by Lily Cahill
"Can I talk to you?" he asked. "In private?"
Laila raised her head. There were no tears--she was doing a very good job of making a poker face--but Elliott could see that her eyes were still red. It nearly broke his heart. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Kay."
"Yeah," Kay interjected. Elliott almost laughed. Kay had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. She was probably trying to be tough, but--though she was a curvy girl by most standards--she was a little on the scrawny side to pull it off.
"Fine," Elliott said. "I'm sorry, Laila. I didn't know she was going to show up."
"We're both adults, Elliott," Laila said. Her poker face was growing stronger. He could sense her doors closing, could sense his last opportunity to reach her slipping away. "Last night was fun, but we're not dating or anything. You can do what you like." She reached for the sugar and stirred it into her coffee like their conversation wasn't important at all, like it was routine. "Honestly, it's probably better we stay away from each other right now anyway," she said. "I need to stay focused."
"Please don't do that, Laila. Please don't talk to me like last night meant nothing, because it did. It meant everything."
"I bet," she scoffed. There she was. There was the Laila he knew was behind that composed mask. Mad he could handle. Mad he could argue with. It was when she shut herself away from him that things were impossible.
Elliott pulled up a chair. "Look, I'm not going to push you, Laila. I know what a shock Zara must have been this morning. But she's a part of my past and you're my future. I meant every word of what I said to you the first night we went out together. It wasn't a lie. And my mind hasn't changed."
"What did he say to you?" Kay asked, her voice breathless. It was then that Elliott remembered she was still sitting there. But her arms had relaxed at her side and her expression looked wide-eyed and hopeful.
"Maybe you should take a walk, Kay," Laila said.
"But--" Kay protested.
"Now," Laila said.
"Fine. But you owe me an explanation when you get home."
Laila scowled at her, and she finally got up and left.
Elliott reached out for her hand, but she pulled it away.
"Zara is nothing to me. Not after meeting you."
"I want to believe you, Yogi," Laila said. "I really do."
"Then believe me."
"I just ...," she said, the control in her voice gone. "I can't." There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Elliott swore to himself that he would never, ever make her feel that way again. Not if he could help it.
Elliott reached for her hand again. This time, she didn't pull away. "Then let me prove my loyalty to you. I don't want anyone else, Laila. I only want you. I'm not asking you to commit to me, not yet. But I am telling you I'm committed to you. For good. I'm not going to date anyone else. I don't care how long it takes. A week? A year? Ten? It doesn't matter. I'm here when you decide you can trust me again."
Chapter Ten
Laila
The weeks passed for Laila in a haze of work and concentration. She tried not to think about Elliott when she could help it. But true to his word, he'd been there for her.
When she lost her set designer to another film because of a scheduling overlap, it was Elliott who called in a favor and had someone on set the very next day. When the original location for the house fire fell through, it was Elliott who found them a backup--and one that was even better for the script than the original had been. When her two leads somehow caught a cold, then gave it to each other, effectively halting production, it was Elliott who called in one of the best doctors from LA and had them back on their feet within twenty-four hours.
He was the first one to arrive on set in the morning, usually beating her, and he was the last one to leave. And it was Elliott, too, who'd been quietly standing on the sidelines, watching her and waiting for her to need him again and again. Every single day, he was the one who delivered her morning tea, sitting next to her and sipping his coffee as she went through her shot list or reviewed the sides. And that's where he stayed, too, never more than a short distance away.
He'd been there for her. He'd been solid. Laila couldn't deny it.
She hadn't heard a single word or whispered rumor about him seeing anyone else. When would there have been time with all the work he was doing? But she didn't think it was just that. She'd spotted one of the makeup girls trying to flirt with him last week, and even though he'd had no idea she was watching, he'd shut it down fast. The girl had been pissed, too, but Elliott hadn't budged. Laila had been impressed.
Today was the last day of shooting. While the actual production process had been stressful and exhausting, it was hard to see it end. These past two months had been the most fulfilling of Laila's life. They were the culmination of years of dreaming and learning and hard, hard work. She was sad that after this, her friends would scatter to their respective corners of the world--both her old film school friends and the new friends she'd made in the cast and crew. They'd all become a little family during their time together. They were each other's home away from home.
And Elliott ... what to do about Elliott? If she didn't do something today, she might not see him again until the premiere. And the thought of it--of him not being by her side the next day, smiling and offering her tea--felt entirely foreign to her. It was like a scene out of someone else's movie. But could she really trust him? Was he really so changed from the man he'd been before they'd met?
"Abby Singer!" the AD shouted, and a cheer rose up from the cast and crew, who were crowding the set for this last scene of the entire movie. Abby Singer was one of those little film terms she loved. It meant that they were on the second-to-last shot of the day. Which today, meant the second-to-last shot ever. Later would be the martini shot--the very last shot--but she wasn't ready to think about that yet. She preferred to savor this moment before the end, not greet the end just yet.
