted, he got his way.

  “Okay, now give it all to me,” he said, looking at Marissa. “Walk in, take your clothes off, piece by piece, and attack your man. Or vice versa. I don’t care. You two figure it out while we get set up.”

  He turned to Marissa, thinking she might need coaxing or cheerleading, but she grinned at him with a sparkle in her eye. His heart did a double-beat. This was the Marissa from New Mexico. The one who loved what she did. The Marissa he had wanted on his movie.

  He grasped her hair in his fist and pulled her head back. “I’m going to fuck you for real under those covers, little girl,” he growled in a voice only she could hear.

  Someone near them whooped.

  “Get that on film,” Antonio ordered, pointing to one of the grips.

  “Camera’s rolling,” the grip said.

  He released her hair and her head snapped up. In a flash she leapt at him, her legs snapping around his waist, her hands on either side of his head. She used his ears to tug his head back and bent to kiss him, her tongue sweeping over the seam of his lips, licking inside.

  He returned the kiss, walking forward until her back met a wall. Pinning her between his body and the plaster, he grasped her wrists and pinioned them over her head. He held her in place and lowered his head until his mouth found her breast. He bit and she cried out, a sexy, wanton sound.

  The sound of running footsteps and whispers alerted him that all the cameras were on now, getting different angles of the same shot.

  He buried his face in her cleavage, yanking down the neckline of the red dress far enough to reveal a white lacy bra. He used his teeth on the lingerie. A camera moved in close and low. He lowered her so he could get her clothes off and she lunged for him, tearing open his shirt with enough force to pop the buttons.

  He ripped her dress off over her head.

  She reached for his pants and came up holding his stage knife, the tip pointed at his throat. “On the bed,” she said.

  The corner of his mouth twitched up as he backed slowly toward the bed. When his legs hit it, he caught her wrist and flipped her onto her back on the mattress. He was amazed it worked without rehearsal, but their connection was strong and clear, each one knew when to let the other lead.

  He held the point of the knife to her jugular and she lifted her chin, offering her throat, yet also managing to look defiant. He traced a line down her skin with the tip of the knife, dragging it until he reached her bra, which he slit in the middle. He hadn’t been sure if the stage blade would be sharp enough, but the fabric split, springing open to reveal Marissa’s youthful breasts. And he suddenly wished no one else could see them. They were pure perfection, like the rest of her.

  He tossed the knife onto the floor and took her nipples between his fingers, pinching and lifting them both until she arched and gasped. When he released them, she drew back her hand and slapped him. He pounced, gripping her throat with one hand as he attacked her with his mouth, biting her neck.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, probably worrying whether he’d spank her for slapping him again.

  He flicked his tongue in her ear.

  She dug her fingernails into his back. “Condom,” she rasped.

  Condom. Did she really believe he was going to have sex with her on the set? The idea made his cock even harder.

  “Condom,” he repeated, making something out of it. He got up, patting his pants pockets for his wallet, which of course, was in his trailer.

  Someone waved from behind the lights. He strode forward and accepted a condom from one of the grips. He sensed every eye on him. They had to see his erection tenting his pants. There was no time to think—the cameras were rolling. He kicked off the trousers and climbed under the covers where Marissa had taken refuge.

  She grabbed him the moment he knelt on the bed, throwing him to his back and straddling him. Her panties were white satin and lace, the gusset moist where she’d rubbed her pussy against his cock. She grabbed the condom from his fingers and ripped it open with her teeth. Ducking under the covers, she scooted down, lowering his boxers and ta
king his length into her mouth.

  He nearly shouted at the shock of it. In his periphery, arms waved frantically. They wanted the covers off her head. Jesus. The entire cast and crew were going to see her suck his cock. He threw back one corner of the blankets, shielding the view of his member, but revealing the back of her head bobbing over him. She could be pretending from their angle. Or so he hoped.

  She slid the condom over his cock and tackled him, throwing her body on top of his. He immediately rolled so he landed on top, his cock straining between her thighs, the heat of her pussy tormenting him.

