Lip Action (Kiss Talent Agency Book 1)

by Virna DePaul

  I close my eyes. No, I didn’t. Lately, it had gotten to the point that I tried to get out of sex as much as possible, which is probably why Charles cheated on me with his secretary. We hadn’t slept together in over nine months. Sometimes Charles would whine about me not putting out, but I always found an excuse. I had a headache, I was tired, I had to get up early. Sex only lasted about ten minutes anyway, and each time I just stared up at the ceiling, counting the minutes until it was over.

  I feel more vulnerable than I have in a long time. How can I admit that until Simon touched me while we watched Alien Love, I’d never had an orgasm with a man? Not even Brian Hall, my bad boy teenage boyfriend, or any of the other boys I’d been with before him, had been able to make me come. I’d told myself back then that I was young, that I still had a lot to discover about my body, but as an adult? Charles had told me over and over again I was a cold fish and a prude, and I’d started to believe him.

  Gaining release with Simon’s fingers rubbing me had been wonderful, but a total fluke.

  Hadn’t it?

  I don’t want that moment to have been a fluke, though. I’ve fantasized of having a fulfilling sex life, with a man adoring me in a way that only happens in fiction. Simon is a man capable of bringing fiction to life. I’ve seen him do it on the screen plenty of times. “Do you enjoy your sex scenes as much as it looks like you do?” I blurt out.

  He laughs softly. “Not hardly. That’s not to say Ms. Brice isn’t an alluring woman. I may get slightly aroused, but it isn’t all that enticing to have thirty people around you, telling you which body part to move and when to move it.”

  “Oh?” I gnaw on my lip. “You definitely fooled me. It always looks like you’re enjoying it.”

  He puts a finger on my chin and tilts my face to his. “Back to you, love. Let me guess,” Simon says, playing with my fingers, “The Prat blamed you for not liking sex.”

  I try to play it cool, but I’m sure my expression gives away the answer, because Simon tsks.

  “No woman is cold because she’s bad at sex. She’s cold because her lover is a selfish prick who has no idea what he’s doing.” He takes my hand and kisses the back of my fingers. I jolt when I feel the tip of his tongue lave my index finger. “You enjoyed my hands on you. I know, darling, that you would enjoy the other things we can do together.”

  Right now, I’m the opposite of cold. I’m on fire. My skin prickles and I’m sure I’m bright red. This is only the stuff of fantasy, but who cares if it isn’t real? I have never been so turned on in my life. When Simon takes that same finger and sucks it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit, I’m sure I’m going to explode.

  And he’s barely touched me!

  “Sweet Marissa,” he says as he kisses the rest of my fingers. “Let me show you how wrong The Prat was. How much you turn me on, and what a passionate lover I know you’ll be.”

  He leans toward me and kisses my cheek. Then my forehead, my ear, and his mouth finally reaches mine, to the point that I’m gasping out for him to kiss me.

  He doesn’t kiss me like he did in the car, though. He kisses me gently, his lips a soft touch against mine. He plays with me; he lets go of my hand to take me by the waist and press me closer. Feeling his erection, I shiver. I can’t believe this man wants me.

  It’s a heady realization.

  As I make a small noise in the back of my throat, it’s as if I’ve spurred him on. He bends me backwards and kisses me harder, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth. Before I realize what’s happening, he sets me up onto the kitchen counter, spreading my legs so he can step between them. He kisses me until I see stars against my eyelids. My entire body is on fire, and when he smooths a hand down my side, I can’t help but press harder against his body.

  “Let me touch you,” he says in a whisper.

  I almost shout, Please! But I nod instead, watching as his lovely hands trace downward, from my throat to my belly button. I want to strip off all my clothes and take off his shirt, but I can’t move. I can only watch as Simon gets to the hem of my shirt. His fingers dance across my belly. I can’t help but laugh at the sensation.

  “Ticklish?” he asks.

  “Yes, oh!” I laugh some more as he tickles my sides, and I have to plead with him to stop after a few moments.

