He inhaled sharply, eyes going dark green again. I had come to recognize the eyes going dark as portentous of good things to come.
“You’re dangerous, Nuts Girl. We’re still miles from the house,” he groaned as I continued to tease him, showing him a little more than just my boy shorts.
“I only need a few miles to work my magic, Hamilton. Just drive the car,” I directed, pointing at the light that had changed without taking my eyes away from his. He smiled, placed his hand high on my thigh again and drove on. I took the opportunity to pull myself up on my knees, and then it was on.
I attacked.
I was all over him. My mouth sucked hard on his neck and my tongue found his ear. I moaned into it, biting on his earlobe.
“Mmm, Jack … I can’t wait until you’re inside me,” I purred, crudely, knowing this would drive him out of his British mind. I heard him exhale forcefully, and I saw his hands grip the steering wheel tightly.
“Grace … don’t test me,” he warned. I could see the vein on his neck begin to bulge as he struggled to maintain control over both himself and my car.
He truly was beautiful, in every sense of the word. I leaned over and with one hand buried in his hair and my mouth fixed on his neck, my other hand snaked into his lap and unzipped him quickly. He fumbled, trying desperately to keep me away from him, but he had already lost that battle the moment he said “shagging” back at the restaurant. I had been simmering at a rolling boil since that moment, me and my oonie just biding our time until we could pounce.
And who could ever resist a pouncing oonie? Jack should have known by now that when my oonie wants something, she gets it.
Oonies aside, there was a Mr. Hamilton Junior that needed attending to.
I placed my hands around him, leaned down, and took him in my mouth. He reacted frantically.
“Fuck, Grace … don’t … seriously, don’t … ahhh … No. No, Grace … Gracie, we can’t … oh, wow … ahhhh … we really shouldn’t … aw, f**king hell … ” He gave in.
I heard screeching tires over his little diatribe, but mainly, I was focused on him. I licked him from base to tip, swirling my tongue around his head, and then taking him in deeply to the hilt. I could feel him hit the back of my throat and I moaned, sending vibrations through him. That’s when I heard, “Fucking hell,” and I knew he was mine.
I pulsed him in and out, using my hands to create more friction as we sped up through the canyon. It was testament to Jack that he was able to stay on the road. One of his hands did come down briefly to tangle in my hair, and I stopped only long enough to place it safely back on the steering wheel.
I could tell he was getting close—his breathing was rough and his voice, which always chanted my name seconds before he came, was starting to get tense.
I heard a squeal and then silence. Before I knew what had happened, I was pulled out of my seat, losing a shoe in the process, and placed unceremoniously on his lap.
He had stopped me right before he came. Twenty-four year olds were my new favorite thing. I needed to tell Oprah to put them on her list.
But now Aggressive Jack was in the house, or rather in the car. A car that was not big enough to contain him. I sat on his lap, my knees clumsily pressed into the leather behind him, as he looked at me without words. His hand stretched out to press the button that would put the top back down, and as it moved over our heads, I looked up and saw stars. I twisted around and looked over my shoulder and saw the whole of Los Angeles spread out before us.
Mulholland.
We had made it all the way to Mulholland.
We were parked, and once the engine shut off, al I could hear was my breath, his breath, and the music. The Cult’s “Fire Woman” spilled out into the night.
I started to say something about the view and his hand closed firmly over my mouth.
“No, Grace. I told you not to test me,” he said, his eyes almost forest by now.
His breath was still a little shaky from my recent activities, but there was no question he was in control now. “Grace, did I tell you how beautiful you looked in this dress tonight?” he asked, slipping one finger under the strap and sliding his hand down below the fabric. His other hand lifted me off his lap just enough to pull the dress out from under me, billowing it out around us.
“Mmm hmm,” I answered, thinking how sweet he was.
“I want you to remember that.” He smirked, grasping a handful of silk and tearing it from my breast. I gasped as I watched it shred beneath his hands, leaving me open to the breeze. I was na**d underneath other than my panties, and though he continued to rip my dress off my body, he never took his eyes off mine.
