Fill Me (19 page)

Pleasure starts to overtake me, but I can't finish yet. Not until she's...

I pull out and press her onto her back, push her legs apart. She groans, shaking, her nails digging into the sheets.

I press my lips against her knee. Then her inner thigh. A little higher. A little closer.

Then I bring my mouth to her. I suck on her lips as soft as I can. She purrs and her hands find my hair. I suck a little harder. A little harder. A little harder.

I follow with my tongue, licking her from top to bottom. Again and again. She takes heavy breaths, rocking her crotch into my face.

She tastes so good, smells so good. I slide my tongue over her clit as softly as I can.

She screams, tugging at my hair. "Don't stop."

Like hell.

I run my tongue over her again and again. Her legs press against my ears. Her back arches. Her hands tug at my hair, but I don't stop. I lick her, tasting her as her groans get louder and louder. Until they're screams that could wake the neighbors three floors away.

She arches one more time. Her nails dig into my shoulders--a sharp pain I wouldn't part with for anything. I lick her again, and again, and she comes, screaming one last time.

She collapses on the bed, taking only a moment to catch her breath. Then she pulls me back on top of her, parting her legs.

She wraps her hand around my cock and guides me insider her. Damn, she's so much wetter now. And she's panting, squirming, moaning.

Her hands are on my ass, pulling me deeper as I thrust into her. The ache inside me builds. She's so wet, so warm, so tight around me.

She moans, her head thrown back, her nails sharp against my skin. I drag my lips against her neck, her collarbone, her chest. Her nipples are hard, and she's panting and digging her nails into my ass.

I bring my mouth to her nipples and suck gently. Pleasure courses to my hips. I'm so hard, and it feels so damn good inside her.

Alyssa wraps her arms and legs around me, pulling me closer. I thrust into her. The ache inside me builds and builds. It's almost too much to take.

I bring my lips to hers and plunge my tongue deep in her mouth. She kisses back, desperate and needy.

I can barely take it. I press my body against hers. Thrust into her one last time. And I come, releasing everything inside her.

She collapses on the bed and I collapse next to her, returning to our earlier position--her back against my chest, my arm around her waist.

We lie like that for a long time.

She pulls my arm tighter around her. "I shouldn't have freaked out like that."

I press my lips into her neck, and melt back into her. She takes deep breaths, her chest rising and falling with dramatic heaves.

"I wish I could say she hasn't always been like that, but..." It's barely more than a whisper, and there's so much pain in it. "You probably think it's pathetic."

"You're kidding, right?"

She shakes her head. Damn. How can she be so hard on herself?

"Then tell me. How is it pathetic?" I ask.

She takes another deep breath. I run my fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. God. She really is beautiful, but there's so much pain in her eyes.

I have to take some of that pain away.

She turns, her gaze moving to the ceiling. "When Mom got home from work, she wasn't really there. For a while, when I was a kid, we'd eat dinner together. TV dinners usually, or maybe pizza delivery. But it was always in front of the TV. It's not the most tragic thing, not the hardest. But it was the only time we ever spent together."

I press my fingers against her palm. She leans into her shoulder, wrapping her fingers around my hand.

"I knew better than to ask her for any favors. If I needed school supplies, I'd walk to the store with the cash she kept in the dresser. It wasn't so bad. I always liked the aisles of notebooks and pens. I had so many damn pens." She takes a deep breath, her gaze moving over the room.

She's had to do everything on her own for so long.

Alyssa turns towards me, her eyes connecting with mine. "This story presents one of your least favorite people in a favorable light."

"My father?"

"That would make
perfect
sense." She rolls her eyes. "No, it's Ryan. Of course."

"He was your best friend."

She nods. Her fingers skim my cheek. It's so soft and warm. She's here. She's mine.

"Mom promised to drive me to the homecoming dance. I had no way of getting to school that late. Walking at night was questionable, and it way too cold in November to do it in a dress and heels."

I see where this is going.

"I didn't even ask her. She promised. She said she wanted to see me dressed up. To see me blossom into a woman. I should have known better when she broke her promise to take me shopping for a dress. She woke up late, hungover, and started drinking early."

I squeeze her fingers, soaking in the sweetness of her touch. If only she was always this comfortable, if she'd always talk to me...

"The night of homecoming, I put on my dress and makeup. I did my hair. She was going to take pictures. But when I came downstairs, she was already drunk. She'd been home an hour and she was already drunk. She forgot what day it was. Asked where the hell I thought I was going dressed like a slut."

I brush her hair from her eyes, soaking in everything about her, about the moment. That's Alyssa, my Alyssa, and she's sharing something she's never told anyone.

"She told me to change. I accused her of being drunk. Locked myself in my room, crying my eyes out. It was half an hour into the dance when he called me."

I fight my urge to cringe. She's paying careful attention to my expression, to make sure I can handle this.

I have to prove I can.

"He sounds like a polite young man," I say.

"He was," she says. "He knew I was excited about the dance and he wanted to make sure I was okay. To make sure nothing had happened."

I bite my tongue. So teenage Ryan was sweet to teenage Alyssa. It doesn't matter. He's not here now.

"I told him I wasn't in the mood anymore, and he asked if I'd like some company. I think I whispered 'yes,' because he came all the way to my house, and he sat with me in my room for hours, while my mom was passed out on the couch. He didn't make a big deal of it. Other guys, they would have tried to fuck me. To at least get my top off. Other guys had before..."

She looks at me with concern. I must not be hiding how awful this is.

"I can stop," she says.

"It's fine."

"The story doesn't end with me having sex with Ryan. I promise."

My muscles relax ever so slightly. She laughs. So I am obvious.

"You're awful," she says.

"I don't like thinking of you hurting. Especially not some creep taking advantage of it."

