Hollywood Hills 1 (4 page)

We tumbled back down the
fire escape, kissing all the way, with a vague shared idea that we should find a bed, or at least get indoors. I was still a little unsteady after that kiss—it had undone me, taking me by surprise to leave me weak-kneed and gasping for air.

We made it as far as the forest glade.
Could I really change? Could I be a better person?
I looked up into Archer’s eyes as his body pressed against me.

I could with his help.

I strained toward him, meeting his kiss with my own. Like the lights in this studio earlier, he’d turned something on, inside of me, and transformed what I could see.

I’d wanted him, ever since I stood in that doorway and gazed upon perfection made into flesh. But I’d been afraid. I’d forbidden myself even the thought, because of what I knew I had to do. Now that I’d chosen a different path, suddenly this night could have a different ending.

I was freed. My heart was light—and it was going to make up for lost time.

I reached for him, grasping his jacket, using it to pull him closer to me and then sliding it from his strong shoulders. I’d wanted to do this for so long that it had infected my dreams. My hands ran over the muscle rippling under his shirt. But reality was better.
Because reality could kiss back
.

Our mouths came up for air, then went straight back down, kissing with the fury of pent up passion. When we parted a second time, I was gasping for breath. I had never been kissed like this, not even close. His mouth, with its firm lips and probing tongue, set me on fire. I threw his jacket to the floor, now gripping the back of his neck to keep him pressed close.

If his mouth set me on fire, his hands were stoking the blaze. They moved down my back, nails scratching lightly through the cloth of my blouse, then skimmed in a caress over my butt. Even with jeans between us I shivered. I thrust my hips toward him, begging with my body for him to continue.

He thrust back; a hardness at my hip confirming without words that he agreed with my unspoken plea. We didn’t say a word to each other. We didn’t need to.

I slid my hand down his chest, then his torso, tantalizing myself with the feel of his rock hard body. My fingers slipped under his shirt, against his skin. He kissed me again, hard.

When we parted, his eyes had taken on a wild look. He threw me back against a tree, taking my breath away, then took my wrists in his hands and held them above me. His other hand reached for my blouse, and he ripped it, buttons popping as if attached to tissue paper, until it was hanging from my frame. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this, since that first day you walked into my office?” he growled.

My answer was an aroused sob as, still holding my arms up with his other hand, he began to kiss my neck.

“Your blouse covered everything,” he continued, “even your neck! Do you know how much it drove me wild?”

I whimpered into his mouth as he kissed me again.

He released my wrists, taking me by the waist now and crushing me against him. I was bent backward, my head tilted to give him access to my throat. I tangled my fingers in his blonde hair, holding him close to me.

I wanted him to take it further. I needed to show him I felt the same. My hands slid down his stomach, then over the hard bulge in his jeans. I undid the buttons urgently, thrusting my fingers inside to grasp him. My eyes widened when I felt his size.
I didn’t think they made them this big!

I grinned.
This was going to be fun indeed.

He pushed me up against the tree once more. “I think you forget who’s king of the jungle,” he whispered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He took my wrists and again held them above my head, then wrapped a fake vine around them to hold me in place.

I didn’t protest
. If anything, I couldn’t believe how hot it was. My breasts began to heave from my rapid breaths. I was his, to do with as he pleased.

He ran his fingers gently from my wrists, to my shoulders, then down over my breasts, to the waistband of my jeans. We locked eyes momentarily—the lust I felt was mirrored in his face—then he moved back up to my breasts. He pulled the cups of my bra down roughly, exposing me.

One thumb stroked a nipple, slowly. I moaned as his other hand found its sister. Then he dipped his head.

My back arched against the tree, the air leaving me all at once in a moan as his hot breath met my nipple. He didn’t stop at the noise; instead, his wet tongue began to flick me quickly. Was it possible to be driven insane with pleasure? I was writhing, straining toward him as he delighted me, unable to touch him back, able only to focus on the pleasure and cry.

He moved lower still, trailing slow kisses down my torso. I whimpered in approval when his fingers deftly unbuttoned my jeans, and panted like an animal as he slid them over my hips and down my legs.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, kissing along my panty line.

My head fell back, my breathing ragged and uneven. I needed more of him, and as his mouth moved ever closer I could feel myself growing wetter. “Please,” I whispered. “Please. More.”