Then, he snarled. He f**king snarled at me. He scooted me up on my knees, taking his hand and dipping it casually underneath the band of my panties.
“And as much as I love this lace? I need to see my Grace,” he said, ripping those off too. I was now completely exposed, parked on the edge of a cliff, straddling my Brit who, by the way, was still hard as hell, out and about, and pointed directly at me.
We stared at each other, our breath coming faster and faster, waiting to see which one would break first. He was breathing heavily, and his nostrils were almost flaring with the passion that I could feel coursing through his body and flowing into my own. His lip curled in a sneer that was beyond belief in its sexiness. He looked like an animal, an angry and about-to-be-out-of-control animal.
I could feel the breeze against my overheated skin raising goose bumps all over. I pressed myself down against him, ever so slightly, feeling his sex against mine, and then we both broke at the same time. Foreheads knocked, teeth clicked, lips smacked and probably bruised as we clawed at each other. His hands went to my breasts. He pushed them together and licked them both at the same time … glorious.
I buried my hands in his hair, pressing him further against me as I began to swirl my h*ps … fantastic. He bucked up against me, his h*ps tilting me backward and up against the steering wheel. I honked the horn with my flailing elbow … perfect.
We kissed, licked, sucked, nibbled, bit, moaned, groaned, panted and grabbed. My wetness coated him, making us slide against each other in the most pleasing way. I could feel his hardness pressed against me, and as I rocked against him I was manipulated deliciously. I knew it would not take long … this sex was on fire.
I shifted in his lap at the same time he shifted and then …
I could feel him.
He could feel me.
We both stopped and stared, wide eyed, at each other.
He was so close, he was right there, he was almost … inside me.
I could feel him, right where it needed to be. The sense of him, the feeling of him almost inside of me made my blood boil. He gripped my h*ps tightly, holding us perfectly still. I would have been shaking if he were not holding me so tightly.
“Oh, God, Jack, oh my God … please?” My voice shook. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed, I physically needed him to be on the inside, in my inside, right now.
He was perfectly still, and then I felt him push into me, just a whisper more than he had been, still only barely inside me, but just the promise of him.
We both moaned at the same time, and then he did the most unbelievable thing.
He pulled away.
I cried out at the loss.
“No! No, please Jack. Come in, please come in.” I struggled to push myself down on him and looked in his eyes for an explanation. I could see a battle raging across his face. He was thrilled and horrified all at the same time.
“No, Grace, not like this,” he said shakily, his voice dark and thick.
What?
His face was changing rapidly, from lust to fear to anger and then to pure carnal frustration. Mixed with determination. Dammit.
“Not in a car, not outside, not like this. Not now,” he said again, his voice cracking as he pulled away further, away from my warmth that was aching to envelop him. He sighed heavily and lifted me off his lap carefully, setting me back into my seat. I was still in shock from what had just happened, I truly thought we were about to, well, in the words of a thirteen-year-old boy … do it.
As my heart and my body began to readjust, my brain caught up. He did want me. Obviously he wanted me. But he wanted it to be special.
We were both fools. Crazy fools.
I blushed suddenly at my na**dness. I was sitting in my car na**d, parked on the side of a mountain, with a still very hard Brit next to me, and we were both trying to get back in control of ourselves.
I caught his eye, and we both smirked.
“That was, wow. I can’t believe how hard it was to stop myself,” he said.
“No kidding. I’m impressed. And apparently a bit of a slut,” I laughed, primly covering my exposed br**sts with pieces of my dress. It was shredded.
Panties? Shredded.
Pride? Slightly shredded, but intact.
“Are you kidding? Slut becomes you. You’re my favorite slut. And just because I’m not going to be inside you tonight, doesn’t mean I won’t be very, very soon,” he answered, his voice rolling in sex as he twirled my panties on his finger, or at least what was left of them.
