Debutante

Table of Contents

Emily dropped her robe. She willed herself not to blush as Luke, sprawled naked across his bed, stared at her with the same amazed expression of awe that always crossed his face when she disrobed. His pupils dilated until they were black with mere rims of blue.

She blushed. It was ridiculous to try not to – like trying not to hiccup. It couldn't be done. Emily should be pleased he was so enamoured of her body. She
was
pleased. It wasn't like she wished he'd get used to it or that she suspected he only loved her for her looks. She knew better. She'd been with good boys and bad boys but she'd never been with one like Luke.

Like right now. Any other guy would say, ‘Come here,' or at least beckon with an index finger or pat the bed. But he didn't. He just smiled, his eyes black and his impressive manhood already half-erect. He waited, as he had in the restaurant where she'd worked when they met. At some point during every shift he'd show up, not saying a word, just drinking his coffee and eating his toast and watching her work with unconcealed, non-predatory pleasure.

She was used to being hit on. This was LA and everyone was a producer or a director or an agent or a wannabe – a liar, or a gonnabe – a film student. He was a film student. Once in a while he'd frame her with his thumbs and index fingers but to his credit he seemed to be trying to do it when she wasn't looking, not waiting to be sure she was.

Anyway she was a film student too, sort of. Secretly. But it was different for Emily because LA was her hometown. It made sense, economically, to go to university in her home state. And, technically at least, she was a business major. It was only by working as a waitress three nights a week that she'd been able to declare a double major, studying film, too, because she wanted to, not because, like so many
artistes
she'd met, because she had to.

She was interested in ‘The Business', all right, but it had nothing to do with appearing in front of the camera.

‘You oughta be in pictures,' her customers would say, grinning to let her know that they knew it was a cliché.

‘Maybe,' she'd reply, topping up their cups of coffee, ‘but I ain't gonna be.'

There was something magical about the movies, that was for sure. You couldn't live here and not feel it, breathe it, know it to be true. But Emily would never be ‘in' film. Not like they meant, anyway. Simply put, she was too shy.

She could sing, dance and act her little heart out, in the quiet of her own apartment. But put her on a stage and she became a mannequin – the quintessential ‘dumb blonde'. It was beyond horrible.

Just thinking about it made her feel queasy. But she wasn't acting, not now. Now she was scurrying to the bed, eager for the encouragement of Luke's arms around her. He didn't just love her for her looks, she
knew
that. But it didn't hurt to be reassured.

Luke pulled a sheet up to cover them both. He pulled her close, so close she could feel his heart beat against her breasts and his long cock hardening against her belly.

‘You are so brave,' he murmured.

By now she knew
he
knew how difficult it was for her to stand before him, nude, and allow herself to be adored. Especially here at his house, where there was always someone playing music and someone else watching TV while two or three students passionately argued the merits of Tarantino versus Truffaut or some other pointless comparison. Doors banged. She was never entirely convinced that the ‘scarf on the doorknob' (he didn't own a tie and wouldn't buy a lock) was proper protection from intruders. It wasn't easy to ignore the constant noise and stand around naked in a house where a dozen guys and only one girl, a type ‘A' film student named Marion who was rarely home, rocked and rolled their way through college life.

Luke always rewarded her with hugs and gentle kisses and he did so now.

‘Baby love,' he murmured, kissing her eyelids. ‘Beautiful baby.' He kissed her nose, her ears, her neck and finally her mouth. Though her lips parted eagerly his travelled on, licking and kissing her left shoulder, elbow, wrist and each of her fingers.

‘You've been baking,' he murmured, ‘you taste like honey. Like cinnamon. Where are you hiding your honey and cinnamon cookies?'

Emily laughed. His ‘love talk' was silly, the silliest, but somehow he pulled it off.

‘I haven't been baking. I don't know how to cook.'

‘I think you bake in secret,' he murmured. He switched to her right hand, nibbling her fingers and then mouthing his way up her arm to lick her armpit until she squealed. ‘Maybe you made a pudding for me? A creamy, honey-sweet pudding?'

His cock pressed against the length of her thigh. It was a big one: smooth, circumcised, surrounded by a curly black nest of hair, with lovely big balls hanging down. But he'd never hinted that she might be staying with him because of his generous manhood, just as she'd never accused him of loving her for her looks. Their courtship had been slow. Deliberate. They'd known what they were getting into and they had not balked. And now they were there. In love.

‘Maybe I'm making a honey pudding right now,' she whispered.

He laughed, low. But he didn't dive for her pussy the way most guys would when issued such a blatant invitation. He kissed her mouth first. He'd kiss her and kiss her until she was almost forced to ask for it. She imagined Luke could make her grovel for sex if he wanted to but he'd never pushed her that far. He likely knew, though she'd never told him, that making her beg would humiliate her past lust and into anger. She'd told him she had a temper but he'd said it was hard to believe. He'd never seen it.

