Authors: Kimberly Stedronsky
“Wait, wait,” I slowed at a toll booth, grabbing for a ticket as I tried to control my laughter. “I can’t drive and listen to this.”
“…his ‘unbreakable cock slithered against my moistened, clenching pussy…’ Okay, first of all, a ‘slithering cock’ is
not
to be trusted.”
“V,” I reached for the book, slamming it closed and tossing it to the backseat. “
Stop
. All this pussy-cock talk is turning me on.”
“Really?” Her lips curved into a teasing grin.
“Yes. Almost as much as when you kissed me. Which, after much deliberation-well done,” I rushed, taking her lightened mood and hoping for the advantage. “It felt very authentic. And according to our audience, it definitely
looked
authentic.”
After a moment, she spread her arms out and took a seated, mock bow. “I decided I’d better start earning my wages. You asked for real. There you go.”
“Real?” I raised my eyebrows, passing a minivan. “Did you need to mop up your passion potion after our kiss?”
She went from snowy white to hives within seconds. I watched her turn away, and her fingers danced over the necklace at her collarbone.
“The scene where she loses her virginity is the worst. Excruciating pain to instant earthquake orgasm. Riiiight.”
“Oh, that’s not how it was for you?”
“Of course not. I’m a real girl. It’s awkward, it’s painful, and it took about three times before it finally felt good enough to relax. All I could think about was how I looked underneath him. Was I making too many noises? Not enough? Should I be screaming his name? Raking my fingernails down his back? If so, wouldn’t that hurt? Or is it supposed to hurt? Ugh. It’s exhausting.”
I inevitably pictured some slobbering amateur pounding away at her perfect body and wanted to wring his fucking neck. She was being so honest, and I weighed how best to answer.
Finally, after a few moments, I cleared my throat. “It sounds like you were with the wrong guy.”
Silence.
When I finally realized that she wasn’t going to respond, I hurried to change the subject. “Why don’t you just send the book back and tell her that it sucks?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t
suck
. Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean that it’s bad. It’s just not for me. I’m not a reviewer, I’m an editor. Also, I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me. Or the finger.” She gave me a
look
, and I grinned.
God, could her eyes sparkle. “Okay, so you have an education in acting. Tell me about how you like to be directed.”
She turned my way. “How I like to be directed?”
“You know, everyone has their own style. Some actors like to pour over their lines for days, like Nicholas Cage.”
“You directed
Nicholas Cage?
”
“I was the assistant director for
Bats in the Attic.
It was a low budget horror a couple of years ago. He had a cameo death scene.”
She was reaching for her phone. “What year?” I watched her begin typing, and then her fingers stilled. “Oh,
shit
.”
“What’s wrong?”
“They turned off my service.” She exhaled with a groan, throwing her phone into her purse. “I told them I could pay them Monday. Who turns off service on the Fourth of July? Fuck.”
“Hey, I have a phone, you’re welcome to it,” I handed it over, and she nodded politely.
“That’s okay. I’ll just check in with Gram every so often.”
Pride. She had too much of it, and I could see the hives on her neck returning. I hurriedly went back to talking.
“Some actors like to just go with it, and some like to be pushed. I think that one’s you. You like authority.”
“Oh, I do?” She challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. Tonight, the look I wanted for her was sexy teacher, and she owned it to a tee. “Elaborate, please.”
“When I ask you how you feel, you get all flustered. When I
tell
you how to feel, you feel it. You’re a director’s passion potion dream.”
“Enough with the potion,” she protested, smiling, flushed and so fucking cute. “Well, yes, I guess I like direction. I’m a pleaser.”
As if I wasn’t already turned on enough. “Hmn. Pleaser. Elaborate, please.”
“In acting,” she corrected, frustration staining her cheeks a permanent crimson.
“Alright, here we go. Listen up.” I turned the volume of “Whisky in the Jar” down, making sure that I had her full attention. “I came up for a visit a few months ago and met you. It just so happened that you’re Laney Hale’s granddaughter from my very own hometown. We arranged to meet up again this weekend, since I was coming home for my brother’s wedding anyway-as well as checking out the location at Idlewild Park. You came with me for the day, we made sweet love by the waterfall, and the rest is history.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We couldn’t have just made love in the middle of the summer, right by the falls. The parks close at night. We’d have been arrested.”
