Chapter 5

 

Dylan

 

“What are you looking at?” I say as I pull away the tablet that Gemma was staring at while standing in the middle of the lot.

She smiles in that guarded way that makes her pretty little face even cuter, the kind of smile that makes me want to shake her up a little.

“Your schedule.” She mock rolls her eyes at me.

“So then you know that now is the perfect time for a break. I’ve got the afternoon off. No more scenes for me ‘til tomorrow.”

“I know,” she says, nodding, “but I figured you would use the time to work on the script or speak with the director.”

“Or,” I say, “We could go somewhere together and enjoy a break that we both deserve for all our hard work.”

“Or, not,” she says, her hand slowly reaching out for the tablet.

I decide to ignore her. “Let’s go then,” I say, taking her hand and leading her to where my bike’s parked. I notice the grin she’s trying to hide and realize I made the right choice in forcing her to take a little vacation from work for the rest of the day. She picks up the spare helmet and tucks it under her arm, quirking an eyebrow at me before moving to put it on.

“So are you going to tell me where you’re taking me? Or is this a mystery ride?”

“We’re going shopping,” I tell her, enjoying the combination of surprise and excitement that lights up in her.

In a few minutes we’re riding full throttle towards Rodeo Drive, only this time Gemma isn’t digging her nails into my chest like she’s trying to rip my ribcage apart, this time she leans her head against my back softly. I make sure I brake slowly so I can enjoy the way her body presses up against mine, her legs squeezing my own.

Something’s happening. I don’t know what it is, but something’s definitely happening. I realized that when I had the afternoon off, and my first thought was that I wouldn’t get to see Gemma until tomorrow. Lately it seems like that annoying babysitting arrangement is a reward, rather than a punishment.

I’ve never been one for thinking things through, and I’m still not. I’ll never be anything other than an animal of instinct, but this time my instincts are a slow burn, rather than a hot wave. I know how to sweep a girl off her feet, make the grand gesture minutes after meeting her, batter her defenses and ravage her like a whirlwind, but something inside of me is telling me to take it slow with Gemma.

I’m not even sure what it is that’s drawn me to her so relentlessly. It was easy just a few short weeks ago. All I could think about was her round ass, the way her tits bounced and moved, how her neck tasted like the finest delicacy. I still think about those things – how could I forget how hot she is? But it’s different now.

The things she’s said to me are what I think about the most. And it’s the captivating way she reacts to me that makes me want more of her. The fact that despite being an absolute fucking mess for half the time I’ve known her, she’s retained a dignity and strength that’s made me admire her.

I slide the bike into a private parking lot, the booth officer nodding me through – I’m easily recognizable; there aren’t many high-profile stars who ride motorcycles with hot chicks on the back.

I step off the bike and look at Gemma. There’s a soft breeze blowing her skirt against her legs, giving me little fleeting reminders of how sensational her body is.

“You ready to spend some money?” I ask.

“Dylan…” she says, with a voice that sounds like someone taking back a gift. “I don’t actually have much money right now. I mean, I had to pay a deposit on my apartment when I moved, and I had to buy a bunch of new stuff for it, and then—”

“Whoa!” I say, putting my hands on her shoulders. “Stop it, before I get any more offended. Did you really think you’d be paying? It’s on me.”

“Oh—but I can’t do that,” she says, shaking her head. “Thanks, and everything, but…it wouldn’t be right. I know it’s nothing to you, but I was raised to think nothing comes for free. Maybe we can just have a coffee or something? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I take a step back so that I can appreciate the full length of Gemma’s humble integrity. She couldn’t get much hotter if I lit her on fire.

“Could you be any more noble? I thought people like you only existed in movies – and even there I didn’t believe it.”

She laughs, then kills me with that little thing she does; the pushing-her-hair-behind-her-ear thing. I know I’m gonna replay that gesture the next time I’m alone in bed.

“I just don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage.”

“You’re not, ok? This isn’t free.”

She raises an eyebrow, raising that guard again. “Oh? What am I going to have to give you for it?”

“You already have,” I say. “You’ve been amazing to me, Gemma. Since the shoot started I haven’t had to think about anything except the film. I’ve never had it so easy. Don’t think I don’t notice how much you’re doing for me. Whatever they’re paying you is not enough, and I want to really show you how much I appreciate it.”

“I don’t know…” she says, but I can see her reluctance seeping away, see that she knows exactly how honest I’m being.

“Plus, I owe you for putting up with me. Not many people would stick around with a guy who treated them as badly as I did you.”

Gemma nods, considering. “That’s very true.”