‘God.' The words spilled from her mouth as he released it from his. ‘Luke …'

‘Mm. More kisses.' He kissed her breasts, back and forth, circling the areola of each before zeroing in on her nipples with the tip of his tongue. As he moved down the bed, the bedclothes moved with him, leaving her exposed. She should pull them up, but that might break the mood, so what the hell, she'd just have to trust the scarf!

She ached. He hadn't touched her pussy but she knew it was soaking wet. It always creamed like crazy when she posed for him, as if it loved what she knew she feared. Or something. Sometimes he spent a long time going down on her but this time, thank God, he didn't.

His lips met hers again. He kissed her as best he could while positioning himself above her. Finally, the tip of his cock slipped inside Emily. She moaned. Her pussy contracted, as if trying to capture what could only be given freely.

‘Em … I love you, Em …' Luke slid smoothly inside her.

It always surprised her, the way her pussy seemed to widen and lengthen to accept what had, the first time, seemed far too much for her to handle. But she knew, now, that she could take it. In fact, she loved the way he filled her needy little opening and the entire tunnel it led to. She was stuffed with Luke. He knew, now, not to slam into her, because that did hurt. He knew, too, that just because one little hole of hers opened so nicely for him didn't mean another, smaller, tighter one could. Or would.

‘Mm. I love you too, I do. I love this, too …' Emily tried to verbally excite him, though she wasn't talented at dirty talk. He appreciated her efforts though. He appreciated her. She tilted her hips up, using her body to tell him what she couldn't say.

‘You're so wet, Em. So wet and hot.' He shifted his weight to his right arm and reached down between them with his left to massage her clit. ‘I want to fuck you all day but I want to come so bad.'

His fingers on her clit tilted her immediately over the edge. The rippling spasms that had seemed to grasp at him now clenched his cock like a fist, opening and closing rhythmically. The orgasm shot through her, making her toes point and her hands splay. It seemed to exit through her open mouth in a long, loud shriek.

Luke rode her through most of it before his eyes screwed shut and his mouth dropped open. He trembled all over as he came, thrusting and softening at the same time, moaning her name.

‘Jesus Christ.' He collapsed on top of her.

‘Oomph.' Emily's mouth, still open, expelled all the air in her lungs as she took his full weight.

‘Sorry,' he muttered. He almost rolled to his left, then rolled to his right instead. He slid his right arm under her neck. ‘Sometimes I think, you know, that it's gonna kill me.'

Emily laughed. ‘Yeah.'

‘You too?' He looked surprised.

‘Uh-huh. It's so intense.'

‘Think it's because we're in love? Or is it chemistry?'

Emily groaned. ‘I don't. I don't think. Please.'

‘Sorry.' Luke grinned. He kissed her shoulder.

Emily smiled at him. She loved the way he could change from a take-charge man to a delighted boy. After sex, when his blue eyes were particularly bright and his dark hair was mussed all over, falling into his eyes and standing straight up at the back, in a cowlick, he looked more like a farm boy than a –

An electronic beep sounded.

‘What's that?' Emily glanced around lazily.

Luke froze.

‘Cell phone needs recharging?' Em stretched. She'd like to catch a nap before work but – she looked at her boyfriend. His eyes were as wide as saucers. As wide as they'd been the first time he saw her breasts. ‘What?'

‘Nothin'. Must be the cell phone. Let's go downstairs and get some food.'

‘I'm not going anywhere.'

The beeping continued.

Luke got out of bed. ‘Come on.'

‘Luke. What's going on?'

‘Nothing. I just –'

Emily propped herself up on her elbow.

She saw it. The blinking red light, just inside his slightly open closet. It could really only be one thing. The problem was she couldn't believe it. She kicked off the covers and got out of bed. It was as if she were on a boat, rocking on the open ocean. She almost stumbled as she headed for the closet.

Luke got there first. He slid the door shut. ‘It's nothing,' he whispered.

Emily opened the door. It was a camera, broadcast quality. The battery was low. Hence the beep.

Emily's hand flew to her lips. She stared at Luke. For a moment, they were frozen.

Then all hell broke loose.

Her other hand knocked the camera from its tripod.

‘Christ, Em! That belongs to the school!' Luke dived into the closet to rescue the camera.

By the time he emerged she was half-dressed.

‘I can explain,' he said.

‘Save it.' Emily shot her arms through the sleeves of her sweater. Her hands, as they emerged, were balled into fists. She hadn't bothered to put on her bra; she just grabbed it and stuffed it in her knapsack.

‘It's only for me.'