He looks up at me, and with a somewhat disoriented smile, he asks, “Has this been you the whole time?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I know you said that you’re not a prude, but the way you talk around me and the way that you act around me—” he starts.
“You thought I was a prude
anyway?” I ask. “I don’t blame you,” I tell him. “It’s rare anymore that I do something spontaneous.”
“Is that what this is?” he asks. “Is this just a one-time, spontaneous thing?”
“How many sex scenes do we have in the movie?” I ask him.
“One,” he says.
“Yeah, I think we’re probably going to have to make this a regular thing,” I tell him, and casually place my hand on the top of his head and ever so lightly, I push his head back down between my legs.
I don’t mind listening to him talk, but right now, there are more useful things he could be doing with that mouth of his.
“Has Dutch gone over the play-by-play with you?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Damian says, between kisses. “Quick make out lead-in, shot of me on top, your breasts hidden either by my arm or by the bed covers, depending on which is going to end up looking better, shot of you on top from the shoulders up, quick shot of both of us from the side where we’ll see your nipples for no more than three seconds, but it’ll help to implant the scene of the two of us in the throes of—”
“Yeah, you need to stop talking,” I tell him. “We’ve got a scene to rehearse for tomorrow, so let’s rehearse for it. After tomorrow, who knows?”
So we’re supposed to start with a quick make out session and then move to missionary. Got it.
First, though, I think I’m going to enjoy a few more minutes of Damian’s attentive tongue and mouth, his hands moving over my body, my fingers in his hair.
It’s impossible to tell whether I’m this turned on because I spent years building up the image of Damian in my mind, never meeting him, but imagining a moment like this, or if it’s because it’s just been a while since I’ve been with someone the way I’m with Damian now, but it doesn’t matter.
He kisses one side of my pussy, then the other, and then he takes my clit into his mouth for one explosive second before lifting his head and saying, “We should probably get to it, then.”
It’s not the sexiest thing he could have said given the situation, but it’s enough to get me to my feet.
I take one of Damian’s hands, and feeling an extra surge of energy and excitement, I lead him into my bedroom.
“You know,” I tell him, “we could always make a sex tape. That would probably send Flashing Lights’ ticket sales through the roof.”
“Why don’t we just start with getting to know each other a little better and then, if one of our careers starts to flag, we can make that sex tape,” he says.
I lie down on the bed and climb under the covers.
“Did Dutch say how he wanted the scene to start?” I ask.
The broad strokes are in the script, but Dutch has all the details worked out in his head. Yeah, it would have been nice if he’d filled me in on what he wanted me to do, but I guess telling Damian amounts to the same thing.
“Why are you so ready to joke about making a sex tape when you’re so terrified of a couple of nude pictures getting out?” he asks.
I’m hoping he’s not serious and we can just move on, but the look on his face tells me that it’s a real question.
“One’s a choice, the other one’s not,” I tell him.
“But you’d rather make this guy a millionaire than put him in jail and deal with the headlines?” he asks.
“Can we not talk about that now?” I ask.
He hit on something, though he doesn’t know it.