Hollywood Scandal

by Louise Bay

  Acting wasn’t hard work, no matter what my over-privileged, work-shy contemporaries might say. I’d seen my dad work thirty-five years in a steel yard. That was hard work. Seeing friends die or become disabled because of the risks they took at work—that was fucking real. I knew my gig was a walk in the park, but the long hours on set waiting for shots to be set up, scenes to change and lighting to be right sapped my energy.

  I hadn’t switched any of the lights on and the only thing that lit my way to the kitchen was the muted television. I turned on the faucet and ran my finger under the water, waiting for the heat, lingering at the sink, I glanced up to see Lana in the window lit up from behind. Even just her blurred edges were beautiful.

  Our kiss had been sexy, tempting, and dangerous. Thank God she’d put a stop to it when she had. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to hold back. I washed the plate and my coffee cup from this morning, all the while watching Lana as she seemed to draw something on a desk-top easel.

  She sat back, raised her hands over her head and stretched and then she stood. She checked something at the other end of the room and then crouched. I lifted up on tiptoes to try to spot her. When she rose, we came face-to-face. I wasn’t sure if she could see me until she gave me a little wave.

  I tapped two fingers to my forehead in a casual salute and she turned back to her desk.

  She looked like she was on her own.

  Did she want company?

  I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was only just nine, and I liked the idea of hanging out with someone who had nothing to do with the film industry, who didn’t even know who I was. Someone who smelled like the summer ocean. I could go over, ask to borrow a cup of sugar. I glanced back up, but her light was off. Damn. So much for that thought.

  I grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed to the porch to relax and listen to the waves crash against the beach. The screen door snapped shut behind me and I took a deep breath, the crisp, salty ocean air reminding me of how Lana tasted.

  This place sure was beautiful, even when it rained, even after the sun had set.

  Smashing glass on Lana’s porch caught my attention.

  “You okay?” I called.

  She jerked up from where she’d bent over. “Yeah, just dropped my wine.”

  I walked toward the edge of the deck and leaned my palm against the house. “Can I offer you a beer instead?”

  She cocked her hip out to the side.

  I’d been told since I was four years old that I had a movie-star smile—times like this it came in useful.

  After a couple of long seconds, she placed something down on her table. “Sure,” she said as she padded down the steps toward me, barefoot.

  My breath caught in my throat as she came into focus beneath the yellow porchlight. She was stunning. I wasn’t sure why that surprised me.

  “Hey,” I said, taking in her plump lips, her sharp jaw. The way her t-shirt exposed her collarbone in a defiantly tempting way. Unlike most of the women I knew in Hollywood, I’d never seen Lana with makeup on or dressed up. She had something more than beauty, more than external, manufactured glamor. Presence. A way of being that made it impossible to take my eyes off her.

  “So?” she asked, climbing the steps.

  “So?”

  “So, are you going to get me that beer?”

  “Of course.” I waited until she was at the top of the steps, reluctant to look away, before I went inside to grab a beer from the fridge.

  “Wanna try out the swing with me?” I asked when I returned.

  She gave me a small nod and accepted the bottle I held out to her. I sat at an angle in the deep seat, turning toward her and resting my arm on the back, my fingers an inch from her shoulder. “How was your week?” I asked.

  “Not as busy as yours, it seems,” she replied.

  Was she keeping tabs on me? Interesting.

  She blushed as I raised my eyebrows. “I meant I haven’t seen the lights on much.”

  I brushed the back of my index finger over her cheek, wanting to feel the heat of her blush. “This week has been a little crazy.” I didn’t want to talk about me. I wanted to know more about her, every one of her fantasies, hopes and fears. I didn’t ever remember being so interested in what someone had to say. And although the feeling should have sent me running for the hills, I couldn’t imagine what would have me move from this spot beside her. I dropped my hand back to the swing, my fingers grazing her shoulder. “How’s the jewelry business?”

