It didn’t stop. His cock twitched on its own, erect and fully upright, his come squirting once, twice, six fucking times before it settled down, his breath huffing out, the phone, held against his shoulder, falling down to his lap. His hands fumbled as he grabbed it, holding it back to his ear, gasping her name as the final shudders of his orgasm tingled through him.
His heart broke when he listened to her, her orgasm following so close behind his, her breath hard, his name soft, and he could picture her, twisting against the sheets, back arching, and he was almost hard again by the time she quieted, a long stretch of nothing on the phone line between them. He didn’t mind. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t consider what just happened and what it meant for everything else.
“Goodnight, Cole.” Her voice was quiet, and he needed a lifetime more of Summer to know what it meant—if this was post-orgasm sleepy Summer or weirded-out, awkward Summer or upset-about-to-cry Summer. He didn’t just need it. He wanted it. And that didn’t make sense.
He frowned into the phone and worked over the right thing to say, the right question to ask but the line clicked off and she was gone.
CHAPTER 75
His sheets smelled like him. I pushed the phone’s cradle over, to the far edge of the walnut side table, and considered lifting it back off the receiver. Letting the dial tone die and suffering through the beep beep beep madness until it ended. But that was a little egotistic, thinking he’d call back. And if I took the phone off the hook, then I’d never know if he did try to call back. I left the ticking time bomb on the edge of the table and rolled back into place, his sheets hot against my sweaty skin. Having orgasms did that to me. Amped up my personal temperature, the blood thrumming through my veins, making me hot—and not in the sexual sense, but in the literal, I-have-to-rip-off-these-clothes-before-I-die, sense.
I blinked up at the ceiling and sorted through my feelings. I already regretted what had just happened. I’ve been thinking about you all day. That was what he had said. He hadn’t meant it; it had been a tool in his belt—one he had used to perfection. I had taken that line and let it untie every loose knot of resistance. I rolled onto my stomach with an aggravated huff of air. So stupid of me. I didn’t need Cole to have an orgasm. I should have hung up with the first sign of flirtation and brought myself there without showing him my cards. Because that was what I’d done, right? Let him see how deeply, despite my hatred, he affected me? I skipped back through and tried to remember the things I had said in the weak moments of my surrender.
“I wish you had done it. Had flipped me over and put your mouth on me.”
Oh, right. That landmine. Why did I say that? And then… his response… had he actually meant that? That he wanted me to wait for him to arrive back in Quincy and he would… oh God. I covered my face with my hands, my legs twisting together in a wasted attempt at non-arousal.
I couldn’t do it. Absolutely not. That… that had been a mistake. One weak moment in the middle of the night. I would tell him that when he returned. But not at his house. On set, in a safe location, where there was no chance whatsoever that temptation might hit.
Yes. A plan. I burrowed my face into his pillow and—like a crazy stalker—inhaled deeply. I had lied to him on the phone; I didn’t try the downstairs bedroom first. I went in there, messed up the sheets a little bit, then scampered up the stairs, anxious to explore whatever secrets his bedroom might hold. I’d been disappointed. No secret love letters tucked under his mattress, no porn stacked by the DVD player. His clothes were neatly hung in the closet and folded in the drawers. It was almost boring. I had undressed and slid under his sheets, the dark gray set different than the Kirklands’, the material thick and expensive. I’d hugged one of his pillows to my chest and fallen asleep thinking of our kiss. Of the way he had tasted, of his fingers in my hair.
His smell. I could make potpourri out of it and become a millionaire.
CHAPTER 76
“Most of the successful people in Hollywood are failures as human beings.”
~ Marlon Brando
“Something’s different.” Justin tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and tilted his head at Cole.
“Yeah, you look like a chemo patient,” Cole snapped, nodding to Justin’s head. “Couldn’t they have left you a little bit of hair to cover that ugly head?”
“No… not different with me.” Justin leaned forward. “With you.”
“My wife left me. I’ve been stuck in bumfuck Georgia. After you’re in Quincy a month, let’s see if you don’t look a little crazy.”
“I expected you to look crazy. Or be strung out on some sort of backwoods drug. But you look… good.” His brow furrowed like it was a bad thing.
“I’m not,” Cole said flatly. And he wasn’t. He’d jacked off twice that morning and was still horny, just thinking about his call with Summer. He should have just let her bring Cocky to her house. Maybe then he’d be able to eat eggs benedict without needing to adjust himself.
Justin eyed him. “I got to be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d survive out there without me.”
“Your job security has definitely taken a nose dive now that I have become more self-sufficient.” Cole waved off the waiter’s offer for more juice.
Justin looked at his watch—one that Cole had given him for Christmas. “All right, I’ve been patient for fifteen minutes.”
Cole looked up, mid-chew, his eyebrows furrowed in question.
Justin laughed and spread his hands, as if waiting for Cole to spill his soul.
Cole swallowed. “You’ve got to give me more than that.”
“Summer.”
One word that perfectly described her hot fucking deliciousness. “What about her?” He’d ask how Justin knew about her, but that was a waste of a question. In Hollywood, an assistant’s worth was primarily composed of three things: organization, ability to keep secrets, and ability to find out secrets. Justin had ninja skills in all three.
“How serious are you about her?”
“Serious?” Cole coughed out a strangled attempt at a laugh. “She’s my costar. I got Nadia’s team breathing down my neck, and that Rottweiler of an attorney you tied me to threatening my nuts in a jar if I so much as unzip my pants. The only thing I’m serious about is staying as far away from that country beauty queen as possible.”
Justin said nothing, sitting back in his chair and staring at him.
“Once,” Cole mumbled. “I fucked her once. It’s not happening again.”
“Is that why you’re calling for script changes every day? You know this business, Cole. Your production budget is climbing faster than Lindsay Lohan’s chance of a crack baby pregnancy.”
“I’m calling for script changes because they’re making the movie better. You’ll see when you come. The new scenes work, and they add a different element to the movie.”
“Porn. That’s the element you’re adding to the movie. This was a standard biopic. According to the crew, you two are all but fucking on camera.”
Cole scowled. “That’s bullshit. We’ve kissed on camera once.”
“Well, that’s what they’re telling me. And if they’re talking to me, you know they’re telling their families. The tabloids will be all over this shit within the week. I won’t be surprised if they get dailies and blast that shit primetime.”