by K. M. Scott
So it whispers back a dark secret that never leaves me. You’d be much better if you had just a little before you went.
I will myself to forget that evil voice. I promised Sheila. I promised myself. I don’t want to get back into that again. I’m clean and I want to stay that way.
My eyes tell the truth I don’t want to admit. In their darkness, I see the voice is right. I would be much better if I could get my hands on some to take the edge off. Kristina won’t like this Ian—this person who drinks too much to stop himself from doing something much worse and can’t even look at himself in the mirror without hating what he sees.
I turn away from that truth, no matter how seductive it is to believe it. It’s almost time to go meet Kristina. I can do this without help.
CHAPTER TWO
Ian
Jax’s is an out-of-the-way bar on the West side and a favorite of mine because there’s not a booth in the place that isn’t dark and secluded. That’s how a bar should be. Unless you’re some frat boy, getting blasted in public should be private affair. I walk in and nod at the bartender, a tall, thin man who looks to be in his late forties, if his slightly greying hair is any indication. The lighter color peppers near his temples and the top of his head giving him a look that reminds me of the serious cop on every TV police drama, and as I pass, he gives me the guy chin lift acknowledgement.
I scan the bar for any sign of Kristina and see her sitting with her head down at a booth all the way in the back. As I slowly make my way there, I notice how small she seems there surrounded by the high-backed wooden booth. Her brown hair is lighter than in her movies, but I like it this honeyed caramel color.
“Hi, Kristina,” I say in a low voice.
She looks up and I see those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes. Even better in person, they sparkle with interest as she studies me for a quick moment before she says quietly, “It’s nice to meet you, Ian. You look just like your picture on your books.”
Her smile is far shyer than I expect from a Hollywood starlet, charming me more than I thought she could just seconds into our meeting. I sit down and stare across the table at this beautiful woman who I’m surprised even knows who I am. A thousands things come to me, but I say none of them, sure they’re all wrong for this moment.
Instead, I smile and extend my hand to shake hers. “Hi, Kristina. Thanks for agreeing to meet me. It’s an honor.”
Her hand gently grips mine as she blushes from my compliment, but all I can think of is how excited my body immediately becomes from her touch. She says something about it being a bigger honor to meet a New York Times bestselling author, but I’m focused on the fantasy that’s forming in my mind about her hand and how it would feel wrapped around my cock as she slides all of me into her mouth.
She takes her hand away and smiles shyly again, layering charm on top of my desire for her. “I was so excited to hear from my manager that you wanted to meet me. I’ve read all your books. I love history and your books make it even more interesting. You have a way of making your characters come alive right on the pages.”
“Thank you. I guess we’re both fans because I’ve seen every one of your films and love them. Every one of them.”
Kristina blushes again. “That’s so nice of you to say. I try to improve with each project. I’ve been very fortunate to be offered roles that allow me to stretch my abilities.”
She continues to talk about her career, and to be honest, I find myself becoming more enchanted by the moment. Behind the beautiful exterior exists a serious actor. I hadn’t expected that, and as she explains how she’s hoping to snag a role in some film that begins to shoot in Canada in a few weeks, I’m genuinely interested in what she has to say.
It doesn’t take long for our meeting to go a way I hadn’t planned. I’d wanted to meet her and hopefully get her back to my place to fuck her, but as I listen to her speak about her films and my books, that idea is eclipsed by another.
I want her to be my muse. With every word that comes out of that gorgeous mouth, I’m more convinced that she’s my muse for Silk, the erotica book I’m writing. I can’t tell her that now, though, since I just met her. I don’t want to scare her off.
“Listen to me rambling on about myself and my movies all this time. I’m sorry.”
Her beautiful eyes fill with regret, but I shake my head, hoping to dispel any shame she feels. “It’s wonderful to listen to someone so dedicated to their craft. Please don’t feel like you should stop. I’m all ears.”
“Tell me about you. I know what the blurb at the end of your books says, but I bet you’re even more interesting than that. How do you come up with ideas for your books? It must be so difficult.”
I admit something I never tell anyone, oddly comfortable enough already with her to share my secret. “It is. The pressure to create a story that not only stands up to the last one but surpasses it can make finding ideas very difficult.”
Her eyes light up with a look of recognition. “You’re like that too? I always try to do better than I did before, but it does put a lot of pressure on me. We’re probably our own worst critics, you know that?”
A pretty waitress with her blond hair pulled tightly up into a bun interrupts us for our drink order and since the place is practically empty, she returns quickly with Kristina’s white wine and my scotch. I know I shouldn’t get drunk and even though this is going pretty well, I sense the demons inside whispering that I’m boring her and I could have been so much more interesting if I just snorted a little before I came here.
Kristina slips off her white sweater to reveal a pale pink long sleeve shirt that hugs her body in all the right places. The camera may add ten pounds, but she appears slightly heavier in person. Not heavy like fat but healthy looking, like a woman should be.
“Do you get to read a lot?” I ask, wondering if she might be willing to become my muse.