I looked down, straining against the vines. He grinned up at me, then hooked his fingers around the waistband of my panties and slid them down. I was exposed; vulnerable. And yet I wasn’t afraid. All I felt was passion and heat.

He stood then, working his own jeans and shorts off; the sight of the bulge I’d felt, enough to make my eyes widen. His large hands were a good indicator of what he was working with, and I felt myself respond as I saw it standing before me.

He straightened up and moved in close. I needed him, more than I had ever needed anything before. I began to struggle at the vines. I wanted to be free so I could claw at him. I needed to rake my fingers down his back, to seize him by the neck and kiss him, to caress every inch of his body and make it mine.

But I couldn’t.
His fingers slipped between my legs and into my moist center; and all I could do was close my eyes and moan in desire. He began to circle, leaning in against me so that I could feel the muscles in his arm moving against my stomach as he worked. The feelings shot color through my closed lids.

I felt movement against me, and opened my eyes. He’d knelt before me. His other hand rose to his mouth, and slowly licked a finger. My eyes widened as I realized what he was about to do. He grinned as he saw my reaction.

The hand approached slowly. I bit my lip to stop from crying out in anticipation. And then it landed, gently, below the other which was still circling. I couldn’t keep quiet now. An expectant moan escaped my lips. Slowly, it pushed inside, lubricated by his saliva—though he needn’t have bothered, I was wet enough already. The circling above got faster, but the speed of that lone finger never changed. The juxtaposed speeds were electrifying—I wanted to scream at him to hurry up, and cry for him to make it last forever, all at the same time.

Eventually, it was in. And I was so worked up I was almost in a frenzy. Every muscle in my body was clenched. Every sense I had was focused on what those two hands were doing below me. One began to move in and out while the other circled; I marveled briefly at the skill required to do that, until I lost even that sense of thought.

He got faster and faster, and now I was floating in the clouds. There wasn’t much higher I could go—I hadn’t thought it was possible even to get this far above reality. The air was getting harder to breath and I was starting to get dizzy. Cries began to issue from me, wordless sobs and noises of pleasure. The intensity of his hands was unrelenting, until suddenly I was screaming his name, and I knew the end was near.

“Archer!”

He leaned in, and kissed my hip as his hands worked. It was all that my body needed. I began to buck and tremble upon him as my body fell to pieces and my mind shot into the stratosphere. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t contain the cries of total pleasure that were pouring out of me in a steady stream. All I could do was feel. It was bliss, and soon I was trembling in his arms.

He gave me no time to recover. I opened my eyes with a groan of pleasure to see him stand and position himself before me. He lifted me slightly, hands cupping my butt, and then slid his rigid length inside.

Freaking hell
. The first thrust nearly undid me all over again, though the trembles had barely subsided. We stayed still for a moment, both enjoying the feeling of union, as he kissed me. “So big,” I whispered, “it feels so good.”

He kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my cheeks. Finally I moved against him, rocking my hips, and his hands moved to my waist. He began to move me back and forth, and then lifted me, still tied at the top, to wrap my legs around his hips. My back pressed into the tree as he moved against me, soon finding a delicious rhythm that had me moaning loudly and begging for more.

Even though most of my consciousness was focused on the pleasure flooding my body, the little bit that wasn’t marveled at the fact that I was doing this with him. We were doing this together. He wanted me. I almost couldn’t believe it, that it was
his
member that was thrusting in and out, and it was
his
groans that I heard echoing through the soundstage.

He began to quicken, his huge hard member thrusting in and out of me in delicious slippery pleasure. It was so tight I would have feared I couldn’t take him, but I was so turned on I had known without a doubt that I could.

Soon I knew the end was near once more. I felt the familiar tightening of my muscles as the pleasure built me to an all-time high. His thrusts became frantic. He drove himself into me again and again, faster and faster, until suddenly we both tensed at exactly the same time. He threw back his head. My legs clamped around his waist, and then we were both crying out as on the outside, our bodies stilled, but on the inside, our bodies went wild.

When even our heartbeats had calmed, he gently—so gently—unwound the vine from around my wrists. It was only then, when my feet touched the fake jungle floor, that I became aware once more of the silent movie studio, with its cameras poised just beyond the jungle’s foliage.

I giggled. “Next time, we’re going to have to film that.”

