Pt. 03 - Miss-construed

After the standing ovation, which she wasn't even sure how she'd gotten to her feet for, Mel had shown that same usher her pass. She told herself she was still pissed, that he needed a serious attitude adjustment. How dare he rouse these feelings in her!

She had been led through the maze that was backstage and to a door with an actual honest-to-god star on it. Inside there is a costume rack behind the door and a vanity mirror surrounded by those classic round lights sat opposite. The table below holds a tray of makeup, brushes, tissues, a dogeared script, and a small amber bottle of what looked like essential oil. There is a narrow door next to the table.

She stands for a few minutes, checking her hair and makeup in the mirror. No harm in wanting to look good as she roasts him. Exasperated, she sits on the edge of the black leather slipper chair right next to the door. Her legs crossed and waiting, waiting to give this arrogant son of a bitch a piece of her mind. Where the hell was he anyway?

She hears the door across the room click. She takes a breath, revving up to give this man the what-for.

"Listen you-" she starts to say.

Steam pours out from the tiny bathroom. He emerges in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. His head is covered in a second towel, with which he is vigorously drying his hair.

It's an insanely intimate moment that she is sure she should not be witnessing. Seeing him in yoga class was one thing, but his naked torso did more than hint at just how many hours this man has spent at the gym.

Mel's fury is stopped in its tracks. The spattering of blonde chest hairs and freckles across his defined pecs and the half moon of his belly button set in the middle of his furrowed abs makes her mouth hang open. The 'V of his transverse abdominis and the trail of wet hairs leading under the knot of the towel makes more than her mouth water. She knows she should stop staring, but she just can't.

Camus visibly jumps when he pulls the towel from his head.

"Oh hey! I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd come so fast," his hand automatically holds onto the makeshift waistband.

"I don't usually, wait, um No, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were ....," She turns beet red, gesturing to him and still staring.

"It's ok, what happens backstage, stays backstage," he jokes, still in theater mode. His smile is disarming, charming even. It could be the little dimple adorning the left corner of his mouth like punctuation, or the way the apples of his cheeks pop or the light teasing in his eyes, but she feels like she is falling down some kind of rabbit hole.

He steps a bit closer, reaching towards her. She is frozen, eyes wide. Shit, what has she agreed to? What the fuck is happening here? She is about to come unglued, how many women does he invite back here, no LURE here. FUCKING MEN! She is on the verge of shoving him back and bolting for the door when he points behind her.

"Can you hand me those?" She turns and his belted jeans are draped over the back of the chair.

"To tell the truth, I'm hurt," he says casually as if he's not less than a foot from her and nearly naked.

"What?" it was the last thing she expected him to say. Somehow his pants were in her hands.

"I really am. I tried helping you in your endeavor to stay away from me," he takes the pants from her, "but you seem to have spectacularly failed, twice," he nods at the pass around her neck. "I am beginning to wonder if you are really committed to your goal here, Miss Missy."

She should be furious at his condescension, she should be standing up and storming out, but she can't breathe.

The memories of her beloved father teasing her in the same way, of always 'helping her' in that unhelpful but secretly helpful way, and of his greeting of "Miss Missy, how I missed you!" all slam into her heart. Heat flashes her face and a lump immediately forms in her throat. She covers her face.

"You bastard," she's muffled with her hands. If she's talking to her dad or to Camus, she doesn't know. Tears well up and she just can't stop them. She bows her head trying to hide them.

"Hey, hey," he steps even closer, gently touching her shoulder, "I'm sorry, I thought we were just playing here, flirting, being silly. I didn't mean to make you... I'm sorry." He's not sure what he said or exactly what happened but he never meant to make her cry.

"No, it's not that," she sniffles, "well it is - but not like that."

"Here," he hands her a tissue from the nearby box.

The real, honest moment begins to crack all barriers between them. Mel looks up at the tissue and takes it from him.

"Wanna talk about it?" he offers quietly.

