by Dee, Bonnie
He loved the sound of her voice, husky and lower than normal and as yearning as he felt inside. He adored the frown that furrowed her brow, and the way her lips pursed in concentration. Michael kept his eyes open because he wanted to see her like this, lost in the pleasure that he gave her.
He moved inside her, rocking gently from side to side then in and out again. Reining in his primal need to buck and plunge, he set a slow, steady pace, and beneath him, Elena’s body rose and fell. Her hair spread in a dark halo around her head on the striped mattress. Only a glint of her eyes sparkled beneath her lowered lids. Her parted lips were luscious and full. Looking at her, a new wave of lust rushed through him and he moved faster, grunting with the strength of his thrusts.
Elena responded with soft moans of encouragement. Her fingernails dug into his back and her mewls of pleasure grew louder as she bucked against him.
“Oh, yeah. Yesss,” she hissed. Her words were an aphrodisiac, spurring his desire.
“More,” she murmured then gave a wordless groan. “Unh.”
That primitive, needy sound put him over the edge. He needed her, wanted her, craved her with every cell. His cock pulsed and he let out a curse as he came, followed by an exhalation of her name.
“Fuck. Elena.”
She arched beneath him and cried out loudly. Her legs gripped his hips like the jaws of a steel trap and her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails almost breaking his skin. The strength of her orgasm and the utter abandon with which she surrendered to it were so unlike Elena. Michael thought of her as a woman who liked control and knowing what to expect, but when he considered it, she gave herself to her acting with an equal passion, uninhibited and fully committed to her craft. Elena was a complicated and intense woman, who challenged him like no one he’d ever known.
Breathing hard, he buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent mingled with the mildewed mattress. Strands of her hair tickled his nose and he blew them away. For several moments they lay, gasping and utterly relaxed.
Elena wiggled beneath him. “God, you’re a lug.”
He smiled, and moved off her. “Better?”
“Yeah. But don’t go too far.” She turned to face him, resting her head on the crook of her arm and smiling at him. He smiled back, more satisfied than he remembered feeling in a long time.
But it kind of scared him that he felt this good and that being with Elena mattered so much to him. Better to keep it light.
“This mattress reeks,” he commented, wrinkling his nose at the musty odor.
“Or maybe you’re a spoiled little rich boy who can’t take roughing it,” she teased.
Michael reached out and tweaked her nipple sharply in reply.
She yelped and returned the favor, giving him a nipple twist that made him gasp. Then she leaned in and licked where she’d pinched, swirling her tongue around his areola and up his chest. Her tongue dipped in the hollow of his throat and he twisted away from the tickling sensation.
Elena retreated to lie with her head on her arm once more.
Michael ran his hand idly down the length of her arm from shoulder to wrist, enjoying the smooth satin of her skin. “We should probably get moving before we get locked in the building for the night.”
He took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to come back to my room?”
“Logan will never keep his mouth shut. Everyone will know what’s going on.”
He brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “I don’t think we can keep it a secret for long anyway. Everyone saw us kissing and they’ll jump to conclusions anyway. Do you not want people to know?”
“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to make it a secret, but until we know what’s going on between us, I’d rather not have everyone else discussing it.”
“They’ll gossip either way.” He set her hand down. “But if you don’t want to come back with me…”
“I do.” Elena grabbed his hand and held it again. “I want more and I want it tonight. I just wish people wouldn’t talk.”
“Me, too.” He yawned and stretched, exhausted from the long week in Connecticut and the flight. He removed the used condom, and climbed off the creaky bed to retrieve their clothes.
They dressed, and he pulled Elena into his arms for a last kiss before they made their way back upstairs. Almost everyone was gone except for a few crew members working on the lighting.
After Elena had changed from her costume, they headed for the exit. The guy who’d given them a thumbs-up earlier, waved and grinned.
“Are you hungry?” Michael asked when they reached the street. “We could stop somewhere first.”
