He groaned and clutched his hands more tightly at the base of my skull.
“I’m going to come,” he said, which wasn’t news to me based on how pressurized and big his c**k felt.
“Mmm,” I moaned, my mouth full of him.
He murmured, “Look at me.”
I tilted my head to the side to make eye contact, my lips still around his thick rod.
“I want you to touch your pu**y for me,” he said. “Touch it the way you wish I was touching you.”
I didn’t have to think about that request for long. My hand practically dove down into my panties. I whimpered again as fingers slid easy into my silken crease, back and forth across my clit.
The flesh in my hand and mouth matched the heat between my legs, and soon everything was in motion.
Just as I began to release, the delicious waves of toe-curling pleasure pulsing through my arms and legs, he also began to pulse in my mouth. With a groan, he thrust against me, captive of his own sweet ending.
After I swallowed, he relaxed in my mouth, conforming to my shape, his balls now loose in their skin. I gave them a gentle tug, and he moaned again, then let out an embarrassed laugh.
I pulled him out and finished with a kiss, right on the winking little eye. I’d already pulled my hand out of my underwear. Resting back on my heels, I gazed up at him, waiting for what he’d say next.
Would he make a joke about not having to make the bed, after all? Would I say something about the cameras, and surprising footage they could have shot?
He tilted his head to the side, and simply said, “Your house?”
“Sure. My house. My roommate’s there, but she won’t mind if we make a little noise.”
He looked around, then gathered up his clothes and started getting dressed. I took his cue and gathered my clothes as well. My panties were so f**king wet, I felt like I had a wading pool between my legs. Damn him and his garden-watering powers.
Once I had my clothes back on, he grabbed me and pulled me in for a kiss.
“I hope that wasn’t too weird,” he said, grinning at me. “I was watching you with that other guy, Charlie, during the photo shoot. I got all these feelings, like I wanted to f**k your face.” He looked away from me, as if embarrassed. “I don’t know why I say stuff like that to you. I think you bring out my inner p**n star. I hope you’re not too disgusted.”
He was so tall, and my floral ballet flats weren’t helping me get up to where he was. I reached up with both hands to tilt his face so he was looking at my eyes.
“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “I think everyone has a little p**n star in them.”
“You’d make a great p**n star.” He reached down and cupped my bu**ocks, pulling me closer in our embrace. “You already have a great name, and you could totally be a star, but don’t get any ideas, because you’re mine now, and I ain’t sharing.”
I wheezed with laughter over the idea of being a p**n star. “Right. Like people would pay to see me bounce around.”
“They would! There’s a huge market for…” He trailed off and didn’t finish.
“BBW?”
“Hot, confident women,” he said.
“Let’s not pretend my body shape doesn’t put me into a certain category. A certain fetish. And one you seem to have, yourself, mister.”
“Honestly, Peaches, you’re my first…”
“Fatty?”
“I was going to say you’re my first regular girl, but now I’m worried even that’s going to come out sounding wrong.”
I shrugged. “You’re my first pretty boy.”
He grimaced. “That’s a little emasculating.”
“So ver-y pret-ty.”
He made an amused noise as he crossed past me to flick off the lamp, blinking the room into darkness.
His voice soft and disembodied in the blackness, he said, “How pretty am I now?”
“About as pretty as I am fat.”
“I don’t like that word,” he said, and we both knew he didn’t mean pretty.
“Dalton, tall people are tall. Short people are short. It is what it is. I’m okay with the word, because I’m okay with myself. But are you?”
“Some days I hate every single thing about myself.”
My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and I could make out the whites of his eyes and the moon light from outside the window glinting off them.
Every fiber of my being wanted to make a joke to fill the awkward silence. To say something flip, and change the subject.
Instead, I asked, “Do you really hate yourself?”
After a pause, with our breathing as the only sound in the room, he said, “No, but it would explain a lot. I guess I’ve been working so hard, for so long, that I forget what it is I wanted in the first place.”
“I thought you were doing this indie movie because you wanted the challenge of a different acting role.”
“Sure, but to what end? Maybe get an award? So I can get bigger roles and work even harder?”
“Dude, I work in a bookstore. In the morning, I live for getting my mocha from Java Jones. And then in the afternoon, I live for locking up and going home to read or hang out with my friends, or maybe even less. The night before I met you, I was cat-sitting for one of my mother’s friends. My mother didn’t even ask if I was available before she pimped me out. It was just assumed I had nothing else going on Friday night. So, let me ask you this, Mr. Dalton Deangelo, famous actor, do you really think I, Peaches Monroe, responsible cat sitter, have all the answers?”
He drew me to him in the darkness, a warm body in a cool, dark room.
“You seem so happy,” he murmured.
“To you, sure. I’m happy whenever you’re around, you big, stupid monkey.”
He took in an audible breath. “That may be the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Good.” I reached up on my tiptoes and kissed his lips in the dark. “Now take me back to my house and do some seriously nasty p**n star stuff to me.”
“Careful what you wish for.”
CHAPTER 23
He took my hand and led me out of the dark room, moving slowly so we didn’t trip over the many cables stretched across the pathway.
Outside the cabin, we made our way toward the car by the light of the moon. Along the way, Dalton popped into one of the trailers to “liberate” a bottle of champagne for us from craft services.