Opening Night in the Dressing Room

W hen the star of the show ran into the dressing room with a hickey the size of a baseball on her neck, I was about ready to slap her. Puck, on the other hand, grinned like it was the best thing to happen all day. "Have fun?"

I snapped a shirt at him. "Knock it off. We don't have time for this."

Dress bunched in my hands, I threw it over her head and helped her pull it down while she shimmed out of the costume she'd been wearing during the first act.

"Grab my makeup case," I say to no one in particular.

Normally, with professionals like this, being in charge of makeup and hair isn't terribly difficult. At least, not at this point in the run. The hair and makeup design is done and I've trained them all on what to do. I'm really just back here for small touch ups and wardrobe malfunctions.

This is more than a minor malfunction. The props manager, Luc, saunters over with my makeup kit as if he has all the time in the world.

"Hurry!" We have exactly two minutes to get her and Puck on that stage.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I reprimand her as I smear a generous glob of foundation over the spot on her neck. This won't be enough.

"It's not her fault. It's the opening night curse." Puck laughs as if this is great fun, sounding a little too much like the mischievous character he plays in the show. I hate method actors.

The foundation doesn't work, so I scramble to find a scrap of fabric I can use to make a makeshift collar for the dress. "Stay here!"

When I rush back in the room, the ridiculous woman is recounting her sexual encounter in vivid detail, while Puck giggles like a schoolgirl. My cheeks flame with anger more than embarrassment. I don't want to hear about someone else's sex life when I'm going through a dry spell as desolate as a desert.

I pin a lacy scarf in place around her neck and tuck it under her bodice as quickly as I can. Then shove her and Puck towards the door. "Get your asses on stage. Now!"

"You're hot when you're telling people what to do." Luc says from somewhere behind me. He has the kind of voice that's memorable. A voice like the men in my dirty audiobooks. Every time I hear it, I melt a little.

"Yeah, right," I roll my eyes at his obvious teasing.

I'm not blind. I'm attractive in a girl-next-door kind of way. But I'm almost a decade older than him and not exactly his type.

As I turn to put away my makeup kit, I come face to chest with him. Did I mention he's tall? And muscular. And all the girls in the cast have crushes on him.

"I wasn't making a joke, Adriana." His voice rumbles with sincerity that I can't fully believe. Won't let myself believe. I've always been gullible, and I've been played too many times before. I've learned it's safer to keep my walls up, never assume someone is flirting, and push away advances before I get my heart stomped on by guys having a laugh at my expense.

"Get out of my way, Luc."

"Mmm, there you go again, making me hard."

"There you go again, making things up to mess with me."

He tilts my chin so I'm looking at his gorgeous face. "I'm not messing with you."

"Right." I skirt to the side and move to the vanity to put away my foundation. He follows behind me.

"Let me show you."

I shiver at what he's implying, imagining all the ways he could prove I make him hard. I don't answer, just search his gaze in the mirror.

His hands come to my hips, tentative at first. "Do you know why I never date anyone from the cast or the crew?"

I shake my head, holding my breath.

"It's because there's only one person here I want." There's certainty and confidence in his tone. "And it's you."

"But I'm so much older than you."

"I like that. Tell me what to do and make me your good boy." He shivers and presses closer, not close enough to tell if he's telling the truth about being hard, but close enough to feel the heat of him.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

He shrugs. "Maybe Puck's right about opening night of this show, because… I can't hold it in anymore. I've been near the edge of my control all night. You're so efficient and demanding. Creative, too. Seeing how you solved that problem with the hickey and put those actors in their place. Fuck, it was sexy." He comes closer and this time I feel it. His long length pressing along the base of my spine. His very hard length.

"I want you, Adriana. Have for a long time."

Still a little incredulous, I spin to face him and put my hands on my hips. "If that's true, then fuck me right here in the dressing room with the door open."

We both know if the stage manager catches us having sex in here, he'll fire us before the show's even over. He's done it once before.

Luc doesn't hesitate at all. "Okay."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. I can get another job, but I might never have another chance with you."

I shake my head, not believing what I'm hearing. "You might be ready to get another job for a fling, but I'm not."

He crowds me against the vanity. "I don't want this to be a fling, love."

I roll my eyes at him. "Pretty words, pretty boy."

There's no way a guy like him, in his prime, wants an actual relationship with a woman almost a decade older than him.

He grasps my hips and lifts me onto the vanity table, hands immediately running up my sides under my shirt, until his thumbs are skimming the under wire of my push-up bra—because you don't get to be almost forty without having saggy tits. No matter who tells you otherwise.

"Nope." I push him back and hop off. He looks like a wounded puppy. "Don't give me that face." I can't believe I'm going to do this. "I just mean not here."

Taking his hand, I lead him to the back corner of the room where the racks of costumes are lined up in rows. I can't exactly lock the door to the dressing room. The actors and actresses might need to get in, but these are the costumes we're not using this show, or the ones that are already done for the night.

It's darker back here, the lights only on in the main part of the room.

If we're doing this, I'm taking control. I won't be laughed at later when he says it was all a joke. I won't fall into a trap. This is just to take care of the incessant itch I've had all night. I'm gonna be the one using him. Not the other way around.

As I walk, I pull off my black shirt. He trails behind like the obedient little puppy he wants me to believe he is. Next, I wiggle out of my black pants. He groans from behind me, and when I look over my shoulder, I catch him checking out my ass. He's practically drooling. I've never felt more powerful in my life.

Maybe he does want this. Doesn't mean I'm letting down my guard, though.

