Fill Me (2 page)

I clench my thighs, soaking in the feel of his skin on mine. God. He's about to... Almost... It's been so long. This is already torture.

His tongue plunges into my mouth as he presses his hand against my panties. Every sense in my body turns on all at once. I can hear his soft, heavy breath, even with the air conditioning on full blast and the movie launching into some loud action sequence.

He keeps his hand flat against my panties, another one of his horrible, wonderful teases. I flood with want, squirming in my seat, kissing him harder and harder.

Then he runs his fingers over my panties. It's so light and gentle I can barely stand it. "Luke," I groan. "Touch me." But he keeps at it, his touch still light and slow and soft.

"You look too damn beautiful like this," he says. Then he kisses he, as hard as I was kissing him. His tongue swirls around mine as he slides his hands under the fabric of my panties.

Jesus Christ. My body burns from his touch. It's been too long. I kiss him back, harder than I ever thought was possible, and he rubs me with long, slow strokes. His hand is so soft and hard all at once, and I arch to meet his touch. I pull my dress to my waist, pull my panties out of the way. I don't care that someone could see. All I care about is him touching me, him delivering on his promise.

And he does. His soft touch gets harder, faster. I am so wet and desperate and full of need. He whispers in my ear, "I want to watch you come because it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

I grab his shoulders, digging my nails into his back as he rubs me. I get closer, and closer, and closer, clenching as I fill with pleasure. And then his lips are on my neck, and my nails are on his skin. The pressure builds. It's too much. It's so much. It feels so damn good.

He rubs me, harder and harder, his kiss harder and harder, and everything in my body releases. I groan, "Luke," and he does nothing to stop me.

I'm sure someone turns, someone sees, someone notices, but I don't care.

CHAPTER TWO

Luke

Alyssa is relaxed on the drive home. She doesn't even protest when I promise we can pick her car up tomorrow. Instead, she curls up in the passenger seat, her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around mine.

"You seem tired," I say.

"Don't even start. I'm not that tired," she says. Her lips curl into a smile. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, the hem of her dress sliding up her thighs. I try and keep my eyes on the road, but it's hard. This is the first proper date we've had in weeks.

We've both been busy. She's always gone when I wake up, and when she gets home she barely has time to memorize her lines before she crashes on the couch. She's sweet. She tries to stay up with me, lying next to me on the couch during one of my
Law and Order
marathons. But she always falls asleep in my lap by the time the jury comes back with a guilty verdict.

I used to be vigilant about getting out of work by six p.m., but I've been leaving work later and later.

"What are you thinking?" she asks. Her eyes are wide and bright. She's tired. She must be--she's been working fourteen-hour days for months. But she's as desperate as I am to make this night as amazing as it should be.

"You only have two weeks left of shooting," I say.

"Thank God. I can't wait to do nothing."

"What if you did nothing with me?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Three days in San Diego. I'll take Monday off."

"What's in San Diego--besides the drugstore where you used to buy eyeliner?" she asks.

"You won't let go of that, will you?"

"At least tell me--did you wear black, brown, charcoal? I could see you in an electric blue or a shocking pink. Something from Urban Decay."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm. You could pull off a lot of color. Or a black. Some nice, dark lines to draw even more attention to those gorgeous eyes."

We stop at a light, and she presses her hands against my cheek. I feel a rush of warmth. It's so good to be next to her. I never get sick of the feeling in my body, that sense that I'm home, that everything is going to be okay as long as I'm with her.

"You're obsessed," I say.

"It's true." She smiles. "I wonder what would have happened if we met as teenagers."

"You would have thought I was a rich snob."

"You would have thought I was a burnout loser."

"No way in hell," I say. "I would have seen you in the school play and been transfixed. And after, when I went to tell you how great you were, you would ask me what brand of eyeliner I use, and we'd be best friends."

She laughs. "Definitely."

"But, when you found out the eyeliner was only a three-week phase, you'd get bored with me."

"Was it really?" she asks.

"Maybe a month or two. But no more."

"You're destroying my fantasies."

"Miss Summers. I was underage."

"And a virgin too, I bet," she says.

"And I'm the pervert?"

She nods. "We're both perverts. That's why we're so perfect for each other."

Absolutely perfect. I squeeze her hand. "So what do you think about San Diego?"

"Laurie is probably going to throw an end of season party."

"Ditch it."

She smiles. "Okay. But I'll be exhausted all weekend. I won't want to get out of bed."

"I wasn't planning on spending much time out of bed," I say. "Except to eat amazing Mexican food, drink loads of tequila, and lounge on the hotel's private beach."

"Private beach?"

"Mhmm."

She nods. "Okay. But I don't know if we'll even make it to the beach. Or if we'll even have the energy to lounge."

"Miss Summers..."

She nods. "Don't worry. You'll get a taste soon." At the next stoplight, she kisses me. It's a hungry kiss. She must be waking up. "Thanks, Luke," she says. "I need something like this. I haven't had enough of you lately."

"I could never have enough of you," I say.

We pull into the driveway and I wait for the garage to open. Alyssa's eyes are on fire. In only minutes, we'll be alone in our house, and God only know how quickly we'll be out of our clothes.

Well, it's not strictly our house. Technically it's my house. After the agony of Samantha buying me out of my half of our house, Alyssa refused to share a mortgage. My ex-girlfriend was willing to resort to whatever emotional manipulation it took to get her way. Including multiple suicide attempts.

Hell, Samantha's manipulation almost ruined everything between Alyssa and me.

"Well, Mr. Lawrence," she says. "I do believe you have a promise to live up to."

She brushes her lips against mine, sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

Damn.

There's no sense in making her wait.

CHAPTER THREE

Alyssa

An urgent message from my agent greets me when I finally get to my dressing room. "Darling, call me back. Trust me. You will die when you hear this."