“We found the waterfall, and I made sweet love to you in the laurel. No one caught us. It was fucking beautiful, and the earth moved the moment I took you. You had nine orgasms. In a row.”
She raised her eyebrows, grinning bawdily. “Impressive.”
I shrugged to indicate that nine was unimpressive. She rolled her eyes, and I smirked. “So, you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
“What are you talking about
now?
” I loved when she pretended to sound exasperated, because I could tell she was just as entertained as I was.
“Your demons. Everyone’s got baggage.”
I remembered Robin’s words, that Vivian had been through something. I wanted to know what that something was.
I needed to know what I was dealing with.
“Let’s just keep our personal lives out of this, okay?” She suggested, reaching into the backseat for the book again.
“No, no, come on,” I urged. “I’ll start. You already know about my divorce. And that my wife was cheating on me. I am probably an alcoholic, but I don’t have an official acronym yet.”
Grinning, she shifted her long legs. “I’m just me. I came from Ohio, I live with my Gram.”
“Do you have any friends? Other than my sister?”
She began twirling a strand of hair. “I did. But we lost touch when I moved.”
“And your parents? Do you talk to them often?”
She answered me with silence. She suddenly looked so small and fragile, even in her new clothes and jewelry. I wanted to ask more, but finally let the subject drop.
After a deep breath, she turned to me. “What did you win an Oscar for?”
I settled back in the seat, exhaling slowly. “Ah, my favorite subject. Me.” When she rolled her eyes at me again, I gave her a crooked grin. “I won an Oscar for directing
Dominance
.”
“What’s that? I’ve never heard of that movie.”
“It’s a documentary about dominant-submissive relationships.”
She looked away quickly. “Oh… oh.”
“It’s a popular topic right now, and I demystify it, portraying it for exactly what it is-just another relationship dynamic.”
“What, like
Fifty Shades of Grey?
”
“Like I said, popular. Hot, if your entire knowledge of the bedroom includes the missionary position. My documentary just portrays real people in real relationships. Minus the judgment. All facts.”
Her eyes shifted away from mine. “It’s still taboo. All the spanking and toys and domineering stuff. But if it’s in the name of art, then, it’s okay. Right?”
She sounded slightly uncomfortable, slightly sarcastic.
“It’s okay?” I repeated. “When you have two consenting adults, anything goes. And to an outsider looking in, it can be artistic.”
“Artistic,” she scoffed, her cheeks darkening to a blushing shade of pink. “So you like to direct art,” she concluded with a benign shrug.
I decided to be honest, since ‘shocked’ was my favorite expression of hers so far.
“Maybe I just like to direct people having sex.”
Her eyes darted to me, and then back to her lap. “So… Oscar-worthy porn. You’re a smart man, Keaton “The Kid” Thane.”
I reached for her hand, and she looked up at me in surprise as I laced my fingers through hers. I needed to change the subject, fast, before she closed up on me again. “Thorne. Here, I’m just good old, corn-fed, hometown Keaton Thorne.”
She smiled distantly, accepting my hand. “So, Keaton Thane, who’s your hero? What kind of director do you want to be?”
I loved her interview voice. “Well, Miss Hale, while I admire the greats like Quentin Tarantino and Joss Whedon, I have an unhealthy director crush on Clint Eastwood. I want to be Clint Eastwood when I grow up.”
She smirked. “Well, just growl “goddamnit” after every sentence and you’re well on your way, director.”
I glared at her fingers animatedly as they bobbed in the air. “Stop air quoting me, god
damnit
.”
She laughed, settling back in the seat and letting me hold her hand.
For now, that was enough.
I kept my mouth shut for most of the drive, settling on listening to her choices in music. As she explained that she was making me a playlist of approved songs for the weekend, I only smiled.
I didn’t want to say anything that might make her pull her hand out of mine. Every so often, I’d brush my thumb over her palm, lightly, and she’d hold her breath.
Stopping for gas about a half an hour from Pittsburgh, I turned toward the Sheetz building. “Do you want a drink? Or anything?”
