Rough Cut

by Mari Carr

  She rolled her eyes. “God you’re a cocky bastard, Hollywood.” She laughed softly. “Don’t let this go to your head or anything, but I think I might care for you too—a little. I just don’t think I can go through the heartache again when you realize how much I need from you.”

  “So what if we like our sex rougher than other people? So what if we get off on things other people find bizarre? Big deal. I’m not fucking them. I’m fucking you and I want the same things you do.”

  She closed her eyes as he spoke and he could sense her fighting not to believe him, too afraid of giving her heart again. Clearly, he would have to match his words with actions. He crossed the room until he stood in front of her.

  “Get on your knees.”

  “What?”

  “On your knees. Now!”

  A wave of unbridled lust punched him in the gut like a heavyweight boxer when she dropped to the floor before him. He hastily unfastened his pants and shoved them and his boxers down in one swoop. He gripped her hair tightly, rewarded by her moan as she engulfed his engorged flesh in her mouth with one deep pass.

  She swallowed his cock to the back of her throat and he pulled her hair as he forced her to move faster, deeper. She reached up to grip his thighs, her fingers digging into his legs. She hummed as she dragged her teeth along the hard flesh.

  He moved out, gripping her face and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Not this way. Not this time.”

  Reaching down, he helped her to her feet. Kicking off his shoes and pants, he dragged her to the bed and pushed her toward the mattress.

  “Hands and knees.”

  She moved into position as he reached up to loosen the straps at the head of the bed. “Give me your wrists,” he demanded. “No fighting this time.”

  When she complied, he secured them together above her head, forcing her to support herself on her elbows.

  He moved over to his dresser and picked out several neckties. Tonight he wanted her to understand the true meaning of bondage, of submission.

  Reaching beneath her, he tied her knees together, then secured another tie around her ankles and a final one around her elbows. She was trussed up tightly, her motion limited. In this position, her ass was open, at his disposal, while the rest of her body was bound, vulnerable.

  He ran his fingers along the slit between her legs and discovered she was ready to play. “So wet,” he whispered as she shivered. He knew her reaction wasn’t based on cold, but rather anticipation, exhilaration.

  There was nothing wrong with what they were doing and if it took him all night, he would convince her of that.

  Leaning over, he opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a tube of lubrication. He knew she watched him, knew from the slight trembling she was aware of his intentions.

  Taking his time, he worked the lubrication into her virgin ass, first with one finger, then with two. She hissed when he added the third digit, but when she began to shove back against his fingers, he knew she was ready. Tossing the lube to the floor, he rose to his knees behind her and placed his cock at her anus.

  After tonight, he refused to wear a condom. Those days were over. If she wasn’t already on birth control, he’d take her to the doctor tomorrow for the shot.

  Slowly, he eased his way inside her, trying to pay attention to her body’s signals, searching for any proof that she didn’t like this, didn’t want this. When he was fully seated, he paused, the tightness of her ass clenching his cock in a painful, glorious manner.

  His hips retreated almost completely before moving back inside, hard, steady, strong. She screamed and he felt the beginning of her climax.

  “You don’t have permission.”

  “So punish me,” she hissed as her orgasm ripped through her. He fought back a grin at her challenge. She would never match his image of the perfect submissive and he was so very grateful for that. She was so much more than he’d ever dared to hope for. He thrust his cock into her, struggling to maintain control of his own building climax. It was all too fast. He wanted this moment to last.

  She began to come again, right on the heels of her previous orgasm and he slapped her ass as he continued to pound into her. He timed his spanking with his thrusts. His punishment turned quickly into a pleasure neither of them had ever known, ever experienced. She cried as her third climax pierced through her body, taking him down for the count as well.

  After he untied her, he wrapped his arms around her. Glancing out the window at the midnight sky, he realized evening songs were definitely the sweetest.

  Chapter Seven

  Vignette Four: Evening Songs

  …As the elderly man holds his beloved wife in his arms, the sun rises and the scene fades to black.

  OLD MAN

  (whispering)

  Forever.

  Gwen finished typing the last word of the screenplay, leaning back in the desk chair and trying to covertly wipe away the damn tears gathering in her eyes. Ty’s chuckle alerted her to the fact he’d caught her in action.

  “Do you need a tissue?”

  “No thanks, Hollywood. I’m not crying.”

  “Of course not, just some dust in your eye, right?” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. She tried to laugh at his jest, but a small sob escaped before she could hold it back. “Hey.” He pulled back to study her face. “You really are upset. Is it the ending? Don’t you like it?”

  “I love it. It’s perfect. Really. I’m just being silly.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything silly about getting attached to your characters. You’ve created them and they’re a part of you.”

  She nodded as he attempted to console her. She didn’t know how to tell him that her crying actually had very little to do with the script and everything to do with the fact that their collaboration was over. For two months, they’d shared this room, fighting over plot points and making love until the wee hours.

