Tori
ASKING SOMEONE FOR money sucks.
I’m suffering through the application process for my funding request while Carter studies the script for Swan Song. He’s relocated the small desk that once resided in his bedroom to the living room. That’s because we learned that having the desk near the bed undermined my ability to get any work done.
I’m hunched over the keyboard, and I have the strangest urge to yank my hair out. “Grrr.”
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks from his spot on the couch.
He’s barefoot and bare-chested, and an even bigger distraction than having the desk in the bedroom.
“These questions are frustrating,” I say over my shoulder. “Example. Question Four: ‘Tell us how you’re uniquely situated to develop the market or service that is the subject of your proposal.’ Can I just say I’m a personal trainer and leave it at that?”
Carter chuckles. “If you’d like a rejection, sure.”
I drop my head onto the keyboard. Within seconds, Carter’s behind me, massaging my neck and shoulders and generally making me feel like putty.
“I hate this. I have a hard time selling myself.”
He kisses my neck. “Luckily for you, I’m the master of self-promotion. It’s time to pad your resume.”
I twist my body and look up at him. “I will not.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying you should lie. Just take the facts and elevate them.”
“You sound like a judge on Top Chef. Should I deconstruct my resume, too?”
He licks the side of my face and puckers his lips. “You’ve committed the ultimate sin. You’re too salty.”
I try to playfully swat him away, but he dodges my hands and rubs my shoulders instead.
“What do you have to offer that no one else does?” he asks.
I turn as I rise, slip my fingers in the loops of his jeans, and pull him toward me. “Okay, how’s this? I’m the girlfriend of one of the hottest actors in television today, and I’m responsible for his smoking-hot physique. That should qualify me on the spot.”
He narrows his eyes before he turns away. “That’s definitely not what I had in mind.”
He’s poised to put distance between us, but I grab his arm and spin him around. Standing on my toes, I pull his chin down and force him to make eye contact with me. “Carter, I was kidding. I’d never try to trade on my relationship with you.”
He throws his head back and draws in a long breath. “I know, I know. Sorry.” He straightens and envelops me in a tight hug. As his lips float across my forehead, he murmurs, “Bear with me, okay? I’m trying not to say or do stupid shit, but I’m not one hundred percent there yet. I blame it on Swan Song.”
It’s not Swan Song. He knows it. I know it. But I’ll let him use this excuse. Just this once. Because I really don’t want to fight with him about something that has no basis in fact. “Are you nervous about the audition?”
“Technically it’s not an audition. I’m reading with the actress who’s already attached to the film, so it’s a chemistry read.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and try to look stern. “I don’t want you to have chemistry with anyone else.”
“But if Gwen Styles and I don’t have chemistry, I don’t get the part.”
I give him a fake pout. “Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it’s all right.”
He inches backward. “Hey, would you read with me?”
Shaking my head, I laugh at the notion. “Me? Act? That would be painful for you.”
“No, no,” he says. “Just read. It’ll help me with my prompts.”
“Oh . . . um . . . okay.”
Carter flies across the room and grabs a stack of paper. “I just got the entire script a few days ago. We’ll have to sit together since I don’t have a copy.”
He flops onto the couch and motions for me to join him. We sit side by side, the pages of the script in front of us on the coffee table.
He gives me a quick summary of the film. Oh my heart, it’s sad. The scene he wants to rehearse depicts the moment his character realizes he’s been deceived by the woman he’s fallen in love with while participating in a pen-pal program.
“Ignore the stage direction and prompts,” he says. “Just read Pam’s lines. That’s Gwen Styles’s part.”
I nod. “Got it.”
PAM
Say something. Tell me what you’re thinking.
I read this line with about as much emotion as an inanimate object. But Carter, apparently assuming the role of Alex, regards me with a dispassionate expression, and I’ll admit to being unnerved by his transformation.
ALEX
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what’s real. You’ve fucked with me and my life for eighteen months. What kind of person does that?
PAM
I never intended to deceive you. But the more we communicated, the more I realized you needed an escape. I wanted to be your escape.
ALEX
By pretending to be someone else? By making me fall in love with a person who doesn’t exist?
PAM
(eyes brimming with tears)
I never meant for it to go this far. I’m ashamed, and sorry, and so upset with myself.
ALEX
(grabs her by the arms)
Did you laugh with your friends? Did you tell them how you convinced a stupid soldier boy that you were a young widow trying to get her life back together?
PAM
I am a widow. I am trying to get my life back together. But I’m not young. That’s the only difference.
ALEX
(he pushes her away)
That’s not the only difference, and you know it. You manufactured your life, made me think you’d lost your military husband a year ago. You’re sick, and you might not survive this. You’re a wretched person, and you’re nothing like the woman I fell in love with. And I hate you for making me think she existed.
The anger in Carter’s expression disappears, and he smiles. “We can end here.”
Holy shit, he’s good. I’m stunned into silence. For a minute there, he’d convinced me that I was a wretched person who’d done a terrible thing.
“Say something,” he says softly.
He chews on his bottom lip as he waits for me to respond. This beautiful man is anxious about my reaction, and I just want to kiss away his fears.