  He gave her a savage kiss while she pulled her panties to the side and gave him access. He still hadn’t decided whether or not to actually do it when his cock made the decision for him, sliding in to her hot tunnel.

  She arched, thrusting her pussy over his cock, taking him deeper than he thought possible.

  He laced his fingers over the tops of hers, holding her hands down as he shoved in and out of her. He bit her neck. He didn’t want to come with everyone watching—didn’t want to have to dispose of a used condom and confirm for the world that they’d had real sex on film. But he wanted her to come. He wanted her to receive the pleasure she deserved.

  He pulled out and rolled her to her belly, entering from behind as he grasped her hair and pulled her head back.

  She lifted onto her forearms and hissed at the mixture of pain and pleasure, baring her teeth and looking over her shoulder like a feral cat.

  “I’m going to make you come in front of all these people,” he growled in her ear.

  She gave an audible cry of excitement.

  He pounded into her harder, scooting the bed with each thrust, making Marissa’s breasts bob, the ropy muscles along her spine taut. But he couldn’t think about her—not how unbearably beautiful she looked, nor how much he wanted to make her scream. He needed to remember their audience, forget about his pleasure.

  He shoved in deep and stayed, simulating his orgasm.

  She arched and swallowed a cry, her muscles squeezing his cock, perfectly programmed to come when he did—the evolutionary necessity for reproduction. Neither of them made a sound as he held her upper body bowed, her head falling back, her whiskey-colored hair tumbling across her naked back.

  When her muscles finished fluttering, he released her and they both flopped to the mattress with a sigh, as if they’d just completed a strenuous workout. They held their position as the cameras moved in closer, one coming in from above to shoot straight down on them. They lay there, breathing as one for a full seven seconds more until Antonio yelled, “cut” and the entire set erupted into cheers.

  Chapter Six

  “Do you think Antonio would give us a copy of that take?”

  Joel was driving her to pick up her car from the repair shop after their shoot. He smirked. “I’ll bet everyone there today asks him for a copy. You were incredible—quite the improvisor. Have you studied Stanislavski?”

  She flushed under his praise. “A little. I was just following your lead.”

  “Yeah, but you really went for it—without any hesitation.That’s what defines a good performer, baby.”

  She squirmed, her face growing hotter, pleasure warming her entire body.

  “Although, I have to say, the daddy in me was ready to kill every man who got to see your perfect breasts today.”

  Her head swam, drunk on his appreciation. “You’d have to kill everyone who watches Canyon del Oro, too, then,” she said.

  “Don’t think I won’t do it,” he joked, pulling a mock stern voice.

  Her pussy clenched. She loved it when he turned dominant. God, she loved it when he did anything. Her gaze swept over his muscled arms at the steering wheel. An actor who wasn’t self-involved. A man’s man, who knew how to treat a woman. Well, if one thought women ought to have their panties pulled down and their bare bottoms spanked until they squealed. Which she never dreamed would turn her on half as much as it did.

  Joel pulled in to the repair shop, and accompanied her in, like the gentleman he was. The men at the counter scurried up to help her. “Good evening, Ms. Sparks. We have your convertible all set to go. The total charge with the new part and labor comes to four hundred and fifty-eight dollars.”

  She handed him a credit card. “Sure. Here you go.”

  Joel touched the small of her back in that possessive way he had. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  The man turned back, looking uncomfortable. “Uh...I’m so sorry, but this card was declined. Do you have another card?”

  Her neck grew warm as she dug in her wallet for a different card. “Sorry about that, please try this one.”

  A few moments later, he turned back with the same chagrined look.

  “That one didn’t work either?” Her heart thudded in her chest. Fucking Bev. Or her mom. What the hell was wrong with them, anyway? Had they really maxed out every credit card she had?

  Joel leaned past her and handed the man his credit card. “Here, put it on this.”

  She ground her teeth. Great. Joel already thought she was a total fuck-up. This just went to prove it.

