The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(3)
Author: Alice Clayton

“I love making you hard. I love to see you get hard for me, just for me, Jack.” I moaned, my fingers beginning to rub my own sex furiously, imagining his face buried between my legs.

“Nothing gets me harder than seeing you come, love—making you come with my lips and my tongue. Nothing tastes as good as my sweet girl.”

“Oh, God, Jack, you’re getting me so wet. If you were here, oh, God, you f**k me so good,” I panted, thrashing about on the bed as my orgasm began to build, strong and full.

“Grace, I think about you all day sometimes—the taste of you sweet on my tongue and the way you look when you lose all control. Oh, God, Grace, you’re so beautiful when you come…” He moaned, barely able to speak as I could tell he was getting close himself.

Sweet Jesus, he’s good at this…

I needed to finish us both off.

“Mmm, I love when you come inside me, when I can hear you and feel you inside me…when…you are…deep…inside me…Oh, God…Jack…it’s so good!” I felt myself lose it, my fingers finally pushing deep inside me, and I imagined it was him driving into me, filling me.

He moaned, staying with me as I screamed his name, my fingers and his voice bringing me to the release I needed. I could hear his breath get heavier, and then he came too, his voice like a melody in my ear. I could see him in my mind’s eye: his eyes shut tight, his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched.

God, I missed him.

I trembled as I pushed the covers down. I was so worked up and hot, covered in sweet sweat.

“Fuck, Grace, you’re amazing,” he whispered, still breathing heavily.

“Oh, love, I wish I was there. I’d scratch your head and let you fall asleep on me,” I said, almost able to feel his weight.

“Would you let me hold your boobies?” he chuckled.

“You don’t even have to ask, George. My boobies are your boobies,” I teased, feeling my heart finally beat again in a normal rhythm.

“Hell yes they are! I’m going to make a little sign for you to wear that says ‘These are spoken for,’ and then everyone will know your boobies are mine.”

“Mmm, I love when you get all caveman on me. Will you throw me over your shoulder and carry me back to your cave?”

“Yep, and then I will ravage you before making you cook me up some T-Rex.” He laughed.

“That sounds heavenly, Sweet Nuts, just heavenly,” I sassed, choking on a yawn.

“Shit, Grace. I forgot how early it is there. I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry I called you in the middle of the night,” he said, horrified now.

“Do you feel better?” I asked.

“Well, yes. I do actually,” he said sheepishly.

“Then you call my ass whenever you want. That’s what I’m here for—that and the blow-your-mind phone sex.”

We laughed.

“I miss the shit out of you, Gracie,” he said quietly.

“I know, George. I miss you too.” I smiled into the phone.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to sleep. Love you.”

“Love you too. ‘Night.”

I hung up the phone, sighing and breathless, and rolled onto my side. At this point in the program, had I been with my Brit, boobies would be held, sweet nothings would be whispered, and even a Golden Girls episode or two might be viewed. A pang of loneliness washed over me, but I quickly pushed it aside. I turned my thoughts to the scene I’d be working on the next day. Mabel was meeting with her ex-husband for the first time since the divorce, and I knew my separation from Jack would help me create Mabel’s feelings of isolation. I missed Jack, but I would use it.

***

And so it went. Days turned into weeks. I rehearsed and sometimes went out with my new friends. Jack did interviews and photo shoots and went out with his friends. We talked all the time—and continued the frequent phone sex. He asked me lots of questions about the show and wanted to know everything about my new friends, the cast, and how things were going. I told Jack about everything, although I may have glossed over exactly how much time Michael and I were spending together outside rehearsal.

Some nights we met up to work on scenes he was rewriting, but we usually ended up talking, reminiscing, and laughing more than anything else. He said it helped with his rewrites to spend time with me, and I found more and more of myself showing up in the new scenes. He admitted once that he’d modeled some of Mabel’s character traits on me, especially the earlier scenes where Mabel is in college and falling in love with all the wrong guys.

One night we stayed late after rehearsal to work on a new scene, and when my tummy’s growling began to rival our rather loud discussion, I suggested we head back to my place and order a late dinner. I’d recently moved from the W hotel to a small apartment on the West Side. It was clean, close to the rehearsal space, and already furnished—everything I needed in a temporary home. Since I’d moved in, we’d fallen into a habit of ordering greasy Chinese, and the restaurant around the corner from my apartment was our number-one choice.

Secretly, this sometimes made me a bit nervous. Since battling my way back from a good deal of extra weight several years ago, I’d been dedicated to making smart food choices. But the noodles…oh my goodness, the noodles. I let myself pig out on occasion, because I knew now I could control it. I ate really well most of the time, I exercised like a banshee, and I was truly proud of my new body. This was what I was meant to look like. Nevertheless, when the noodles called, I answered. I just had to run an extra mile or two to combat them. It was worth it. Seriously, the best garlic noodles ever.

We picked up the order and settled into our usual spots: me on the couch and him on the floor next to me. He tended to make a mess, so I now made him either wear a bib, or sit on the floor where his mouth was closer to the noodle bowl. He chose the floor.

“Who was that guy you were dating sophomore year? The one that had the thing with no body hair?” he asked, shoveling in the noodles like someone was going to take them away from him.

“Um, Jason, I think? Ugh, I haven’t thought about him in years! He was odd—not one of my better moments. But fantastic in the sack, I must say.” I sighed, thinking of how happy he’d made me, but only when horizontal. He’d waxed his chest and legs, armpits, and even his bits and pieces. And this was back before anyone had ever heard of manscaping. He had zero body hair and, sadly, zero personality. Thank the maker he was equipped with nine inches of fantastic. This tended to make up for all his little peccadilloes.