37. Gemma
THIRTY-SEVEN
GEMMA
Two and a half weeks later
The Stud ?????
I can’t believe you made me leave the house
I miss you already
The real world sucks
When I get home, I’m gonna convince you we should never leave it again
If you need to eat or drink today, better do it before I get back ??
Baby?
Gem??
Jellybean???
Me
Sheesh, I’m here
Can you not scare me like that?
It’s been twelve minutes, Stone.
Twelve.
Twelve whole minutes without you.
The longest I’ve gone in weeks.
I don’t like it.
He sends a gif of a cartoon animal furiously shaking its head, and I roll my eyes at his antics. He’s such a dork.
I was showering, your highness, my apologies. Next time I won’t put my phone down.
Showering, you say?
Someone didn’t leave time for me to shower with him this morning, ring any bells?
Hmmm
I remember blowing your mind this morning…
Twice
He sends a gif of a guy blowing on his nails and rubbing them on his shirt, all proud, and I cackle at his level of maturity.
Yeah and that second time meant you had thirty seconds to shower and run out the door
The next gif is of the “no ragrets” guy.
But if you wanna bring your phone in the shower next time we’re in there, I’ve got some ideas worth recording…
Get your head out of the gutter
You like it down here, don’t lie
Then he shoots me a lyric, an obscure deep cut, but he doesn’t fool me with it.
No, no one knows me like you do
I finish it for him.
No, no, not even I do
Walking in now see you soon xx
Good luck in there xx
The last two-plus weeks have flown by. It’s been an absolute whirlwind, and we basically haven’t left the house. There’s been an embarrassing amount of sex (I’ll spare you the details), so much catching up, chitchatting about life, sharing our dreams, and even peaceful silence between us when we run out of things to discuss and are still recuperating before we get back down to business. Just two people, living their lives together, like they were always meant to.
It’s like we fell back into the rhythm we had for so many years, where we’re a team, knocking out things together, for one another. He’s done a couple of posts and stories promoting my clothing line, and the sales haven’t slowed down yet (squee!). I’ve done a little bit of cooking so we don’t rely exclusively on DoorDash, and I definitely made a few calls, sent a few texts, to get his house and his life back in order, kinda like old times. Okay, I guess it’s a little different. We never used to climb each other in every room, on every possible surface, all over his property…but I did used to dream about it, for what that’s worth.
Not the same? Okay, fine. Tough crowd.
Other than that, it’s kinda like we’ve been preparing for this our entire lives.
Today’s the first day he’s had to go back to work, it’s finally time to meet with the showrunners and his bosses on set about the future of his character. I may have been sneaking some texts in with Alex over the past couple weeks, plotting with her to get him back on the show ASAP. I’m not letting him give up his career, his freaking dream because of me. It’s genuinely the dumbest idea he’s ever had (and he’s had some dumb ones, let me tell you). But the days we’ve spent curled up around each other, whether we’re in the kitchen, the living room, the shower, the treehouse or the bedroom…they’ve been perfection. I feel extra lucky that we got all this uninterrupted time together at the start of our romantic involvement, because it’s allowed us to fall into each other wholly, getting to know each other on the remaining levels we hadn’t yet discovered. That said, it’s time for him to get back to his real life, and I’m looking forward to being back in it, too.
We’ve done a lot of talking, obviously, and one conversation in particular comes to mind from the other night, after we’d gotten back from hosting the bi-monthly romance book club at the library.
By the way, Aaron stayed true to his word, he’s been participating as an active member in discussions, throwing out recs to the group and leading debates among the attendees (surprise surprise, he’s usually rooting for the MMC who’s fucked up with the girl and finding his way back to her).
But that was our only real outing that whole first week, and when we got back home, we sat across from each other on the couch, legs folded, knees touching, a pillow in my lap, freshly made cocktails in hand for each of us, courtesy of Aaron, of course.
“Do you miss it?” he asked me, looking into my eyes like he really wanted to know how I felt.
“The library?” My eyes wandered to the fireplace, the muggy Georgia autumn finally cool enough we got to light it for once, and went a little fuzzy, unfocused as I thought it over.
“Mmm,” he agreed.
After a minute, I shrugged.
“I dunno. Kinda? I mean, I liked the people, the connections I made. That was kinda new for me. But I still text a couple of ’em, and ya know, we have the book club, which was my favorite part of it.” My eyes refocused, and I stared intently into my ranch water. “I don’t think it was my forever place to be, though,” I tell him thoughtfully.
“No?”
It didn’t take any more encouragement from him, I knew he wanted me to tell him what was on my mind, and I did. “I’ve never really known what to do with my life, you know that. I mean, school was a given, I was gonna get a degree to fall back on, somewhere to get started if nothing else called to me. But…nothing really has. I’m not really sure where I fit in in this world. I’ve never found that thing that’s my passion, like you did.” I gave him a sad smile, meeting his eyes again, and took a sip of my drink.
