Jason Canum - The starlet_s sucking lips

Klinger stuffed his shrinking cock back into his pants as Kit sat an the arm of the couch. She gradually caught her breath.

"Wow," she panted, "do you usually reprimand your wayward starlets this way?"

"Every chance I get," Linger said, slyly smiling. "Now let's have some lunch. We're due back on the set in half an hour."

The mat of the day's shooting went fairly well, with Kit carefully avoiding Claudia Adams as much as possible. Claudia noticed this and smiled at Kit triumphantly, knowing that the young starlet had been put in her place. Then, thankfully, Claudia finished shooting for the day and left the set. Kit found a chair and fell into it, breathing a sigh of it relief.

Lance Westwood, who had been enjoying watching the exchanges between the two women all day, took advantage of a break to reset lights and pulled up a director's chair and sat down next to Kit.

"I see Claudia's up to her usual, lovable tricks," he smiled.

"Why, what do you mean?" Kit said, trying to sound innocent, and knowing full well that Lance and Claudia were rumored to be hot and heavy lovers at the moment.

"Claudia doesn't like competition."

"That's rather obvious," Kit said sarcastically. "But why? I don't understand. She's on top. Streisand and Liza Minelli are the only other females even close to her in salary and box-office draw."

"Sure, she's on top. But she wants to stay there." He paused, looking down at his strong, tanned fingers, seeming to search for just the right words. "You see, Kit… everyone is a potential threat to Claudia. Especially someone with real talent and knock out good looks… like you." He turned and looked at her with those million-dollar, limpid blue eyes that regularly made millions

of women cream their pants just watching him on the screen.

"I… I suppose I should consider that a compliment…" Kit stammered, her own pants starting to cream from the closeness of this incredibly masculine hunk of man.

"Consider it an invitation for dinner tonight," he said, maintaining his steady, soul-searing gaze.

"But, I… I thought you and Claudia were, as they say, an 'item'," Kit said, trying to bring a bit of levity to her voice before it betrayed her completely.

"We have, as they say, an 'understanding'," Lance countered. Did Kit hear a trace of bitterness in his, voice? He caught himself and brightened immediately. "Look, it took a long, hard climb and a hell of a lot of 'B' westerns to get where I am. I'm enjoying my success… and that includes not being tied down to one woman!" When he smiled, those blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. "Unless, that is," he said, turning the sapphires towards Kit, "the right woman were to come along…"

"I'd love to have dinner with you."

Lance unlocked the door and stood aside as a somewhat apprehensive Kit Kingston walked past him into his Malibu beach house. They had had drinks and dinner at Jack's at the Beach, and Lance had suggested they come up to his place for after-dinner brandy.

Now, as Kit entered the large living room, Lance saw her draw up in surprise and pleasure, then hoard her gasp as to gaped at the elaborate decor and experienced the breathtaking view from the room's picture window, a magnificent, unobstructed view of the beach, yacht harbor, and silver-washed Pacific.

She turned to him, face uplifted in pleasure. "It's beautiful. I never realized…"

"I'm glad," he said, and he truly was glad that she appreciated the view as much as he did. This house had been his one haven of sanity in the upside-down world of film making. "Here, let me have your wrap."

When she took it off, her dress gaped open, revealing the delightful twin mounds of softly firm alabaster flesh straining against the interwoven bra of the dress' bodice.

He fought the impulse to bend forward and kiss those warm, visible monuments to femininity, knowing that he would have them, and more, very soon.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, nodding his head towards the immense ten-foot-long, cinnamon-colored bearskin couch in front of the window.

Kit took his invitation at face value. She kicked off her heels and curled up like a kitten in the corner of the couch, feeling the luxurious softness of its deep cushions, the absolute sensuality of the fin cover tickling her thighs and buff through her nylons and dress.

Lance hung the wrap in a closet and came back with two snifters of Napoleon brandy. He placed them on the low cocktail table before her, then disappeared again. A moment later there was the far-off sound of music, and lights began to dim, until there was only a soft, barely perceptible glow coming from the fixtures in the room.

Lance loomed up beside her in the dimness. She felt the cushion sink downward from his weight. No audible sound was made, they merely touched glasses together and silently sipped.

Kit's heart speeded up its tempo as she felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder, and an arm go around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. She inhaled deeply and experienced a faint, exciting odor of expensive male cologne. She allowed herself to be pressed close against a firm supporting chest and lowered her head against the gold buttons on the double-breasted blue jacket felt their coolness, felt the sensual softness of the cashmere used to weave his jacket.

Lance felt her warmly resilient body pressed lightly against his own, felt the firm, wonderfully alive muscles of her shoulder beneath his encircling arm, and smelled the fragrance of her perfume and hair. There was a slight tremor to that body.

"Are you cold?" he whispered.

Kit lifted her head from his chest. Her slightly parted lips were only inches from his. She said nothing, but her marvelous green eyes carried a message of trusting assent. Gently, very gently, Lance bent forward and touched his lips to hers.

His body reacted to that first contact; it rejoiced with the sudden knowledge that this was going to be the best goddamned night in a long, long time. She was going to be good… perfect.

And he'd make sure that it was perfect for her. He was going to play her like a flamenco guitar, bringing low and high notes of pleasure and me and ecstasy from, her… passionate, melodious notes that she didn't even know existed, notes she couldn't have experienced until touched by a master's hand.

He continued to kiss her gently, but there was nothing gentle or soft about the throbbing ache in his sperm-churning balls, or the rising blood that pounded in his rapidly awakening cock and caused hot tingling sensations to race like lightning across its swelling knob.

His kisses became mow heatedly urgent. When his tongue sought her mouth, she opened readily to receive him. The soft strands of her hair tickled his cars, and they were surprisingly effective in intensifying the pulsating ache in his groin. Without removing his lips from hers, he took the glass from her listless fingers and put it on the cocktail table. Now that her hands were free, she immediately raised them and put them behind his head. She slowly moved her hand through his hair as though she were fingering an expensive fur coat.

When Lance began to stroke the satin skin of her shoulder and upper arm, Kit reacted by sucking on his tongue with a force that surprised hint.

Although his motions were designed to be gentle and comforting her fingers moving at the back of his head and her hungry sucking of his tongue increased in urgency.

He become aware that her knee, which had been halfway on the couch before, was now pressed against his midthigh, it was as if she were opening herself to him. He knew that if he put his hand down to her cunt-mound right now, he would find that her pussy was damp, warm, and slippery from her fevered impatience. She was ready now, he thought, completely ready…