by JJ Knight
I’m going to have to improvise.
I find a pretty white bra.
“Sorry,” I say to it as I walk through to the bathroom and find a pair of tiny sharp scissors. My face flames a little even though I’m alone as I alter the bra. With a couple easy snips, I’ve cut out the centers of the cups, heart-shaped bits of fabric fluttering to the floor.
Holy hell, am I really going to do this?
Then I pick up the thong and think — hmm. There isn’t much to it, but how much more fun if it matched?
A few snips later and three hearts are cut out. A tiny one near the top, a medium one, then a larger one that means the underwear doesn’t have to come off, even when it’s time.
I heat up a little just looking at it. Whoa. I scoop up the five white hearts and take them to the bedroom, scattering them on the bed.
Then I take the red fabric and toss it over the reinforced corner of the bed, double-checking one more time that the giant screws holding it to the wall are tight and unmoving.
Now to wait.
Blitz has a definite ritual when he comes back from workouts. He’ll go straight to the bar and drink more water. Then he’ll go from the living area to the bathroom by the outside door. If I close the door between the bedroom and the bathroom, he won’t look this way.
I check the clock. Still twenty minutes.
I slip out of my clothes and put on the white panties and underwear. My cheeks get hot as I see where all the open hearts land. Then I throw on a pair of loose sweats and move to the bathroom.
I braid my hair up and away. I pull out mascara and lipstick and eyeliner from the kit left by the wardrobe crew. I make myself up carefully but simply, layering on color and lines. When I’m done, I look different, older, more exotic. He will like it. He loves his innocent Livia, but he will totally lose it over my proof that I can be someone else, act a part.
I remember what that woman Taya said at the contract meeting, that I wasn’t up for doing a show with Blitz. We have no intention of meeting any of their demands, but I feel some satisfaction in knowing that I could. I can be someone else, grab the attention of not only the sweet blue-dressed Livias outside the DVD signing, but also others. Viewers who expect a little dazzle.
I am perfectly happy letting no one see it but Blitz.
I head back into the living room, carefully closing all the doors to the bedroom.
Then I sit at the corner desk, my back to the door, and read through the Twitter feed until Blitz returns.
As always, he chugs a bottle of water from the bar fridge and heads to the bathroom. “Be out in a flash,” he calls over to me.
I give him a “mm-hmm” and don’t look his way.
He takes lightning-fast showers, so as soon as I hear the water hit the tile, I jump up, close the door from the bathroom to the living room to drive his path into the bedroom, and cross back into the room.
Then I close the blinds most of the way, until only fine lines of light stripe the bed. I take off the sweats and leave the white underwear, which glow a little in the half-dark.
I take a deep breath. Dang, I’m nervous for someone doing something with a man I’ve lived with for months. I carefully pop open the door to the bathroom, letting in another shaft of light.
Then I head to the bed.
I push the regular sheer fabric that surrounds it up and away. I move to my red silks and wrap the ends around my ankles, then twist my wrists through.
And I wait, listening.
The water slows, then stops. The glass door squeaks open. His footsteps pad on the floor. The suite is so quiet that I can hear his towel rubbing against his hair.
His clothes are all in here, so I know he’ll walk in naked. It will be easy to see his reaction to me.
I slowly exhale a nervous breath. I’m glad I’ve practiced this position, or my arms and legs would already be tired.
“So, Livia?” Blitz calls. “How dressy do you want to get for Milan’s?”
I don’t answer, so he comes into the bedroom.
He halts when he sees the lines of light, eyes looking for me. He’s about to hit the switch when his hand freezes.
He’s spotted me, all right.
There isn’t a lot of vertical space on a bed rail, even with a canopy like this one, to do a lot of fancy moves. But I have a few tricks. The first one is where I pull up on the silks and my legs spread into splits. Then, I take a quick dramatic flip down and back up.
“Holy shit,” he says. “When did you learn to do that?”