“We’ll find it for you, baby.” He sounded so sure, but I wasn’t. I mean, I’m not sure if everyone out there finds something they’re passionate about, what makes their heartbeat speed up, what gives them a thrill to get to do it every day, something that makes waking up more appealing than not, but I was twenty-four and not any closer to finding mine. The only thing I’d ever felt that way about was a person, not a job at all. But I let his certainty wash through me all the same, his infectious optimism like a balm atop the last of my insecurities. He soothed me even in his silence, as we sat there sipping our drinks, shooting the shit, and talking about some of our wildest dreams.
He was convinced winning an Oscar and a Golden Globe by thirty was ridiculous, but I wasn’t so sure. I stand by my take that he has a pretty good chance of garnering the attention of the powers that be between the last season of Midnight Empire (and holy cow, the next one!) and that indie flick he shot over the summer. And if those don’t get him nominated for something, they’ll surely land him some other opportunities that can open those doors for him. I told him so, and he actually blushed then changed the subject.
“Hey,” he said suddenly.
“Yeah?” I looked back up at him.
“I know you’re not, like, working at the library anymore…” he trailed off.
“Yeah?” I repeated, staring at him curiously.
He hit me with a little devilish look that made my stomach flip and a rush of heat bloom down south.
“But I’d love to pretend you still do next time we go, maybe make use of one of those rooms off to the side…” His eyes tracked down my body, catching on my chest underneath the cozy sweater I was wearing, my breaths getting deeper as his gaze warmed me from the inside out. “You’re so good at staying quiet,” he said, all sexy and shit, and then we were done talking for the night, and put our mouths to use in other ways instead.
In the week since that conversation passed, I’m starting to have a pretty solid idea of what it is that’s important to me, what I want out of my life, what my dreams look like.
When Aaron gets home and fills me in on how the meeting went, I’m thrilled to hear that he’s agreed to get back to his normal filming schedule as of this next week, and I have the courtesy to pretend Alex wasn’t sending me real-time updates throughout the big talk, and act surprised at the news. His character has been being held and tortured by the rival family for the last three episodes, and they want to rescue him and bring him home in the next one. I’m excited for him because this is so much more character depth than a lot of the roles he’s played before, and the showrunners are really giving him a chance to cut his teeth on something meaty. I know he’s gonna kill it, and it’s going to absolutely blow up his opportunities for the future.
“You better warn Tom about all the offers he’s going to be getting for you,” I tell him, referring to his longtime agent. “Fuck it, I’ll text him.” I get out my phone and send him a quick message to start that conversation.
Aaron shakes his head at me, staring at me like I’m too good to be, and I grin back at him, cause sometimes, he really is.
“Hey,” he says seriously. I blink at him, waiting to hear what’s on his mind. Serious? Flirty? Can be hard to guess with him sometimes. “Will you come back to set with me? To the lot, when I go back?”
My eyes widen, and I think my mouth pops open a little, too, because he keeps going quickly. “Not as my assistant!” he clarifies. “Like, I know you have your business now. But, just, to be there with me? As my partner? It’s been months , and I was such a dick, and I just…I feel like the best me when you’re with me, and that’s what I want to show them. That I’m back. For real.”
Not sure he took a breath during that little ramble, but I reach out to rub his bicep up and down reassuringly. “You don’t even have to ask, Stone. Where you go, I go.” The look of appreciation on his face warms a part of my heart I never even knew existed.
It’s his first day back. We’re in his trailer, prepping for his first shot back. Or, that’s what we should be doing. Instead, Aaron is looking me over with a heated intensity I’ve come to know is a promise for what’s to come (spoiler alert: it’s me), and a chill breaks out along my limbs. The dark T-shirt he arrived in is thrown over the back of the small couch against the wall of the trailer, and he has yet to pull on the outfit wardrobe laid out for him. Which means, lucky me, I get a view of his chiseled abs and pecs—that tattoo he got there just for me—those fucking little lines at his hips, with nothing covering him but a pair of jeans, and I don’t mind at all .
Not sure how this is me helping him on his first day back, but hey. Not much of a complainer, me. Here to be supportive however he needs me to, not to ask questions. So I support him by taking in the sight before me appreciatively.
When he sees where my eyes are focused, he gives me a cocky little smirk with one side of his mouth, and brings his hand up to his face, running his fingers over his mouth with deliberation, drawing my eyes to what he’s doing. Those fingers. That mouth. I can’t help but be inundated with memories of the last two and a half weeks. All of the times I’ve felt his hands, his lips, his tongue all over me. Which was exactly his point, the bastard.
We’re not past that obsession stage yet—that time in a new relationship where you’ve lusted after each other for so long, that it takes an absolute age to catch up on all the times you missed out on—and I’m honestly not sure we ever will be. No matter how many times we bring each other to ruin in a day, it’s never enough. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him. I hope it’s not just a stage.
With this being his first real day back on set, basically the first day we haven’t spent the majority of the day holed up at one of our places, I had mentally prepared myself to go the entire day without him.
