Trashed / Page 64

Page 64


He invites me to set to watch filming a few times, which is fun. He’s amazing to watch in action. I watch the filming of a big fight scene. Adam is empty-handed, fighting against the villain who has some kind of black stick with green dots running down the length of it. Someone nearby explains that the stick is a stand-in for what will later be a fiery sword created using CGI. Adam is all-explosive energy, backpedalling under the villain’s assault, crossed forearms blocking downward strikes, and then darting past and pummelling his opponent’s body with his fists. Even knowing it’s choreographed, Adam’s punches look vicious, and real. His expression is focused and furious. He’s bare from the waist up, wearing a pair of ripped blue jeans and combat boots, and pieces of leather wrapped around his forearms, the same green dots covering the leather. Obviously, some kind of special effects will be added to his forearms, presumably something that will explain how he could block a fiery sword.

Each motion is graceful and powerful, and by the time the scene is finished, he’s covering in sweat and his chest is heaving, and my panties are wet with desire for him.

The director calls “cut!” and Adam leads me by the hand to his trailer. He locks the door, pushes me up against the wall, jerks my jeans open and shoves them down. I’m fumbling at his jeans at the same time, and then he’s bending at the knees and thrusting up into me, and a whimper escapes me. He covers my mouth with his palm, his eyes burning into mine. He rests his forehead on mine and he thrusts into me until I’m coming and his hand is all that muffles my gasps of climax. And then he’s coming into me, his heat shooting into me, filling me, wet and thick.

When we’re done, he goes into the small bathroom and comes out with a damp washcloth and cleans me. I wring the cloth out, wet it again, and clean him. And then he’s kissing me and we’re buttoning up, and he’s back to filming and I’m back to class.

It’s our secret. Only, guessing by the smirks of certain crew members as Oliver escorts me to the Rover, it’s not such a secret.

I don’t care.

Okay, maybe deep down I’m equal parts embarrassed and thrilled. Knowing we’re fucking with hundreds of people just outside the walls of the trailer adds a layer of excitement to the whole thing.

Another time, near the end of the filming, Adam surprises me at work. It’s the end of my shift, around one in the morning, and I’m exhausted. We didn’t get much sleep the night before…ahem…and I was up for class at seven thirty, and then at work by four that afternoon. So when I feel hands on my waist, I shriek in surprise. He pulls my ear buds out of my ear.

“Hey.” His mouth is at my throat and his hands are caressing me down to my ass.

I grin, and set my mop aside. “Hey yourself.”

He lets me go, reaches for a small bag at his feet. “So I kind of hate that I can’t text you while we’re apart. So I got you a phone.” He hands me the box to a white iPhone 6. “It’s got my number, Oliver’s, and Ruth’s programmed into it already.”

“Adam…” I start, but I’m not sure what to say.

No one gives me gifts. Ruth and I have a standing agreement on the subject, since we’re both typically too broke to afford much. We usually just get tipsy together for whatever occasion would require a gift.

“This is a selfish thing I’m doing,” Adam says. “I need to be able to call you, or text you. I mean, I like just showing up and surprising you, but it’d be so much more effective if I could just text you and be like, ‘hey, I’m coming over to get you, so wear that sexy underwear I like.’”

I frown at him. “I don’t have any sexy underwear.”

He grins. “Exactly. Those.”

I blush. “Adam. I’m not not wearing underwear. That’s weird.”

“You should try it sometime. It’s fun.”

My gaze travels south. “Are you wearing underwear right now?”

“Where’s the fun in telling you?”

So I push him into the men’s room, into the handicap stall, and discover he’s commando when I unzip his jeans and his cock springs out, hardening under my gaze.

It hardens further in my mouth. I’ve found out he has a thing for taking my hair out of the ponytail when I go down on him. He likes to bury his hands in my hair, hold it away from my face and ‘help’ me ever so gently, especially when he’s close.

“If this is how you’re gonna react when I get you things, I might be giving you more gifts,” he jokes as I zip him back up.

I rinse my mouth out and glance at him. “You don’t have to give me gifts for this, Adam. Just ask.”

He tilts his head. “Really? If I asked, you’d just—”

I wink at him. “Try it, sometime.”

Now, I don’t precisely like going down on him, but I do enjoy it very much when he goes down on me—which he does regularly, and voraciously, and skillfully—and I also enjoy his reactions, and the way he thanks me.

So, a few days after he gave me the phone—which I love and can’t seem to put down—we’re in his apartment, watching a movie. Aunt Flo is in town, shutting me down for business. So he asks, and I do, drawing it out as long as possible, making him go crazy until he’s nearly begging me to let him come. When he does, it’s a lot, and hard, and he’s gasping and he can’t seem to make coherent sentences for at least five minutes, and I feel very pleased with myself.

The thing with Adam is, he always seems to get the last word.

The credits to the movie are running, white text on a black background, electronic music pulsing. I’m lying on his lap, his jeans still unzipped and unbuttoned but pulled up, and his fingers trail through my hair.

“So. We wrapped filming today,” he says. “Which means I’m heading back to L.A. at some point.”

I tense. “Oh.”

Hello, panic attack. How awful to see you again.

But he’s not done, so I try to keep the looming panic attack at bay with some deep breathing.

“Your semester is done when?”

“Next week,” I manage.

“And how many semesters do you have left before you get your degree?”

“I have another year. Maybe a little less.”

He just nods, and is silent for a moment. I’m still close to panicking. “So Fulcrum 2 premieres in three weeks.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this, and I’m afraid to ask.

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