It's the gentle way his voice caresses her and the real concern in his eyes that sets her whole self buzzing. Suddenly she is intensely aware of the fact that he is so close, that he is still gently touching her. That despite all her pushing at him, he is still being kind. Every self-imposed boundary crashes down and all that's left is desire.

"No," she whispers as she stands. Before she knows it, her hands run up his chest and around his neck as she closes the distance between them.

It's without hesitation that he envelopes her in his arms. He'd been trying to keep it light, keep it fun, keep her at arms distance. He should be stopping her, asking what made her cry. He should be concerned with her emotional swings. But his own desire flares as their lips meet.

She presses her body close to him, abandoning the facade of not liking him. The slight grind of her hips loosens the tuck of the towel under his belly button. Neither of them notice or care.

He kisses down her neck. "God, I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you," he says into her ear.

"Me too," she confesses, pulling back to look into his eyes, "I've just been... a cow, things have been-"

"Shhh, doesn't matter," he grabs her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

His molten blue pools are spellbinding, not one hint of malice in them. He devours her mouth as the world falls away. She lets him. Mesmerized by his eyes, she knows exactly what she wants.

'This isn't dating,' she rationalizes as her shaky fingers pull on the oversized gold zipper down the front of her black dress. His fingers slide it off her shoulders, revealing a dusty pink bra and wispy panty set.

He takes a step back, both towel and dress falling to the floor in a heap. He reaches over and locks the door. She looks down when she feels the substantial bump of his cock against her thighs.

"My god," she says under her breath. He's even more gorgeous fully naked.

"Fuck me," he breathes, dragging a gentle fingertip over her smooth skin and voluptuous curves.

"Yeah, ok," is all she can get out before she pulls him down into a kiss.

Camus' arms close tight around her and thank goddess, because the kiss he unleashes on her would have dropped her flat. Need and want are an amalgamation of desire between them. Tongues tangle, finally unfettered by willful egos.

He lays her back onto the vintage armless chair. The slightly cold surface is welcome on her suddenly hot skin. He straightens up, looking down through half lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of her. His lips tingle with the searing quality of her kiss.

Holy shit, he needs a second. This was not at all what he had expected when he asked her to the theatre. She is just unbelievably sexy, lying nearly naked in front of him.

Mel is biting her lip and looking up at him towering over her with his rock hard cock. Her hands rub unconsciously against her inner thighs, parting them further. The look on her face says it all. 'Fuck me, if you dare.'

His nearly contrapposto stance is so natural with his gorgeous frame. He takes a breath, then another just trying to control himself. His eyes flicker across her.

Suddenly it strikes her that he might be weighing whether or not this was worth it, weighing if she was worth it.

"I mean if you don't want to... If I'm repulsive or something..." she shrugs, her negative self-talk and defensiveness beating him to the potential punch.

"Brat," he says, shaking his head. "I thought it might be a good moment to garner some consent," he says pointedly, "besides, does it look like I am repulsed?" He waves, indicating his own arousal.

Her eyes travel down his body and it's like his gesture has given her permission to stare, finally, at his cock. He is thick and straight and his tip is starting to turn red. The ridge facing her casts his long, upright shaft half in shadow from the mirror lights. It looks delectable.

No, he looks delectable. As if in a trance, her fingers lightly stroke over the soft skin of his shaft without a thought.

He pulls a breath in through his teeth at her touch, breaking her reverie.

"Um Sorry, " she says, recovering and pulling her hand back like he was forbidden, "Sorry, I'm defensive sometimes."

"Yes, I have noticed," little puffs of air slip from his nose. His smile then slips into something far more salacious when he decides to throw caution to the wind. "You know what I think?" he leans down closer to her. "I think you could do with someone either fucking or spanking it out of you. I am just trying to decide which."

She wanted to respond with a eye roll, with snark. But the idea of him doing those things to her both jangles her nerves and turns her on. Lust fills her brain, it tips her sarcastic bent off line. Instead her words come out low and sultry.