  “What’s wrong, darling?”

  I take a breath. I can’t help seeing him in one of his love scenes with Ava Brice. Though it was all movie magic, she’s gorgeous and blonde and perfect and he’s shared more than a few beds with her, even though those beds had all been part of a film set. How can he be with someone like me, someone so ordinary, after that? Won’t I disappoint him? “I’m just not like your…other women.”

  He stops and looks into my eyes, his own heavy-lidded and burning with desire. “I assure you, Marissa, you’re gorgeous.”

  I nod, the desire in his eyes spurring me on. He yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it across the counter. I’m wearing a boring beige bra—at least it’s lace!—and I have to restrain myself from covering my chest. My breasts are overly large, not pretty and perky like he’s probably used to.

  But judging by the gleam in his blue eyes, he doesn’t mind. In fact, he licks his lips before reaching out to cup my right breast.

  “Are you sensitive here?” He traces around my nipple, petting and playing. Looking down at his tanned hand against my breast, I can feel myself getting wetter. I can’t even respond to his question, but instead push my breasts out toward him, wordlessly begging for his touch.

  He teases and plays and circles until I’m shimmying against him. My breath comes in pants.

  As he reaches around me, he kisses me, and I don’t even realize he’s unclasped my bra until the cool air hits my nipples.

  Now I cover myself. I can’t let him see my bare breasts! Not in the bright light of the kitchen. Charles never saw me naked in full light.

  But Simon only kisses the side of my neck, coaxing. “Let me see those pretty breasts,” he murmurs, licking at my skin. “I know they ache for me. Do they? Do you want me to suck those tight, pink nipples until you can’t stand it any longer?”

  Jesus Christ, I think, dazed. No one has ever spoken to me like that, and I love it. I somehow get the courage to lower my arms. Simon’s gaze hones in on my breasts, on my puckered nipples—now a dark pink—and he brushes a thumb across the peaks.

  The sensation shoots straight to my toes. It’s unbearable. It’s amazing.

  He kisses the tops of my breasts, flicking one nipple, then the other. I can’t help it: I moan out loud. Normally I’d be embarrassed, but I’ve gotten to the point that I don’t care. I just want him to touch me and taste me and make me his.

  “Simon, please,” I murmur, touching his golden hair. “I can’t stand it.”

  He pinches a nipple. I groan.

  “So impatient. Yet I can’t say that I don’t feel the same.” He puts an arm around me and leans me back so he can feast on my breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks as his hand plays with the other globe. His mouth makes me dizzy. It makes me want to strip off the rest of my clothes and have him inside me.

  His tongue licks and sucks and then he frees the nipple with an audible pop before transferring his attentions to the other peak. I just keep running my fingers through his hair. My toes curl and God above, I don’t ever want him to stop.

  But as I’m moaning and my hips thrust against him, he suddenly transforms into the predator I’ve only seen once before. He unzips my pants and then delves below the elastic of my panties. I’m too shocked to protest—if I wanted to. But I don’t. I want him to touch me everywhere, and I especially want him to touch me there again.

  His index finger parts my folds, and he groans. “So wet already? I can feel you soaking my hand.” He sucks at my neck as his fingers just brush where I want him to touch.

  Even with that slightest of touches, I feel like I could explode at any second. I push against his fing
ers.

  He pets me, parting my folds, his fingers glancing off my clit before dancing away again.

  I start begging. I never beg, and I never make noise during sex, but now I’m desperate. I need something—anything. But he just teases and plays with me, spreading the wetness already dripping from my core, making me wild.

  I pull on his hair. He looks up and smiles, his eyelids heavy.

  “What do you want, Marissa?” He breathes the words against my mouth, hot and seductive.

  I push against his fingers. “You know what I want.”

  “No, I want to hear you say it.”

  I make a noise. I can’t say it! How can I say something like that? I bite my lip, shaking my head.

  The pressure of his fingers lightens, the ache only expanding.