  She tilted her head as if taking my question seriously. “Good. I actually made some solid progress on a few designs I’m doing for a handmade collection.”

  “I’d love to see them sometime.”

  “You want to see my etchings?” She looked up at me from under her lashes.

  I chuckled. “And anything else you want to show me.” I reached across and slid her closer to me so our thighs pressed against each other.

  “This is a bad idea,” she mumbled, almost echoing what I should be thinking.

  Except I wasn’t. I’d deal with the consequences of this tomorrow. Something told me that Lana wasn’t the kind of girl who was going to go running to the tabloids.

  “Cold beer, deep porch swings and unhurried kisses are all excellent ideas.”

  I cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer to me. Her breath came out in little huffs against my skin. It was all the encouragement I needed. I pressed my mouth against hers. The way her lips met mine—it was like coming home, like finding where I was meant to be.

  Without breaking our kiss, I threw my beer over the porch rail, pulled her onto my lap.

  The cold press of her beer bottle settled against my shoulder, the temperature contrasting the heat of her mouth. I snaked my tongue past her lips, took the drink from her hands and threw it in the same direction I’d tossed mine. I’d rescue them tomorrow from the grass. Right now, I needed our hands to be free to explore each other.

  Tonight a kiss was not going to be enough.

  “Matt,” she whispered.

  Damn, I should have told her who I was. I was going to fuck this woman and she wasn’t going to know I was a Hollywood movie star and would ask her to sign an NDA tomorrow morning. For a split second, I felt a little bit shitty about it, but then her fingers trailed up my chest and began to pop open my shirt buttons.

  Lana

  My fingertips burned as I trailed them down Matt’s hard chest. I shouldn’t be doing this. But the way he looked at me. As if I was the most important person he’d ever come across.

  As I got closer to him, his pull grew stronger. He wore no cologne but he had an earthy, masculine scent that suggested somehow I could trust him. His muscular arms encircled me and it felt like he could protect me from the whole world.

  He slid the wide neck of my t-shirt off my shoulder and began to trail kisses along my exposed skin, setting off sparks of heat down my spine to my clit.

  I’d known from the moment he’d touched me on the swing that tonight wouldn’t end with a kiss. He wanted more. I wanted more. We both understood that.

  I gripped his shoulders and twisted my hips against his.

  “No dry humping. I want your hot, naked body pressed against mine.”

  He stood, and I wrapped my legs around his waist before I had a chance to think about it. I wanted his fingers on my clit, his cock in my mouth.

  I wanted to be consumed by him, used by him, fucked by him.

  Our eyes locked and he huffed before pressing my back against the wood of the house and grinding his covered erection between my thighs. He plundered my mouth with his tongue, as though he wanted more, was desperate to squeeze that last bit of nectar from the flower.

  Through his open shirt, he pressed his defined chest against mine. I wanted to feel all that toned skin against me. I reached for my t-shirt and pulled it up over my head, interrupting our kiss for a second. The wood against my bare back and the heat from his body heightened every sensation, and
my nipples beaded against the lace of my bra.

  Being with Matt was the only time sex in a small town could take place without consequence. There would be no storm where he was concerned. He’d be gone soon. It wasn’t as if I was about to sleep with the mayor who I’d have to see on Main Street every time I went to buy groceries. And I was in my twenties. One-night stands were okay. I relaxed, giving myself up to the moment.

  “Lana,” he said, pausing between kisses, “I should tell you something. I don’t want you to think I’m hiding anything.”

  I reached for the screen door. I wanted to take this inside. I could barely focus on what he was saying.

  “Lana,” he whispered.

  “Let’s go indoors,” I replied.

  He caught the door I’d pried open with his foot.

  “I’m an actor,” he said. “I’m in the area shooting a movie.” He pulled back, a little crease appearing between his eyebrows.

  I nodded. “Okay.” My brain was fuzzy and focused on soothing this ache inside me. Why was he telling me this? “Should I know you?”