  He’d explained in detail about his desire to tackle a more serious film, and she’d been touched by how much his craft meant to him. He was an amazingly talented actor and he would be a phenomenal producer. She’d followed him to the sets of various projects during their time together and he never failed to take her breath away. However, there was a small, insecure part of her that simply couldn’t believe he was attracted to her.

  Once they’d jumped the hurdle of her fears and insecurities in regard to her sexual preferences, the dam had broken and they spent night after night just talking, sharing secrets. She’d never felt as close to anyone as she did Ty.

  He had a definite knack for uncovering her deepest, darkest fantasies and bringing them to life. She glanced across the room at the St. Andrew’s Cross he’d erected a month ago. She’d spent countless hours bound to the structure as he brought her more pleasure than she’d ever imagined possible.

  He followed where her gaze had landed.

  “I think we should celebrate.” He took her hand and helped her rise.

  “Celebrate?”

  “Take off your clothes.” Her heart raced at his gruff command. Gwen was becoming accustomed to his dominance. She was thrilled when the tone of his voice dropped or he assumed what she’d come to recognize as his Master stance. He was standing with his arms crossed against his chest and his face was stern, telling her with just body language she would obey him.

  She’d spent weeks fighting with herself, trying to deny that she wanted, needed his rough touches, and with patience and understanding, Ty had broken down every wall, every barrier she’d erected until there was nothing left except them, here together, sharing everything they had to give.

  She slowly pulled her T-shirt over her head, hiding her smile when his gaze darkened. She loved that she could make him so hot and needy. She slid her bra off, letting the lacy garment fall to the floor. Before tugging off her jeans, she cupped her breasts, knowing that Ty loved watching her touch herself. She pinched her nipples until the pain of her actions forced a soft groan from her lips.

&nbs
p; He watched silently, not moving. She unzipped her jeans and pushed the denim over her hips. She wasn’t wearing any panties, per Ty’s instructions. He’d tossed all her panties in the trash weeks ago. When she was totally naked, she stood in front of him, waiting for his next command.

  “Go stand in front of the dressing table.”

  She frowned. “I thought—”

  He chuckled. “I know what you thought, Gwen, but you don’t decide what we do in the bedroom. I do. Go stand in front of the dressing table and face the mirror.” As she passed him, he gripped her upper arm to stop her and swatted her ass five times. “Next time I expect you to obey without question.”

  She shivered and squeezed her legs together, no longer trying to deny how much she craved his punishments. Together, they’d explored the concepts of BDSM and for the first time in her life, she felt an inner peace. She’d slowly learned to accept that this was who she was. She was finally comfortable in her own skin and she had Ty to thank for it. The loneliness that had resided inside for most of her life was gone. The pressures of her career had also faded. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain the feeling of utter freedom that permeated her being when she gave herself to him completely.

  She stood before the mirror, watching as he moved closer. He hadn’t taken off a single stitch of clothing. She loved these moments. Loved being his all-too-willing slave. She’d spent so many nights pondering the idea of being his submissive and in truth, she’d never felt happier. He’d brought her to orgasm with his hands, his cock, his tongue, but also with words and whips and ropes at her wrists. There had been no desire he’d refused to satiate, and he’d never made her feel ashamed about her need for pain and bondage.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He took his place behind her. They looked at each other through their reflections in the mirror and as she caught a glimpse of her body, her face, she felt beautiful. “I have a treat for you.”

  “For me?”

  He nodded. “I’ve been saving it for just this occasion. For the day when we finished the screenplay.”

  Her heart lurched at his words. Since his admission that he loved her nearly two months earlier, he hadn’t used those words again. Of course, she’d never offered them even once, too afraid of his rejection. What if this relationship was directly tied to the writing of the screenplay? Now that the script was written, was their time together over?

  Ty hadn’t mentioned the future beyond the end of this partnership and now that she was faced with the ending, her heart felt as if it were on the precipice of being irrevocably broken, shattered.

  He pulled out the padded stool beneath the dressing table. “Sit down.” She winced slightly at the burn from his previous spanking, then she watched him through the reflection in the mirror as he reached into his pocket to pull something out.

  “Lift your hair,” he said.

  She complied as he placed something around her neck. She gasped when his hands moved and revealed the thick band of silver. “It’s a c—” Her voice caught on the word, unable to say it.

  “A collar,” he finished for her. “And there’s something else.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the beautiful silver chain. There were sapphires set into the intricate design of the metal with a very small loop at the front. To most of the world it would just appear to be a simple choker necklace, but anyone familiar with BDSM would realize it was a collar. She knew perfectly well what a collar meant and her chest blossomed with hope. Surely he wouldn’t give her this if he intended to end things. A collar denoted commitment and a serious relationship.

  She turned on the stool when she realized he wasn’t standing behind her anymore, rather he was kneeling. In his hands was the largest, most gorgeous diamond engagement ring she’d ever seen.

  “Ty.” The tears she’d fought back earlier returned full-force and brought friends.

  “I want you to marry me, Gwen. I want you to be my wife by law and my submissive by choice. Stay here with me. Please.”