  “Say it,” he says as he kisses me. “Be a good bad girl and tell me what you want.”

  I moan. I almost take him by the wrist, but I can’t move. It’s like he’s put some spell on me.

  His fingers dance away from where I want him the most. He traces lines around the crease of my inner thighs instead.

  I start making desperate sounds. “Please, Simon,” I beg.

  “You know what to do, love. Say it.”

  “Please.” I touch his hair. “Please, make me come,” I whisper, heat spreading through me.

  He grins right before his hand delves below. He parts my folds again, and then he pushes a finger inside of me.

  He kisses me, thrusting his tongue in my mouth in the same rhythm as his plunging finger. I can only hold on, hoping he doesn’t make my heart explode. He adds a second finger to the first and crooks them slightly, brushing against a spot I didn’t even think existed. A high-pitched squeal starts in my throat.

  The sound of him finger-fucking me fills the kitchen, only making the moment more erotic. But all of that disappears when his thumb presses against my clit.

  “Sweet girl, come for me. Come on my fingers.”

  His voice puts me in a trance. I can only feel him thrusting inside of me, his thumb against my clit, and the sensation swirls faster and faster deep in my belly until I cry out. My body bows backward, and finally, I’m coming.

  I can vaguely hear Simon saying, “There you go, love,” but it’s all lost in the swirl of ecstasy filling my body. I come and come until I’m glad he’s put an arm around me, otherwise I’d probably collapse against the counter like a rag doll.

  When I start to come down, my body settling, I can’t help myself: I lean forward and kiss Simon for all that I’m worth. Twice now he’s brought me to release with the touch of his fingers. For so long, I thought I was frigid and that sex wasn’t for me, but it hadn’t been my fault in the least.

  He responds to my kiss, humming in his throat. His hand is still in my panties, lightly stroking still, like he can’t pull away. Part of me wants him to make me come a third time, while the other part of me knows I’m too sensitive for another orgasm so soon.

  If he can make me come like this just with his fingers, what can he do if we actually have sex?

  My body heats at the mere suggestion. I know I shouldn’t imagine it, but I can’t help it. I think of Simon, his hands on my hips, thrusting his hard cock inside of me until I scream.

  But all thoughts of continuing this end when I hear Simon’s phone ring. He glances at me, then at his pocket, before pulling out the offending device.

  He makes a face. “My agent. I have to take this,” he says before turning away.

  I’m kind of glad of the distraction. It allows me to put my clothes back on and maybe get my head back on, too. Did I really let Simon touch me like that? I don’t even know him! Yet I can’t feel guilty, either, because no one has ever made me feel so good.

  He tells the person on the end of the line that he’ll be there shortly and then hangs up.

  “Sorry about that,” he says with a smile, “but I’m afraid I need to go.”

  I’m too tongue-tied to do anything besides nod. Once again, he satisfied me and is asking for nothing in return. Is it that he doesn’t want me the way I want him? Had I imagined the desire in his eyes? The hardness of his cock against me?

  He smiles a little wider. “You can’t imagine how pissed I am I have to leave. Because I want to do so many more things to you, Marissa. And I can’t wait to feel your hands and mouth all over my body. Perhaps we can make time for that soon?”

  Shakily, I nod.

  “Good.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me, and I melt all over again. “I’ll see you soon. Have a lovely evening, Marissa.”

  I’m still sitting on the counter when I hear the front door close, and I’m still sitting there, some time later, dazed and wondering just when we can plan to do those things he’d spoken of.

  Chapter Nine

  Simon

  Between takes, I head to the trailer and check my phone. People have been noticing something’s different with me, so it’s better to separate myself from the cast. Even Ava noticed it during our latest sex scene. We were in bed, Ava wearing a thong and me wearing a glove for modesty on the set, when she looked into my eyes and said, “There’s something different about you.”

  And that’s saying something, since Ava has never been called the sharpest tool in the shed.