By the time I reach the end of the row, I'm in only my bra and panties and he's only in a tight pair of Sponge Bob boxer briefs. I want to laugh at his choice of underwear, but my mouth is suddenly dry when he hooks his thumbs in them and reveals what's underneath. Nothing childish about that.

He's hard as a rock and leaking so much pre-cum it drips off him. There might be some benefits to being with a younger man.

I lean against the wall and take him in. Totally naked, framed by racks of brightly colored costumes on either side of him, he looks like a perfect little mannequin. I have the sudden urge to dress him up, which is quickly replaced by the urge to wrap myself around him and make him wear me like a dress.

Still a few feet away, he sinks to his knees and crawls forward until his lips reach my feet. He kisses the top of my right foot, the ankle, then his lips light a path up my leg and body until he's standing, kissing my neck and fisting my hair.

I feel my control slipping away from me, and I desperately need to keep hold of it.

"Hands on the rack," I rasp.

He smirks. "You want to tell me what to do? Is that how you like to play?"

"Oh, fuck, yes."

He tickles my ear with his breath. "Call me a good boy, and I'll do whatever you want."

"Be a good boy, and I'll call you one."

He grins at my smart ass remark and turns to do as I say. His hands fist the bar that's chin level for him and he steps back to wiggle his ass, intuitively knowing exactly what I want.

I come behind him and run my hands over his tight ass, up his back, across his muscular shoulders, down his sides, up his abs to his pecs until both hands wrap his pretty neck and I lean against him from behind, my whole body pressed into his ass and back.

"Are you gonna do exactly what I say and only what I say?"

"Yes," he gasps. "Anything."

He swallows under my grip, and I whisper in his ear. "Good boy."

"Touch me," he begs.

I lean away and slap his ass. He groans, giving a cute little wiggle but staying right where I want him.

"That's not what I meant when I asked you to touch me."

"Oh, I know exactly what you meant." I trail one finger down his spine and step to the side of him, so I can see his face. "You wanted me to wrap my hands around that enormous cock of yours and make you feel good, didn't you?"

"Yes, please, yes."

From my position beside him, I can see the way his tip is leaking his arousal. He really is big.

I paint a line up the side of his cock with one finger and swipe his pre-cum, bringing it to my lips. He tastes good. Salty and tart and masculine.

He groans. "Fuck that's hot. If you're not gonna touch me, at least let me touch you."

"Not yet." I stroke along the underside of his cock with two fingers now and his stomach hollows.

"Please."

"Hmm, so pretty when you beg." I part the costumes in front of him and step between them. I'm short enough that the bar is over my head. In front of him now, I scrape my nails down his chest to his hips and whisk my fingers across his cock.

"Fuck," he gasps. "At least let me kiss you."

He leans forward and down, lips closing in on mine. I put a finger between our mouths just in time. "Nah, ah, ah."

He throws his head back with a guttural groan.

I slowly lower to my knees. Dragging my hands along his body as I go. With my eyes on his, I lick him from balls to tip. Excruciatingly slow, I do it again. He squirms, cock bobbing, stomach tight, fists clenching around the bar of the costume rack.

"Please. Fuck, please. I need to come, and I don't want it to be in your mouth. Not tonight. The first time you take my cum, it's going to be in your cunt."

"I don't like that word." I reach around and slap his ass.

"I want to fuck your cunt."

"Language!" Another slap.

"I want to fuck your fucking cunt so hard you can't sit for a week."

I slap him again, hard this time. Once, twice, three times, just like he clearly wants. His hips buck forward, a moan escapes his lips.

"Are you gonna be a good boy and control that mouth of yours, or do I need to jam one of these dresses in it?"

"Enough," he growls.

One moment I'm on the floor on my knees, the next, I'm sprawled on top of a pile of costumes he knocked over as he took me down. His body covers mine. He pins my hands over my head. My hips, locked in place by his hips. His legs between mine.

It's rough and aggressive and so damn hot it takes my breath away.

"Enough." The repeated word is a whisper in my ear. "Enough." His soft lips gently kiss the corner of my mouth. "I know you're scared and control helps you feel better, but I'm done playing."

His gaze meets mine and holds, staring into the very depths of me.

"I'm not going anywhere. I've wanted you for so long, and now that you're letting me see you, touch you, have you, I can't wait anymore. You don't have to drag this out or make this encounter last, because this is just the start. I'm going to have you again and again and again. On your back and on your knees and on every fucking surface in here. But right now, I just want to be inside you. Please, Adriana." He brushes a finger down my cheek and I realize he's trailing the path of a tear. "Let me love you."

"You can't. You're—"

He kisses me and pushes the tip of his cock right at my entrance, stretching my lips around him.

"I'm in love with you. That's what I am." He pushes just a little deeper. Just the tip of him inside me. "I don't care if you're older or what people will say. You're talented and beautiful and funny and sexy as sin and I love you."

"You love me?" The tears are falling freely now.

He kisses each one. "I love you."

And then he's inside me. Pressing all the way in. So full, he rubs against the right spot with every tiny movement. So deep, the head of his cock makes my stomach bulge. I've never had that happen before.

I don't care that I'm laying on a hard floor, in a rumpled pile of costumes that I'll have to launder and iron. I don't care that he's not wearing a condom. I don't care that anyone might walk back into this corner at any moment and see us or that we're both making obscene noises as we move together, whispering things to each other that I never thought I'd confess. How often I watched him. How attracted I am to him. How I admire him.

And over and over, he tells me he loves me as he drives the point home with each thrust. The orgasm comes on me like a rising tide, slowly growing and growing, until it covers the whole beach, taking all of me out to sea.