NINE
FAKING IT
The next day, Holt’s apology is still echoing in my brain as I walk to rehearsal. I thought him apologizing would give me some sense of closure, but it hasn’t. Instead it’s given rise to a strange, simmering anxiety.
I blow out a breath and pull back my shoulders.
What’s the worst that could happen? He says he didn’t mean it?
No, my conscience whispers, sounding annoyingly like Tristan. It would be worse if he said he did mean it, because then you’d actually have to decide to either let him in or let him go. Realistically, both options scare the hell out of you.
I grind my teeth.
Conscience Tristan is as annoyingly right as Real-life Tristan. Who knew?
As I reach the theater, I contemplate today’s rehearsal. We’re supposed to block the sex scene, then do the morning after. I shudder as images of Holt running his hands over my body hijack my mind.
Lord.
Just thinking about him sexing me up, pretend or not, is enough to make my vagina start slow-clapping in anticipation.
I take a deep breath and pull open the door. When I walk into the room, Cody, caffeine angel extraordinaire, hands me my coffee. As I dump my bag and sip the coffee, Holt appears in front of me, looking way too good for someone with a monster hangover.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hi.”
We just stand there for a few seconds in awkward silence.
“So…” he says, looking down at his hands.
“Yeah, so … you look like shit this morning,” I say out of spite.
“Thanks. Seems I can’t drink nearly a full bottle of Jack like I used to.”
“That’s a shame. Didn’t you list that on your résumé as a special skill?”
“Yeah. Never had to use it for a role, though, but I’ve done it a lot for research.”
“Oh, yes. Very important, drunky research.”
“Yep.” He smiles, the kind-of-cute, one-sided smile that’s annoyingly endearing.
“Listen,” he says. “How much of an ass did I make of myself last night? Feel free to lie and say none at all, because I have a feeling it was bad.”
I nearly drop my coffee. “You don’t remember?”
He swallows and pauses before saying, “No, I remember, I just … I don’t know how much you laughed about it after we hung up. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“I didn’t laugh at all,” I say, trying honesty on for size. “I was too shocked by you apologizing to do anything but convince myself I wasn’t dreaming.”
He nods. “Yeah, I realize I have issues with that. It’s one of the things I’ve been working on.”
“Too bad you didn’t work on it when we were together.”
I feel bad for the hurt that crosses his face, but what can I do? It’s not like I can stop being a bitch to him overnight.
Marco sweeps into the room, and there’s a flurry of activity as set pieces are moved into position. There’s a bed in the middle of the rehearsal room, and it’s raised on an angle so the audience can see us when we’re lying down.
My mouth goes dry just looking at it.
I sneak a glance at Holt. He’s taking large, even breaths, either warming up or settling his nerves. I follow his lead. My heart is beating way too fast.
Five minutes later, Marco has placed us into the most awkward position two ex-lovers could ever find themselves—Ethan is between my legs, his hands framing my face, his mouth just above mine.
He kisses me, soft and sweet, as his hips rock back and forth, and then he lets out a quiet moan as he closes his eyes.
“Look at me, Sam,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes.
So beautiful. Full and complicated. Always.
“Kiss her again,” Marco calls out. “Kiss her mouth, then go down to the neck.”
Ethan looks at me, hesitating for a moment before obeying, his lips soft but closed.
I lie there, too frozen to kiss him back but aware I should.
He pulls back and looks at me, confused.
Dammit, I need to start thinking like Sarah.
He’s Sam. He and Sarah have a happily-ever-after. I’ve read the script.
He kisses me again, and I respond awkwardly.
“You need to make some noise, Cassie,” Marco says, sounding frustrated. “Nothing you’re doing is reading from out here. Make it bigger.”
I unfreeze and try to do my job.
I start by wrapping my arms around him and groaning loudly while lifting my hips and arching my back. It’s fake and porny, but at this stage I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
I grab his ass and push him against me. He whispers, “Fucking hell, Cassie,” before exhaling hard against my shoulder.
“I believe the line is, ‘Oh, Sarah, I love you,’” I say, before moaning and kissing his neck.
Instinctively, I reach over his shoulders and grab his T-shirt. I tug it over his head and toss it on the floor.
