Jillian Dodd - Hate Me

Matt turns us back toward the lights, which have dimmed, and addresses his crew. “Meeting in ten minutes. And someone order in dinner. We’re going to be here all night doing re-writes.”

Then he leans toward me and says, “Go check on Tommy back there. He said he needed a minute.”

I walk in the direction Matt pointed, suddenly worried.

Did I embarrass Tommy by going off-script?

This is why I never wanted to audition before.

But Matt didn’t seem mad. He’s even changing the script.

Writing the daughter out of it and giving Knox a bigger role, most likely.

I walk off the set defeatedly and find Tommy sitting in a director’s chair with his head down.

“Tommy, I’m sorry I went off-script. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

His head pops up and his eyes are shiny. “Embarrass me?” He stands up and pulls me into a hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you.”

I’m not ready for that.

5pm

“Hey.” I let myself into my loft and find Aiden in the kitchen putting away groceries. “I sort of lied to you,” I say abruptly, standing in front of him.

“About what?”

“Remember when I told you that I didn’t want to act?”

He squints, remembering, I think. “Uh huh.”

“Until I did the play, I was really afraid I wouldn’t be good enough. And that thing Annie told me about . . .”

“The nationwide search?”

“Yeah. It was for a lead role. I’m not ready for that.”

“Trying to be like Abby Johnston would be a lot of pressure for your first role.”

“Exactly. So, today, I didn’t really have a hair appointment. I had a screen test. It’s for a really small part.” I’m practically bursting with excitement. “I did good.”

“Of course you did.”

“Aiden, just because I did well in a little play, doesn't mean I have what it takes.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. I know what I saw.”

I smirk at him. “And the fact that you maybe had a little crush on me didn't affect your opinion?”

“You're wrong. It was a big crush.”

“Oh . . .” I say as his lips crash into mine, giving me such a hot kiss that it makes me want to tell him a secret every day.

Even after weeks of kissing him, I still feel that same crazy flutter in my stomach the second our lips meet. I still feel the god-like power of his lips. I still feel like I should be showered in glitter as a fairy godmother grants me my wish.

But this kiss could not go in a fairy tale. It’s way too deep.

Way too passionate.

Like, I’m pretty sure my thong just caught fire.

When his lips trail down my neck, I say, “I think I need to celebrate.”

He kisses just under my earlobe and whispers sexily, “I think what you need is a good screwing.”

Ohmigawd!

I do.

I so do.

And what a way to celebrate!

He takes my hand and places it on his zipper. “This is for you. What do you feel?”

“Hardness,” I practically whimper.

“Maybe you should unzip my pants. Get a better feel.”

Jeez, this is sudden. I mean, I want to do it, but my hair’s probably a mess from the wind and drizzle outside. And I'm not wearing the new bra and panties I’d hoped to seduce him in.

Stop scripting, Keatyn.

He wants to screw.

You want to screw.

Sorta.

Except, I don’t. I don’t want just that.

I want him to tell me he loves me.

But what the hell?

I give him a sexy grin, slide my hand down into his pants, and wrap my hand around . . . a box.

“What the heck is this?” I ask, pulling it out.

“Open it.”

I take the lid off and find a pair of earrings. Beautiful gold earrings, each with an amber stone. Hanging from each stone is a golden screw.

The construction kind.

“I did a little shopping today. Saw them. Couldn’t resist.”

“Very cute,” I say, removing my earrings and putting on the dangling screws. “Just for you, I'm going to wear them every day. So while we’re in class, you’re gonna see them and think of us hammering, nailing, and screwing .”

“I already think about that every day in class. And don’t forget drilling .”

“So, what do you imagine? Me, naked, right there on my desk?”

I notice that there is new hardness where the box used to be.

“Can you imagine it?” I whisper in his ear. “I’m lying naked across my desk, waiting for you to get done with your French test.” I slide my hands down the front of his shirt. “But you're having a hard time concentrating, because je suis tellement excitée que je me touchais .”

“Touching yourself?” he gulps.

“I said, I’m so horny, I’m touching myself .”

He lets out a big breath, and I can tell I’m not the only one feeling excitée .

“That’s really hot.”

I smile at him, deciding that I want to make him even hotter. I want to do something to him that I’ve yet to do. At least, not like this. I slowly sink to my knees, diving my hands into the sides of his unzipped pants and pushing them down along with his sliders, until I am face to face with the Titan.

I take a moment to admire it.

And then to tease it a bit with my tongue, and then my mouth.

He seems fine with it at first, but then his hips start rolling toward me.

“You're teasing me,” he groans.

I want to make him feel as good as he always makes me feel.

Or better.

I want him to know how much I want him.

And adore him.

And, well, love him.

I pick up the pace and soon feel his weight shift.

He touches my head and says raggedly, “I’m about to . . .”

I nod and keep going, noting that it was really sweet of him to give me the option to pull away.

He shudders and groans, then stays perfectly still for a few seconds.

Then he grabs my hands to help me up and squeezes me to him tightly.

Putting his lips on my neck, he says, “Wow.”

“When you talk on my neck it makes me excitée .”

“Oh really?” he says, doing it again while he stifles a laugh.

“Did you like it?” I pray he did. I’m hoping he thought it was good. No, I’m hoping he thought it was so fucking good that he never wants another girl to touch it. Never wants to have another mouth within a 500-foot radius of it.

He says seriously, “Every kiss. Every touch. Every single thing we do feels a hundred times better than anything I've ever done before. Because it's with you.”

I practically want to cry. “But what do you like? Is there anything that really turns you on?”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose. “You.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I’ve realized that even though it's hard to wait—pun intended,” he laughs. “It's causing us to focus on other ways to please each other. To explore each other's bodies. This weekend, I intend to do just that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, starting now.” He leans me up against the counter, then gets down on his knees and kisses my stomach. Tiny little kisses just under my bra line.

Then he stops at my side and goes back to where he started, following the same path a few inches lower, over and over until he's kissing across the top of my thong.

I will him to go down farther, my hips jutting toward him of their own accord.

He pulls my thong down, letting it drop around my boots, and continues his slow, methodical kissing.

I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. My body is begging for him.

When his kisses move lower, I start praying to the gods.

Who is the god of the underworld? Was it Hades?

Or is Hades the name of the underworld?

Although, as wet as I am now, I should probably be begging for Poseidon to give me his Triton .