Work Text:
Chemistry. Passion. Lust. Attraction.
The rehearsal space was an old ballet studio, pale scuffed wooden floors, wide open space and four walls of mirrors. As I stepped inside the room, I couldn’t face my own reflection without blushing bright red. My capillaries betrayed my indiscretion with my costar as my body did when he entered the room.
From across the expanse of open air between us, my skin alighted with awareness of his masculine presence. The hair on my arms stood straight out, reaching for him, begging for his touch to sooth it. My flushed skin sang with goose flesh in arousal and memory of how he excited my body. Nervously, I cleared my throat and tucked my errant strands of hair behind my ear as our eyes held. He grinned knowingly and winked. The gleam in his big blues was anything but innocent. They spoke of mischief, teasing, and our transgression. His pink tongue snuck out to moisten his lips, or to incite devilry within me; it was impossible to tell. He touched his neck in the most sinful way – well to me, anyway – and I was forced to look away.
I avoided the mirror before me, kept my head down, as my cheeks inflamed further. I tried to pull my script from my bag, but my hands were shaking so badly, more evidence that he was still in control of me. Seeing him after all the wicked things we’d done last night brought back the familiar ache of desire between my legs. I thought, after spending the night in Tom’s bed, I’d be sated and he’d be sated. But Tom was insatiable in bed, impatient. The man’s libido, heavens above, I wasn’t sure I could keep up. We didn’t even get fully undressed until this morning for a shared shower. We depleted the hot water, and the spray ran cold before we were forced out.
Where was that woman? Why did I fall to pieces and become less sure of myself when we weren’t in compromising positions? My inner diva abandoned me like a ghost light to the theatre ghosts. Abigail, successful actress, became meek and silent in the face of a handsome man. I should feel more comfortable being in the same room with the man who had provided five orgasms in the past day.
Irritatingly the director decided it was torture Abigail day, and spent most of our allotted time, focusing on the relationship between Tom’s character and mine. Granted, this was my career and what I loved to do, but Tom loved teasing me. This man was spectacular, both professionally and personally. Our chemistry was explosive, orgasmic and endlessly fun. He knew what looks to give me to provoke me into arousal.
When his character wrapped his arms around mine, there was a deeper meaning within his touch, an intimacy born of familiarity and it wasn’t just our charters anymore. For the sake of my sanity and decorum, I stamped down – HARD - the urge to moan with so many other people around. Fighting my body’s primal instinct to respond to his caress was damn near impossible to overcome. Truth be told, I was ready to beg the man again to take me, even with the director within arm’s reach.
Damn him, but he knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying my unease. His beautiful smile, his gorgeous eyes, his sensual voice and his wide white smile wrapped their way around my ovaries and wouldn’t be satisfied until I was at his mercy again. My vagina wept for him, almost quite literally – damn him.
The leather jacket was back in its rightful place, hugging his physique like it was made specifically for him. The rough yet silky material was under my fingertips to heighten my frustration to infuriating levels. The repression was working my last nerve and it took all my energy to keep from humping his leg to get some relief.
Our six hour rehearsal felt like six weeks by the time the director called it a night, dismissing the rest of the cast. He addressed Tom and me, “Well done, you two. I’d like to develop the couple’s past relationship. You have an incredible natural chemistry, and I think we can drive the audience mad with want. They’ll desperately want this couple to work out their conflict so they can get back to shagging.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, this could not be happening. The torture didn’t stop there, oh no. God was having a laugh at me, and wanted to see me as a puddle of whimpering, bubbling mass of hormones. Tom pinched my side lightly where he still had his arm around my waist. Heat flooded through my bloodstream, making me dizzy with the rush that small gesture created. “Have a conversation about how to portray that, spend some time together, and become really good friends. Let’s nail this.”
And then we were alone.
Again.
I turned to where I had left my bag against the wall and shoved my script inside. Breathless from the encouragement and the implication that the director had left us with weighed on me heavily. I placed my hands on the waist high ballet bar, nearly bent in half and concentrated on my breathing.
As if this position were a calling to my costar, he was behind me again. He slid his hands around my waist and pulled me to him. I didn’t want to look up and meet his gaze in the mirror, but I couldn’t resist the pull. It was useless to fight the spell he’d cast over me, especially now that I was secure in the knowledge of what he could do to me. And then I was lost in the blue of his eyes.
His lips found my neck in an instant, whispering, “Shall we have that conversation now or later?” When I didn’t answer, he nipped the sensitive skin. “Or should we just spend some time together?” Those large hands slid up agonizingly slow to my breasts. And I watched the entire thing before me. I leaned back into the wall of him, afraid that my legs might actually give beneath me. I didn’t answer him again, struck stupid by his effect on me.