“So we’re talking my clothes off now?” he whispers. “I thought we were just marking this through.”
“What can I say? Apparently nothing I’m doing is reaching the audience. I’m guessing getting you naked will reach them.”
It feels good to be aggressive. It helps me disconnect.
More fake noises pour from my mouth, but as his muscles ripple under my fingers, all thoughts of Sam fly straight out the damn window.
Semi-naked Ethan.
He feels incredible. More incredible that he used to, if that’s possible.
I’m so distracted by his bare chest, I suddenly have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to say. Sarah’s gone bye-bye.
I run my hands down his stomach before reaching around to his back and fingering the waistband of his jeans. He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”
He drops his head onto my shoulder and the sheets on either side of my head bunch as he curls his hands into fists. All of his muscles tense, and I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Is there a reason why you’ve stopped?” Marco asks, bewildered. He turns to Elissa. “Why have they stopped?”
Ethan still isn’t breathing.
“Ethan?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, but there’s a gust of warm breath as he exhales against my neck. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
He pauses and sighs. “Yep. Fine.”
“Is it your line?”
He tenses. “Is what my line?”
“Is it your turn to say a line?”
He pushes up onto his arms and looks down at me, his jaw tense.
“Cassie, I have no fucking clue what my name is right now, let alone what lines I’m supposed to be saying. Let’s just get through this and we’ll figure out the dialogue later, okay?”
He sounds angry, but I know he’s just frustrated. I’m frustrated, too.
“Okay. Sure.” When I wrap my legs around him and pull him close, I feel the source of his frustration, hard against me. He lets out a strangled cry then slides down my body so I’m pressed against his stomach instead of his groin. “Jesus, Cassie, I’m really trying to think of dead puppies here, but…”
“It’s harder than you thought?”
He glares. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“No, because if I start laughing now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”
He drops his head. “Goddammit.”
“Less chat, more acting please, children,” Marco bellows. “Ethan, you’ve stopped moving. Do I need to explain how to make love to a woman? Because although I’ve never had the pleasure, I’m fairly certain it involves thrusting.”
Ethan sighs and starts fake thrusting again. Even though I know he’s trying to keep his erection away from me, I feel it graze the inside of my thigh.
“Shit. Sorry,” he says, adjusting his angle again. “Damn thing has a mind of its own around you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, because really, what else am I going to say? “How dare you get aroused when you’re simulating sex with me? The nerve of you!” Never mind that it’s wetter than a Slip’N Slide in my panties right now. He doesn’t need to know that.
It’s not as if either of us can help it.
Our physical attraction was never something we could control.
All too often, we gave in to what our bodies wanted without sorting out all of our other crap, and most of the time, we ended up regretting it.
Now everything’s wrong, because we’re trying to filter our debilitating attraction through our characters.
We’re faking not feeling it.
After a few more minutes of lackluster lovemaking, Marco sighs in frustration.
“All right, let’s stop there,” he says and waves his hand as he walks over to us. “This isn’t working. You two look as uncomfortable as vegetarians in a sausage factory. What’s going on?”
Ethan rolls off me, and we both sit up. Neither of us answers.
“Is it too intimate?” Marco asks, looking from one to the other. “Are you embarrassed? Because frankly, I’ve seen you both perform much more controversial scenes than this. Yet here you are, fumbling about like a couple of virgins. Where’s the passion? The fire? The gut-wrenching need for each other? You had it yesterday. What happened to make it fizzle?”
What happened is that Ethan unexpectedly apologized to me, and now we’re in some sort of weird relationship limbo, because we’re not friends, and we’re definitely not lovers. As strange as it is to say, we’re not even enemies, so … yeah.
Marco sighs and shakes his head. “Okay, then. Let’s skip over the sex scene and go straight to the morning after.”
The relief on our faces must be extreme, because Marco laughs. “You both look like I just donated bone marrow to save your lives.”
Not gonna lie. It feels a bit like that.
Marco talks us through the scene and tells us to go with our instincts. Like most directors, he likes to see what his actors come up with on their own before he starts shaping it. That’s all well and good, as long as his leading lady can keep her shit together and not collapse in an emotional heap.
When we take up positions on opposite sides of the bed, Holt says, “This will be easier, right?”