He starts to approach, then pauses, as I slowly shift into a different position, a front and back split with arms outstretched.
“That’s beautiful.” He steps closer. “You’re beautiful.”
I adjust my weight so that I face him again. I know the minute he sees the heart cutouts, because his body instantly reacts.
“Okay, that is just wow,” he says.
I pull myself high and untwist my legs from the silks. Once my feet are safely on the mattress, I free my hands. “So you liked it?” I ask.
He takes me into his arms, my belly at his face since he’s still standing on the floor while I’m up on the bed.
“Like it? This is like the hottest thing anyone has ever done.”
“I remembered the girl doing it at Jenica’s,” I say.
“You went back there? I thought it scared the crap out of you.”
“No, I learned from YouTube,” I say. “But if we maybe wanted to learn some moves together, I would go.”
He reaches around me to twist his hand through the fabric. “That could be fun. Can I get you to do it naked?”
My face heats up.
“I’ll take that as a silent yes,” he says. “But first, I must admire your outfit.”
He lets go of the silks and runs a finger along the underside of my bra strap. “These are some perfectly placed Valentines.” He makes it to the cup and his thumb grazes across the opening, making my nipple pucker.
I suck in a breath. “My hearts are all yours,” I say.
“And there are so many of them.” His hand slides down my ribs to the tiny ribbon that holds the thong in place. He bends down to plant a kiss on the tiny heart at the top.
“One,” he says, then goes lower to the next heart. “Two.”
And down.
“Mmm, three.” His hand parts my thighs and his mouth is against my skin through the opening of the heart. His tongue finds its way to the bud as his hand works its way back up to the bra.
I steady myself with my hands on his shoulders as he spreads me wider, then he pulls away. “Let’s see that again.” He grasps one of the silks and slides it around my ankle.
I know what he wants. I step back and wrap my other leg around the second length of the silk. Then I twist my arms through and lift back into the splits.
“Oh, yes,” he says. “That’s what I was going for.”
He doesn’t force me to hold the position on my own, but braces my thighs with his hands as he goes back to where he was, his mouth flirting with my body.
I’m open so wide, so much more with the pressure of the silks and the support of his hands. I feel both bold and vulnerable, and the sensations as he works are fierce, sending lightning strikes through me.
His tongue delves in and he sucks on the nub, and I’m lost, barely holding on to the silks. He rocks me gently, and the intensity of this motion makes goose bumps break out across my skin.
I lose my grip and slip a few inches, and he catches me, unwinding the fabric from my ankles.
I’m on a knife’s edge, barely holding back from crashing over and beyond. Blitz lets my legs down, but instead of freeing my arms, wraps the silks more tightly around them.
“Now you’re really at my mercy,” he says, his voice gravelly and low. He tugs at the thong, pulling it down.
My arms are high in the silks, captured, tied, my back against the pillowed leather that serves as the headboard to the bed.
Blitz kneels on the mattress and puts my knees over his shoulders. Then he’s back on me, his mouth and tongue working my body, his hands pressing me hard against him.
I’m already so close that I build into a frenzy almost instantly, my hands gripping the silks, my body rocking against him. I start to go, the climax just ready to ripple through me, when Blitz grabs my legs and flips me around.
Now I face the wall, my arms still high, and he’s inside me, pressing me against the cushioned leather. Everything lets go, and I can’t control the ferocity of the orgasm, my voice almost at a scream, my muscles tight and shaking.
Blitz pushes against me again and again, his own body hard and forceful. I pull myself up by the silks and slam back down, wanting him deeper, harder, as intense as I feel.
He groans against my hair and I feel it, the hot rush of him. His body shudders and his head falls against my shoulder.
We stay this way for a moment, unable to come down from the position or the explosive high. Then he reaches up and unwinds the fabric from my wrists. We tumble down to the bed together.
Blitz lies back, his breathing still ragged. “That was a totally wicked dance, and I will never look at a silk scarf the same way again.”