She double-checked the camera positioning in the monitor, then gave a few last directions to her two leads. They were just as excited as everyone else--who could blame them; they'd worked so hard. But they still had a job to do. Hovering on her periphery, she spotted Elliott, his eyes dark and soft and totally focused on her.
She looked at the leads and spoke. "I want you to think of the person you love most in the world," she said to them. "I want you to pretend, when you're saying your lines to each other, that you're really talking to that person. Okay?"
The two teens nodded solemnly. She was so damn proud of how far they'd both come, of the tremendous work everyone had done to make her film a reality.
She went back to the video village and, after the cameras were rolling, she said "Action" on her very first feature film for the second-to-last time ever.
#
Music pumped from the speakers at the bar where the wrap party was in full swing. Laila and Kay walked in to whistles and clapping from the cast and crew. Laila looked around at all their smiling faces and tried not to bawl like a baby. As she scanned the crowd, her eyes landed on Elliott's face. He was beaming, clapping harder than anyone. His eyes locked on hers and she smiled back at him.
"Now or never," Kay whispered in her ear.
Kay was right. It was now or never. But she still hadn't decided what to do. Elliott strode toward her and wrapped his arms around her in a hug. He'd been careful around her physically ever since their fight. It was clear he hadn't wanted to force her or overstep any boundaries. It made the force of this hug all the more potent. His arms were warm and strong, and she had to fight the voice in the back of her mind that told her to hold on and never let go.
"Congratulations," Elliott said. "Truly. I'm so proud of you and the work you've done."
"Thank you," Laila said, her voice going soft. Why did her voice always do that when he was around? "But you're owed a congratulations too. You've done so much for this film ... and for me."
Was it possible that his eyes had gotten softer?
"Will you dance with me, Laila?" he asked.
She nodded, and he led her to the dance floor, where a slow song had just begun to play. One of his hands wound around her waist, the other twined her fingers into his.
"You look beautiful tonight," he said. "You always look beautiful."
"Thank you," she said. She had the instinct to lean her head on his shoulder, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. "I suppose it's back to LA for you tomorrow?"
"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes. I know you already made plans to do most of the editing yourself, but I think ... I think it might be a mistake."
"Really?" she asked. She could feel her ire rising, but she tried to hear him out.
"It has nothing to do with my faith in you," he said quickly. "I'm sure you could do an amazing job. But it feels like one of those decisions you made because of money."
"It was. I wanted the budget to show up on screen. Even with the increase, we don't have money left to hire an editor. There's someone for a sound and color pass, but not the cut. All the extra budget went into the production phase."
"Well, I really think you could benefit from a little distance and fresh perspective," he said. "I was wracking my brain for what to get you as a wrap present. So I called an editor I know. He's really talented and his schedule is open for the next month. I'd like ... I'd like to cover his costs personally."
"Elliott, that's--"
"Don't say it's too much. I have some money saved and I want to do it. I really believe in your work, Laila. I want to be a part of it as much as you'll let me."
"I don't know."
"Just hear me out, okay? The production house is in New York City. And I have a townhouse there we could stay in. I mean--I don't mean it like that. It's actually not even mine. It's my--it belongs to the man who raised me. His name is Nigel, and he's agreed to let us stay with him during the post-production phase. Kay too."
"Kay is--she's going back to Chicago." Kay and Laila had talked that very morning. Kay felt like she was finally ready to go back home and start looking for a real job again. Laila was sad to see her friend go, but knew it was the best thing for her. As much as Laila had appreciated her help, she knew Kay's true place was at the head of a boardroom table.
"Just you then?" Elliott asked.
"I'm not sure what to say."
"Say you'll do it. Say you'll come to New York with me. Please. I'm not ready to say good-bye to you yet, Laila."
Laila met his eyes. God, she liked him too much for her own good.
"Did you say the man who raised you owned the house? I didn't realize your parents had passed."
"They died when I was very young. Nigel was my caretaker, my guardian. He was the closest thing to a father I ever had."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's old news," he said. "I don't even remember them."
"That must have been hard, growing up."
"Sometimes. But Nigel was very kind. He treated me like his son," Elliott said. "Honestly, the only time I really struggled was when I hit puberty and ... started changing."
"Shifting, you mean?"
"Yes. It was a hard time, and the only time I can remember really feeling the absence of my parents. I mean, I know I inherited my abilities from both of them. Nigel knew about it, but there was little he could do to help. That's why, when I moved to LA for school and met other people like me, it was so life-changing."
"Other people, as in Zara?" Laila asked. Her picture of Elliott's real ties to Zara were starting to come into focus.
"Yes," he said. "Her and a few others. It was the first time I didn't feel like a total freak. With my parents gone, I didn't ever know what my clan was. They became mine."
Laila thought of her father's large family, his clan. They were a very tight-knit group. None of them lived more than fifty miles from any of the others. She thought of when her cousins had begun to shift, and how confusing it was for them to adjust to having a whole new identity. And she thought of herself--how she'd lived in dread from the time she was twelve until she'd turned fifteen, praying every night that it wouldn't happen to her.