“Sure,” I say, with fake confidence. “I wasn’t the one who used to freak out after we made love, remember?”
He exhales. “Yeah, well, that was then. I’m fresh out of freak-outs.”
We lie down beside each other. He puts his arm around me and draws me in to his bare chest. I can feel his heart pounding under my hand, hard and irregular.
Out of freak-outs, my ass.
Despite my assurances, I’m freaking out, too.
Now that I’m here, I realize this position—my hand over his heart, his lips on my hair, our bodies pressed together—is more intimate than any sex scene I’ve ever done.
Sex is about hormones and body parts.
This is about closeness. Love. Trust.
All the things that scare the living hell out of me.
The first time Ethan and I made love, we held each other like this afterward. I was so happy. So in love with him.
Then everything went to hell.
In this position, with my head against his chest, I can hear Ethan’s heart pounding, fast and erratic. Just like it did back then.
A familiar ache starts in my chest and weaves up into my throat. I clench my jaw to stifle a groan, but I don’t think it works, because Holt tightens his arm around me and whispers, “Hey … what’s wrong?”
His hand comes up to my cheek.
I close my eyes and try to push down the panic.
This is ridiculous.
“Cassie? Hey…” His voice is all liquid comfort and unspoken affection.
A whole mess of past emotion surfaces and floods my body with too much adrenaline.
I sit up as my head starts to spin.
Within seconds, Holt’s arm is around me. “You look like you’re going to barf. It’s been a while since I’ve made you physically ill. Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
He waits for my comeback, but I stay silent. I’m in a full-blown panic attack, and it feels like my stomach is trying to crawl up my windpipe and strangle me.
“Cassie?” he says, frowning. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“No.” I’m wheezing, and his expression is too concerned. “Stop looking at me like that. You can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s perfectly normal for those words to leave his mouth. Like he says it every day, and I’m used to hearing it.
“Miss Taylor?” Marco says as he comes over to us. “Is everything alright?”
I exhale and try to shove my anxiety back into its box. “I’m sorry, Marco. It’s been a long week. Do you think we could leave this scene until Monday?”
Yeah, because by Monday, I’ll be able to do all those highly intimate things to Ethan without unraveling, won’t I?
Idiot.
“Okay, fine,” Marco says. “You’re both tired. Let’s call it a day.”
He heads back to the production desk, and Elissa stares at us for a second before telling the rest of the company we’re wrapping for the week.
I feel movement and turn to see Ethan picking up his T-shirt. He pulls it on and swings his legs off the bed before resting his elbows on his knees.
“I remember the first time we had to do a scene like this,” he says as he turns to face me. “You were less forgiving of my … excitement.”
“You were less apologetic about it. In fact, if I remember correctly, you exploited your power over me.”
“My power over you?” he says, giving me innocent eyes. “You have no idea what you did to me that day, do you? Jesus, I was in real physical pain.”
“You deserved to be.”
He nods as he picks up the edge of the sheet nearest him and fiddles with it.
“Listen,” he says, and tugs at the seam. “I get that you may never forgive me, but I want to at least try to make things easier for you. Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it. Tell me to fuck off, and I’ll try to. Just tell me, okay? What do you want me to do?”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Well, for a start, let’s pretend I didn’t just freak out in front of everyone because you hugged me. That’s just mortifying.”
He smiles. “I’m not going to lie—for once it’s nice to not be the one freaking out.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, not going to lie—our role reversal sucks giant yak balls.”
He stands and offers me his hand. “Still up to going out tonight?”
I’d almost forgotten about our talk-date. “Do we have to?”
“Yeah, we really do.”
“Can I at least have lots of alcohol?”
“Sure,” he says as he pulls me to my feet. “I’m buying.”
“Good. Then I’ll order the expensive stuff.”
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
I arrive at rehearsal and do a few warm-up exercises, intent on chilling out and having a good day.
I’m doing some yoga stretches when Holt walks in. He dumps his bag in a seat in the second row and flops down next to it, before putting his feet up on the chair in front of him and closing his eyes. I can see his lips moving, probably running his lines.
