Born to Die - Drew Starkey

18. Juliette

"Please." I begged.

Filming was close to ending and I hadn't fucked him yet. One more month of filming and then that was it. I'd go to New York and he'd go to LA. Filming will end, then four months apart, then the premiere, press, four more months apart, then right back into filming the second movie. And I was dreading all of it.

I care for Drew so much. I want him. Badly. But my last relationship was so fucked. Did the word "hiatus" ring a bell to anyone? Our relationship was fake for a reason. I was using him to keep guys away. I couldn't make it real. I'd be fucking up our terms and conditions in so many ways.

"Please what, Audrey?"

"Please fuck me," I whined. "I need you."

"Earn it then."

I gasped, though a smile of approval came to my lips. I was so wet, and he knew I was. He knows me. He's begun to learn what turns me on.

If our agreement has helped with anything, it's getting to know each other. Really know each other. He told me the other night just how well he knows me. All I've been able to hear the last week was our conversation when I snapped at him because I thought he wasn't interested in me beyond sex. "You choose the munchkins over the doughnuts. You drink decaf if it's after twelve o'clock. You're an insomniac like me but can fall asleep if we're together. You pick at your fingers and it draws blood. You're glad your mother is dead." I hadn't told him any of that. He observed it all. He knows me. He knows me like the back of his hand and I don't know how it makes me feel.

He rolled over on his back and caressed my freshly-washed hair. He waited patiently as I bent my head forward and pretended to suck him off. If that night in his shower had told him anything, it was that I enjoyed pleasing him. It got me off as much as it got him off. And I couldn't wait for him to be inside me. I don't know what we were waiting for.

"Look at you," he marveled, "such a good girl."

He was telling the truth. Whenever we're intimate—which has only been a couple of times—I'm perfect. I do so well. I'm eager to learn what turns him on.

"Just like that," he praised, taking my hair into his hand and groaning, "fuck, you're perfect."

How did I ever sign up for this movie and not know what I was getting myself into? How did I sign the contract and not accidentally sign one about falling for my costar? Because oh, yes. I had fallen so hard.

"Fuck, Audrey," he moaned, and I'd never been more jealous of people named Audrey.

Before I knew it, I was on my back and he was pressed between my legs and calling me a good girl. These scenes are a fucking blur. He was hard as he pretended to fuck me, his erection sliding back and forth between my folds. Our underwear was separating us and it was painful. But so arousing.

And these scenes we'd film again, and again, and again, until I wanted to throw away our terms and conditions and write a whole new dirty one.

His two middle fingers were down my throat and I was so feral. I want him to do whatever he wants to me. Live out every fantasy. I'd be so willing.

I talk about sex with him so much because it hurts me to think of anything else. How he doesn't feel the same way, how we're leaving each other in a month, how everything is fucking fake. It hurts. It hurts in a way I could never describe. Because Drew pulled me out of the water. I was drowning and didn't know it, and he brought me back to solid ground.

Something about the way we stared at each other during the fourth take was different. We were good actors, but not that good. We knew what was happening. We'd be having sex later and nothing was stopping it. It was time.