"Hmmm, fuck me or spank me? How can a girl choose?"

"Oh, honey," his voice drops to match, "do you want both?" Camus is a little surprised at her reaction. He had been prepared for her to have a fit at this suggestion.

Normally, a guy calling her 'honey' got her back up, made her, you guessed it, defensive. But there was something in the way he said it with his eyes narrowing predatorily and so casually dominating that made her speechless. Fuck, no matter what face he puts on, he is gorgeous. She realizes it's exactly what she wants.

"Well, do you?" he leans over her. Flashes of the dreams he's been having all week crowd his mind. He drags a fingertip over her leg.

"Uh-huh," she finally gets out as his touch turns to icy fire.

"Do you want it right now? Or do we need to take this elsewhere?" He didn't want to take it elsewhere. The diffusion of her attitude and the way in which her whole body seemed to submit to him, he wanted her now. It had to be her choice though.

"Now," she breathes. She too didn't want to break the spell.

His lips crash into hers. She wraps her arms around his slim waist. Camus is shaking with how turned on he is. He just wants to fuck her senseless but he's gotta do this right. She's like a skittish animal and he doesn't want this sudden turn of events to derail.

Her fingertips dip into the crevice of his spine. Drops of water from the shower still cling there. She is surprised they've not turned to steam both literally and figuratively.

She tries to pull him close but his hands are propped, arms stiff, on the graceful curve at the back of the chair. The pose goes far to establish his dominance over her. He pulls his face away from hers, looking down directly into her eyes.

"Okay, honey, but if you need me to stop, say Beetlejuice."

The intensity of his gaze and the seeming non-sequitur makes her giggle. "Do I need to say it thrice?"

His lips press together, whether in annoyance or just keeping a straight face she can't tell. Suddenly she is being manhandled. She squeals as he pulls her off the chair and flips over across his lap, her ass in the air. She can feel his hard cock trapped under her belly.

"No," his voice casual in counterpoint to his actions, "once will do."

His lap, bedecked with her naked body is exactly what his subconscious had been hoping for, dreaming about. The fact that her ass was covered in the flimsiest of dusty pink fabric, was just an extra cherry on top.

"Unless you say it, I'm going to continue until I like the color of your ass," Crack! He brings down his hand hard on her cheek. She jumps, squealing. Crack! He does a matching one on the other side.

The sudden pain in her ass and the sharp sound brings the situation into focus for her. He actually means it, means to spank her. She hasn't played much like this. At most she's gotten an errant swat on the butt when a guy was taking her from behind. She wasn't sure that it was supposed to be for them or for her. It always made her feel like some kind of racehorse they were riding.

This though, this was different. No one ever had suggested disciplining her before, tipping her over their knee like a bad girl. The idea is extremely arousing, much to her chagrin. The sharp, intense stings of his first two strikes make her gulp. If this was what he meant, she is not sure if she can go through with it. When he switches to light glancing blows though, she is hooked. They warm her and mottle her skin. Her whole pelvis starts to glow. Little involuntary sounds escape her with each smack.

Camus had forgotten just how much he fucking loves this. In fact it's been way too long since he's gotten to exercise his dominant side.

It had started with his ex. She had suggested trying out Dom/sub play and true to his actor's brain, he had taken it seriously. He'd thrown himself into the research and, not surprisingly, created a dominating character to help him get into the right headspace. After a lot of negotiation and a couple sessions, she had ended up not liking it. He should have known, it drove her nuts to not be in control. He, however, found that he enjoyed it.

After they broke up, he had been able to play a little bit here and there. But when he had gotten to be more well-known for acting, he figured he could live without it, preferring not to give rise to any drama or rumors. Was this a good move now? Most likely not. But Melissa just did something to him, made him want to tempt fate.

"Listen to you. You like it, don't you?" he asks. His voice might as well have been silk with how it made her toes curl.

"Yes," she blurts out more moan than formed word. Fuck. She does, and she is letting herself fall into it.

