Or, perhaps, not quite that far. He’s driving, after all.
Without any preamble, I undo my seatbelt and lean across the console to work on his pants. His cock leaps as my palm grazes his granite erection. Damn, he’s hard. My chest flutters with anticipation.
But even though Logan groans at my touch, he says, “You don’t have to do that, Devi.”
“I want to.” Translation: I’m greedy for it. “I can’t leave you like this.” Translation: I can’t leave me like this.
“Don’t worry about me.” Then, when I’m still fumbling with his zipper, he puts a hand on my shoulder and gently nudges me off. Nudges me away.
Slowly, I sit up. Confusion follows surprise, and I study him with disbelief.
He glances toward me, and my expression must be transparent, because he says, “I think this episode will have more of an impact if you don’t reciprocate this time. You know, it’s more of a romantic gesture this way. It’s better. For the show.”
“Right. The show.” That sinking feeling from the day before returns, but then I glance at Logan’s profile, and it hits me—he’s as mixed up about all this as I am. It’s written all over his face. He’s longing. He’s conflicted. He’s nobler than he realizes.
It’s possible that I’m making it all up, that I’m seeing things that aren’t there. But the camera’s off. That look on his face is genuine, and I know that expression. It’s the same one that met me in the mirror when I got ready tonight.
I settle back into my seat, and with my elbow propped on the door, I chew on my knuckle and try to dissect the strange discontentment that has crept over me. Yes, I like the guy. There’s no dancing around that fact. But what’s going on with him? Why is he pushing me away when his body language and his body parts are telling me he wants, wants, wants?
Is it me? Is it my age? Is he still hung up on his ex? Has the industry jaded him against relationships in general?
The truth is, I don’t know him well enough to begin to form any real answer. What I do know is that no matter how real this chemistry is between us, he’s a closed set. No matter what he reveals on camera, he’s not letting me in any further than that.
“Star-crossed,” I say, breaking the silence that’s stretched between us. “I think that’s what you should call the show.”
“Star-crossed?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s good. I like it.”
I don’t have to wonder why he accepts my suggestion so readily. I’m sure it’s because he realizes as well as I do how fitting of a title it is to describe us—two lovers never meant to be together who meet occasionally in the night.
10
Devi’s quiet when we approach her apartment, and I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure I can say anything, because I’m still hard as a rock, and every time I breathe, I breathe in the smell of her. It lingers everywhere—my hands, her thighs, my lips—and it’s driving me fucking crazy. When she reached for me earlier, her hands fumbling eagerly with my zipper, I had almost climaxed right then and there. I may be a man renowned for his control, and my scenes usually highlight this about me, but with Devi, I have nothing. Nothing. No shred of patience or restraint, and going down on her on the hood of my Mustang had already driven me into a fucking frenzy. (Because what man doesn’t fantasize about that at some point—a beautiful woman spread open on the hood of a muscle car, cunt exposed, hair like tousled cascades on the sleek metal?)
And fuck if getting caught hadn’t made me harder, sent my mind spiraling into the filthiest, most depraved fantasies possible—watching Devi try to “convince” the officers to let us go, first with her mouth and then with her *, the kind of fantasies I would never admit to anyone else. And then we got on the highway and she dove for my dick like a madwoman, and I hope God was watching what a fucking gentleman I was, because it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life to push her away.
Except now I’m in her driveway saying goodbye and I’m throbbing with misery and I can tell she’s a little hurt, and shit. Why did I push her away?
I wasn’t lying when I told her that I thought it would be better for the show for her not to reciprocate tonight. I do think that, and also I’d like to plan another visually dynamic venue for the blowjob, not just the interior of my goddamn car (even though it’s the best car in the world.)