“Frankly, I deserve a good punch in the eye for doing all of that. Taking you shopping would be a lot better for me, personally, though.”

“Is the punch in the eye out of the question, then?” she teases.

I rub my chin thoughtfully while Gemma grins. “Well at least let me show you the shops first before you make up your mind,” I say, taking her by the hand and leading her toward the elegant storefronts that line the sun-baked street of Rodeo Drive. “Because makeup will be furious with me if I show up tomorrow with a black eye.”

I notice the way Gemma goes quiet as we pass by some of the shops, a little part of her still feeling like these kinds of places are out of her league, so I decide to give her the superstar treatment. I take her to a boutique that carries high-end designs, expensive stuff, glamorous stuff – and I’ll be honest here – sexy stuff that I’d eat my arm to see Gemma in.

“Hello, Mr. Marlowe. It’s been a long time since your last visit,” the impeccably dressed sales assistant says as we enter.

“I’ve been busy working,” I tell him.

“Oh that’s very exciting,” he says, nodding.

“Tell me about it.” I try not to sound sarcastic. I fail.

The sales assistant just offers a smile. “The usual then, sir?”

“I’m actually looking for something for my friend here,” I say, gently nudging Gemma forward.

The assistant looks her up and down, then smiles a good old-fashioned milky smile.

“Wonderful. Follow me.”

The assistant leads us into a back room with multiple mirrors and a luxurious couch, then leaves. I sit down while Gemma stands awkwardly in the doorway.

“What is this? What’s going on?” she whispers, as if we’ve just walked in on a cult ritual and not a boutique shop.

I shoot her a confused look.

“This is…shopping.”

She shakes her head and looks back into the shop as if suspicious that somebody will find us in the back.

“This is not shopping. Shopping is pushing and shoving with other women who are either extremely mean, or intimidatingly beautiful, realizing that you’re a bigger size than you thought you were, then finding out all the good stuff’s gone, and then buying something you never have an occasion to wear. Is that champagne?”

I pause, mid-pour.

“Yes it is. Take it. You look like you need it.”

With a sigh she steps towards me and takes the glass, downing more than half of it. The assistant returns, pulling a rack of clothes behind him.

I look at Gemma, whose eyes are so wide I can see more white than blue. She stands up slowly and steps toward the rack in a zombie-esque trance.

“These…are…beautiful,” she mutters, gently pulling aside the dresses, jackets, and skirts to get a good look at them. Suddenly she turns to the smiling assistant with a suspicious glare. “How did you…these are…just…how?”

The assistant shrugs modestly. “I simply looked at what you were already wearing, your hair style, make-up, body type, and made an educated guess. It’s really not that extraordinary when you’ve done this as long as I have.”

“Don’t believe him,” I say, stepping toward the rack once I’ve poured a glass of champagne for myself, “Greg’s a psychic. He just pretends to be human to avoid being burned at the stake.”

He laughs, and Gemma turns back to the rack.

“If none of these are to your liking, I can bring another selection, or you can just browse the sales floor.”

“’Not to my liking?’ I would sell a kidney to have just half of one of these.”

I pull a slinky dress off the rack.

“What about this?”

She looks at it and smirks.

“I think that’s very much your style, but I doubt you could fit in it, Dylan.”

I laugh a little.

“You should try it on,” I say.

She takes a longer look at the dress, tenderly fingering the fabric like it’s a fragile antique.

“It’s beautiful. But it would never fit me.”

“Ah, if I may,” Greg says, raising a polite finger. “That dress should fit you quite well. It’s a very fine silk, which will hug the body and perfectly complement your figure, madam. The plunging v-neck will draw attention to your qualities, while the knee-length skirt will reveal your shape with finesse, whilst retaining a chic modesty.”

“Shit, Greg,” I say, “I bet you could talk a nun into bed with that mouth. Jesus. All that just to tell her she’s hot enough to wear a trashcan.”

“Shall I fetch her our finest trashcan, then, sir?” Greg deadpans.

Gemma giggles at our banter and grabs the dress, before moving behind the curtain to change. I swap a raised eyebrow with Greg, before settling down on the couch in anticipation of the greatest show I’ll see all fucking year.

It doesn’t disappoint.

I was never one for fashion. It’s one of the only industries I think is more full of baloney than movies, but as I watch Gemma wearing clothes like a fucking art form I’m ready to change my mind.

All I can think about is getting her out of that dress. Throwing her on a bed, ripping off her panties, and tasting her. Her pussy is so sweet and I need to eat it again. I feel a bulge in my pants and I try to stop it.