He looked at me, eyebrows rising. “I don’t make
those
kinds of movies.”

We rested together, as comfortable
as we could be in the middle of a jungle set.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I didn’t… hurt you or anything?” This gentle, caring man was a far cry from the animal I’d been with minutes earlier.

“I’m fine; more than fine,” I laughed. I wasn’t accustomed to the post-coital dance. What was a girl supposed to do in a situation like this? What girl had ever been in a situation like this?

A muffled ringing got our attention; Archer rifled through his clothing to reach his phone. “I’m sorry. I have to take this,” he said with a grimace. I was graced with the sight of his perfect naked backside as he walked away, phone to his ear, and didn’t mind at all.
Mmm.

I began to get dressed, picking up strewn underwear and clothes before finally reaching for my tattered blouse. It was beside Archer’s jacket.

I paused. A small tape was lying on the ground—it must have slipped from his pocket when we got undressed. I bent to pick it up, one eye in the direction I’d seen Archer walk.

The original recording
. My fingers trembled around it.

I couldn’t
. I’d made my decision—I didn’t care what they did to me.
But did I care what they did to my mother?

If only I hadn’t taken those photos.

* * *

It seemed funny, reflecting on the experience all these years after, but that sheet was what had first sparked doubt in my mind. Not the mattress, or the hotplate in the corner, or the rat droppings in the stairwell, but the sheet he’d hung behind me.

But I was there, and he’d been going to make me a star. He’d taken a few shots of my face, tilted in different directions, looking out the window, on and on. Then he had me sit on the floor, and took photos of me there, too.

“Okay, now without the clothes.”
He’d sounded so casual, so matter-of-fact.

“Excuse me?” I asked, no longer caring about sounding cool. “Without my clothes? Which clothes?”

He peered at me from above his camera. “All of them, sweetheart.” My jaw fell open, and his brow furrowed. “Honey, this is how it’s done. I thought you were a professional.”

“I… I am a professional,” I stuttered. “I’ve just never worked with a photographer who asked me to strip down.”

“That’s probably why you aren’t in a movie yet,” he remarked, laughing. “Trust me, this is how it goes. Everybody does this.”

And I’d believed him. I really had.

When I got home I’d showered in water so scalding it had turned my skin deep red and left the bathroom full of billowing steam. When I’d visited the studio the next day to demand he destroy the photos—especially the ones with the props—it had been empty. Needless to say, I never became a star.

Fast forward to a month ago, standing in a room full of blue cigar smoke. The Janus executive had gotten right to the point. “Josephine, I have a job for you which falls somewhat… outside your general duties.”

“I don’t work for Janus anymore.” My voice had been full of spite. “You’re about to repossess my house, remember?”

“Now, now. No need to be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Dramatic!” I wanted to scream, but brought my voice back under control. “I signed that contract in good faith. My mother needed a house and you said you’d help. Then six months ago, you fire me and
my repayments suddenly triple?
”

“The GFC, my dear. You know how it goes.”

“Yes, I do. The rich get richer, and people like my mother and I are left by the wayside. Whatever it is you want, I don’t care.”

I was walking toward the door when he stopped me. “Even if it means wiping the debt on your house?”

I turned back, slowly.

“It’s a simple job. You might even like it. Someone has copies of a tape they shouldn’t. Steal them, and your debt is wiped.” He pushed two folders across his desk, in my direction. “In the top folder, you’ll find the financial records relating to your loan. Do this successfully, and that debt will be wiped out. Completely.”

My eyes darted to the sheaf of papers in the folder. I was tempted.
Sorely tempted
. But then my jaw tightened. “Whatever’s on that tape, the company must want it bad. And if the company wants it bad, that means you
shouldn’t
have it.” It was with effort that I held myself back from spitting at him. “No deal. My mother and I will survive without your charity.”

“How is your mother, Josephine?” he asked suddenly.

“Fine, thank you.”

He stubbed out a cigar, then began to trim another. “Funny, I’ve heard a much grimmer tale.” A match flared. He took several puffs. “In fact, I’d say with her heart, leaving that house might even kill her.”

“She’ll move in with me. We’ll make it work.”

His eyebrows rose. “Two women in that one bedroom shitbox you’re renting? You’re late on the rent there too, aren’t you?”