  The truth is, I’m outgrowing Alien Love. If I don’t get the role in Perfect Union…

  But I don’t even want to think about that. So I just keep going through the motions with my head down, getting into my Borg makeup, doing what I can to churn out the scenes as well as possible so I can finish this season on a high note.

  But Ava is right. There is something different about me. And it’s right between my legs, every fucking time I think about Marissa.

  It’s been three days since Marissa invited me into her house. Three days since I’ve touched her, kissed her, heard her moan my name. I must admit, I have to stop myself from thinking about our encounter too often, otherwise I’m in an uncomfortable predicament. But that doesn’t stop me from reliving how she cried out when she reached her peak, or how she worked her body against me, my fingers inside of her wet warmth.

  I groan. No, thinking of those things is definitely not going to help me get rid of this near-permanent erection I’ve been sporting in the days since I left her place. And in another half hour, I have a shower scene to film, where I’ll be wearing nothing but a towel.

  FML.

  I get down on the ground of my trailer and do the requisite exercises to make my abs pop for the camera. Every time I crunch upwards, though, an image of Marissa blinks through my mind. We’ve texted since then, but I’ve been too busy to send more than a few flirty messages here and there. Marissa, the sweet girl, doesn’t seem to catch onto when I’m trying to up the ante, or at least, she’s too shy to take the cue that sexting would be more than welcome. I’ve resolved to keep trying, though. Sexting can be so much fun.

  I smile. I’m rather looking forward to showing Marissa all the ways she can have some fun.

  My phone vibrates right then, and I refuse to admit that my heart starts pounding like a teenage boy. I want it to be the woman I’ve been obsessing about. But when I see the number—I deleted her as a contact eons ago—I scowl.

  What the fuck is my ex doing calling me now?

  But I know Janelle, and I know she’ll keep calling and texting and then will probably show up here if I don’t respond. She’s like that. When we first started dating, I thought her stubbornness was endearing. Now it just makes me want to wring her neck.

  Janelle Williams was the last woman I seriously dated, and she’s the reason I’m not into relationships now. She, too, is an up-and-coming actor, one of a billion in this city. At our first meeting during auditions for Alien Love, I’ll just say that sparks flew. Unfortunately, the producers didn’t think so, which was why she wasn’t cast opposite me. Maybe they saw something that I’d been too blinded by her stellar rack and good looks to see. It’s hard to believe I even thought she mi
ght be The One, once upon a time. Until she showed her true colors and then, after I dared to break things off, she sat down with one of the most notorious gossip columnists in the city and gave a tell-all interview, detailing how awful our relationship had been, all in the name of furthering her own career.

  I scowl harder as I answer Janelle’s call. I brace myself for the oncoming storm.

  “Janelle, this is a surprise.”

  She laughs softly. “Well, I saw a story about you this morning while I was browsing, and it brought back all these memories. I’m flattered you remembered my number.”

  “Darling, there’s very little to forget about you. What story are you referring to?”

  “Alien Love is on its last legs. Is it true?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m surprised you don’t know already. You always pride yourself on being the first to know everything.”

  She chuckles. I will admit, she can be cool under pressure. “You’re too sweet. But flattery will only get you so far.”

  “It got me into your bed.”

  Silence. I can hear noise in the background, but then finally she says, “You really want to play that game right now?”

  I put my feet up on my ottoman. I have a feeling this is going to take a while. “Why not? Isn’t that your forte? Playing games?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about the interview. I’ll admit it wasn’t the wisest move, but that’s all water under the bridge.”

  “Oh, it was a wise move, for you. You got your role on Lone Star Hospital from it. Didn’t matter who you stepped on, though, right?” I don’t wait for her to protest. “Of course it’s water under the bridge. I’ve moved on, love. Which is why I’m puzzled as to why you’re contacting me at all.”

  She makes a noise—whether one of annoyance or pleasure, I can’t tell. “I merely wanted to ask about your new woman. One of the Woodcrests, isn’t she? How impressive.”

  I stiffen. How did Janelle find out about Marissa already? Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. If anyone knows how to get dirt on people, it’s Janelle.