"Brats usually do. Alright, I'm going to check this pussy now. I want to see just how much you like it. Understand?" sheer sex is laced into his words.

"Uh huh," she nods.

He couldn't help but smile. God, he was loving this.

She never thought she would be here: mostly naked, bent over this man's lap, ass ringing. In fact, part of her doesn't believe it until he guides her panties just past the roundness of her scarlet rump. As if to answer her partial doubt, her legs spread wide, tilting up her hips. Her body is begging for his touch, regardless of her mind. The eagerness with which her thighs strain the wisp of lace and elastic is nearly embarrassing.

With gentle hands, he pulls her ass cheeks apart, giving him his first glimpse of her pink little pussy lips glistening with moisture. Just the mere sight of them makes his cock jump against her belly. His fingers slip soft against her, petting her up and down gently, spreading the surface wetness that was there.

She's never had a man be so hard in such a gentle way. It makes her clench and groan. Her hips try to grind her pussy into his fingers and her belly quivers against his hard cock. Funny how his self-control makes her lose her own.

"I think you need a little more. Let's see if we can get this honey pot dripping," he says, shamelessly pulling her panties down and off.

This time his strikes are hard, specific and interspersed with tugs and caresses on her ass cheeks. The gentle pinches of her pink lips he tosses in drive her wild. Never had she dreamed someone could make her body override her mind like this, make her want so badly. She can't even say how long she's been draped over Camus' lap, only that she never wants it to stop.

It does though.

His fingers are spreading her lips, dipping tips into her sodden entrance. Her back arches and her legs spread to give him access. It makes her feel chaotic with lust. Her whole body twitches and jerks involuntarily.

His hand glides down her spine and closes on the back of her neck, pinning her just enough to focus her mind. His fingers press further into her entrance. She can feel his weight shift towards her head, light breath drifts across her back.

"Are you done being a brat?" his fingers curl forward inside her, barely teasing her sweet spot. "If you aren't," he works her through with little squelchy motions before pulling out, "we will come right back to you over my knee and I will blister this pretty- SMACK-little-SMACK-bottom SMACK!."

Mel suddenly has a vision of him in an Armani suit and black heeled boots clicking on a hard floor. His hand would be tight over hers as he leads her from the table at a restaurant or from the audience in a theatre. He drags her into the bathroom or a back room to discipline her after a bratty outburst. She can literally feel her juices surge at the idea.

"I'll be good just please, please," she hears herself saying as the rush of heat floods her core.

"Please what?" he purrs, caressing her now flaming cheeks.

"Please fuck me," she nearly whines. She had never had someone treat her like a petulant little girl and fuck-all if he isn't amazing at it.

"Needy little pussy, this," he coos at her, slipping his hand to graze her lips, "I think it does need my cock, plus you begged so pretty.

"Yes, please!" her hips buck all on their own.

Camus pulls her up and guides her leg over his lap to straddle him. He reaches for the careless heap of his pants on the floor and fumbles in the pocket, pulling a condom out of his wallet. He tears the little square. He doesn't miss her greedy eyes and hip pulsing as she stares at his cock.

Mel has never felt so anxious, so eager, never been so transfixed. When his knuckles brush her soft lips as he rolls the condom over his big cock to his base she can't help the whiny moan and hip roll that follows.

He takes a deep breath, wanting to savor this. One shaky hand drags up over her belly, between her tits and around the back of her neck. It might as well have split her open with the blaze of passion it leaves in its wake. Her pleading body makes it so hard not to just fuck the daylights out of her.

Mel raises her eyes to his. Oh lord, she had underestimated his eyes. The steamy, steel-eyed smoulder has her melting and lust-glazed. Then he has the nerve to add in his low, sexy, gravely voice, "Don't worry, I'll take it nice and slow, wanna see just how much of me you can take."

She had been wondering the same thing as he covered his big dick in latex. It looked even larger now that she was about to ride it.

"Come here, you," he murmurs, pulling her hips to him.