“We’ll. Make. It. Work.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I told them you wouldn’t go for it.” Then he’d pushed across the second file on his desk. “That’s why I have this second folder.”

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

“Open it,” he cajoled. “I mean,
I
could, but it would ruin the surprise.”

I stepped forward hesitantly. When I opened the folder, my eyes filled with tears.

It was me
. Photos of me, naked as the day I was born. How he’d gotten his hands on them; I had no idea, but I wouldn’t put anything past the company at this point.

“I didn’t realize you were so… photogenic,” he sneered. “And those poses with the props! Very inspiring. Wouldn’t it be a shame if your family saw something like this? I mean, your mom, with her bad heart. It would almost kill her.”

He licked his lips as he stubbed out his cigar. “Don’t worry, of course. I’ll keep them safe. Because I care about you, and want to help you… you
do
want to help me in return, don’t you Josephine?”

I couldn’t imagine the effect it would have on Mom if she saw these. The shame in her eyes—he was wrong. It wouldn’t kill Mom.
It would kill me
.

My shoulders slumped. He knew he had me. “The dialogue you’re looking for took place on September 23
rd
.” The blue smoke wafting across the room now made me feel sick. “You’ll find a copy in the editing room.
Don’t
take it. He’s bound to notice it missing. Just do what needs to be done, then put it back.”

I had nodded, feeling nauseous.

“The master copy he keeps on his person at all times, from what I’m told. You’ll have to get your hands on that in some other way.” He’d winked, then. “From what I can tell in this folder, I’m sure you’ll have no problems thinking of something.” I’d rushed from the room then to be sick. His laughter, and the memory of that folder, had followed me all the way.

* * *

Back on the jungle set, I was clutching the tape so hard my fingers had gone white. It held so much more than what appeared on the surface. This wasn’t just about me. It was about my mother, too. I was her sweet little doll. I couldn’t let her see those photos.

Before, when I’d thought I could be strong, I’d been blinded by lust. Now that the haze had cleared I knew it wasn’t that simple.
I should take the tape
. After all, if I left it, what would really happen? Janus had lawyers. I’m sure they had contingency plans.

And Archer was a billionaire! Money wasn’t important to him like it was to me. Leaving the tape would send me bankrupt. Stealing it wouldn’t hurt his bank account at all. Archer was wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. I was just the assistant he’d had a one night stand with.

A one night stand
. It didn’t mean anything, really. It wasn’t a commitment. We didn’t love each other. For all I knew, he did this with all his secretaries. Maybe he had even filmed us! One of those cameras did seem like it was pointing straight at me. It would be easy enough to have turned it on without noticing.

I focused on that feeling. This probably meant nothing to him, so why should it mean anything to me? He was probably on the phone right now, crowing about it to all his friends.
“I got another one!”
he’d be saying.
“And you’d never believe what she let me do to her.”

Shame washed over me. And anger, too. I could feel that red rash starting to creep up my chest and neck. Who did he think he was? Some rich, arrogant guy who could sleep with anyone he wanted? Splash a little cash, wine-and-dine me in plastic cups, and suddenly I was his? I didn’t think so!

I should just take the tape. Look after myself
. My hands moved to thrust it into one of my pockets. I should take the tape.

But that would mean betraying Archer’s trust.

My hands stilled. And suddenly I found that I couldn’t do it. Not now. Not after what we’d just done. I couldn’t take the tape, for all that I wanted to, and needed to, and must.
Because Archer was more important to me than all of that
. More important to me than my own health, or wealth, or the opinion of my mother.

I slid the tape back into Archer’s jacket pocket. Then I turned away, to finish dressing. Archer wasn’t back yet, but I wasn’t going to wait for him. I might be able to avoid it for a time, but sooner rather than later Janus would come knocking. And I’d have to answer.

I needed to get away, while I still could. And if I truly cared for him, I wouldn’t let this happen again. A shadow move across the wall at the opposite end of the soundstage. “Is anybody there?” I called out.

I heard nothing. Must be Archer—though I’d thought he walked in the other direction. I didn’t want to see him now. I didn’t think I could ever see him again, for what I’d almost done.

The shadow must have just been nerves.

I wrapped my tattered blouse around myself and left the studio. That red blinking light on the camera must just be my nerves, too.

. . . . .

The story continues in Book 2:
Hollywood Heat
which is available
on Amazon
.