by Clara Leigh
“You.”
Her eyes are so wide and brilliant, like two twin pools I can fall into and peacefully float. “I want to know more about you, all the stuff you hide under that bad boy façade.”
I chuckle, while still teasing her hair. “What makes you so sure there is anything?”
She smiles in a secretive knowing way. I think she already has me sussed. Then she takes hold of my hand and draws a heart in the centre of my palm with the tip of her finger. “I know, Dare. I see you.”
I curl my fingers over the top of hers, then pull her to me so that our foreheads are pressed together. We kiss. The positioning makes it slightly awkward, but it feels good. It feels right having her this close. “Emilia and I weren’t close, not in the way you might assume given we ended up having a kid. The truth is we barely knew one another. We made a film together, but outside of that, there wasn’t anything. We didn’t hang out. We never dated. I never met her folks or any of her friends. We just got drunk together at the wrap party. Most of what I do know about her, I learned after the funeral… quite a bit afterwards. Immediately following, I was too busy trying to figure out how the hell I ended up with a newborn.”
“So, you had no idea she was pregnant?”
“None. If I had done, maybe things would have been different. I could have helped, but as I said, I didn’t really know her. She wasn’t part of the core group. Chase and I were brothers, same for Alfie and Jace, Ronnie’s a law unto herself, likewise Dylan, and Lorne and I just hit it off from day one. We all stayed in touch afterwards, but Emilia didn’t seem interested. The director couldn’t even get hold of her to attend the premiere.” Working it out later, I know that’s because she was heavily pregnant, but at the time it just seemed standoffish. “The first contact I had with her post Sunsetters was when she handed Arrietty to me.”
“Emilia named her?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I did. She was only a few weeks old when Emilia…When she jumped. If she gave her a name, it escaped her mind to mention it to me while she was berating me for screwing up her life.”
It’s hard not to let some measure of vitriol leak into my voice. Even understanding that she was probably suffering from post-natal depression and was suicidal, it’s still hard to make peace with her memory, not when she altered my life so drastically.
“The Borrowers was the first stage production I ever saw. I don’t know why the wriggling pink thing I got handed made me think of that, maybe because she was so tiny.”
“It’s a good name, and fitting.”
Perhaps a little too well.
“Will I get to meet her?”
I shrug. “I guess, with the rest of the clan at some point. It’s awkward—”
“Because she sees you as her brother?”
“Yeah, and they don’t normally bring their girlfriends home to meet their younger siblings.”
“I need to introduce you to Flo too.” A wide smile breaks across her face at the mention of her sister. “You probably don’t want to meet my mum, and if your mum and mine ever meet, it’ll be ghastly.”
I squeeze her more tightly and rub our noses together. “You never know, they might get along.” Then I taste the sweet, hot, magic of her lips again. Our tongues tangle, and for a few glorious seconds it feels like someone killed the air conditioning. I’m inferno hot and something in addition to my temperature begins to rise.
Summer jerks open the outside door, then slaps up the steps in her flip flops. “Found it. I don’t know why it ended up where it did. I must have put it in my caravan for safe keeping.” She looks me over. “Good you haven’t moved.” Her brows hunch down reducing her eyes to slits when she casts her gaze over Flicka. “You seem to have lost your lipstick.”
“Sorry.” Flicka holds aloft her mug as evidence. “I don’t know why it never stays on. If you do it again, I promise not to eat or drink anything.”
Summer waggles her head at her. “Get off with you and find some breakfast. We’ll do it right before the take.”
After Flicka’s gone, Summer sprays numerous designs across my back and biceps. “I hope you’re not leading her on young man.”
I roll my eyes, knowing she can see my reflection in the mirror. “As if.”
I hope Flicka isn’t leading me on. If she is, I’m going to end up with more than my fingers getting burned.
***
Fate must be looking out for us, because we snatch another bit of together time later that afternoon. Okay, so we’re not entirely alone as we’re posing for the lighting dude so that he can eliminate some shadow or other, hence me going for something nicely innocuous to make small talk about.