The tension between has reached awkward levels since the kiss. We show up to rehearsals, say our lines, act like we’re in love, kiss passionately. Then, when rehearsal finishes and we have the opportunity to talk? Nothing. We’re too weirded out to have a conversation. It’s driving me crazy.
It doesn’t help that when he kisses me, I get so damned turned on I can barely breathe. I’ve spent the last three days in a state of totally debilitating arousal, and today we have to block Romeo and Juliet’s sex scene.
Frick.
I refuse to be one of those girls who makes a fool out of herself for a man. If Holt’s determined to ignore whatever is happening between us, I will, too. I don’t need him.
Well, I kind of need him to give me an orgasm, but apart from that, he’s just a guy.
A guy with whom I’m going to have to simulate sex for the next seven hours.
Fluff my life.
Erika appears onstage and gestures for us to join her. For the purpose of rehearsal, our “bed” is simply a black rostrum covered in a sheet.
So romantic.
“Okay,” Erika says. “The marriage night scene is historically controversial because of its graphic content, so we’re going to aim for something realistic but tasteful, okay?”
Holt and I nod, but I’m not sure what she means. I’m not well acquainted with real sex, let alone the fake kind.
“Now, because we’re a drama school, we need to be seen as taking certain risks. So for that reason, I’d like to create the illusion of nudity.”
I’m pretty sure the look of terror on Holt’s face is mirrored on mine.
“Don’t panic.” Erika laughs. “You won’t be naked. You’ll just look like you are.” She reaches into a bag at her feet and pulls out what looks like underwear.
“Miss Taylor, you’ll wear this beneath your costume.” She holds up a flesh-colored leotard. “And Mr. Holt, you’ll wear these.” I smirk as she reveals flesh-toned boxer-briefs. “Now, I understand that you may be a little hesitant about this, but believe me, they’re quite modest. You’d reveal more of your bodies going to the beach.”
“I usually wear board shorts,” Holt mumbles.
“I wear jeans and a hoodie.”
Erika and Holt turn to me.
“I come from Washington state. Our beaches are freezing.”
Erika pulls out a white T-shirt with a pair of white drawstring pants for Holt and an ivory robe for me. “These are your costumes for this scene. I need you to rehearse in them, since removing them is part of the blocking.”
Oh, hell. I have to practice undressing Holt? In my current state, this isn’t going to end well.
Holt and I take our costumes and undergarments from Erika, then slink away to separate dressing rooms. When we reemerge, I swear we’re wearing identical blushes.
He looks good in his costume. Tall and lean. The stark white makes his eyes look even bluer than usual. He goes to shove his hands in his pockets, but the pants don’t have any. He sighs in frustration. I stop in front of him, and he eyes the deep vee at the front of my robe before dropping his head and muttering “Shit” under his breath.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Erika says as she claps. “We’ll begin by talking through the sequence of events. Miss Taylor, you’ll start by sitting on the bed. You’re awaiting your new husband, full of anticipation and longing. Mr. Holt, with the help of the nurse, you’ve managed to sneak into Juliet’s room. You’ll have a few short hours to consummate your love before you’re banished from the city. You both want to savor every inch of skin, memorize every part of each other’s body. Any questions?”
I shake my head and squirm as the elastic of my leotard rides up my left butt cheek. Holt shakes his head and cracks his knuckles.
“Start slowly. Take your time exploring each other. Romeo, this is your first time having sex with someone you truly love. It’s a profoundly different experience for you. And Juliet, your apprehension about giving yourself to a man for the first time is completely overridden by your desire for your new husband. As the passion builds, your movements can become more frantic. But when you come together, it’s a revelation for both of you. I’m not looking for porn here. Just simple, honest, pretend lovemaking. Are we clear?”
“Clear,” we say in unison.
My palms are sweaty, and Holt’s biting the inside of his cheek. The theater feels very small.
“Right. Take a moment to chat about what you’re going to do, then take your positions.”
Erika goes down into the auditorium, while Holt and I turn to each other and shuffle nervously.
“So…” I say, looking up at him.
He nods and lets out a breath. “Yeah. So…”
“We’re going to have fake sex.”
“Yep.”
“You and me.”
“Apparently.”
“I have to take your clothes off, and … well … touch you and stuff.”