He shrugged out of his shirt, handing it to me, and he put his jacket back on. I buttoned up and leaned over to kiss his neck.
“How quick can you get us home?”
“Buckle up, Nuts Girl,” he quipped, hand on my thigh as we tore off into the night.
When we got back to Holly’s we walked in giggling like teenagers, only to be stopped by Mama Holly with a carton of Chunky Monkey. She took one look at us. I was dressed in his shirt, buttoned all c**k eyed. One shoe. He was wearing his jacket, no shirt underneath … very Miami Vice. We both had bite marks on our necks. She shook her head as we ran through the kitchen, shaking her spoon at us.
“You had better hope there were no photographers wherever you were, dammit!” she shouted up to us. I ran up the stairs ahead of him, still na**d underneath his shirt, and I swear to Holy Chex Mix … he bit me on my butt.
We had a crazy night, reminiscent of our first night together. It was as if we knew that by this time tomorrow night, we would be moving beyond our own little sexual frontier, and it was like a countdown of our greatest hits. He made me crazy in the bed, up against the door, in the shower, and once again … on the floor of the closet. His hair was a mess, my hands refusing to let go whenever he got that maniacal tongue near my lady bits.
I would like to thank whoever wrote the manual that all twenty-something men now read, because they sure love to take a taste. Not that it didn’t happen when I was in my early twenties. It did. But Jesus, I will be damned if the quality had not improved. I don’t know if I needed to thank Bill Clinton, or internet porn, or Sex and the City, but damn.
And how the hell did a twenty-four-year-old guy know how to find a J-Spot?
My first boyfriend couldn’t have found it with a TomTom. Truth be told, it took me a while, too. But my George?
By George, I think he’d got it.
Double Damn.
And he got as good as he gave. By the time I was finished with him, he was actually begging me to let him rest, a first for him.
We were lying in bed, legs and arms tangled pleasantly and both positively glowing in our post-orgasmic silence except for “Jack’s Happy Sound.” I did love to hear that little hum, especially when we were close like this.
I stretched, letting out a big yawn and then settled further into the covers.
Our little cocoon was so warm, and even though I knew logically it wasn’t possible, I swear that my sheets were softer when he was under them. How could that be?
He had snuggled down so far under the covers that all that was visible was a shock of messy hair, curls askew. He was wrapped around me like a snake, with his head placed upon my chest. I could feel his breath. It tickled my skin.
I giggled and poked him in the ribs. The hair jumped slightly.
“Hey, are we really going to Santa Barbara tomorrow?”
“You better believe it,” he said, through a yawn.
“What time are we leaving? And how long will we be there?” I asked, noting how, when he answered, the hair bobbed.
“We can leave as soon as we wake up. I know you’ll have tons to do here to get ready for New York, so we’ll only be there through Sunday. Two nights.” Then I only had two nights after that before I had to leave. I quickly pushed that thought aside.
“What’s in Santa Barbara anyway? You mentioned that you had to go,” I asked, sneaking my hand beneath the covers and finding his face. I caressed his skin, and he moved his lips to capture my fingers in a quick kiss.
“I have a photo shoot with some of the other cast members. You can meet them if you like,” he said, almost shyly.
“Do you want me to?” I asked, not knowing what to say. We had just been told by Holly to keep things quiet, and while Jack said he didn’t care who knew we were … well … whatever we were … I knew it wasn’t a smart idea. The less people that knew, the better.
“Well, yeah. I mean, I already told my friend Rebecca about you, and Lane—he plays Isaac in the film—heard me on the phone with you the other day. So, yes. You should meet them.” He was quiet for a moment and then finished, “if you want to.”
I thought for a moment.
“Yes, I want to,” I answered, and felt him relax against me further.
“Right then. That’s settled. But remember one thing, Grace,” he said.
“Yes?”
He pushed his head above the covers, looking wonderful y rumpled and sexy.
“When I’m working, I’m working. You can come and meet them then.
Because when I’m not working … ” he paused and I finished for him.