"You mean the kind of creep who seduces an engaged woman after she gets into a huge fight with her fiancé?"

I nod. "Exactly that kind of creep."

She leans into me, wrapping her arms around me. We breathe together for a moment, nothing in the world except the two of us.

"He spent the whole night with me. We watched TV for a while, but we eventually fell asleep on my bed. Completely clothed." She looks out the window. "He's the only guy who was ever nice to me without expecting to get something out of it."

I run my hands through her hair. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"It was nothing."

"It was a lot."

She shakes her head again, but she doesn't verbalize her objection.

"So," I say. "Did you mean that thing you said to your mother?"

"Which thing?"

"About my cock being bigger than Ryan's?"

She laughs. "You really want to know?"

"I already know I'm better than he is."

She shakes her head. "No, the knowledge will either crush you or go to your head. You can't be trusted."

I run my fingers over her chin and tilt her head towards me, until we're eye to eye. She holds my gaze for a moment, but she breaks into a fit of giggles, her eyes squeezing closed.

"I'll never tell," she says.

I run my fingers over her bare stomach. "You've never told me if you're ticklish."

"Don't even think about it."

I slide my fingers over her skin. "I'm thinking about it."

She presses her palms against my shoulders, pushing me flat on the bed. "Your ego is big enough already."

"So I am bigger."

"I've said too much," she says. She shifts back onto the bed.

"How much bigger would you say?"

I push the covers off her and look into her clear, blue eyes. She's happy. I'm going to keep her like this.

"Maybe... twenty percent," she says.

"Oh yeah?"

"Shut up, Luke."

I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly.

We're together again. We can make it through anything, even the horrible wall of distance that's grown between us.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Alyssa

My last performance is completely overwhelming. Part of me is begging to move on to anything new. I've recited the same lines, ten times a week, for six months now. It's about time get the hell out.

But another part of me is terrified to say good-bye. As long as I'm here, I get to reset every day. Blanche isn't sentenced to a terrible life in a cruel mental asylum. She gets to start fresh.

I know the lines so well, know every emotional beat, every little bit of nuance. I take my last chance to lose myself in my character, to really disappear.

I don't snap out of it until I'm bowing on stage, my hand glued firmly to Ellen's. The stage lights shine in my eyes so brightly I can barely make out anything. And the applause is so loud, I can't even hear myself breathe.

It's over. The last of this is over. In the blink of an eye, I'll be back to normal life. Back at the house, in Santa Monica, with Luke.

Exactly what I've wanted for the last six months.

Ellen whispers in my ear on the way off the stage. "You're coming out for shots tonight, right?"

I nod. This is my last chance to see Ellen, my last night in New York. I'm not going to spend it wondering what everything means.

I collapse in my dressing room and text Luke the address of the bar.
Meet me there, okay?
He'd prefer to come here. Hell, he'd probably talk me into giving this couch a proper good-bye.

But I need to soak all this in on my own.

I linger in the room, taking in its quaint charm. Two of the bulbs on the vanity are burnt out and I never bothered to replace them. The once-beige carpet is stained in half a dozen places. There's a hole in the red velvet couch. Hell, it's practically ripped to shreds.

It's banged up and uncared for, but it's still perfect.

It was still mine.

I catch my reflection in the mirror. Half my makeup is still on my face. I'm only halfway back to Alyssa, halfway back to my life.

Whatever that means.

I wet a towel with warm water and wash up. When I pull the towel away, it's smeared with some strange mix of black, beige, brown, purple even.

There's no more Blanche, no more pretexts, nothing left except me.

There are about three months between now and shooting the next season of
Model Citizen
. Three months with nothing to fill my time. Three months where my life will be waiting for Luke.

I shrug my shoulders in a futile attempt to ease my tight muscles. Three months will be great. I need a break. To stop fighting so damn much.

I lay on the couch. This is the last time I'll sink into its soft cushions, the last time I'll stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling.

My hands start shaking. After this, the only thing in my life that matters is Luke.

Unless he's already tired of me.

I press my eyes closed, willing the thoughts away. This is my last night in New York and I'm not going to spend it moping.

There's a knock on the door. Ellen, I'm sure. No doubt desperate to drink herself stupid, to go home with the cute bartender (though Nicholas would work in a pinch).

I push off the couch and open the door, but it's not Ellen.

It's Ryan.

I must be dreaming.

But that's him--his hazel eyes, his short brown hair, his pale lips.

"I hope this isn't an imposition," he says.

He sounds the same.

I shake my head. It is Ryan. He's here, in my dressing room. Well, outside it. And I'm half-dressed. Fuck. I pull my robe tighter, cinching its sash.

"I haven't seen you in... In almost a year," I say.

"Not since that incident at the office."

The incident where he and Luke got into a fistfight.

He brings his gaze to mine with the sincerest of expressions. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." A shiver rushes through me. Nothing good can come of this. And if someone sees him standing in the hallway... "Okay. Close the door behind you."

I step back and he enters the room. Somehow, he looks taller, larger, more sure of himself.

"I know you don't owe me anything," he says. "Even if your boyfriend... is he still your boyfriend?"

I bite my tongue. Ryan doesn't need every detail of my personal life. He had his chance to be my friend. Hell, he had his chance to be my husband, but he fucked that up.

We fucked it up.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not here to talk about who you should or shouldn't date."

"I appreciate that." My heart pounds against my chest. There is no good reason why he'd be here.

"You were amazing," he says. "I was expecting the same Alyssa who played Juliet when she was fifteen, but you were... I should have known you'd be amazing."

"I was amazing as Juliet."

He nods. "Of course. You beat out a dozen senior girls for the part."

I take a step back. "Please don't pretend like you've ever been supportive of my acting," I say. "Even in high school you were against it."