I opened my eyes, and gently tugged him up.
“I can’t wait,” I said. “Don’t make me wait. Don’t torture me right now.”
“Torture will come another time,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a condom as I pulled off his shirt and trailed my fingers across the firm planes of his chest and down to his perfectly chiseled abdomen. I unzipped his jeans, and pushed them to his knees as he rolled on the condom. Then he was rubbing against me as I spread my legs wider. He entered me slowly, my breath catching from the delicious feel of him exactly where I wanted him.
He whispered something in Italian, and I shook my head. “No. No more keeping me in the dark. I want to know what you said.”
He started to sink into me, whispering hotly in my ear. “I want you so badly. I love being inside you. I love feeling you come on me.”
My skin sizzled. I arched into him as he took his time entering me. My body was a neon sign begging for him, as the most thrilling sensations flooded me from his dirty words. “I want you to teach me how to say that. I want to know naughty Italian, too, so I can say dirty things to you,” I said, wriggling closer, trying to bring him deeper. Bring him all the way in.
“I will teach you,” he said in a sexy growl as he buried himself in me.
Then we didn’t need any more words, and I didn’t think I could form them anyway.
He lowered his mouth to mine. As he brushed his lips against me, he started thrusting. Deep, hard, fast. The way I needed it right now, his kisses driving me as wild as the sheer bliss of him inside me did. He held my hips firmly in his hands, rocking into me, all while his soft, sweet lips claimed mine in yet another endlessly perfect kiss.
Kissing him was heaven. Making love to him was better than that—it was another land, bathed only in bliss, as I came apart in his arms.
Forget all the stars with their million dollar movies, their mansions, their fancy cars.
I was the luckiest girl in Hollywood.
Later that afternoon, we found ourselves in his bed. With his laptop. Cruising Craigslist and all the job boards we could find, and coming up with plans for him.
We were a team again, and that’s how we worked best.
One Week Later
Weather: 70 degrees, Sunny
* * *
* * *
I tapped open the article in Hollywood Breakdown, the premiere magazine for all of the insider Hollywood news. But not the kind I documented. There were no nail salon shots or latte-sipping images. This magazine was for the power brokers, and it covered the deals inked by agents, lawyers, producers, and the money men and women who poured cash into the creations that audiences longed to see. A thrill rushed down my spine as I read the news report.
Oscar-nommed teen star Riley Belle signed the first project under her production company McDoodles. Titled My Life as a Teen Paparazzo, the film tells the story of a young paparazzo who teams up with a teen private eye and becomes embroiled in a blackmail plot to sabotage an irrevocably bad film. “It’s a romantic-comedy mystery and I’m delighted to bring this original story to the screen,” Belle said in a statement. The script will be penned by first-time screenwriter Anaka Griffin, daughter of Griffin Studios head, Graham Griffin. He was not involved in the deal. In other news, Avery Brock has been replaced as director of The Weekenders. Chelsea Knox has been nabbed to helm the film, which has suffered script problems for years. Knox said she’ll be returning to the original script. “The Weekenders was a classic hit of the last generation and I’m delighted to reintroduce it to the new generation with its original script intact, with one small change. The character played by Riley Belle will eat vegetarian sushi rather than raw fish sushi during her lunch in detention.” As a result of the script change, the cast has been whittled down to the original five members of weekend detention. Jenner Davies has been cut from the film.
* * *
Then I headed to class, and crossed my fingers that the employment agency on tap for today would be suitably impressed with William’s language skills. I knew I was, in so many ways.
Two Months Later
Weather: 70 degrees, Sunny
* * *
She winced when she saw the open suitcases in my apartment.
“I hate them,” she said as she sank down heavily on the couch, tossing her mortarboard on the floor, next to mine. Cruel reminders that we’d crossed such a major milestone together, but together was ending in two days. We’d both graduated five days ago. Matthew and Jane and my parents had attended. After the ceremony we all had dinner with Jess, her parents, and her brother and his wife, toasting and celebrating a day I’d been dreading. Graduation was the end of something all right. The end of college. The end of my student visa. The end of us.