“Starving, but let’s order in.”
They held hands in the taxi, as comfortable and familiar as a long-time couple. Including all the onstage romance, Michael calculated they’d been dating almost six months. He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned against him.
“How’s your mom doing?” she asked.
He smiled tightly. “She’ll be fine as long as she can live in the style she’s used to. She’s very resilient.”
“How about you?”
He shrugged. “Still feeling blank, actually.”
Elena squeezed his hand and changed the topic. “While you were gone, there was some drama. Gretchen and Jake almost missed a Sunday matinee, and later that evening Jake got a DUI. No one’s supposed to know, but of course everyone does. Also, Denny’s upset because Tom’s acting weird. He won’t talk about it, which is unusual for Denny. I had to pry it out of him.”
“The drama never ends.”
Elena smiled and cuddled against him. “Well, that’s life. People are happy, sad or bored. There’s nothing interesting about happy or bored so we discuss the drama. Would you rather hear about my exciting day of sorting socks or how I fought with Renée about who should clean the bathroom?”
He laughed. “How’s living with Renée going? It was nice of you to take her on.”
“I figure I can deal with her shit better than Gretchen could, and at least she’s not a slob like Cara. I’ve learned to tune her out.”
The taxi pulled up in front of their apartment building.
Standing on the sidewalk, Michael looked at the entrance and then at Elena. After they went to his room, there’d be no pretending the incident in the prop room had been a fluke. If she spent the night, they’d be a couple because there was no possibility of a one-nighter where Elena was concerned. The sex would mean something and he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t.
Michael had never had a relationship that lasted longer than a couple of months, never been seriously emotionally involved with anyone. He was entering uncharted territory here, and it made his heart pound with a kind of fear he never experienced before going onstage.
“So, you ready for this?” Was he asking her or himself?
Elena nodded. “I’m ready.” She took his hand, and together they entered the building.
Scene Seven: Washington D.C.
In Washington the troupe waited impatiently in the hotel lobby while Bob Plotz, the company manager, argued with the hotel manager about their rooms. Evidently someone had screwed up their reservation and now the hotel was booked solid.
Denny was lucky. He’d been one of the first into the hotel and had claimed a comfortable seat by a potted plant. Others stood in little groups, shifting from foot to foot, or leaned against walls, chatting together and waiting for the issue to be resolved.
Denny flipped through a brochure about Capitol tours, but didn’t look at it. Instead he watched Michael grab Elena’s hand and pull her out of the lobby, probably for a quickie in the nearest restroom. The couple was insatiable. These days one was likely to come across them dry-humping in any dark, secluded corner backstage, and when they weren’t kissing or groping, they eye-fucked from across the room. It was annoying, especially for someone as starved for sex and romance as Denny.
“No room at the inn,” Plotz announced, returning from haggling with management. “They’re calling other hotels to find rooms. We’ll have to take what we can get.”
The group gave a collective groan. Everyone was exhausted from hours on the road and ready for a hot shower and bed. The screw-up might not be Plotz’s fault, but he still received plenty of killing glances, as if he should always have the answers and be able to make things right. Denny felt for the CM. Sometimes things just spun out of your control.
It was almost two in the morning before the situation was resolved and all the actors and crew finally had rooms in various hotels throughout the city. It was a management nightmare.
Lying in another foreign bed in yet another city, Denny stared at the ceiling. It was six months since he’d left New York. Twelve weeks of rehearsals and performances in Chicago followed by grueling travel from city to city. He felt like he’d aged several years in that time. It seemed like he’d always been on the road and always would be. Maybe if he could count off the days until the tour was over he’d feel differently, but at this point he didn’t know if he had anyone to go home to at the end of the road.
Things were bad between him and Tom. Really bad. They’d never fought like this before.
After cancelling his plans to visit in Philadelphia, Tom had called back to apologize, but would still offer no good reason for his refusal to come. Their conversation ended with harsh words. Tom’s calmness only served to fuel Denny’s anger.
