To Love Jason Thorn (Page 64)

Before I could extract myself from her arms, her hand reached up and touched my dimple. Tilting my head, I kissed her finger and left her side so I could go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I had kissed Lindsay, or I should say Evie, a total of twenty times. I didn’t want the lingering taste of her in my mouth. It wasn’t that Lindsay wasn’t a professional about it, I just wanted Olive’s taste back.

As soon as I was done, I was crawling on top of her and reaching for her lips. She hadn’t said anything about the filming, and while I was curious to hear what she thought about the scenes we had shot, kissing her was higher on my priority list.

Nudging her lips open, I sneaked my tongue inside her mouth and gently tilted her head back so I could sink into her. I didn’t know how long I kissed her liked that, drinking her in, memorizing her scent, but when I slid my erection against the seam of her leggings, her little moan reached through the thick fog that was blinding me.

Ending the kiss, I rested my forehead on hers and listened to her heavy breathing.

“What did you think?” I asked in a heavy voice when I could think more clearly.

“You were amazing,” she whispered as she looked into my eyes with her heart shining right at the edges.

Amused, I asked, “Lindsay?”

She made a cute, funny face. “I think I’m okay with the fictional Evie having her happy ending with Isaac, but watching it in real life…actually watching her kiss you soooo many times, and from so many different angles? Not so sure about that.”

I laughed and kissed her again.

“That’s why I was dying to get you back here. I think I prefer to kiss the author.”

“How does it work exactly? I mean, how can you not feel something for her and then go ahead and kiss her like that?”

“Like…what?”

“Like you wanted to eat her up?”

“I want to eat you up, Olive. Can I?”

“I’m serious, though.”

“Baby, nothing about those kisses was intimate. Didn’t you see how many times we had to stop to make sure the director was happy with the angle and the lighting? It’s Isaac and Evie kissing at that moment, not Lindsay and Jason. Now, I really want it to be Jason and Olive kissing,” I murmured into her ear and left a trail of small kisses on her neck.

Arching her neck to get more, she lifted her hips.

I groaned and pushed her hips back down to the couch with my hand. “I’m afraid if we start with that, I won’t be able to get back to the set.”

Ignoring my warning, she pulled me down by my neck and kissed the fuck out of me.

By the time there was someone banging on the door, I was fucking her through our clothes.

I wrenched my lips away from hers and snarled at whoever the hell was at the door.

“Starting the scene in ten, Jason!” someone yelled from the other side. It sounded like the AD.

I rested my head on Olive’s shoulder. “Be there in a minute.”

Watching how fast her chest was rising and falling gave me immense pleasure. I did that to her. I took her breath away.

Pushing up with my hands, I looked down at her flushed face. Her eyes were dilated.

“I love this look on you, Olive,” I said, feeling so many things all at once.

“What look?” she asked breathlessly.

“This look that says, I’ve been fucked so very well.”

She laughed. “I don’t remember being fucked.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t? Maybe we should amend that.”

Her expression serious, she nodded. “We definitely should. I want you so bad, Jason. In me. On me.”

I groaned and hid my face against her throat. They pounded on the door again.

“We need to leave.”

“I’ll stay here. The kissing and all that was starting to get to me. Plus, I want some of it to be a surprise when I’m watching the movie. I feel motivated enough to write more so I should take advantage of that.”

“Ok, sweetheart.” I kissed her nose and slowly backed away from her body. “If I can’t come back in between takes, I’ll make sure to have somebody bring you lunch.”

“When does shooting end today?”

“I think closer to eight. Tanner wants to shoot some of the street shots today. Why do you ask?”

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, she straightened her shirt and looked away. “No reason. I thought maybe when we get home, we could…” Her words trailed off.

“We could what, baby?”

She stayed silent but bit her lip, drawing my attention.

Placing my hands on either side of her hips, I got in her face and asked again, “We could what, Olive? What do you want from me?”

She lifted her eyes and met my gaze. “I want you.”

“You got me.”

“Did I?” she asked, tilting her head.

I nipped her lips and she squealed. “Does my wife want her husband to fuck her? Is that what you are trying to ask?”

Her gaze softened and she placed a hand over my cheek. “Can he?”

“Oh, baby,” I murmured, breathing in her unique scent. “You want to be properly fucked, don’t you?”

“Mr. Thorn? Everyone is waiting for you on set. What should I tell them?” This time it was the PA they had assigned to me—you could tell from the uncertainty in his voice.

“For god’s sake! I’m coming,” I shouted again.

I sighed and said to Olive, “Hold that thought until I get back.”

By the time we were shooting the martini shot, it had already gotten dark outside and I hadn’t seen or heard from Olive for hours. After a quick talk with Tanner and Lindsay about the next day’s schedule, I was heading straight to her, hoping that she was still in the trailer.

I unlocked the door and got in, but couldn’t find her on the first floor. Heading up to the screening room, I found her curled up on the corner of the couch, her laptop on her lap, her fingers tapping furiously. When I got close enough to see her face, I noticed the tears falling from her eyes.

“Olive, what’s wrong?”

She flinched and her fingers stopped moving for a moment as she looked up at me.

“Sorry,” she sniffled. “I didn’t hear you. Can you just give me a second? I need to finish this scene.”

“Of course,” I said, a little dumbstruck. I sat down. She gave me a small smile and then turned her eyes back to the screen.

Sitting beside her, my hands were adamant that she needed them on her skin, so I reached out and gathered her hair on the other side of her neck. Small goose bumps appeared on her skin, but I doubted she even noticed me touching her.

After several minutes passed and she was done with whatever was making her cry, she twisted in her seat and faced me. My hands were on her face in a second. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?” I asked, wiping away her tears. She must’ve been crying for a long time for her eyes to be so red and puffy.

She gave a miserable laugh and wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Her father…her father died.”

“Aww, baby, whose father died?” I brushed a small kiss on her mouth, tasted her salty lips, and leaned back. I was still stroking her jawline, quite possibly to assure myself that she was okay.

“Maya’s,” she replied as fresh tears started spilling down her cheeks. Noticing my questioning look, she clarified. “The new book I’m working on. Maya is the heroine. Her father had cancer, and she was with him…his last night, holding his hand, and then he never made it to morning. He knew…he wasn’t going to, and he loved her so much.”