I roll over to curl against him and smile to myself. That was exactly what I was hoping for.
Chapter 11
We almost blow off Milan’s, but looking out on the city after our bit of aerial silks experimentation, we decide to go out anyway.
“I should get a blond wig,” I say. I head to the bathroom to let down my braids, which are fuzzy and wild after our tussle.
“The paparazzi are relentless,” Blitz says, coming behind me to play with my wavy post-braid hair. “And I like you just the way you are.”
I lean back against him. We’re both in white robes. He lifts the sleeves to inspect my wrists.
“No burn marks? No pain?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve practiced.”
He leans against the sink. “You really want to go back to Jenica’s to work on this?”
I shrug back at the mirror, trying to fix my smudged lipstick. “We could look for someone else,” I say.
“No, I’ll call over there. Somebody was training that girl. And I’m not sure how many places do aerial work.”
He heads to the bedroom to get dressed and I fuss with my hair. I constantly appear in pictures now, and I don’t look anything close to as glamorous as those finalists. I frown at my reflection. I want to be more versatile. And I want to be me. There has to be some middle ground somewhere.
I scrub the lipstick off entirely and go back to a more subdued color. The mascara and liner are fine, bulletproof stuff given to me by the makeup artist in LA. The rest of the makeup suitcase he left behind is a mystery to me — foundations, concealers, blushers, eye shadows, color correctors. I have no idea why I would ever smear yellow on my eyes or green on my cheeks.
I close the case.
Blitz returns with a siren red dress. “We should probably play it down tonight, but I can’t help it. I love you in this so much.”
I take the dress from him. “It’s Valentine’s Day!” I say. “I’m happy to wear it.”
“Will you keep the bra with, you know, the hearts?” He makes random gestures toward his own chest.
“This dress is a halter, so no bra at all,” I say.
He falls back against the wall. “I love it even more now.”
“I can keep the white underwear, though,” I say.
He closes his eyes, his hands moving to swiftly button up his charcoal shirt. “I’ll think about it the whole time.”
“I could take them off under the table like in that Fifty Shades Darker movie,” I say. “I saw the clip.”
Blitz claps his hands over his crotch. “Say no more or we will never make it to the restaurant.”
I laugh. “Now shoo. I have to get ready in case we are seen again.”
“Odds are high,” he says. “But we’ll do our best.”
I nod and go back to the mirror. This is just the way it is. We got caught unprepared at the dance store, but this time, I’ll be ready for it.
~*´`*~
Milan’s is an Italian restaurant downtown near the Riverwalk. Blitz calls for Ted so we won’t have to rely on the valet and can make a quick getaway if needed. He navigates the streets lined with happy couples holding hands and heading for the river.
“Good call not doing an actual Riverwalk restaurant,” Ted says. “We need a place we can pull up to, and most of those require a walk to get to the entrance.”
“I know,” Blitz says. “We’re pretty stuck for a while.”
“We really need a fourth person,” I say. “So Ted can stay behind the wheel and the other one can scout ahead.”
Blitz laughs. “TWO bodyguards. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Well, you sort of wanted to get mobbed before,” I tease.
Ted glances at us via the rearview mirror. “I’m sure the girls go nuts,” he says.
“Now it’s all about the rematch,” I say. My phone is in my hand. I’m watching for any signs that we’ve been spotted. Lots of people are speculating about where we’ll go. Milan’s has been mentioned, but just as one of about fifty possibilities. One of them is McDonald’s. I laugh.
“What?” Blitz asks.
“Somebody knows about your addiction to fast-food French fries,” I say, showing him the Tweet.
“We should say I’m there,” he says. “Wearing a Spurs cap. Odds are good some poor fellow will get surrounded before they figure it out.”
“We’ll be there in three,” Ted says. “Just have to get through these two lights.”
