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She comes first, always.
Waking slowly, my eyes are slow to adjust to the room around me, but already, my brain is replaying yesterday and last night. I stretch my feet through the sheets, curling myself around her, remembering it.
Her laugh makes me smile, and yesterday, I found myself smiling midday on set for no other reason than the fact I feel happy and lucky.
I smelled her on my clothes, and my heart raced a little faster, and my thoughts about lighting and boom arm position fell away, going only to her, and how I was going to make her happy. Because she is the sole reason for my life returning to me. And all I wanted to do yesterday was praise and worship her, prove to her that her past is her past, that she deserves everything and then some.
The day was filled with me staring and dreaming, and fuck did that feel surreal. I’d planned to fall to her feet and give her anything she needed last night, but instead, she gave us slow, caring intimacy. And it was perfect. It was a night I’ll never forget. Then again, all of the time I’ve spent with Scarlett is unforgettable. She’s the breath that conquered my slow suffocation, and now that I’m breathing, I’m seeing color again.
At some point while we slept, she stripped from her jammies and sent them to the floor, and as I stare at them with groggy eyes, I remember how she cuddled back into me, whispering through sleep how she needed us to be skin to skin. I happily obliged, and I can safely say, she’s a goddamn genius because waking up naked and tangled with Scarlett is the best way to wake up.
Far better than an alarm and cold pool water.
With her slender frame folded over mine, my hand stroking up her back, morning wood tenting the sheet as she sleeps… her phone vibrates. It skitters across the new nightstand several times before she stirs, and rage floods my veins. Rage at our moment being interrupted, at him not leaving her alone, at all the pain he caused her. She can’t even make love without fearing she’ll be unable to enjoy it, fearing she’ll be triggered to close her body off and disappear in her mind. He did that to her, and I want to fucking kill him.
But anger and rage, big hate and loud voices, those things would be for me, not her. Scarlett gets anxious around those reactive actions and behaviors because, surprise surprise, they take her back to her time at Jizzabelle, and her time with Pete.
As much as I want to curse and yell and, quite frankly, find him and beat him fucking senseless, I remain calm, cool and collected. Her loyal, calm presence, devoted to her and her needs.
That means, when I reach over and take her phone in my hand, I keep my voice low and calm as I relay to Pete that Scarlett does not want to speak with him. I grind my molars but keep my face free of strain or anger as she rolls back into me, blinking up at me with sleepy, sated eyes.
I don’t tell her that Pete says he’s going to fucking kill me and her both.
I don’t believe him, so I’m not worried, and as soon as I end the call, I turn her phone off, and pull her against me.
“I thought he’d stop. The calls were… I don’t know, dwindling I thought,” she says as she captures a yawn with her hand. But instead of diving into Pete and the past, she smiles up at me. “I’m getting used to sleeping in your arms.”
“I am too,” I reply, stroking my fingers through her silky hair. “What’s your schedule like today?”
She pushes up, stacking her chin on her fists atop my chest, and it’s such a simple thing but it feels so casual to do while we’re naked. Talking like this, in bed, about the mundane details of our day. I want to wake up everyday with her body against mine while we sort out her schedule and plans.
I ignore the tightness in my chest. Waking up with her, falling deeper for her, being part of her life. It’s exactly what I thought I’d never have again, and everything I’ve always wanted again.
I just never let myself consider it.
“I have therapy this morning, so Aug scheduled me for a later shoot.”
“Are you done with promos for Loved by Lucy?” I push a strand of honey hair from her face and slip it behind her ear. My morning wood seems to be aware that she’s here, because it’s harder and more aggressive than ever.
Ignoring it, I tuck a folded arm behind my head to better focus on her answer.
“Yeah, done with promos. Today’s shoot is actually a menage.” She looks down at my chest, but I can tell she’s not seeing much.
“What’s the matter?”
She volleys her head. “You know I love what I do, and even with all the shit Pete forced and tricked me into doing, still, at the end of the day, I do love making movies that make real couples more likely to explore their sexualities and kinks. And I know that's what Crave does, and I love it. I love doing it. I do.”
I give her half of a smile as my cock still throbs. “I know you do. I also know, and want you to know, that when you’re with me, you don’t have to be worried about what comes after thebut.”
She arches a brow, pushing up to sit cross-legged next to my hip, exposing her luscious nude body to me. It’s now that she notices the tented sheet. Wrapping her hand around my cotton covered cock, she returns her focus to me.
“After the but?” she questions with a serious curve in her brow, as if she isn’t jerking me slowly over the fabric.
“Uh,” I clear my throat and keep my eyes on her, despite the fact I want to tear this sheet off, put her on her back and slide inside of her sweet, wet heat and make her forget everything that’s ever made her feel bad. “I could sense a but coming, and I want you to know, that’s why you have me. For everything after the but.”
She gives my cock another tug. “Okay,” she exhales, taking a moment to gather her words. Still stroking, she says, “At first I thought I was broken, you know, well,obviouslyyou know.” She pumps again and a dark spot forms on the sheet where my cock weeps for her.
“But now that I know it was more of a psychological block than anything, I feel like I have some clarity. I guess... I’m glad everything happened with Jizz and Pete because now I realize exactly what I need and want from life.”
