“I’m on the Pill. Just this once.” I hooked my leg over his waist, angling my entrance against his cock. “I’m clean. No nasties.”
“Same. I probably have a copy of my medical records on my phone. You sure?”
“No need to double check. Just fuck me.”
His laugh became more like a growl, as he pushed into me, making my body turn to a lovely boneless mess, his cock doing something magical to my central nervous system that was ensuring I’d spend the rest of the day, if not month, grinning like a witch.
His movements were controlled. Measured. It was like he’d done a scientific study as to exactly how to render me senseless. He moved me to suit him, his strength and movement making me putty in his hands.
My orgasm fluttered in, a distant butterfly’s beating wings deep inside me that came closer, the flutter turning to the rapid waves of a whirlpool, pulling me down, down, down.
My eyes fixed on him, my hands holding on to his arms to stop me from drowning. He bent down for a kiss, owning my mouth just like he was owning the rest of me before raising up, his back tensing as his own orgasm approached. Inside me, his cock thickened, and I felt it throb as his climax began, filling me up with his release. My body juddered, not yet completely done, my pussy wanting to milk what she could, because there was something about this man that had us addicted.
He stayed inside me, his body dropping closer to mine, leaning to the side to protect me from his weight. My leg worked over his hip, keeping us close, and there were soft morning kisses that were now tender instead of needy.
I wanted to cave right now and tell him my name. Give him my schedule and demand he drop everything to come and stay in my trailer on set where I could feed him peeled grapes once I’d finished filming, but I feared the scripts I was memorising were taking over my senses.
“I wish I didn’t have to leave.” His words were a confession I hadn’t expected. “But I have to be somewhere at ten.”
Still mysterious.
“Will I ever find out where?”
I knew things already. I knew his favourite food, and how he hated pasta. I knew he loved fresh sheets on a bed and early mornings by a pool somewhere hot and sunny. I knew his first word was ‘poo’ and that he was an only child. I felt like I knew more about him than any other man I’d been with, but I didn’t know his name. He was literally my mystery man, and at this point I felt like I had every right to call him mine.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Shall we swap numbers this time? I’ll drop you a text when I’m in London. It’s up to you if you reply.”
“Okay. What name will you save it under?” I nuzzled his chest, savouring this moment when there was nothing else but us.
“The girl in the bar.”
I laughed. “It sounds like a book.The Girl on the TrainorThe Girl in the Red Coat.”I paused. I’d avoided talk of movies or TV or books, in case he realised he’d seen me before. I knew he didn’t watch much; he had an undisclosed hobby that I’d guessed was to do with computing, or an extension of his job. “I’ll takethe girl in the bar.Although I’ll need to think about what name to give you next time.” Carefully. Maybe not one half of a TV couple.
“Next time. That sounds promising.” He purred into my hair.
“It does, doesn’t it. I like that. It sounds delicious.”
The journey from the North-West to the East coast was over four hours with a couple of rest breaks built in. I kept flicking to the new entry in my phone’s contacts, looking at his number, the one I’d stored underThe Man in the Barbecause neither Leonard nor Mork suited him, and I felt calling himSupermanwas a little too much.
The rest of the way I looked through my scripts, because we were shooting a night scene this evening, probably through to the early hours of the morning, and several of my braincells were still in orgasm recovery.
Sir, I have no idea how I can feel that way, when I have no idea whether or not you can be a kind man…
My character, Hattie, was feisty and had a wit that I could only hope to steal from her after I’d played her part. She also had some interesting life choices to make.
The scenery changed from the city to the moors, then to the Fens of East Anglia and the stately home that was Wastham Hall. I had a crush on the owners’ son, Noah Soames-Harrington, although he was happily married, which had been a shame until Houston. I’d visited the place for my audition, as the director wanted to see us play parts on a set – part of the series was all about the costumes and sets, of course, and both were part of the attraction. The other was the longevity of the series – three had been commissioned, which was almost unheard of, but a period romance with a healthy dose of drama and a fair few sexy times would be eaten up both sides of the Atlantic.
Carey Lehaine, who played one of my sisters, met me at my trailer, wearing sweats and a T-shirt that I doubt our rather stuffy director approved of.
“You look…” she squinted. “I don’t know if the word is knackered or like you’ve had treatment for something.”
“I’ve had sex.”
“Oh. That’d be it. I can just about remember what sex is. How was it?” She reached out and pulled my blouse down. “Decent hickey. Make-up will love that.”
“They’ve had worse.” They really had. “It was really rather amazing.”
“What’s he called? And what does he do?”