  He shook his head. “No. I just thought you should know. That I’m Matt Easton,” he said as if it were important, as if I needed to listen carefully. As if I should be understanding something I didn’t. “I don’t want to hide anything, mislead you in any way.”

  “Mislead me? How?”

  He blinked once then twice. “Just by not telling you.”

  “Okay.” Had I heard of him before? Seen him in anything? He was handsome enough to be a movie star and his name did sound familiar, but he could just as easily have been the guy our town librarian praised for mowing her lawn. I trailed my fingertips over his eyebrow. I wasn’t sure why he felt he had to tell me. It wasn’t as if he was George Clooney and a swarm of paparazzi was gathered on the deck. He was clearly some here today, gone tomorrow actor. And soon he’d be far away from Worthington. “Does that mean you want to stop?”

  He ground his hips toward me and kissed me again. I guess I had my answer. Maybe I’d understand why he’d hit pause for a couple of seconds later, but right now the only thing I wanted was more of his kisses.

  “Let’s go inside,” I said and he pulled me from the wall and led us indoors.

  The door clicked shut and darkness enveloped us.

  He carried me into the kitchen, set me on the countertop. “You’re beautiful,” he said, taking a half step back.

  I covered my mouth with my splayed fingers, trying to hide my smile at his compliment. I’d pulled on yoga pants after work, and no one was beautiful wearing an elasticized waist.

  His hands dipped into the back of my leggings and panties and somehow, without effort, he stripped me naked so my bare ass was on the counter and I wore nothing but my bra.

  “Let me look at you.” He stepped back and lifted his chin as if he were proud of the way he’d undressed me. “Your bra—take it off.”

  He pulled his open shirt out of his pants and stripped it off as I reached behind my back for the clasp.

  He deserved to be on display with his face—all cut jaw and soft blue eyes. Masculine and beautiful at the same time. With his body—chiseled and the color of brown sugar.

  He was perfect.

  I watched as the light coming from the porch lit up his hungry face. “Yeah. That’s good,” he said as I removed my bra.

  The cold marble beneath my hot skin seemed to feed my lust. I opened my legs under his inspection. I wanted his eyes, his fingers, his dick between my thighs. Right. Now.

  “You have a beautiful pussy,” he said, bringing his gaze from between my legs to my face.

  I tilted my head in acknowledgment, in invitation.

  Two feet of space separated us, but it felt as if every glance physically touched me.

  Slowly, his hands went to his fly, popping open his jeans. His eyes never left mine.

  He slid his pants down. I was anxious to see what came next.

  I sucked in a breath as he fisted his cock, dragging his hand up, rounding the head before pushing back down.

  I couldn’t remember a man’s dick making my mouth water before.

  “Let’s mess this pretty pussy up a little, shall we?”

  My hips rolled forward, and he didn’t torture me any longer as he stepped between my legs.

  Watching me, he trailed his fingers over my folds with one hand, his other still on his cock. I bit my lip, fighting back the moan building from the base of my stomach.

  “Don’t hold back. I want to take what I want. But I want to give you what you need. And I have to see, hear, feel what that is.”

  I gasped.

  “Yeah,” he said with approval and blinked, slowly, as if lust was stalling his reactions.

  His fingers left my sex and he grabbed my nipple, circling then pulling. They were almost painfully swollen with arousal. My breath caught and I braced my arm against his chest.

  “Oh yeah. You like that. You like it a little rough.” I tensed. I didn’t like the thought of being hurt. “Oh no, baby, not pain. But you wanna get fucked right. I get it. I know it. And I’m the man to do it.”

  He slid his hand down, exploring confidently, showing me he was in charge.

  It was exactly what I wanted.

  He pulled me to the edge of the counter and pushed his cock up my folds. My stomach wound tighter and tighter.

  He broke our kiss, and I glanced down to find him positioning a condom over his tip. He didn’t wait until it was on before he slid his lips against mine, diving his tongue back in to explore my mouth.