She bit her lip, and I watched her eyebrows rise in thought. “Um… water… and…,” she deliberated for another few seconds, and I waited. “Starburst. No-Skittles. Yes. Skittles. Well, both. And if they have any Gummy Bears…,”
“Skittles? As in, the candy?”
“Weakness.” She shrugged, and I reached for her door, pulling it open.
“Well, you’re coming in with me, then, Vivie. I’m a grown man. I can’t go in there and buy a Red Bull and a bag full of candy. I may as well rent a white cargo van and hang out in a playground.”
She groaned, sighing with a reluctant laugh as she stepped out of the convertible. “You’re a very self-conscious person, you know that? You care too much about your appearance.”
“Live in Hollywood for a year. It’ll change you.”
“Is that an invitation?” She suggested, walking ahead of me. I watched her perfect ass sashay across the parking lot, unable to wipe the thick leer off my face.
Back in the car, I slipped my hand into hers once more.
Kelsey hadn’t contacted me again, but I had called my lawyer while Vivian was packing. He assured me that this was just another convoluted effort to get more money out of me, but ultimately, the divorce was going to be drawn out even longer. She agreed to paternity testing… but not until after the baby was born.
“You’re squeezing my hand,” she said, and I broke from my thoughts, releasing her fingers.
“Sorry.”
“What’s wrong? I can tell something’s bugging you.”
I considered hiding my situation until at least eighty-five percent of the way through the weekend, but finally decided to just be honest. “My ex might be pregnant. I have to do a paternity test, and it’s holding up my divorce.”
She listened, expressionless. “Do you think it’s yours?”
“No. But since there is a possibility, I need to be sure.”
She nodded, spinning the sapphire ring that I’d bought for her in circles around her finger. “What are you going to do if it is?”
I gave a low groan. “Step up, I guess. Murder is illegal.”
She stiffened. “Are you talking about abortion?”
“No, I’m talking about offing my ex. I haven’t decided which I’d prefer-a bloody
Jaws
shark attack, or watching her get eaten on the toilet by the T-Rex in
Jurassic Park.
”
Her shoulders shook with a restrained giggle, and I realized that she’d cover her mouth when she’d smile really wide. “What about
Seven?
What’s in the
b-o-o-x
,” she whined, breaking into laughter.
I raised my eyes at her, reveling in her ability to thoroughly entertain me. “No, no, I’m going with
Hannibal
. Not that a lobotomy could possibly make her any more fucking stupid.”
“Okay, Keaton, stop,” she held her abdomen, her shoulders shaking with laughter. “This conversation is highly inappropriate.”
“I am highly inappropriate. I thought you’d gathered that by now,” I answered, turning toward our exit.
When I found her warm fingers threading through mine again, I realized that I was having fun.
A lot of fun.
Point Blank
“We only have one luxury suite left, Mr. Thorne.”
Keaton spoke the words from the corner of his mouth through thinned lips, like a ventriloquist, as we stood at the front desk of the Omni William Penn Hotel.
“What?” I asked, not sure if he was talking to me or the front desk attendant.
“
I’m feeding this guy his lines,
” Keaton whispered loudly to me, holding his hand up to block his words. He turned back to the man, continuing. “I apologize, but you and the lady will have to share the suite.”
The clerk was a willing cohort, pretending to peruse the computer screen in front of him. “Mr. Thorne, I apologize, but there really
is
only one luxury suite available.”
“
What?
” I demanded, fuming as Keaton slipped a fifty dollar bill beneath his credit card receipt.
“Oh, hell!” He tsked, crossing his arms and mock glaring at me. “It’s going to be impossible to keep this girl off of me.”
“Damnit Keaton-”
“Calm down,” he ordered, lowering his mouth to my ear. “I’ll keep my slithering cock under control.”
“You are
unbelievable
,” I hissed back, having to nearly run to keep up with his stride to the elevator. “You
specifically
said I’d have my own room-”
“You have some money left over from your wardrobe fund, right? Enough to spring for an economy suite?”
“I have $85.46 left from
your
ridiculous shopping spree, and I’m not wasting it on a hotel room,” I growled, stepping into the elevator with him.