Corine is always going on about some stupid opportunity. It's good. She's doing her job, earning her ten percent, but her opportunities are usually awful parts as the sexy wife or the naked murder victim in blockbusters. I know. A hundred-million-dollar film is a big step up from a cable comedy, but she should know by now that I'm past the point in my career where I'm willing to play the hot chick.

I check the time--just after seven. Corine left this message three hours ago. She's probably still at work. I better get this over with so I can spend my night with Luke interruption free.

Even if we're not going to do much more than watch TV.

I take a deep breath. It's a weeknight. We're supposed to be relaxing. And I'm the one who always insists on TV. I'm too tired for anything else, and I have lines to cram.

I close my eyes. I'm almost done. Eight more days and we'll be done shooting. Eight more days and I'll be in San Diego with Luke, doing something much, much more exciting than watching TV.

But it might really be a great opportunity.

As instructed, I take a seat before calling her back. This better be good.

"Darling," Corine greets me. "How is everything? Are they treating you well over on
Model Citizen
?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Do you remember what you said when you met me?"

"You remind me every time we talk," I say. "About playing Ophelia in
Hamlet
."

"Yes, well, Ophelia is pathetic. Killing herself over an indecisive loser like Hamlet. I've got a much, much better opportunity for you."

"Better than Shakespeare?"

"You grew up on the East Coast. I'm sure you dreamed of New York City."

My throat goes dry. Of course I grew up dreaming of New York City. Everyone around me dreamed of getting an apartment in the village and "making it."

But I chose L.A. It's warmer, cheaper, farther away from home.

"I'm listening," I say.

"And, as an aspiring actress, you no doubt wanted to appear on Broadway?"

I swallow. "Broadway?" Who would want to be on Broadway, with her name in lights on a marquee, performing in a historic theater every night?

Broadway. Of course I want to fucking be on Broadway.

The air leaves my lungs. Broadway. Broad-fucking-way. It's not possible. I must be dreaming. There's no way I'm going to have a part on Broadway. I can't compete with full-time theater actors, and those parts don't go to B-list TV stars. They go to serious film actors, the kind who win Oscars.

"And darling, I know how you adore Tennessee Williams."

"What?"

"Ah, so do I finally have your attention?" she asks.

"Yes. God, yes. Tell me."

"Do you remember Kyle Lee, the producer from that film...
Golden State,
wasn't it?"

"Yeah." We met once during production and had a thirty-minute conversation, mostly about the weather. He was nice enough, but it didn't seem like I made an impression.

"He's got some sort of family connection and he's in charge of a revival of
A Streetcar Named Desire
."

"If you're fucking with me, I swear."

"Never," Corine says. "He wants you to play Blanche."

My heart catches in my chest. Blanche DuBois. He wants me to play Blanche DuBois. One of the best fucking characters in American theater. He wants me to play Blanche DuBois in a Broadway revival of
A Streetcar Named Desire.

There's no way this is real.

"Corine, I swear. If you are fucking with me."

"I have the contract right here."

"What?"

"Well, Mr. Lee is lacking in the organizational department. He wants you in New York as soon as you're done with
Model Citizen.
"

"But that's in eight days."

"I know, it's sudden, but it's Tennessee Williams, Alyssa. You won't get this chance again."

"Did his first choice drop out?" I ask.

"He fired his Blanche this afternoon. You're his first choice for a replacement."

"What happened?"

"Artistic difference, drug addiction. Who cares? You're a TV actor. You're not getting another chance to appear on Broadway unless you learn to sing and dance."

Corine is always so supportive.

"I want to," I say.

"Don't tell me--your boyfriend wouldn't like it?"

"You know I'm not with Ryan anymore," I say.

"Yes. I found out through the gossip blogs. You're a stronger woman than this. You shouldn't let men run your life."

"I'm not," I say. "I want to spend time with him. He'd beg me to take it. In fact, he'll be upset if he finds out I turned it down."

"Really?" Her voice hums with delight. Another angle she can use to try to convince me to agree.

"Don't even think about it. I want to do it, but I've barely seen him for the last two months. We've been so busy. I need a few weeks off. We have a trip planned..."

"So come to New York instead. It's only a six-month engagement."

That's quite a run for a revival play. And it's too long to be away from Luke.

"I can't," I say. "I'll miss him too much."

"I'll tell them you're considering it."

"Corine, no. Not this time."

"Darling. It's Wednesday. I'll promise them an answer by Friday evening."

"I'm not going to change my mind," I say.

"Sure. No pressure. Sleep on it. Dream about the Tony you'll place on your mantle."

I shake my head. I can't dream about anything. Six months is far too long to be away from Luke. Things are so good right now. It's not worth risking them.

Not for anything.

***

I'm relieved when Luke isn't home. It gives me time to compose myself, so he doesn't immediately know I'm hiding something.

God, I shouldn't be so secretive. He's not Ryan. He's not going to hold it against me.

But he'll get so excited. He'll offer to come with me and completely throw the six months he's spent building a business out the window. Or he'll be devastated when I tell him I can't take it.

It might be worse if he didn't offer to come with me. What if he was okay with six months apart? I know he loves me. I never doubt that... but passion does fade. Even Luke's.

The buzz of my phone jolts me into awareness. It's Luke.
I'll be home in ten.

It's just a part. It's no big deal. There's no reason why I have to tell him.

And there's no reason why I shouldn't tell him. Not if I trust him.

I resolve to play it by ear, and step into the shower. That should ease the ache growing in the back of my head. It almost works. The pounding water drowns out my thoughts. And it's warm enough to relax my achy muscles.

Only eight days and I'll be in San Diego with Luke. I'll be spending the weekend rolling around in bed, reacquainting myself with every delicious part of his body.