Page 33 of Love At First Fright
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “I sat down at my desk before coming to set, and I just told myself I was showing up. No word count, no plans. And I actually wrote five hundred words.”
Ellis grinned back at her, at the genuine delight that lit up her face.
“That’s incredible. I’m so glad it worked.” He wanted to say other things to her, things that probably weren’t appropriate at a place of work. His woollen shirt began to feel too hot against his skin.
Ellis stood abruptly, reaching for the empty mugs. He’d have to head back to set soon. “I’ll wash these up,” he said by way of a lame goodbye, and headed back to the craft tent.
“I can wash them,” Rosemary said, and when he turned he realised she was standing so close. Close enough for him to see those tattoos that trailed down her collarbone and dipped beneath her top.
“I’ve got it,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.
“You’ll get your costume wet.”
“I’ve been out in the rain all morning, love, it’ll be fine.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“What? Love?”
“Yeah.”
“I…well, it’s a term of endearment, I suppose. Why do you ask?”
Her hip accidentally brushed his leg as she reached for the washing-up sponge, and Ellis felt his body flame in response.
“It’s good for research. I ought to know these kinds of things if I set another book in the UK.”
“I see,” he said, his hands gripping his soapy mug.
Ellis was tempted to do something crazy like catch her arm and pull her to him. He wanted to feel those soft, full lips of hers part for him, run his fingers through the silk of her hair. He wanted to see if he could make her sigh again, make her moan.
But he stopped himself. Rosemary would think he was cheating on Jenna, and he was sure she wouldn’t want to be a “home-wrecker,” let alone be with a cheater. This was torture.
Ellis was sorely tempted to call off the whole thing with Jenna, fuck Brody and his schemes. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew what Brody had on him; and he also knew thatbastard wouldn’t hesitate to share it all with the press if Ellis stepped one foot out of line. Then his career would be over. Everything he’d worked for—gone in an instant.
—
They broke for lunch, andEllis all but ran back to his room in the Gatehouse. He shouldn’t be doing this, he really shouldn’t. But every time he caught Rosemary’s gaze on set, or watched the way her too-tight jeans hugged her form, that curve of her ass that he so desperately wanted to grab hold of…well. Ellis needed something to take the edge off.
Grunting quietly, Ellis pulled down his jogging bottoms and palmed himself.
He allowed himself to slip into that familiar reverie, the one where he could have every one of his desires. He gripped his cock harder than usual, revelling in the harshness of it. Anything to take the edge off.
His partner, a submissive, would trust him enough to let go, they wanted it just as much as he did—that was the best part about it. Where they let go, he took command. This imaginary figure was on their knees for him, and he pushed back their hair, running a hand down the smooth column of their throat. Except, when he closed his eyes, the figure began to morph. Their hair was red, their neck, their collarbones, were painted with dark patterns of ink. Maybe it had been the sight of her nipples through her T-shirt the other night, or the sigh she’d made when he pulled the leaves from her hair, or the way she’d felt under his hands on the stairwell, her cheeks flushed and peachy pink. Ellis’s façade cracked and he was too far gone to wind it back. He gave in, and let himself picture Rosemary.
It was all power and submission and heat. In his dream,Rosemary took him so fucking beautifully. She opened that pretty mouth for him, taking his cock right down to the hilt, fucking her right at the back of her throat. The whole time her eyes would be on him, doing just as he said she would, doing it so well. His good girl. Then he’d feast on the slick of her clit, fucking her with his fingers until she came for him. He’d chase his tongue down those tattoos, he’d run his mouth over the hot seam of her ass. Every inch of her would be delicious, and his. And then, when he had Rosemary screaming for him, he’d wrap that silky ginger hair around his fist and bury himself in her pussy. Ellis thrust into his hand, faster, harder, until he groaned out his release.
The haze of lust subsided, and made way for the mortification. He’d just come to the idea of Rosemary taking his cock—fuck.He was forty-one years old, he ought to be better at managing his desires. The worst of it was the orgasm hadn’t helped. He still wanted her. And he could do nothing about it. The most beautiful, intelligent, and sexy woman he’d ever met, and he was trapped in Brody’s vicious scheme.
When he was younger, he’d slept with anyone who had taken his fancy: women, men, gender-fluid people. But that was before Brody, before he’d re-entered the proverbial closet. These days no one would believe Ellis Finch was bi, and it was better that way. Perhaps not better…but safer. For his career. For his persona.
And it wasn’t just his sexuality, it was his desires. He craved the release that came with power play, being placed in charge of another person’s pleasure, and that ultimate pleasure of giving them what they wanted (eventually). Allowing them that abandon. It was the hottest thing he could imagine. He loved seeing them become undone in his embrace, trusting him to get them there. But it was a lot to ask of someone if they didn’t feel thesame way, or if they weren’t a natural submissive. There was a stigma to it, he knew that all too well. So he kept his needs to himself, hiding them away in dreams and, apparently, lunchtime wanking sessions in his en suite bathroom.
He could never have what he wanted with Rosemary. Not just because he couldn’t tell her about the fake dating scheme, or his sexuality, but what were the chances that Rosemary was the perfect submissive for him? Ellis didn’t like his odds.
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