He tries for his nonexistent pockets again before putting his hands on his hips. “Fuck this fucking play.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m sure after a few minutes, we’ll be bored out of our minds.”
He gives me the world’s most skeptical look.
“Are you two ready?” Erika calls.
We stare at each other for a second before Holt stalks off side stage.
Okay, so we’re really doing this. A sex scene between a virgin and the man who hates that he wants her. Should be fun.
I sit on the edge of the rostrum and bounce my legs.
“When you’re ready,” Erika says as she opens her notebook.
I take a few breaths, then Holt walks onstage, bare feet and beautiful face, eyes full of fear, need, and want.
I stand and face him as he approaches, a low flutter starting in my belly. It moves lower as he runs his gaze up and down my body.
Okay, Cassie, focus. Find your character. Juliet. It’s all about Juliet.
Dear God, Holt looks good in that costume.
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo.
He stops in front of me, and it looks like he’s just run a mile rather than walked a few steps across the stage. His breathing is fast, and his chest rises and falls as he locks eyes with me.
Lord.
His eyes.
He’s completely committed to this scene. No fear or hiding. Just honest, raw passion.
He focuses on me, and I melt. That look is going to be the death of me.
His expression screams that he’d walk over hot coals to have me, and my whole body reacts. A deep ache starts low and grows more intense with each passing second.
He cups my face and gently rubs his thumb over my cheekbone. Every piece of skin under his hand tingles fiercely. My heart races, pounding loud and fast, making me dizzy.
I step toward him. Now our bodies are touching. I mirror his hand and touch his face. He has light stubble on his cheek and chin. I graze my fingers over the sandpapery texture. His lips part, and I run my thumb over them, fascinated by their softness.
Such beautiful lips
Need to taste them.
I stand on my toes, and place my hand at the back of his neck as I pull him down. He’s in the middle of an exhale, but when I press my lips against his, he inhales sharply. He grips the back of my head with one hand and winds the other around my waist.
All of me melts against him. The way we react to each other is elemental. Candle wax and flame. Wherever he touches me, scorching heat flares beneath my skin.
His lips move slowly as he tastes me, filled with restrained passion and breathless anticipation.
“That’s good,” Erika calls out.
I open my eyes and pull back in surprise.
“Don’t,” he whispers. “Ignore her.”
He kisses me again as he pulls my body flush against his, and Erika no longer exists.
When I inhale, it’s like pieces of him make their home inside me. His taste. His smell. Just as debilitating as the rest of him.
I run my hands down his chest, and as I reach his stomach, he pulls back and looks down at me.
I grip the bottom of his T-shirt. It needs to go. I have to see him. He helps me by yanking it over his head and dropping it on the floor.
And there he is.
Shirtless Holt.
I take a deep breath and really look at him. His broad shoulders, smooth and firm. His wide chest peppered lightly with hair. His flat stomach and narrow waist. Muscular but not bulky.
Lean.
Hard.
Sexy.
He watches me assess him, and his breath speeds up.
“Put your hands on me,” he orders quietly.
I run my fingertips over the backs of his hands and graze my palms up his forearms, over his triceps, and onto his shoulders. He takes in a shuddering breath and closes his eyes as I trail over his clavicle, his chest, down his ribcage and onto his abs.
I breathe through all the emotions I’m feeling, trying to make sense of why he affects me so powerfully.
I’ve always found him attractive, but this is more than that. An intense feeling of familiarity washes over me. A whisper of “yes” even as my mind screams “no.”
He opens his eyes, and his gaze travels down my chest, then lower, until he reaches the tie around my waist. He frowns when he tugs at the silky fabric to pull it loose. The robe falls open, and I’m incredibly aware that the only thing stopping Holt from seeing me naked is a skimpy leotard that is doing nothing to camouflage my nipples.
He draws in a loud breath and looks into my eyes before he steps forward. He bends down to press warm kisses down to my collarbone, onto my chest, then lower, between my breasts. The thin fabric of the leotard does nothing to insulate me from the effect of his lips on my body. He kisses his way back up, retracing the path he just took until his mouth is against my ear.
“Bored yet?” he whispers.