When the kneading started, my eyes rolled into my head, unable to resist the focus on that sensation. The visual was more than I could handle in that moment. His sex laced voice met my ears again, “Or become really good friends that nail each other?” Tom ground his erection into my ass, earning an involuntarily gasp from me. My arms flew up, my hands grasping handfuls of red curls, holding him to my neck and holding me vertical. The new position pushed my chest further into his palms.
He continued sinfully, “I think I like that suggestion best. You’re acquainted…”
I sighed, “Intimately.”
He laughed erotically, rubbing his day old stubble into my flushed skin along my collarbone. “Tell me. Where should we begin?” His hands were still squeezing the weight of my breasts, driving me absolutely mad. My nipples were pebbled, and begging for attention. “Lover, open your eyes and tell me what you want,” he demanded softly.
He was attempting to draw me out again, voice my mind. In some ways, these trysts were his way of pulling me out of shell and confronting my insecurities. He was pushing me to become more comfortable with him and my crush on him. I opened my eyes and was faced with our reflection. My eyes were hooded, lust making them heavy. The sight of our bodies mashed together, so close, so pressed together was enough to make me breathless.
Nuzzling my ear, Tom murmured, “I’ve had the taste of you in my mouth, in my head all day. I’m anxious to make you come on my tongue again.”
I shuddered in recollection. Breathlessly, I whispered, “Oh, fuck me.” It was meant to be a curse, but Tom took as an invitation.
“That’s inevitable, darling. I’m going to fuck you senseless, as long as you repay the favor by sucking me off. Your mouth is fucking delectable.” My knees began to give way, his words turning me to liquid. Tom anchored me with an arm around my waist, his other hand moved between my legs to support me further.
I grunted watching that hand in the mirror. He massaged lightly right where I wanted him, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He asked, “Jesus, woman, how long have you been wet for me?”
I was too turned on and blitzed out on arousal to feel any embarrassment that he could tell through my pants. I confessed, “All day, all week, since we met. Fuck, Tom, I need you!”
In answer, that hand disappeared within my yoga pants and knickers to touch me directly. I spread my legs for him, giving him the access he needed to get to my sex. Tom and I watched our reflection, seeing the outline of his hand on me. Two fingers slipped between my folds and into me. He started a steady rhythm with those long, gorgeous digits in and out of me. My jaw dropped as my breath rushed from my lungs. When his thumb found my clit, the added stimulation made me scream his name.
My center rode his hand, the mirror missing none of it. I was hurtling toward orgasm fast. “Let go, Abigail. Come for me.” And just like his words suggested, my body dissolved into orgasm, my limbs shaking as relief washed over me. “That’s lovely, darling. Gorgeous.”
Tom kissed and nibbled at my neck, helping me land again. As my breath and heartbeat regulated, Tom was undoing his belt and his fly to release his cock with one hand. I cocked an eyebrow, asking his reflection what he was up to. “Time for our encore, Abigail. We’re going for realism here, love.”
I worked my pants off my hips and knelt on the floor. He sucked the fingers that had been buried in me into his mouth as he followed me. He wrapped the other hand in the tresses of my hair, and guided me down on all fours. The rough floor was going to be hell on my palms and knees, but I didn’t care. I needed him and much as he needed me. He made quick work of opening the package of a condom and rolling it into place. He didn’t waste another moment before he slid into my body. The indulgence of doing it in the mirror for ourselves was mind-blowing.
He withdrew from my heat, and pushed back into the hilt. His pace was slow and languid, enjoying the view we made. I encouraged him faster, moving back to meet his thrusts. As our hips met with greater frequency, Tom bent over my back to change the angle. His fingers found my button at the top of my sex and pressed. I vocalized my pleasure with some kind of incoherent sound, my nails digging into the floor beneath me. With the added stimulation and my sensitivity already heightened, I was almost there. Tom grunted behind me, his lower lip sucked in between his teeth.
He rode me hard and fast, straight to euphoric oblivion. My walls squeezing around his length and pushing him over. We were breathless and sweaty from the effort, momentarily satisfied. After coming back down, Tom helped me to my feet and we restored out clothing to presentable. He kissed me soundly, his tongue snaking between my lips and teeth to tangle with mine. He held me close, running his hands over my body.
When we parted, he complimented, “That was quite a show, worthy of a standing ovation.” He tucked me under his arm and ushered me out of the room. “We deserve another encore, so I can do all I promised earlier.”