“Let me see the back.” I say as I try to gain control over my semi.

She smiles shyly, but does as I say.

Oh that ass. What I wouldn’t do to fuck her from behind right now, my dick deep in her, while I play her clit like a harpsichord.

She turns back around and her smile melts my heart. I was going to say something dirty, but instead the words that come out of my mouth are pure.

“You are so beautiful.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, my favorite gesture of hers and a clear tell that she’s nervous.

“Thank you,” she whispers, ducking back into the changing room.

Since I started depending on her I’ve begun seeing Gemma as more than just a collection of curves that I wanna play with all day long. But that doesn’t mean those feelings aren’t still raging within me.

I suck down glass after glass of champagne, doing my best to douse the flames that are beginning to burn inside me once again. After a while I just stop lavishing Gemma with compliments – what can you really say when you’re witnessing something this special? The only true way I could show my appreciation isn’t with words.

As she spins around in a new skirt that flutters around her legs teasingly, a blouse on top that’s so tight I can see the faint trace of her perfect-for-biting nipples, I stand up, unable to hold it in anymore. If we don’t get out of here soon, Greg’s about to get a front seat for a show of his own – only this time the clothes will be coming off.

“We’ll take it all,” I say.

“Excellent, Mr. Marlowe.”

Gemma looks between me and Greg with confusion and surprise.

“What?”

“It’s ok,” I say, “I know your address. I’ll have them sent to you.”

“Wait. No. This is way too much. I can’t, Dylan. Thank you, really, but—”

“Listen to me,” I say, grabbing Gemma’s arms again, and using every last drop of willpower not to bring my hands around to grab at the sexual roundness of her breasts, “we can spend twenty minutes arguing about this, after which I’ll pretend to give in, and just have these clothes sent to you anyway, or you can not argue, agree to take the clothes, and we can go grab lunch. What’s it gonna be? Lunch or pointless argument?”

Her blue-eyed gaze rolls over my face, first with defensiveness, then with defeat.

“I…you’re so stubborn, Dylan,” she says, shaking her head.

“I am when I know what I want.”

“Let me change, then.”

“No chance. I’ve been wanting to see you wear something worthy of you for weeks. Now that you’re wearing it, I wanna enjoy it. Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand and leading her out of the changing rooms. “See you, Greg.”

“Have a wonderful day, Mr. Marlowe.”

We check out more stores, loading ourselves with bags. Gemma never stops telling me the prices of things, but frankly, I’ve spent ten times as much for things that gave me only half as much pleasure as seeing just how beautiful she can be. It’s not even the clothes, it’s the way her face looks when she gazes at herself in the mirror while wearing these things. As if she’s only just realizing what I see when I look at her.

We take a break in a nice little restaurant, ordering the chef’s choice off the seasonal menu and sipping on a couple of cocktails while we wait.

“Shit,” Gemma says in the middle of a story about her college days. She turns suddenly, hiding her face with the palm of her hand. Her jaw tenses.

“What?” I say, turning to the place in the restaurant she’s obviously hiding from.

“That guy over there, in the leather jacket, that’s my ex. Robb.”

“Gemma!” comes a voice from the direction she’s discreetly pointing at. I look up to see the guy in the leather jacket she just mentioned. All smarmy self-assurance and too-tight jeans and over-gelled hair. “Hey, Gemma! I haven’t heard from you in ages!”

“Hey Robb,” Gemma says, dropping her boxer-like defensive pose.

“Oh, hi!” he says, when he notices me. “You’re…”

“In the middle of lunch. So if you don’t mind.”

“Dylan Marlowe! Wow!” he turns back to Gemma. “Wait a minute…”

“Robb,” Gemma pleads, her voice coming out small and begging, in tones that don’t sound right for a woman like her. “Not now. Please.”

Robb looks between me and Gemma, his excitement at seeing me turning into a bitter understanding.

“I see,” he nods to himself. “So this is why you’re not returning my calls. This is what you’ve been doing since you walked out on me.”

“I didn’t walk out on you, Robb,” Gemma grinds out. “You cheated on me.”

“I made a mistake, but don’t we all? It looks to me like it was the perfect excuse for you to jump in bed with the next guy who came along. How long has this been going on for?”

Gemma’s cheeks are going red, and she’s avoiding his eyes. “We’re just working together.”

I notice the way Gemma’s crumbling. The way this guy is bringing out a weak side of her. Whatever happened between these two, this jerk definitely did a lot of damage.

