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“No, just busy,” I say and slip back into autopilot. There is so much waiting on set, but I manage to keep my mind free during most of my breaks. The day ends. I don't look at my phone until I am out of hair and makeup and back in my jeans and T-shirt.
Of course, I have a text from Luke. “How much of this ‘time’ stuff do you need?”
I reply. “I don't know.”
Ding. “I miss you. I want to see you. I want to be with you.”
“I thought I was cut off until I made up my mind.”
Ding. “That was before I went crazy thinking about the sounds you make when you come.”
Jesus.
Ding. “Come to my apartment. Ryan is working late tonight.”
I write and delete a reply. I can't do this. I can't give into Luke. Ryan apologized. Ryan wants to set things right. I need to tear myself away from Luke until I figure this out.
Then I see an attached picture. It's Luke, from his chin to just below his bellybutton—his strong chest, his toned stomach, the jut of his hipbones, the soft trail of hair leading to his boxers. God, he's hot.
I take a deep breath. I try to reason with myself. After all, this is only dragging out the heartbreak. This is only going to make it harder to stay with Ryan. But what if I shouldn't stay with Ryan? It's all so confusing and complicated. It's easy to work and not think about this.
I look at the picture on my phone and bite my lip. I start to shake. Maybe I can take care of this need on my own. Maybe. I close my eyes, but I can already tell my hand won't satisfy. I need Luke's lips and his hands and his cock. It doesn't have to be complicated. It doesn't have to be romantic. It doesn't have to be special.
I reply. “I'll be there.”
***
I am a nervous wreck on my ride up the elevator. What if Ryan gets home early and sees my car in my parking spot? I text him, “Taking a long walk,” but, somehow, I don't expect it to buy me that much time.
Does it really matter at this point?
My heart thumps in my chest. I unlock Luke's door, half expecting to see Ryan, patting himself on the back for an elaborate trap. But it is only Luke, in his jeans and T-shirt, staring out the window. His face lights up when he sees me. It feels so good to see his big, brown eyes bright and full of life. Full of need.
I don't waste any time. I move towards him, wrapping my arms around him, brushing my lips against his. We melt into each other, our arms around each other, our bodies pressed together. It is sweet at first. Then, he drags his fingertips across my stomach, and I know I can't keep it sweet. I need to have him. I need to hear him come, his nails digging into my skin, his breath fast and choppy.
He sucks on my lips as he pulls my shirt over my head. My body tingles with electricity as he trails his fingertips over my skin, touching me everywhere. I grab his ass and press my body into his until I can feel him get hard.
Yes. He's responding to me.
I bring my mouth to his ear. “Mr. Lawrence,” I say. “I have to ask your permission for something.”
I unbuckle his belt. “Anything,” he groans.
“May I make you come?” I echo his words from our first night together.
He smiles and nods. “Only if I can make you come.”
“Oh, you can,” I say. “But you may not…Not until I'm finished with you.” He shifts his body towards mine, grabbing my ass.
“Take off your clothes. I want to see you,” he groans.
“And why should I?” I ask.
“I wouldn't want to revoke my permission,” he says, and unhooks my bra. He watches, mesmerized, as it falls to the ground. By now he's seen me naked a dozen times, but his eyes still get big and wide.
He brings his mouth around my nipple, sucking gently. This isn't part of the deal, but, God, it feels so good. My body is a torrent of want.
But he won't stop me from my quest.