She shakes her head and frowns, like she’s disappointed at the answer she’s about to give. “No. My work schedule makes it difficult, but I always fit your books in.”
“You don’t have to say that. I know your life is probably far more exciting than reading my historical fiction.”
I’m not usually so humble and self-effacing, but Kristina has charmed me into being something nicer than my usual self.
“Oh no. I always read your books as soon as they come out. I’ve been a fan since I read Caligula’s Dream.”
The idea that the gorgeous woman in front of me read my book on corruption in the reign of Caligula thrills me, oddly enough. I’ve been at signings where hundreds of people have waited in line for hours to talk to me as I scribble my name on the title page of their books and never felt as incredible as I do at the moment when she says that.
Raising my glass, I offer a toast to the two of us. “To fulfilling careers and meeting others who appreciate our work.”
Kristina gently clinks her glass against mine. “And to finding new people who understand you.”
I hear a sense of loneliness in her voice despite the smile she wears. A mouthful of scotch slides down my throat, warming my insides as it makes me feel braver by the second. I want to touch her left hand as it rests on the table. To reach over and run my fingertip over the knuckles and feel her soft skin against mine again.
“If only I’d thought to bring my book with me, then I could ask you to sign it,” she says with sadness, her frown deeper now. “I can’t believe I ran out of my apartment without remembering it.”
“I can walk you back to your place and sign it there, if you like,” I offer, hoping she’ll take me up on it.
Her eyes light up again. “That would be great! You wouldn’t mind?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“I don’t have scotch at my place, though. All I have is wine. Is that okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, as if drinking isn’t an integral part of what keeps me together and off something much worse.
Kristina slips back into he
r sweater, ready to go. “Okay, then let’s head there now! My place isn’t too far.”
I mentally file away the information that we both live in the same neighborhood and follow her out toward the street. As I walk behind her through the bar, my gaze fixes on her ass in a black skirt that falls to just above her knees and shows off her shapely lower body. Not generally a man who finds asses much to care about, I can’t take my eyes off hers. Not too big and not too small, it fills out the skirt like the fabric knows exactly where to cling to make anyone behind her want to cup their hand over that ass.
We hit the bracing October air and it’s like a hard slap to the face. Kristina seems unmoved by the chilliness, though, and takes my hand in hers. “It’s just a few blocks so we can walk. Unless you want to take a cab? You look a little cold.”
“I’m good. What kind of New Yorker would I be if I couldn’t handle the little chill in the fall air that accompanies the turning of the leaves and that earthy autumn smell?”
She beams at me and tugs me toward her place. “I love the way you say things, Ian. Every word sounds so perfect.”
If only she knew how imperfect and downright damaged the man she clung to at that moment was she might not be so enthralled by my choice of words.
We walk together as we talk about the weather, living in the city, and how she’s going to hate being away if she has to leave to film in Vancouver, and all the while I feel my demons one by one retreat to their hiding places deep inside me until all that’s left of me wants what she offers.
Sweetness.
Lightness.
Happiness.
But I don’t know those anymore, so they’re strangers to me. What I know is that the obsession that began as I watched her on my TV screen is morphing into something far more serious that I won’t be able to fight.
Or won’t want to fight.
I feel a tug on my arm and Kristina says, “Here we are! Up two flights and there I am.”
Her building is a brownstone typical of many New York neighborhoods. I let her lead me up the front stairs and then up two flights of stairs, listening to her talk about how she found this place before she hit it big and still loves it, even though everyone says she should move to a more upscale apartment. I sense she’s nervous all of a sudden, if the speed of the words tumbling out of her mouth now is any indication.
Her apartment certainly isn’t what a Hollywood star would usually have, but it’s cozy. One bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room that looks out onto the street, it’s got a charm that most small apartments in New York City don’t possess. Decorated in no particular style, the walls have pictures of Kristina and her co-stars from some of her films hung beside inexpensive artwork of vases with flowers.
She offers me a seat on her couch, a leather piece that looks odd among much cheaper furnishings around it, and I sit down while she finds her copy of my book on her bookshelf. She hasn’t lied. A floor to ceiling bookshelf covers one wall with all her books, and as I scan the titles, I’m impressed. Kristina reads many of my contemporaries in the historical fiction genre, a fact that surprises me, but I’m particularly impressed by three Colleen McCullough Masters of Rome books near mine.
“I’m situated amongst some greats there,” I say as she pulls Caligula’s Dream off a middle shelf.
“A few of these were my mother’s. She always loved history, and I guess I take after her.”
“Did you enjoy McCullough’s Antony and Cleopatra?”
She sits next to me and holds my book out for me to take along with a pen. “I did. She has a wonderful way of making that time period come to life like you do. Thank you so much for this.”
I sign my name and a few words about her being my biggest fan, but all I can think of is how her knee feels nudging against my thigh as she sits next to me with her legs folded underneath her. When I hand her the book, she smiles so sweetly at my inscription.
“Thank you. It’s perfect.”
More perfection from the world’s most imperfect soul. If she only knew.
Kristina shifts her weight and begins to fidget with her hands. “I guess you know all about that whole thing with John Stinson and think I’m just the biggest fool, don’t you?”