I run my hands down his chest and graze my fingernails along his abdominals, stopping at the waistband of his pants. I dip my finger under the elastic, and he grips me tighter as I kiss his chest.
“Practically comatose,” I whisper into his skin.
Holt makes a groaning sound, and that’s when the gloves come off. He grabs my face and kisses me fiercely. All pretense of being gentle and patient flies out the window as our rapid breathing and low moans fill the quiet space.
“Oh, good,” Erika says. “Nice sense of urgency. Keep going.”
“As if I’m going to fucking stop,” he says against my mouth.
He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He grunts and continues to kiss me while he carries me to our makeshift bed. He lays me down and climbs on top of me. I gasp when he settles between my legs.
He’s there. Right where all my tension has been building over the past few days. He’s hard and hot against me, and nothing he’s doing is enough. I want to consume him. Draw him inside until I can’t take anymore.
I grab his butt to pull him more firmly against me. He moans and circles his hips, making my fingers curl into his skin as tension builds inside me. I gasp when I feel a warm hand on my right breast.
“Okay, you’re walking a fine line now,” Erika calls out. “Watch where you put your hands.”
“Would it be okay to touch my new husband?” I call to her. “I mean, I’ve never experienced that part of a man before.” Onstage or off.
“Well,” she says. “I guess that’s true, but it can’t be too gratuitous. Touch his thigh and I’ll see what it looks like from here.”
I reach between us, and in the process, the back of my wrist brushes again Ethan’s erection.
He tenses up. “That’s not my thigh.”
“Sorry. My bad.”
He tenses his jaw. “I didn’t say it was bad, just not my thigh.”
“Okay, that looks good from out here,” Erika says. “It’s indicative of you touching him without being too obvious. Nice realistic reaction, Mr. Holt.”
“Thanks,” he says in a strangled voice as I turn my hand around so I can grip him gently.
God, he feels amazing. If he feels this good through clothes, how good would he feel naked in my hand?
I run my palm along the length of him.
“Fuck,” he says quietly. “You’d better stop.”
“Why?”
“Jesus,” he groans. “Please…”
He grunts and tries to pull away.
I kiss down his chest as I squeeze him more firmly. He hisses a loud exhale.
“Okay, Miss Taylor, that’s enough,” Erika calls. “It’s looking repetitive now.”
“Thank Christ,” Holt says as I remove my hand.
I grab the back of his neck and pull him down. We tangle again in a long, deep kiss that makes the hunger inside of me intensify.
I want him inside so much, it’s painful.
“At some point you have to take off his pants, Miss Taylor,” Erika says. “Otherwise consummating your marriage is going to be very difficult.”
Holt looks at me, panic written all over his face.
“She can’t see you,” I say as I push the pants down over his hips, revealing his flesh-toned trunks. He lifts his pelvis so I can get the pants down to his knees before he kicks them off.
“This is the most fucking embarrassing thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters as he settles back against me.
“Ditto.”
“Okay,” Erika says. “Now, we need to see the moment of actual consummation. I know this is probably challenging, and I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to be over the top, but it has to be there.”
Holt lowers his pelvis onto mine, and his face softens.
“Are you ready to lose your virginity?” he asks, and even though I know he’s joking, there’s something in his tone that makes my stomach tingle.
“Absolutely.”
“If this was real, it would hurt.”
“I know.”
He pulls his hips back and puts his hands between us as if aligning himself with me. His fingers brush against me, and I inhale in surprise.
“Here we go,” he says.
He thrusts against me, and I gasp as a look of wonder passes over his face.
Is that what he’d look like if he were inside me? Sweet Jesus.
I play my part, wincing in pain as he pushes himself hard against me.
“You okay?” he asks softly, and I don’t know who wants to know, him or Romeo.
I give both of them a small smile. “I’m fine.”
He smiles back. “Good.”
He moves, slowly and carefully. I don’t have to act to show both pleasure and pain as he slides against me, because my body is alternating between screaming out for more and moaning that it’s all too much. He watches my face, and I’m sure he can feel my desperation.
“Still haven’t had an orgasm?” he asks as he kisses down my neck to the faint mark he left at the beginning of the week. He licks it before closing his mouth over it and sucking hard.
“Don’t,” I say as I wind my fingers in his hair and tug.