  His crown pressed at my entrance and our kiss slowed and deepened, our foreheads touched as I nudged my fingertips against his shoulder, preparing myself. Our mouths open, our lips just a breath apart, he began to push into me, firing off sensation into every atom of my body.

  He was so hot, so big, so full. He kept pushing and pushing, his hands holding me in place. I tried to swallow down my cries but then remembered what he’d said and choked out, “Yes.”

  He groaned as he buried himself in me, stilling, adjusting, giving us both a chance to savor the moment. This couldn’t get better, wouldn’t last.

  “You’re so tight. So motherfucking—” He ground out the words as if speaking stole the last drops of energy in the universe.

  I squeezed and released my muscles, trying to milk his cock, encouraging him to soothe my need for him.

  “Holy Jesus.” As if he’d been hit by a lightning strike, renewed power coursed through him. He kissed me again, pulling out just a little and then pushing in farther than I thought possible.

  I tightened my fingers against his skin, hanging on to the feeling that I might burst with pleasure at any moment.

  “More,” I cried out. “Please.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched with a smile. He blinked, then shifted gears and found his rhythm. Every time he pushed in, my breath caught. Every time he pulled out, I whimpered with the loss.

  Shifting angles, he pressed me back until I lay flat on the counter. I reached behind my head, fumbled for the edge, and braced myself.

  “Christ, you look too perfect.” He swept his hand between my breasts and pushed against my lower abdomen as he continued to pump into me. I arched my back in response to the pleasure ratcheting up with each touch.

  “I’m going to come,” I screamed.

  The hair around his face was darkened with sweat and he increased his pace, his breathing heavy and labored. He was like a living sculpture, every carved muscle perfectly crafted, every inch of him in complete proportion.

  He glanced between our bodies, staring at the place where his dick slid into me. I followed his gaze, then looked up. Our eyes locked and, the final step toward my climax complete, I screamed out as my orgasm tore through me like a tornado.

  The booming in my ears muffled his grunts and moans, and instead of floating down from bliss I continued to climb, my orgasm circling and circling like a stuck vinyl record.

  “Yes,
yes, yes,” he chanted from above me, his fingers moving against my clit. I searched for breath, unsure if I could take any more. “Yeah, come again, baby, show me what my cock does to you.”

  He pushed harder and faster, tearing another climax from me as he demanded, “Look at me.”

  I opened my eyes, watching as his own orgasm crashed across his face.

  There was nothing but grunts and sighs from us both as we found our breaths and blood began to flow normally around our bodies again.

  “Fuck, that was sensational,” he said, looking at me as if incredulous. His palms were flat on either side of my head and he dipped to kiss me. We were still joined.

  “If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m going to wanna fuck you again.”

  “Good. I want you to have me again.” There was nothing else I would wish for until the end of time other than to be fucked by this man. Again. And again. And again.

  A small, confident grin curled his lips. “Yeah, well, let’s try to make it to the bedroom for the next round, okay?”

  Lana

  “It’s almost six,” I said as Matt dragged me toward him as we lay on our sides, my back to his front.

  I’d never had so much sex in one night. Never been fucked so hard. So expertly.

  “It’s Saturday. You can sleep all day. Right now, I need to fuck you again.”

  I squeezed my thighs together. How could I want him again? We hadn’t slept for a second. At one point, we’d paused for a glass of water, and there had been a few bathroom breaks, one of which ended up with a blistering orgasm in the shower as he went down on me.

  He pulled me closer and snaked his fingers between my thighs.

  “God, you’re always so wet and ready to go,” he said.

  I laughed as his erection grazed my cheeks. He was one to talk.

  A crash sounded in the kitchen. I grabbed his wrist to still his hand then froze. “What was that?” I asked.

  He dropped a kiss on my neck. “Nothing. Shhh.”

  “Matt?” a man called from outside the bedroom.

  “What the fuck?” Matt hissed.

  The bedroom door flew open and before I had time to think about what was happening, I grabbed a sheet and tried to cover myself.