“Right,” Robb says, nodding but unconvinced. “‘Working together.’ That’s what you call it. Why stay with a regular guy like me when you could be out fucking international stars, right Gemma? Or is this just a pathetic attempt to work your way up the career ladder?”

That’s it. Game over. I stand up so quickly that Robb ducks and flinches away.

“Hey Robb,” I say, my voice calm and friendly, “why don’t we go have a little chat, man to man? Just a few quick words, you wouldn’t be afraid of that, would you?”

Robb looks at me, doing his best to hide the fear in his eyes, but it’s there. I put my arm around his back, hand on the back of his neck – friendly, but in control, and lead him outside.

“You know, you seem like a smart guy, Robb – after all, you dated Gemma. But what you did right now wasn’t that smart,” I say, smiling. I tighten my grip on his neck and yank him back toward me when he tries to slime out of it. “You see, even if you weren’t broadcasting the fact that you’re a total jackass, that’s no way to talk to a lady, and you shouldn’t even be thinking of saying that kind of thing to a girl like Gemma. She’s the strongest, toughest, most capable person on set right now, and she’s worth ten of you.”

“Dude,” Robb says, with a tremble in his voice, but an effort to sound tough, “I know you’re a big actor and all, but you don’t know.”

“I don’t need to know. Gemma’s a part of my world now – not yours. Maybe you think you can still come up to her and say things like that, but you can’t. As far as you’re concerned, Gemma’s just another hot stranger you saw in public and know you’re never going to have anything to do with. I don’t think you’d better go back in there, yeah?”

Robb pulls himself out of my grip and I see anger flush over his face.

“You can’t tell me what to do. What are you going to do about it?! Huh?”

I laugh a little.

“How about you choose? I can knock you out cold, which’ll be quick. Or I can let you stay in the fight, and break your legs – that’ll hurt though. But it’s up to you.”

Robb’s face teeters perfectly on the razor’s edge between anger and fear as he begins to realize I’m not kidding.

“Or,” I continue, “there’s option three: you can not say anything, turn around, and get the fuck out of here. Your pride won’t like it, and neither will mine, but I’m feeling reasonable today, and the truth is, it’s the only way you’re getting out of this without a visit to the hospital first.”

It takes only a few more seconds of red-faced huffing and puffing before Robb does exactly what a guy like him was made for – turning around and walking away.

When I rejoin Gemma at the table she barely notices, still holding her head in her hands. She hears me sit down and looks up, her face tense with concern.

“What happened? What did you say? What did he say?”

“We just had a little chat,” I say, taking a slow, calm sip of my drink. “He’s gone.”

“Did you argue? You argued, didn’t you? Shit. I’m so sorry. He’s such an asshole.”

“He is. But I think he knows that now.”

Gemma sighs and looks in her lap.

“How did you end up with a guy like him?” I ask, slowly.

“Honestly? I don’t know. It feels like a lifetime ago. I was a different person then.”

“People change fast in Hollywood.”

“I don’t know why, but I feel so shitty whenever I’m around him – even when I just think about him.”

“The people you’re with can do that. They can make you just as bad as they are, or they can make you feel like you can do anything,” I say, looking directly at her. “Nobody knows that more than me.”

Gemma’s lips part gently. I reach out and touch her hand. She says nothing. She doesn’t need to.

 

We take a cab back to her place – way too loaded with shopping bags for the bike – and I step out of the cab with her to walk her up the driveway. She giggles as we walk.

“It’s very gentlemanly of you to walk me to the door.”

“If you knew what I was thinking about you wouldn’t say that.”

She spins around, a semi-shocked smile on her face.

“What are you thinking about?”

I raise my hand to her waist, slowly winding it around to the small of her back, and pull her up against me, her face an inch from mine.

“Taking you out tonight,” I say, a second before I bring my lips to hers. She pulls back a little, playfully, making me chase her, follow her, press into her, until she gives in, her arms wrapping around my back, fingers pressing against my muscles, tits pressing against my chest. I squeeze her, lifting her up against my body a little, letting her really feel like she’s floating away, and her held breath lets me know she likes it.

It seems to last for hours, this moment of electrifying connection, and we both hold ourselves on the edge of the cliff, slowly stepping closer, but not wanting to jump – not just yet. She won’t let me. It’s all I can do to hold back. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be on her doorstep, practically begging for a date.

No she’d be sprawled across a bear-skin in front of a roaring fire. I’d be licking her, everywhere, and she’d be moaning for more.

“So?” I prod, hoping she won’t say no.

She pulls away, and opens her eyes.

“Ok,” she says. “Pick me up around eight.”