Mel is dumbfounded. Sex rolls off him in waves and she is close to drowning. Her wet pussy presses forward, eager to have him. She drags herself along his shaft from base to tip. The moan that pushes out of her as the corona of his head rubs across her wet clit is nearly obscene. Her hips move of their own accord. Her little grunts mimic the little juts of her pussy riding across the ridge of his cock. He's not even got it in yet and he feels so fucking good.

"Wait now," he stills her hips with his long-fingered hands, "I didn't say you could rub one off on me, not yet." His chest heaves in a desperate attempt to control himself.

The simple act of telling her 'no' exponentially turns her on, makes her want it all the more. Her whole body nearly vibrates in protest, a little pout forming on her lips.

He considers tipping her back over and wholloping her ass again. He loves how much of a needy brat she is turning out to be. He catches the drizzle of thick pussy juices left on his cock as he pushes her backwards. The long string makes him abandon the idea of spanking her, his own need taking over.

"Oh fuck, you are so wet," his voice betrays the sudden elevation of his desire and the thin thread by which he hangs. He tips his cock towards her and she rises on cue. He has a perfect view of his thick cock being swallowed as she settles on him.

"Oh my god!" they both say simultaneously.

Mel feels so damn full.

Camus feels so wrapped in her tight heat.

They stay there for a handful of heartbeats. Their eyes are locked on one another in a primal stare that neither wants to break.

"Ready?" Camus finally manages to get out.

Mel can only shake her chin in the slightest of nods. She lifts up, the friction making her eyes roll. She goes to slide back down him, but he grips her and shakes his head.

"Let me," is all he says.

True to his word, he starts slow, not wanting to hit her cervix too hard. She feels every damn inch of him slipping in and out. It makes her gasp.

"Mmm, holy fuck, you take my cock so well," he watches her face contort in euphoria as his thrusts naturally increase in pace.

His praise pings that naughty place in her head. The part of her that's only a bad girl so she can be called good. Fuck she wants to be his good girl, wants to hear it just once.

"You're gonna cum for me, okay?" his sharp jaw is set in determination.

"Uh-huh," she manages to whinge out, head thrown back.

At the first strong thrust, she can tell this won't take long. It's like he was made for her, hitting her in all the right places.

He shifts his long thumb downwards to graze her clit. It's fucking perfect. He hits his stride. After a minute, she is unraveling like a thing unleashed. Her fingers clutch at his shoulders, hips grinding hard onto his thickness, taking him impossibly deep. She jerks, she bucks, she wails silently with her mouth hung open as her orgasm flows over her.

Like a trigger being pressed, he starts to lose his measured movement in her clenching pussy. His hips beat harder and faster.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" the words explode in a whisper from his mouth.

Her spine jolts back, trying to whip her hips away from his invading cock and the overwhelming pleasure. He grips her hard with both hands, relentless in chasing his own orgasm, in using her sopping cunt.

With a series of deep panting grunts, he thrusts up with a jerking force. His fingers dig into her ass cheeks, shaking. His eyelids beat across his rolling eyes and his mouth drops open as he buries his erupting cock deep inside her.

At his strained and pulsating movements, she curls into him instinctually, clinging to his body like so much driftwood. His hips and abs shake, practically giving up his soul to her quivering sheath. Her grip on the current reality is hazy at best.

They come down, slowly. His arms wrap gently around her limp form draped over his body.

Usually, this is the time when the erotic fog clears and the intense intimacy starts to feel awkward. Most guys start to untangle themselves, searching for a reason to jet before they have to actually talk or something.

But he just holds her softly, breathing. She feels oddly safe, not wanting to move, not wanting to disturb the magic of the moment.

"You alright?" his voice is deep and tender and caring. His hand gently caresses her back.

"Yeah, I think so," still a little disoriented, she nuzzles deeper into his neck.

"You took that well," he praises, smoothing her hair and reaching for a water bottle.

"You did that well," she murmurs with a smile, after sipping water at his insistence.