They hadn’t spoken for days after that, and when Denny finally took his turn at calling to apologize, the conversation was short, polite and stilted. Tom thought he might have a lead on a new job. No, he didn’t need anything, and he loved and missed him. Denny reminded him he could come visit any time, no matter where the show was. He’d pay for a ticket. Tom said he couldn’t right now, and Denny hung up on him.
That was the last conversation they’d had. Now, lonely in the middle of the night, Denny couldn’t figure out any way to repair the rift between them. Maybe he should go to New York, forcing Tom to tell him to his face it was over between them. But he didn’t really want to give him the opportunity to end it for real.
Sick of running a maze of what ifs, Denny closed his eyes and finally surrendered to sleep and a night of anxious dreams. He woke exhausted and rolled out of bed to get ready for another day of work. Funny, acting had never seemed like work until this never-ending trip.
Onstage that night, Denny dove into Richard, attempting to feel the man’s emotions as if they were brand new and he hadn’t played them night after night. He begged Kathleen to choose him, even knowing she loved Aaron best, but Denny had never really bought into Richard accepting second place in Kathleen’s heart. For Denny, love must be all-encompassing.
After the show, Elena caught up with him before he went to change. She threw her arm around his back and hugged him. “Hey, buddy, what’s up? You’ve been quiet lately.”
Denny gestured at the dark theater around them, the backside of the set and the catwalk above. “This is what’s up. That’s all there is. Get up. Come here. Do this. Kill time and sleep, and do it all again the next day.”
Elena grinned. “Better than frying burgers at McDonald’s, though.”
He slung an arm around her shoulders. “How about you? Enjoying your new ‘boyfriend’?” He stressed the word in a sing-song voice.
She attempted a glare but her smile grew wider. “He’s not my—”
“Ri-ight.” Denny felt a pang of jealousy. He remembered what it was like, the excitement of a new romance when the page was blank, when anything was possible and you couldn’t stop smiling.
Elena shrugged. “We’re…good. Happy. Enjoying each other. That’s all you can hope for, isn’t it?” She looked up at Denny, her eyes glinting. “He still drives me nuts though.”
“That’s what keeps it hot.” They’d reached the dressing rooms, and Denny removed his arm from her shoulders. “I’m happy for you. And jealous.”
“You and Tom still haven’t talked?” Elena frowned. “Don’t let it go on. Even if you think he’s wrong, one of you has to be man enough to break the silence. You’ve got to call him and have it out.”
He stared at the scarred wood of the changing room door. “Maybe. But not tonight.”
“It will only get harder if you keep waiting.”
“Yes, Mom.” Denny saluted her and escaped into the men’s dressing room.
Despite his intention of making it an early night, Denny allowed Logan to drag him to a bar along with Chris and some of the other men from the chorus. It was good to be part of a guys’ night out, certainly better than sitting alone in his room, watching TV. But being around Logan and Chris with their sophomoric banter made him feel old, although they were actually only a few years younger than he. Logan’s manic babbling and Chris’s lame jokes got old fast.
After a bit, Denny and his understudy, Tanner, left the table and went to play darts. Denny found the repetitive motion soothing. He concentrated and tossed over and over, hitting close to the center of the target every time.
“Dude, look,” Tanner muttered. “That guy is checking you out.”
“What?” Denny lost focus and tossed wildly, the dart barely sticking in the outer ring of the dartboard.
“The guy in the sharp jacket at the end of the bar, right next to the guy in the ugly green shirt.”
Denny glanced sideways. An extremely good-looking, dark-haired man in a leather jacket was watching them.
“How do you know he’s not looking at you?” Denny asked.
“Because I’m not gay, and it’s so obvious his eyes are on you. Go talk to him.” Tanner nudged his arm.
Denny lifted another dart and stared at the board before he threw. “Why? You know I’m involved.”