  She nodded, her throat too clogged with happiness to speak the word. He grinned, placing the ring on her finger and she laughed.

  “Dear God, Hollywood. Couldn’t you find a bigger ring?” A diamond surrounded by sapphires engulfed her finger.

  He joined her laughter. “I don’t want anyone to mistake the fact that you are completely, one-hundred percent spoken for.” He reached up to stroke the collar at the throat and she felt the familiar racing of her heart he managed to inspire with a single touch.

  “I love you.” The words were new to her lips, but familiar to her heart. She’d fallen in love with him the first night he’d fallen asleep in her bed in the guest house, looking so lonely and weary. She couldn’t help but care for him and she’d been a fool to hide her feelings for so long.

  “I love you too.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply and she reveled in the passion behind his caress. He led her over to the bed and he undressed slowly, leisurely. Their unhurried pace was a sharp contrast to the mad dash of sex they’d succumbed to every night since she’d moved into his room. It was as if the idea of forever had calmed the rough, frightened edges in each of them and the rhythm of their evening songs would never be the same again.

  As he pushed her back onto the bed, he came into her, his lips kissing her gently as his cock moved deeply, slowly within her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, trying to show him with her lips and body how very much she loved him, wanted him.

  When they came together, it wasn’t the usual blinding, crushing eruption, but rather a sensual melding so hot, she felt her as if her body was melting into his.

  He held her as they struggled to catch their breath and she fought to recover her wits. She leaned up on her elbow and looked at his beloved, handsome face. He watched her through hooded eyelids, a smile on his lips.

  “So, what do you think of my talents, Mr. Ransome?” she teased. “Good enough to get me a part in your next movie?”

  He laughed as she fluffed her hair in true starlet style. “Sweetheart, you’ve just landed the role of my leading lady for the rest of our lives. Forever.”

  Her heart swelled at the thought.

  Forever.

  Yeah, she could do that.

  Epilogue

  And the Oscar goes to…

  Ty squeezed Gwen’s hand as they emerged from the back of the limo, blinded by the sudden flashing of a thousand cameras.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She smiled, her beautiful face glowing with her pregnancy. She looked gorgeous in her custom-made Elie Saab maternity gown. The sapphire shade of the silk highlighted her red tresses and accentuated her bright blue eyes. They’d walked this red carpet several times in the past couple of years, but tonight’s trip was special because for the first time, they were both in the limelight.

  “Mr. Ransome, Ms. Preston,” Ryan Seacrest called out. They walked toward the interviewer as the cameras continued to flash. “It must be very gratifying to have the movie you co-scripted nominated for movie of the year.”

  “It is,” Ty said. “Very gratifying, very exciting.”

  “The movie is based on a collection of your short stories, isn’t that correct, Ms. Preston?”

  “Yes it is. The stories in Evening Songs have a very special place in my heart.”

  “Was it hard adapting your stories for the silver screen? I mean, Evening Songs was your first attempt at writing a screenplay, wasn’t it?” Ryan asked.

  “It wasn’t particularly difficult,” she replied, looking at Ty. “I had an excellent writing partner.”

  Ty raised his eyebrows. “Of course, we did have to do some rather extensive character studies.”

  “Yes, we did,” she agreed. “Very extensive.”

  “Do you think you’ll work on screenplays together in the future?” Ryan asked.

  Ty shrugged. “If the right story came along, perhaps. We—”

  “Oh Mr. Ransome, Mr. Ransome,” a sh
rill, high-pitched voice interrupted the interview. He looked over to see Bambi Starr waving to him from the front row of the crowd of fans. “Remember me?”

  He heard Gwen chuckle as he fought back a groan.

  “Oh look, Hollywood, an old friend. Wanna go over and say hello?”

  He tightened his grip around her waist. “Careful, Mrs. Ransome.” He stressed the name she hadn’t taken after their wedding, electing instead to keep Gwen Preston. He’d agreed keeping her maiden name was a smart move professionally. Besides, her nickname of Mrs. Ransome had worked its way into their bedroom adventures as had her name for him—Master.

  Her eyes darkened with arousal at the sound of her married name and he wondered how they’d manage to sit through the whole damn awards ceremony.

  “Seeing Bambi actually reminds me of something I’ve always wanted,” he whispered.

  “What’s that?”

  “You on your knees in that limo, sucking my cock.”

  She grinned. “I think that could be arranged.”

  He stopped mid-step and glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for their car. She laughed.

  “Later, Hollywood. Much, much later.”

  About the Author

  Some people fall apart on their thirtieth birthday, others on their fortieth. For Mari Carr, thirty-four was the year that took her down. After she spent the day crying and saying, “I haven’t done anything I thought I would,” her husband finally asked what was left undone. Her answer was simple—she hadn’t written a book or decorated her house. “So do it,” he said.

  Six years later, the house is sparkling with fresh paint and new furniture and her computer is jammed full of stories—novels, novellas, short stories, and dead-ends. The lesson: it’s never too late to achieve a goal or two!