I truly have no idea what she’s referring to, but I can see by the pain in her gorgeous eyes that it’s something she’s embarrassed by. With a smile, I say, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t?”
Shaking my head, I explain I rarely watch anything that would tell me about Hollywood gossip. “So you see, I really don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh. I thought maybe that was why you didn’t make a move when we got back here.”
She presses her lips together as she waits for my answer, but I’m not in the mood to explain why I haven’t tried to kiss her yet. Better to just do it. Sometimes words get in the way.
The fantasy that’s been playing on a constant loop in my brain is about to come true. Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I gently pull her face toward me to kiss that delicious mouth I first noticed days ago, dying to know what her perfectly formed lips will feel like as I press mine to them.
My cock is rock hard already, and I haven’t even touched her yet. Normally, it takes at least some decent foreplay to get me going, but that’s probably because of the poison flowing through me. Now my bulge is practically busting out of my pants before we even kiss.
Just before her mouth meets mine, she moans ever so slightly a tiny whimper, and then we kiss. Her lips are soft and full, and all I can think of as her tongue slides tentatively into my mouth is how much I want to feel those lips and tongue on my cock.
Her hands caress my cheeks as our kiss intensifies, and then she’s on my lap straddling my hips, her black skirt up around her waist. My hands instinctively move to cup that beautiful ass I’d admired as we left the bar, and a jolt of excitement courses through me when I feel skin instead of the cotton or silk of panties. Fuck, she’s wearing only a garter belt under her skirt!
That gorgeous, full ass feels incredible in my hands. My fingers knead her silky skin as she grinds against the front of my pants, and I lift my hips off the couch to push my cock against her.
Our kiss deepens and our tongues dance together. Kristina moans into my mouth, and I squeeze her cheeks hard, loving how eager she is. She tugs on my hair, her desire ratcheting up against mine and I slip a finger down toward her drenched pussy.
I want her. I want to live the fantasy that’s played repeatedly in my mind since that first moment her beautiful face filled my eyes.
Kristina’s fingers slide down over my neck to my shirt, and she begins to unbutton it, whispering against my lips, “I want you, Ian. That’s why when my manager told me you wanted to meet me, I made the meeting for as soon as possible. Tell me you want me. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I push her hands away and groan, “Take your sweater off.”
She obeys my command and slips it off, revealing a pink lace bra. I want to see the gorgeous tits under it, so I quickly unhook it and throw it off to the side as I fill my eyes with the sight of her breasts. Full and firm, they look real, which thrills me even more than I imagined. I cup them in my hands and take one full, deep pink nipple in my mouth, sucking gently at first.
Looking up, I see her watching me, biting her lower lip and whimpering, “Yes…harder…”
Her wish is my command, and I suck her pebbled skin harder into my mouth. I close my eyes and listen to her moans as I bite down gently on her excited nipple. Fuck, she’s responsive! I hadn’t expected that.
Kristina rolls her hips and begins to rub up against me in earnest. I love the idea that my mouth on her is going to get her off even before I whip my cock out. I feel her juices dampen the front of my pants and look up to see her face show the ecstasy building inside her. Releasing her nipple, I move my head to the other one and take it into my mouth, sucking hard as she pulls my hair.
Her hand slides be
tween us and she fingers her wet pussy, but it gets in my way, so I pull her hand away. Disappointed, she frowns and admits quietly, “That’s the only way I can get off.”
I say nothing but shake my head, determined now to make her come from anything but her fingers touching her clit. Holding her hands behind her back, I slide my cock out of my pants and stroke it from base to head. I position it at her entrance and look up at her. “Not with me.”
She smiles and rolls her hips, taking just the tip of my cock inside her. She’s wet but tight. Lowering her mouth to mine, she kisses me long and deep and then slides onto me until I’m balls deep into her hot cunt. Releasing her hands, I grip her hips and won’t let her move, loving the feel of being inside her. A rush unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before courses through me just as she breaks our kiss and whispers in my ear, “Fuck me. Make me come, Ian.”
My brain shifts to pure pleasure, and every part of my body has a single goal. Make her come from me fucking her. I release my iron grip on her sides and begin guiding her up and down on my cock, loving the sight of her riding me. She’s wild and uninhibited in her pursuit of the orgasm she craves. I want to give that to her as much as I want to come too.
Kristina rocks her hips back and forth, urging my cock to rub up against her G-spot. So open, so responsive, she seduces me and for one of the few times in life, I want another to feel pleasure as much as I feel. Her teeth sink into my shoulder as the first moments of her orgasm overtake her. The gentle squeeze of her cunt around my cock tells me I’ve given her what no one else has ever been able to give her.
I pull her hair roughly to force her to face me. “Don’t look away. I want to see your face when you come.”
Those blue eyes soften as her body gives in to mine, and then they close as she comes hard on my cock. I’m so close and the tender squeeze of her inner walls milking me sends me over the edge. I flood her cunt sending jets of cum inside her. The feeling is better than anything else I’ve ever experienced, even my other addictions.