The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(2)
Author: Alice Clayton

Jack starred as Joshua, a time-traveling scientist whose cinematic escapades were based on a series of wildly popular erotic short stories. The stories’ fans had begun to transfer their affections to Jack, and they were getting quite…hmm…excitable. Women were really into him. Which I totally got. The fact that he shared my bed made my understanding that much more complete.

Heh-heh, you sleep with him.

Yes, yes, I do.

He was always dealing with fans, and from what he told me they were generally polite and sweet, but the constant scrutiny was beginning to get to him. One night he called late, really late. Or I should say really early. It was after four a.m. East Coast time.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Hello yourself,” he whispered thickly.

I rolled over to look at the clock. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“Nothing’s wrong. Does something need to be wrong to call my girlfriend in the middle of the night?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

“No, of course not, but it’s crazy early here, Jack. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I pressed as I lay back down.

“Wrong, no. Weird, yes, definitely,” he said, his voice still sounding strange.

“What happened, love?” I asked, trying to push back a yawn.

“Some girl grabbed my ass tonight! And then another girl—oh hell, Grace. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, do I? Tell me, you didn’t grab her ass back, did you?” I laughed, trying to let him know I was okay, and he could share without judgment.

“I was walking out to the car after leaving this club, and there were cameras, of course,” he muttered.

This was a fairly new development. He was recognized more and more—and not just by fans. Paparazzi were taking more and more pictures of him, and it was not uncommon for me to see him on E! or TMZ at least once a week. It was weird seeing your guy on Entertainment Tonight, but that’s how we rolled.

“Okay, so there were cameras. Did you keep your ball cap pulled down low?” I asked, trying to get him to laugh. It was standard for him to wear the ball cap every freaking day now, and if the cameras caught him in it, I teased him mercilessly.

“Ha-ha. I did have it on, yes. Well, anyway, I was walking out to the car, and this girl came out of nowhere and tried to…well…she tried to…”

“Did she kiss you?” I asked.

“She tried to, yes. But she didn’t. Grace, I swear I did not kiss her,” he said firmly.

“Hey, it’s cool, George. I know how aggressive they can get. You should have seen me the first time I saw New Kids when I was in high school. My friends and I followed their bus halfway across town before we realized we were actually following a group of senior citizens on their way to Branson.” I laughed, remembering how sad we were when we pulled in behind them at the Flying J truck stop and saw the shuffleboard set disembark.

“You followed the New Kids’ tour bus? Why are girls like that?” he asked, laughing along with me. I could feel him calming down, even over the phone. Jack did not like crowds, as a rule, and when he had a lot of people looking at him, it made him extremely self-conscious. Tonight he just seemed to need to hear my voice, and I loved that I could soothe him.

“I would explain it if I could,” I said. “All I know is when we saw them perform earlier this year, Holly and I both screamed like we were fourteen again. It brings something out in us—it’s hard to define. I felt exactly like I did when I saw them the first time, like no time had passed. I think that’s why you have so many older fans as well, why you’re cornering both the teen and the cougar market.” I giggled. “You remind us of when we were young enough that squealing was expected.”

“Hmm, and they’ve called you a cougar, Grace. Are you just using me for sex?” he teased, his voice silky and thick at the same time.

“I’m not quite a cougar yet, love, but I’m for sure just using you for the sex,” I answered, my voice trailing off.

“I knew it,” he said, laughing.

We were quiet for a moment, and then he sighed.

“What is it?” I asked, sliding deeper into the covers.

“I just miss you. I miss being in your bed,” he said quietly, and I could hear the desperation in his voice. I felt it too. It was not just the physical love he gave me, but the simple touches we took for granted when we saw each other all the time. I missed him washing my hair almost as much as the intense orgasms he had granted me daily.

“I do too, love. I miss the way you hold me—especially where your hands always end up.” I giggled.

“You mean on your beautiful boobies?” he whispered. He teased, but I could hear his need building. It mimicked my own, which he could always bring quickly to the surface.

“Mmm, yes, please. I love how you know exactly how to touch me.” I moaned a little into the phone, my other hand beginning to travel restlessly under the sheets.

“Oh you do, do you?” he asked, the accent getting deeper and thicker.

“Oh, God, yes. You have the most perfect hands. I love your fingers especially. They’re so strong,” I whispered, propping the phone on my shoulder.

“Where do you like me to touch you, Grace?” he asked, his breath coming faster now. I could imagine where his own hands were.

“I love when you peel my clothes off slowly, and then graze my ni**les with your fingertips. Mmmm,” I moaned, and I heard him moan in response. “And then when you touch me with your tongue, moving from one breast to the other—oh, God, that always feels amazing,” I said, my own breath coming faster now. My hands dipped beneath my panties to feel how wet I already was, just imagining his hands all over me.

“Grace, where’s your hand now?” he asked, the accent off the charts.

“Where do you want it to be, love?” I asked wickedly.

“Mmm, Grace, if I were there I’d be running my fingers through your hot, wet…” And he moaned the word that made me ache. He made the word absolutely drip from his sweet tongue.

I moaned loudly into the phone, hearing him groan back.

“Well, that’s exactly where my hand is, and as I’m touching myself, I’m imagining all the naughty, nasty things you do to make me scream,” I purred.

“God, Grace, you get me so hard,” he whispered, and I could hear him beginning to lose control. The thought of his elegant, strong hands gripping himself while talking dirty to me was almost too much to bear.