I swallow and clear my throat. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re made for this part. Carter, you’re talented.”
He releases a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Also, this film sounds depressing as shit.”
After barking out a laugh, he pulls me into an embrace and gives me a sweet kiss.
When we separate, I tip him over onto the sofa cushion and straddle him. “Are there any sex scenes in the movie?”
“No. Just a few kisses.”
“That’s disappointing. I was going to offer to rehearse those with you.”
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me down so that our faces are centimeters apart. “Let’s practice anyway.”
My world shrinks to the ten square feet around us. “Yes, let’s.”
I nip his lip and slide my hand down his stomach. When I find his erection, I rub it through the fabric of his jeans, my gaze never leaving his.
His mouth falls open, and he flicks out his tongue. “Yeah, Tori. That feels good.”
The sound of his arousal makes my clit pulse, and I can feel myself getting wet.
Overwhelmed by my need for him, I bury my face in his neck and whisper against his ear. “Please tell me you have a condom in your back pocket.”
He growls his response. “Fuck, yes, I do.”
“Then let’s practice a quickie.”
After that, everything happens in double time. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls down his zipper. Ready for the handoff, I tug off his jeans and briefs as he lifts his ass from the couch.
I reach into his back pocket for the condom before tossing his pants behind me. I want him inside me so badly that I fumble with the wrapper. We kiss and nuzzle each other, our breathing harsh and ragged, and then I place my hand around his rigid cock and pump him a as he strains against me.
“Yeah, Tori, I’m beyond ready,” he grits out.
Together we place the condom on his erection, and then he pulls down the spaghetti straps of my dress and lifts the skirt to my waist.
“Please, baby,” he whispers. “Fuck me now.”
With one hand on his slick chest, I push my panties to the side, center myself, and bear down as I tighten around him. It’s so fucking snug I gasp.
“Tori, Tori, Tori,” he chants.
Then the sound of Carter ripping apart my lace panties fills the room. It makes me desperate to know he’s desperate, and I fall over, pressing my breasts against his chest and capturing his mouth with mine.
He palms my ass, squeezing it every time I reach the base of his dick. My hair is everywhere, and several strands are plastered against his shoulders. We rock against each other, until I sit up, my mind intent on riding him until we both come. But Carter’s got other ideas. He readjusts our bodies, lowering himself on the couch lengthwise and taking me with him. Then he bends his knees and surges into me, so quickly and forcefully that I scramble to gain purchase and finally settle on hanging on to his waist. I’m a rag doll in his hands, the muscles of his arms flexing in response to the demands he’s putting on them.
“Tighten around me, baby,” he says in a voice so low and rough I don’t recognize it.
The friction devastates me, reaching a point where the pleasure momentarily stuns me, and all I can do is hold on to him. “Yes, yes, Carter. Oh God, yes.”
“I’m going to come, Tori,” he says. “Are you close?”
“Not yet,” I say in a strained voice.
One of his hands trails up my back and snakes around my shoulder. “Milk my cock, Tori. That’s it.” And then he alternates between caressing and tweaking my nipples.
I’m so fucking close I want to cry. It’s going to slam into me any minute now, but being on the brink is taking its toll on my body. I’m so tense my back and thighs ache. “Carter,” I cry. I’m begging for release.
Sensing my need, Carter slips his hands between my legs and rubs my clit. Once. Twice. Oh yes. And then I detonate, the pleasure emanating from my core and fanning outward to the very tips of my toes and fingers.
And Carter’s with me, seized by his own orgasm. “Yes, Tori. Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
Afterward, we’re breathless, spent, an utter hot mess. And I’m deliriously happy because that was incredible. He pulls me down and hugs me tightly, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“Carter,” I say in a serious tone.
He pulls back slightly and regards me with adoring eyes. “What, baby?”
“Don’t let anyone ever tell you that you don’t have range.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he caresses my back. “I won’t, Tori. I won’t.” After we cuddle for a few minutes, he pulls my torn panties from between the cushions and winces. “My body can’t handle sex on this couch. I need more room.”
“We have a big bed twenty feet away.”
“I have an even bigger bed at my place in California. Can’t wait to get you in it.”
Yes, I suppose I can’t avoid LA forever. But just a little longer would be nice.
After several seconds of silence, he sits up, dislodging me in the process. “You don’t want to go.” Without giving me time to respond, he jumps up, grabs his jeans, and yanks them on.
I slip my arms through the straps of my dress. “I didn’t say anything.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Exactly. And you stiffened in my arms. What am I supposed to think?”
“That I’m hesitant to deal with being in the public eye?”
“Or you never intended for us to be serious so you’re biding your time until I return to California.”
He’s so wrong I could scream. Essentially, we’ve been dealing with being in the public eye since the Twitter fiasco. LA, though, is . . . just more. Of everything. And I’m trying to shore up my emotional reserves to face it, but I’m just not ready yet. I rise from the couch and pull the skirt of my dress down. “I was overwhelmed when it was one or two reporters in Philly. I can’t imagine what it would be like in LA. All those people wanting to take your picture, shouting at you, prying into your life. Just give me time, okay?”
He gives me a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Take all the time you need.”
But now I feel like I’m running out of it.