“What do you think about armpit sex?” I ask in response to her raising her arms. The action reminds me of Jason’s curious fetish.
“Um, I don’t. I haven’t.” Flicka’s pretty brow scrunches into a frown, and she wraps the end of one lock of hair around her finger. “Is that an actual thing that you’re into? Because, oh my God, that’s seriously… Really, people actually do that? They hump other people’s armpits?”
“They do. I don’t. And while your underarms are lovely.” Her pits are all-over body moisturiser smooth. “I can think of juicer crevices I’d rather stick my dick.”
She laughs faking outrage. “Yeah, I’ve heard you do a lot of sticking it places.”
“Does that mean you’ve thought about which of your wet places you might like me to put it?”
“You’re so rude!” She takes a swipe at me that doesn’t quite connect and tips her off balance enough that I’m obliged to catch her. She grins as her chest crushes mine. Then she rises onto tiptoes and her teeth graze my earlobe. “You’re trouble, Dare Wilde.”
“Don’t ever forget it.” I spin her around so that she has her back to me, and her pert little arse is nestled right against my cock, which rises in welcome.
“Quit pissing about,” the lighting dude bellows. “I need to get this right, so keep your arses still.”
“Whatever you say, mate.” I salute him. Then I cross my arms across the front of Flicka’s body so that she’s trapped against me and my hands are resting just in front of her pussy. She’s wearing a skirt, which in this instance forms an irritating barrier to our happiness. Normally, I’d prefer that to trousers, but a nice pair of jeans with a hefty seam right over her clit would be ideal for making mischief right now.
“I need to see you properly,” Flicka whispers. “The odd moments like this, they’re not enough. It’s nice that we’re getting to talk, but my poor rabbit is totally overworked and at risk of having a nervous breakdown. Do you think we could risk meeting where we met before?”
I wish. “It’s been compromised. I’ve heard the gaffer and the best boy have been using it.”
“Damn,” she hisses. “But we were there first. Why can’t they bang in their trailers?”
“They probably don’t want an audience.” Unlike the actors, the tech crew tend to co-bunk.
“Where then? I could slither through the skylight into your trailer.”
She’d have to climb on the roof to do that, which would draw more attention than her coming in through the door. “Dunno, even if I unscrewed it, it’s barely big enough for a cat to squeeze through.”
“Well there has to be somewhere on an estate this size.”
You’d think so, but I’ve been scoping out the area all week and nada. The land is flat and the vegetation isn’t clumped together nearly enough. Also, once you get outside the area’s that are cordoned off for filming, you’re at risk of being stumbled upon by a member of the public. The whole area is riddled with footpaths. “I’ll think of something.” Or I might, once the horrid screeching that’s going on outside stops. What the hell is that?
Abruptly all the lights go out.
“Aw, you have got to be frickin’ kidding me.” Lighting Dude throws his cap on the floor. He stumbles about in the gloom crashing into things in order to check various connector
s, but there’s no juice in the system. “Don’t you two move from that spot.”
We both nod as he mutters about generators and incompetent technicians, then he scarpers outside holding a spanner and a roll of gaffer tape.
We’re left standing in the dingy room on the second floor of the mansion, locked in an embrace we’ve been ordered not to break. The door is closed, and the curtains are drawn across the windows in order to blot out the daylight. The scene we’re setting up for occurs at night in a luxury hotel room. A few pinpricks of daylight seep through the moth-holes in the ancient damask. Dust motes swirl energetically above our heads. I catch the scent of Flicka’s skin, fresh as a slice of honeydew as she shifts ever so slightly.
“How long do you think he’ll be gone?”
“Could be a couple of minutes or a couple of hours.”
“But we’ll definitely get five minutes?”
I nod. It’ll take him at least that long to check out the trip switches in the building, frown over the fact they’re at least half a century out-of-date, and then have to go and scratch his head over whatever’s up with the generator if the power cut isn’t simply down to a blown fuse.