He pulls back and looks down at me, his hips circling … pressing … grinding.
“Don’t mark you? Or don’t make you come?” He’s breathing just as heavily as I am.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I can feel it. The elusive feeling. It’s spiraling inside me, spinning and coiling in tighter and tighter circles. I hate that he can make me feel it, and I can’t. It’s too much power for him to have, and he knows it.
“If you don’t want it, just say the word and I’ll stop,” he says, his voice becoming low and rough.
I don’t say anything. I can’t speak. I’m clinging to him as he thrusts, and I hold my breath while squeezing my eyes shut and concentrating on the hard, heavy pulses that are threatening to overtake me.
“Tell me you want it,” he says, demanding and begging at the same time.
He’s moving faster, thrusting in long, firm strokes.
“I want it.”
Oh …
“Say please.”
“Please. God.”
Oh … oh …
“No, ‘Please, Ethan.’”
Oh, God, yes. Don’t stop now. Don’t stop.
“Please, Ethan.”
Please, please, please, Ethan.
It’s close. So very, very close.
“Please.” I moan. “Please, Ethan.”
He presses down, circling and thrusting and whispering my name. I can’t even think, because I’m so full up with chasing down what’s just out of reach.
“Let go, Cassie. Let yourself feel it.”
He kisses me, and as he thrusts one more time, it happens.
Oh, dear God!
I gasp and arch my back as my orgasm hits me, because none of the descriptions of waves or pulses or unwinding jolts of pleasure can prepare me for the absolute knee-buckling sensation that rages through me. My breath catches, and my muscles seize. I’m sure my eyes are as wide as saucers as I experience what has eluded me my entire life.
“God, Cassie,” he whispers reverently. “Look at you.”
I cling to him as he drops his head into my neck and grunts softly. Then he’s moaning as all the muscles in his back tense and he pushes against me one last time.
“Fuck.” He makes a long, plaintive noise that’s the perfect accompaniment to my own sounds.
Pleasure is thick in my veins as he breathes against me, shallow gasps and long moans.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
That was …
Wow.
Reality filters back in as the last shudders fade inside me. Holt and I are panting, sweaty, and spent.
“Okay,” Erika says with a slight edge to her voice. “Well, that was certainly a … committed performance. But I think we either need to work on the orgasms or fade to black before they happen. They were a little clichéd.”
The bed rattles as we both suppress our laughter.
Two hours later, Holt and I emerge from the theater, and I’m laughing like an idiot as he does Romeo’s lines in the style of Marlon Brando from The Godfather. For once, there’s no bickering. Orgasmic rehearsals obviously suit us.
Near the end of the hallway, a group of third-year students are clustered together, practicing in commedia dell’arte masks and cracking each other up. We’re almost past them when one of them says, “Well, well, well. Ethan Holt.”
The whole group goes silent as Holt and I stop. When a pretty brunette removes her mask and emerges from the group, I don’t miss how tense Holt’s posture becomes.
She fixes him with an aggressive stare. “You look good, Ethan.”
His jaw clenches. “You, too.”
“I heard you finally got in. Did Erica make you get a psych evaluation to get over the line? Or did she just get tired of auditioning you year after year?”
He shakes his head and gives her a wry smile. “You’d have to ask her.”
“Maybe I will. I heard she’d cast you as Romeo. What a joke. It’s like she doesn’t know you at all.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “It wasn’t my preference, believe me.”
“I bet. First Romeo who’s ever been played by a heartless bastard.”
Someone murmurs, “Ooh, burn!” and although I expect Holt to fire up and fight back, he just drops his head and sighs.
“Nice to see you again, Olivia,” he says before turning to me. “Gotta go, Taylor. See you tomorrow.”
He strides away, and the girl directs her attention to me. “So you’re his new Juliet, huh? Has he ruined you yet?”
“I … ah…”
She leans in. “Run while you still can. Trust me on this. You do not want to be around when that boy self-destructs. He’ll just take you with him, and the damage he’ll do will fuck you up forever. Just ask my therapist. And my sponsor.”
The conviction of her tone makes goose bumps break out on my arms.
She and her friends walk away, and I’m left wondering what the hell Ethan did to her to make her so bitter.