Tanner made a scoffing sound. “Please! Don’t give me that committed relationship bullshit. You need to get laid, like yesterday, man. At least a fucking hand job. That guy is seriously hot, and your boy back home never needs to know.”
“I’d know.” Denny walked to the board and pulled his darts.
Tanner waited until he returned then continued, “It wouldn’t mean anything. At least talk to him and see how things go.”
Denny shook his head, but he cut another glance at the hot guy with his sharp, even features and dark eyes. He was very attractive in a fine-boned Keanu Reeves kind of way.
The decision of whether to talk to him or not was taken out of his hands when the man rose from the bar and walked over to them.
“Hi. I’m Paul.”
“I’m Tanner. This is Denny. We’re actors. You know the musical Transitions? It’s playing at the National Theater. Yeah, well, Denny here’s a lead.”
“Really?” Paul raised an eyebrow. “I have tickets for next weekend. What role do you play?”
“Richard.” Denny shifted the fistful of darts into his left hand and extended his right to shake hands. Paul’s grip was firm, his palm dry and smooth. Excitement shimmered through Denny at the brief touch.
“Don’t let the romance in the play fool you. He’s gay.” Tanner clapped a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “I’m not. We’re just hanging out together, so we’re not, like, together or anything. He’s a free agent.”
“Tanner!” Denny said sharply. “Stop now.”
Paul smiled. “Can I buy you guys a drink?”
“Uh,” Denny said.
Tanner interrupted. “You know what? I’m going to go see what the rest of the gang is up to, so you two go ahead. Find a table. Get acquainted.” He turned and wove his way through the crowded bar.
“He’s not at all subtle, is he?” Paul asked.
“And not at all straight, although he thinks he is,” Denny added. “No straight guy would notice you watching us and call you hot.”
Paul’s smile widened, showing even, white teeth. “He said I’m hot? What did you say?”
“Well, I agreed with him, of course”—Denny set th
e darts down—“then reminded him I have a boyfriend back home who I’m very committed to.”
Paul nodded. “Must be tough being on the road.”
“Yes. Very.”
“How about that drink? You can tell me what it’s like. It has to be thrilling being onstage, singing those great songs and getting all that applause.”
Denny nodded. “But as my mom used to say, ‘Shiny new pennies grow tarnished’. Translated: everything gets old.”
“I can imagine.”
They sat at a small table with a wobbly leg, the only one free in the place. Paul raised his hand to summon a waitress and ordered a couple of local micro-brews. “Hope you’ll like O’Days. It’s dark and kind of heavy for some people’s taste, but I like it.”
Paul’s soft Southern accent was pleasant on the ear. It wasn’t broad, just a subtle hint of drawn out Rs and soft As.
“Are you local?” Denny asked.
Paul shook his head. “Virginia. I moved here about seven years ago with my partner, Will.” He paused. “We broke up last year.”
“So it was a pretty long-term relationship.”
“Yes. Nine years in all.”
“And then it ended.” Denny felt a stab of pain in his chest just from saying the words. “Do you mind… Can I ask if either of you was…?”
Paul smiled again, a pretty flash of white against his tan skin. “No. Nobody was cheating. We just grew apart, I guess.”
The waitress dropped off a pair of longnecks, and Paul paid. Denny nodded his thanks and took a swig from the bottle. “While you were together did you ever? Cheat?”
Paul wiped his finger through the condensation on the bottle. “I’d like to be able to say ‘no’.”
“How often? Were they affairs or just one time… Jesus, I’m sorry. I’ve got no business asking you that. I don’t even know you.” Denny’s gaze dropped to study the label on the beer, an old-fashioned ink etching of a barmaid with a foaming mug in each hand.
“You sound worried,” Paul said. “Are you afraid to trust your man back home…or yourself?”
“Me? No. I’d never cheat on Tom. Ever!” Denny frowned and looked up at the other man, noting the obvious interest in his eyes, denying it and trying to quash it with his words.