“Want to talk some more?”
She quickly shakes her head. “No. I thought we might do something else. That’s if you’re game for being wicked?”
Luckily wicked is my middle name.
It’s frightening how quickly our gazes both fall upon the pristine sheets of the bed and we come to a unanimous decision not to waste any more time.
“Dare.” She turns seeking kisses.
God, the taste of her is so fucking sweet. Still, this is not a time when I’m going to be content with dancing my tongue against hers. I push her towards the bed. “Get your cute butt out of those panties—”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker if I kept them on and pulled them aside?” She’s already bent over with her skirt raised so that she’s flashing the confection of dainty blossom-covered lace she’s wearing before she’s finished that sentence. Then, she hooks her finger around the edge and pulls the material over to one side giving me a bird’s eye view of her slit. This woman is going to be my undoing. I’ve seen countless snatches, but I’ve never wanted to bury myself in one with anything approaching the same urgency as I want to dive inside Flicka Caine’s pussy right now.
“Put something on, Dare. Time’s wasting.”
I toss her the package to get the rubber out while I unzip. “You do the honours.”
“Sure you trust me?”
She sheaths me, taking care not to let her nails do any damage.
Then, I get inside her without pausing for breath. Oh, sweet, sweet lord, that is perfect! She’s still tight enough that it takes a few strokes for her to adjust to my size. I urge her to lie back, while I remain standing and grind my thumb down over her clit. Our heads are too far apart for kisses, but our gazes become tightly locked and she’s one hundred per cent mine as I bang her into the mattress.
I want her to be absolutely mine.
I want this whole stealth fucking drama to be over, so that I can wake with her in my arms and screw her all day long and while away the evenings with my head wedged between her thighs.
“Are you mine?” I growl.
She reaches up to me, and curls her fingers around my biceps. “Yes.”
It’s not enough that murmur. Sod whispers. I want to hear her holler it.
“I said are you mine?”
“Yes.”
“Am I fucking you good, Flicka?”
“You’re fucking me dirty.”
Yeah, my little ingénue likes it dirty. She likes watching me spray my stuff all over her. I reckon there are a few other things in my repertoire that’ll get her blood pumping even harder than it currently is. I pull out. “Roll over.”
“Bossy,” she complains, but she does it. Her legs dangle over the edge of the bed, while her upper body is pressed into the marshmallow-like eiderdown. I enter her from behind while holding onto her hips. It’s a first for us. The noises she makes are all-approving. Me, I like how deep I can bury myself and the way she gasps when I hit all the earthquake zones inside her sheath that she’s still learning about. I hammer away, doing the bump and grind thing, until the tremors from fucking her so well make her arch off the bed and her voice cracks at the end of each sound she makes. Time I put the cherry on top of this performance. I suck on my thumb, then rub it over her winking pink hole.
She blasphemes, then mushes her cherry-pink face against the eiderdown. “That’s wrong. Oh-my-lord.” The groan that oozes out of her starts somewhere around the around the area of my dick. “It shouldn’t feel so good.”
I let her feel what it’s like to have whole fingertip lighting up those plentiful nerve endings. Fingers – well, one finger – is enough for our first playdate in this park. That doesn’t stop me leaning right over her so that I get my lips up close to her ear. “Yeah, just wait until I put my cock inside your arse.”
Apparently, merely the thought of it is enough of a pleaser to set her off. She drums the mattress repeatedly with her tightly clenched fists and yells my name into the covers as she comes.
I come inside the Johnny. It’s not how I want to finish. I want to leave my come inside her like a marker, but at least I get to feel her heat surrounding me as I fire off my load.
We’re part way through straightening out the bed when the lightning dude returns. At least we both suppose that’s who it is. Turns out it’s Tyler Beauford instead. Jerk’s been in our faces ever since we got back on set. I don’t know if he’s spying for Jace, or Chinchilla, or just being a dickwad, but his constant interruptions are really getting old.