Her family survived in a world that was unlike them not only because they were strong, but because of each other's support. How strange it was, and how sad, that Elliott had had no family to turn to during such a difficult part of his life. At least no family that was like him. No wonder he sought so much connection with others, but had never found lasting love. No wonder Zara had become such a strong fixture in his life.
She looked up into his eyes. "Yes," she said.
"Yes?"
"I'll go with you to New York."
"Really?" he said, pulling her close. "Oh, Laila. I promise you won't regret it."
"I don't think I will," she said, and she meant it.
"Does that mean you're willing to forgive me?"
"It means ... it means I'm willing to try again. No promises, but I'm willing to try. I mean, if you still want--"
But before she could finish her sentence, his lips were on hers. Hard and passionate, and absolutely the best thing she'd tasted in weeks.
#
They stumbled through the door to his rental home lip-locked and tangled with each other. His hands were fishing up her skirt and pushing past her panties and--damn. His hands felt so good she could barely think straight. The thoughts she could make out were spinning with worry. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe this was too fast. Maybe they should wait. But her hunger for him overpowered her more practical mind.
She wanted him. She didn't know how much she'd wanted him until he began to kiss her on the dance floor--and boy, had the cast and crew hooted and hollered at that. But she did want him--had been wanting him for weeks. She was full of pent-up desire. Which was why they had left. Which was why they were here now. Which was why he had disentangled himself from her and was taking off his shirt and damn, his pants too.
Oh, Jesus, that body. How had she managed to live without that body for so long? It was incredible. He stood before her proudly, his thick, ropey thighs rising to his prominent and fully erect cock. And then there was that chest. You could grate cheese on that chest. She felt the place between her thighs growing tight and wet at just the sight of him.
He was looking at her with dark, wanting eyes. "Come here," he said. The desire lacing his voice made her head spin.
She walked toward him slowly, then had an idea. He was giving her a show. Maybe she'd give him one too.
"Sit down," she said, pressing his shoulders back until he landed in an armchair. "Stay there."
She went to his sound system and turned on some music. She picked a slow, sultry number--a vintage torch song that always made her feel sexy.
Then she began to dance for him.
"Oh, fuck yes, baby," he moaned. "Dance for me."
She swayed her hips, lifting the skirt of her dress inch by inch up her thighs until he could almost see her panties--almost, but not quite. Then she turned her back to him and unzipped the dress, letting first one, and then the other strap slide off her shoulders. She turned her head and gave him a sultry smile.
"Jesus, Laila. You're so damn sexy."
She spun again, holding the bodice of the dress over her breasts as she continued to sway. Then, slowly, she let the bodice slip down, revealing that she wasn't wearing a bra. She lifted her hands and massaged her own breasts, letting him watch as she pinched her own nipples lightly between her fingers and fondled herself. Then she stepped closer, leaned over his chair, and let her breasts fall into his face for half a second.
When she stepped back without letting him taste her, his groan was deep and hungry.
She let the dress slip lower, past her hips, all the way to the floor. Then she kicked the dress away with the toe of one high-heeled shoe. The panties she was wearing were the tiniest, sheerest she owned.
"Jesus fuck," he panted. That's when he started
touching himself. His eyes locked on hers as he stroked his long, thick cock. Laila felt her breath go short. There were a lot of things she wanted to do to that cock.
But they would have to wait. She wasn't finished.
She stood close to him as she lifted her arms and closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the music. She undulated with it, rolling her hips as she slid her panties down and kicked them away too.
Finally, she sank to her knees. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to taste the most intimate part of him.
She moved his hands away and held him in her own. His chest heaved as he locked eyes with her, desire clouding his pupils. She dipped her mouth and licked him, circling his sensitive head with her tongue. He tilted his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes and growled in satisfaction.
Laila smiled wide and proud. She loved being in control of his pleasure.
Desire overtook her, and she couldn't tease him any more. She spread her lips over his cock and took him fully into her mouth. She'd been blessed with a wide mouth and thick, full lips, but he was so big she found herself stretching to accommodate him. The sensation made her pussy ache for him. It reminded her of how that part of her, too, had been filled with him--and would be soon again.
She worked her mouth up and down until they were both panting--he in pleasure and she in anticipation. Her core was tight and aching. She needed him inside her, and if she let him get any closer, she feared she wouldn't have a chance.
She lifted her lips away from him. In an instant, his lips were on hers. He kneaded her breasts and maneuvered her to the floor, his mass above her. He hovered over her--kissing first her lips, then her neck, then her breasts. All the while, he kept a hand underneath her, stroking her ass.
She tried to reach for his cock, but he pinned her hands above her head.
"No," he commanded. "It's my turn."
"But--"
"After all that, do you think I'm going to let you touch me again until I've tasted your sweet little pussy, baby?"
She moaned.
He worked his lips down and down until his mouth met her pussy. He parted her lips with his tongue for one fast lick and fuck if she didn't almost come right there. But he didn't seem ready to let her. He pulled back again, spread her knees to kiss the inside of her thighs until she was nearly sick with desire.