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I guess she’s not the only one who can act.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun blasted in the windows encasing the small living room of the suite. It was so bright that it seemed to penetrate her eyelids; sluggishly, she opened her eyes. Sitting on the couch, she folded the blanket she’d found in one of the hotel closets when she had slipped out of Jake’s arms and made her way to the living room. She knew she could adjust to sleeping in a bed with a man, but it still didn’t come naturally to her. She caught the time on the small microwave in the nook by the coffee-maker as she walked by. It was just after six a.m. The night before, she’d tried to do as Matt said, put the audition behind her. Still, her brain seemed to spin as she lay in bed next to Jake, forging through the crevices over the past week: her agent’s instructions, the disturbing script, the emotion she couldn’t tap into during the first audition, the way her body seemed to command itself during the scene with Bernardo. Then Jake tucking away what must have been painful, not telling her about Bernardo. Then, last night, his instinctive pull back from her offer to have sex since she knew that had to be what he wanted, that had to be his focus. Still, his reaction seemed as if she had insulted him. Carefully, she moved onto the king-sized bed, twisting to get under the covers, then inching her back toward him.
His arm curled around her, scooping over her hip, his hand landing gently on her abdomen, spreading his fingers under the T-shirt, rotating them back and forth around her belly button. She mewed, confirming her acceptance. His groin brushed up against her lower back. She reveled in the feel of his hardness against her. He flexed his hips so that his cock, which was pushing against the cotton of his briefs, edged up against her upper ass.
“You feel good,” he murmured into her hair, his fingers working around her lower stomach, the edge of his middle finger slipping just under the elastic of her panties.
“Mmm…you feel good, too,” she hushed, arching her back, edging closer, pressing her upper ass against his cock. This told him she cared about him with her body, as he’d stated, her non-verbal skills outweighed her verbal ones. But this felt right; her body absorbed his touch, squelching the warring thoughts in her mind. Her responses to him were real; there was no pretending when they came together. “Sorry, I snuck out to the couch. I’m trying to…”
“Shh, you’re here now,” he said into her ear, his fingers traveling under her panties, touching her outer lips. “May I?”
“Yes,” she said, seconds later, feeling two of his fingers easing into her hole. “Mm…mm, God.”
“God, you’re always so wet. Love to know what you dream about, Sweets.” His fingers dove in deeper, working her insides. He slipped them in and out, his thumb stroking her clit. Minutes later, she felt her vagina spasm, her body shuddering as she yelled out in a raspy voice that she was coming. Then he clumsily pushed his boxers off his legs with his other hand, turned her towards him, his fingers still in her as he kissed her lips. “Okay?” he asked, taking her hand and putting it on his cock.
“Of course, yes.”
He climbed between her legs and said, “Bend your knees.” As she did, he spread them open and pushed them up to her chest before he eased his cock into her.
“Ah, ooh,” popped out of her mouth as he slid in and out, deep then shallow. The room filled with her moans, just as her vagina clamped around his cock, and she cried out, “Pleeeease…I just need to…”
“Go baby, let go,” he rasped, slamming into her. “Damn, damn you feel so fucking good,” he growled as she felt his cock pulse inside her, as if he were waiting for a signal, giving his throbbing cock permission to burst into her flesh.
After the waves softened, he pulled out of her, grabbed a cloth from the bedside table and put it between her legs. Then he pulled her in close. “I love you,” he murmured into her hair.
There was so much strength surrounding his statement, but she also heard the hope of her reciprocation lingering in the air. She took in a careful breath, her eyes growing heavy; she was completely lost in the sensations that their connection infused in her. She couldn’t say those words back—her dad and Matt were the only men she’d ever said that to. “Jake, you cleared my mind.” A breathy chuckle spilled from her. “I’m not thinking about the audition.”
“I told you I’d get that out of your head.” His lips pecked along her jaw. “You’re falling asleep.” His fingers feathering on her shoulders as his words hung in the air. “I wanna be the only thing in that pretty head this weekend.”
Rakell’s eyes opened slightly to the noise in the other room. She looked up from her pillow in time to see him placing a cup of coffee on the table on her side of the bed. She shut her eyes, absorbing what was happening, the everydayness of his action, which seemed so unusual to her, someone taking care of her, as if this was normal. She felt the bed give with his weight as he sat, his back against a pillow. Looking up at him, coffee cup in hand, his glasses on as he read the paper in his gray briefs, his rigid chest on display along with the muscular lines of his pelvis that traveled under his briefs and the dark hair that trailed to his apex, she took it all in as her eyes drifted over him, her lids fluttering.
“Hey you,” he whispered.
Smiling, she replied, “Yeah, you.”
“Coffee,” he said, pointing to the bedside table.
She sat up, pulling the sheet around her boobs, reaching for the coffee as he put a pillow behind her.
“Thank you.”
The edges of his lips lifted into a sort of smile, but she saw the puzzled look in his eyes, the way his mouth shifted, like he was trying to figure her out. Cautiously, he put his hand out. “Of course, come here,” he said, urging her into his chest. She scooted over, still securing the sheet to her breasts, resting her head on his hard chest, anything to get away from the question on his face. Shutting her eyes, she absorbed the radiating heat of his skin and the light pine smell mixed with sweat, a musky essence of spent exertion. She sniffed again; it was a familiar scent she’d picked up from her dad when he’d been working outside. “Feeling shy?” he asked, running his finger over the hand that was securing the sheet over her chest, “’cause I’ve never seen those before.” Amusement laced his tone.
Her eyes popped up. She lifted her chin, protruding her bottom lip. “Shut up, it’s just this part I’m not so good at…or, I mean, sure.” She fished around in her head to grab the words that would explain that the normal parts of a relationship felt foreign to her, so her reactions were censored.
His fingers were in her hair, gently massaging her scalp. “What part? The non-sex part?” Still, a trace of humor in his tone.
Her focus fixed straight ahead, avoiding his intense blue eyes, the way his black, mussed hair tumbled on his temples and the stubble created a dark shadow on his chin, making her want to avoid this conversation with more sex, so she wouldn’t have to talk, “Yes, the non-sex part, not so comfortable with how I’m supposed to act.”
He put his newspaper down, picked up his coffee, and said, “Sit up so I can look at you when we talk.” His request blurred the lines between a plea and a demand.
“Exactly, this part,” she mumbled, her arms flailing between them. “All this sharing, the morning kind of interaction.” She extended her hand to grab her coffee and sat beside him.
Setting down his coffee, he said, “So the sex is comfortable, you’re okay with that part, but drinking coffee, sharing the morning together, that’s…” She could tell he was trying to figure her out, to dive deeper rather than judging.
“Uncomfortable. It’s not something I’m used to. I’m used to sex, but this playing house stuff, I never really did that before.” She fixed her gaze on her coffee as she spoke.