  “I’ll pay you back,” she said, looking out the door instead of at him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, easily. When she didn’t respond, he put a finger under her chin and turned it to face him.

  She dragged her eyes to meet his. “Thanks,” she said, her chest heavy. Taking handouts from her co-stars was not exactly a dream come true.

  He touched her nose, then turned to sign the credit card slip. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

  She nodded, digging in her purse for her phone as they walked out.

  He caught her wrist when she pulled it out. “I don’t want you talking while you drive,” he said, back in full daddy mode.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll put it on speaker phone.”

  He held the phone up out of her reach. “No. No talking and driving. Period. Understand, young lady?”

  “Come on, don’t be an—” she stopped, about to say asshole. But that wasn’t the way they talked to each other and she knew exactly how he’d deal with her if she did. Besides, this wasn’t really worth a battle. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll wait ‘til I’m home. I mean, at your place.”

  “Which is your home.”

  She walked toward her car without acknowledging him, then realized she was being rude. “Joel?” she called out, stopping and turning to see him walking toward his car.

  He stopped and looked back.

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and turned back to his car.

  God, just that smile made all her resistance melt.

  She climbed in her car and palmed her phone again. He wouldn’t know if she kept it on her lap and spoke on speaker. She looked in her rear view mirror. He appeared to be waiting for her to pull out first. She tucked the phone back in her purse. He was right. She was a terrible driver, especially in L.A. traffic. She needed all the focus she could get. She exited the parking lot and merged onto the busy street, hitting the accelerator. Joel cared about her. Either that or he was just flexing his authority. But no, that didn’t seem right. He was looking out for her.

  That realization made her ache with longing. She could not get attached to this man. She could not lose her heart. Because in two or three more months, filming would end and it would all be over.

  She pulled up to his house and entered the code to open the giant iron gate. His garage door stood open and his car was parked inside. She parked in the drive and pulled out her phone, hitting the number for Bev as she walked in through the garage door entrance.

  “Marissa,” Bev exclaimed, sounding like she was tipsy. “Just the girl I want to talk to. I need the car.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling. I just picked it up from getting repaired and none of my credit cards were good when I went to pay for it.”

  “Oh, yeah. I know. Mom’s checking into it,” she said, sounding u
nconcerned.

  “What exactly is she checking into?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know—getting an increased credit line?”

  “Bev, we are out of money. I haven’t paid the mortgage in three months. The credit cards are maxed. And I just signed a contract saying my pay would be cut for Canyon del Oro.”

  “I heard about that. I can’t believe Julie went for it.”

  She stomped up the stairs with impatience. Her sister was not getting it. They had a real problem, here.

  “Marissa, I need the car, honey. You can ride with Joel to and from the set, can’t you? Mom and I have been totally stuck here for the past two days because you had the car. That’s ridiculous.”

  She choked a little on her own spit. Ridiculous? Having her own car was ridiculous? Well, of course it was. But she couldn’t figure out how to justify saying no. Her sister was right, she and Joel carpooled into the studio. And in all honesty, she preferred him driving her everywhere. Dance class wouldn’t have been half as fun if she’d driven herself.

  “Fine,” she said. “You can have the car. But you have to come here to get it.”

  “Great, I’ll have Ella drive me over. Oh, she wants to hang out with you, you know. She said she texted you but you didn’t reply.”

  She blew out her breath in a huff. “I’m pretty busy right now,” she said.

  “Okay, but you’re missing out. She’s totally cool.”

  Right. Just like all of Bev’s beautiful party-girl friends. “Do you know how to get here?”

  “No, can you text it to me? I don’t have a pen.”

  She huffed again. “Fine.” She hung up without saying goodbye and opened the message box to text her sister directions.

  “What was that about?” Joel asked.

  “Bev’s coming to get the car,” she said, realizing too late that her voice had the snappish quality he didn’t like.

  “No,” he said immediately.

  She stared at him. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, you’re not going to say yes and then bitch about it. Either give your sister your car and be content or say no. It’s your car, and your decision. You don’t have to get passive-aggressive.”