“Is this the scene where I arrive just in the nick of time?”
Flicka grunts. “Depends on your point of view.”
Ooh! Shot down in flames, mate.
“Yeah, well, whatever…” His bluster can’t disguise the scarlet glow that suffuses his cheeks and runs right up into his hairline. “What are you both doing up here?”
“Trevor told us to stay put.” Yes, lighting dude has a name and I can even remember it. Go me! I got drunk with him one time four films ago.
“Yeah, well you’re not supposed to be alone.” He addresses the remark to Flicka, who shrugs.
“Are you my mother now?”
“Just looking out for you. Somebody needs to. You know he’s bad news for your career, particularly if the bigwigs find out you’ve been together like this.”
“Like what?” Her hands plant themselves on her narrow hips and she stares Tyler down. “Like what, Tyler? What exactly is it you think we were doing? Maybe you should get your mind out of the gutter or else mind your own damned business.”
“I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together when I find two people straightening the bed sheets. You’re screwing him even though you know it’s a moronic thing to do. Like seriously, Flick. What happens when the Chinchilla dudes hear about it? You know they’re sniffing about.”
“They’re not going to hear anything,” she harrumphs.
“Not unless you’re planning on squealing,” I add.
His jaw tightens so that his chin protrudes. His eyes dart beadily between us behind the screen of his long fringe.
“Tyler don’t. Please. Don’t be a prick.”
He turns his back shaking his head.
“Where are you going?”
“To Jace. He should be the one to handle this.”
“What’s to handle?” Flicka scuttles past him and wedges herself between Tyler and exit. “Dare and I are both grown adults. What we choose to do is between us. It isn’t anybody else’s business.”
“You’re going to ruin both yourself and your sister,” he yells into Flicka’s face, making her flinch. “I can’t believe you’re being so selfish.”
“And I can’t believe you’re being so spiteful.”
Her voice is every bit as loud and fierce as his. Atta girl!
&
nbsp; “If you’re that concerned about Flo, how about not being a snitch.”
“I’m doing this to protect you both.” Tyler puffs his chest out. He seems surprised when she doesn’t crumple before his might. “You need to stop before you blow everything up.” Maybe he’s a good kid at heart; he just has a lot of growing up still to do.
“No, you’re doing it to point score. You’ve been out to get Dare ever since awards night and you lost out to him. He won that award fair and square. You need to get over the fact that you lost.”
It’s not the award that he lost out on to me that night that’s the issue here. Tyler lost out on claiming Flicka that night too. The only reason I think she doesn’t realise this is that she never saw him as a contender for her affections in the first place.
“Disgracing Dare isn’t going to change anything, Tyler. It won’t stop me seeing him, and it won’t gain you anything. Jace isn’t suddenly going to think, ‘Hey, Tyler Beauford, he’s a straight-up, honest sort I’ll cast him as the next Jack Bold.’”
He’d better blinking not.
“He’s more likely to think you’re a class-A slimeball for screwing the current film up.”
I’ll take option two out of those, please. It’s true that if Tyler goes public this film is going to fall apart overnight, but better that than him stealing my next role out from under me.
“I’m not the one being a twit here, Felicity.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Just get out of my way.” He grabs hold of her arms and pulls, trying to shift her from in front of the door. I take exception to his dickishness, and grab him in turn, yanking him off her.
The little bastard deliberately throws his head back which smashes into my nose. We both crash into the nearest light stand, sending it tumbling. It hits something else and various bits of equipment topple like dominoes.
As if summoned by the ruckus, Trevor reappears in time to see most of his lighting rig nosedive while my poor snout spouts a red leak.
I’m going to throttle Tyler Beauford when I manage to lay my hands on him. Flicka stops me from making an immediate grab for his throat by backing me into a corner and thrusting an antique doily on me to use as a swab. My whole face throbs, but I don’t think anything is broken.