“So far, so good,” Blitz says. “Man, taking you out to dinner is a major expedition these days.”
“We could spend our weekends in some other city and still not miss the private lessons or the dance class,” I say.
“But there’s Jenica’s,” he reminds me.
“Oh, right.” We need to train. “Any word today on what the producers are doing?”
“Nope,” Blitz says. “And I don’t much care. They can figure it out without me.”
“Here we are,” Ted says. We pull up to the valet, but Ted rolls down the front passenger window. A twenty-ish young man in a red Milan’s polo shirt leans in.
“We need this couple to get in and out as inconspicuously as possible,” Ted says. “There’s a lot of foot traffic right here.”
The guy nods, looking at the sidewalk and the people streaming by behind him. “You can take them around the block and into a small lot where the employees park. There’s an entrance with a small red awning.”
“Perfect,” Ted says.
When the valet steps back, Ted pulls away from the curb.
“Huh,” Blitz says. “Nobody told me about the private entrance last time.”
“You didn’t ask,” Ted says.
“And you used a word with more than two syllables,” Blitz says, clapping Ted on the shoulder. “You’re all growed up.”
Ted shakes his head. “Be nice to me or I’ll Tweet your location myself.”
Blitz laughs. “I always knew my antics in high school would catch up with me. But you guys are the only ones I trust these days.”
Ted turns the wheel as we make the corner. “Nobody would have guessed that skinny little pipsqueak Benjamin Castillo would end up more famous than any of us.”
“Just goes to show you can’t count anybody out.” Blitz sits back and takes my hand. “I think this is going to work,” he says.
“All depends on who’s inside,” I say.
“It’s a pretty upscale place,” Blitz says.
“Blitz fans come in all shapes and bank accounts,” I say.
We drive through a parking lot toward the back of the building. There are two doors. One double-wide metal delivery door, and another pretty wood door with a red awning, just like the valet told us.
; “This is better,” Ted says. He pulls up to the awning and hops out.
Blitz lifts the back of my hand to his lips. “You look dazzling. Here’s to nobody noticing but me.”
“Agreed,” I say. “To quiet times and just us.”
“And good food,” he adds. “Your aerial stunts made me hungry.”
Ted opens the door. We’ve just stepped out when the door beneath the awning opens. A uniformed man stands there.
“Good evening, Mr. Craven,” he says. “I didn’t see you on tonight’s list.”
“It’s under Preston Rivers,” Blitz says. “We’ve inspired a bit of a following lately.”
“Understood,” the man says. “Give me just a moment and we’ll relocate Mr. Rivers’s reservation to a more private spot in the restaurant.”
“I’ll be close by,” Ted says and heads back to the car.
We wait on a small bench in the back corner of the restaurant. The dining area is designed for privacy, with multiple walls and large plants throughout it. After a moment, the man returns. “This way, please.”
Our seat is set apart from the others, a round booth in a corner with high walls. But we do pass several tables to get to it, and it’s clear several people have recognized us.
I slide into the booth. “Let’s hope none of them have Twitter,” I mumble as Blitz sits next to me.
“You can’t get in here without a reservation. We might have people stop by, but a mob can’t get to us.”
I’m more rattled than I thought I would be. Maybe we should have stayed in. But we can’t hide in the hotel forever.
“Surely everyone is having their Valentine’s dates and not worrying about where we are,” I say.
“Sure, unless you don’t have a Valentine’s date and want to wreck someone else’s.”
The wine steward approaches and Blitz orders. The waiter brings bread, and we start to settle down. Each minute that passes makes it more likely we’ll have a peaceful meal.
“This is good,” Blitz says, dipping bread in olive oil and lifting it to my lips. His thumb runs along my cheek as I bite it.
Yes, this is fine. We’ll be fine here. I force myself to be calm.
We order prime rib and pasta and everything we’ll have to work off tomorrow. The restaurant is full of quiet murmurs and the clinking of silverware on fine china.