Mock me if you want, I know it sounds needy, but I do need as much of him as I can get. He’s the most intoxicating, addictive sort of craving I’ve ever had. And now, forced to stare down that ridged stomach that I could grind on and ride until I come, that chest my short nails have dug into countless times in recent days and nights, watch him tease me with those skilled fingers against that gifted, talented mouth of his…I’m not so sure I can make it all day, after all.
A tremble goes through my core when I recall exactly how that same stomach looked as he thrust in and out of me last night, clenched and toned, with a couple beads of sweat running down those lines, that definition. I gotta say, I’ve never been so thankful for all the work I put into keeping him on the regimen from his trainer for the past several years as when I get to admire our handiwork up close like that. Goddamn, is his pain-in-the-ass self-worth it when I get to reap all the rewards from what we’ve sown.
I do my best to swallow without gulping, bring my eyes up to his face—hardly safer territory, if I’m being honest—and press my legs together to keep my arousal at bay. Leaning back against the mini fridge, I’m pressed almost as far away from him as I can be, but in the small living room of the trailer, it can’t be more than four feet from his half-naked body.
His tongue darts out to touch his top lip, then it slides down to the side of his mouth and retreats. I think I whimper in response. He drops his head forward in a little chuckle and then flicks his eyes back up at me, his head still tilted down toward the floor.
“You good over there, Gem?”
“Mmm,” I reply, as convincingly as possible.
“You look a little flushed. You staying hydrated? Need anything?”
I shake my head rapidly, wide eyes probably straight out of an anime show. “I’m good,” I lie.
He chuckles again, the sound almost gravelly, and way too sexy for his own good. He makes his way over to me, crouching down next to my legs. The nearness of him, how close his face is to the area that craves him, misses him even after not even twelve hours apart (we kept each other up pretty late last night, and as a result, slept in too late to fit a round in this morning) is the cruelest form of a tease.
I watch him a little too eagerly, and when he opens the door of the little beverage fridge, reaches in, pulls out a can then hands me a flavored Pellegrino, I blow out an exasperated breath. I take it from him, pop the top and gulp down a sip (what flavor, you’re wondering? I couldn’t tell you. Could be the black raspberry one or could be a new roadkill flavor—my tongue registers nothing right now.). All I can do is just clutch onto the can with one hand for dear life, on edge in every sense from the man crouched down in front of me.
That smirk is back as Aaron watches me, amused, knowing full well what he’s doing to me. When he stands back up, he leaves no space between our bodies, pressing himself against my lower body, pushing my legs and hips farther into the mini fridge, and crowding my upper body back against the living room wall behind it. He trails one hand softly down my side, causing me to jump at the sudden feel of him, before chills break out from the point of contact, the sensation of his fingertips running down my skin hitting my nerves even through the thin material of my shirt. He leans even closer, pressing his nose to the side of my head until his lips are against the shell of my ear, his breath hot, tickling me in a way that isn’t at all unpleasant.
“You sure you don’t need anything, baby?” I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on that offer, the suggestive tone that speaks for itself. I’d love to take him up on it, if I’m being honest, but even though I’m no longer his assistant, I don’t feel right about making him late for his shot. Pretty sure he’s due on set in about ten minutes. And by pretty sure , I’m just being humble. He is. If he gave me free reign to use his body how I see fit right now, I’d take a lot more than the time he’s got.
Aaron must think otherwise, because he uses his free hand to take my empty one and pulls it to his body, flat against the bare skin of his chest, fingers pressed to that intricate design there. He holds it there, his ever-present warmth penetrating my palm, while he trails that other hand of his farther and farther down my body. It travels past where I wish it were and down my thigh before finding the hem of my skirt, and begins to work its way back up my body, beneath the loose fabric there. My body reacts instantly, the slow burn that’s been alight in my core since he started changing suddenly turning into a sharp pulling, a desperate tug, a need to be filled, and wetness floods my panties.
He leans back to look me in the eye, cupping my jaw, my head, gingerly with the hand that isn’t climbing up my skirt, and brushes my cheek with his thumb. That other hand I can’t help but focus on races past the sensitive skin of my upper thigh and traces against the most delicate part of me, up the center of my underwear, where I know he can feel the ample evidence of my desire.
“’Cause it feels to me like you need something…” he trails off. The endless depths of his blue eyes flick between my own and then down to my mouth, the way my teeth are working my lower lip as I try not to rock my hips against his hand, not to start something we can’t finish, not to moan or whimper and give away just how badly I do need him, but he knows. He always knows what I need.
His fingers slip inside the seam of my underwear, teasing my entrance, and he slams his eyes shut when he feels exactly how wet I am for him. When he opens them again, they aren’t stormy anymore, but glimmer back at me, pools of deepest blue, like one of the cenotes we visited on his day off that time he was filming a project in Mexico. Except there’s nothing calming about this gaze from him. It’s positively smoldering, ramping up my need even further when I see my own desire reflected in his stare.
His voice comes out raspier than usual. “Fuck, baby. You always this wet for me? Did this little thing go around this needy, unanswered, unfulfilled for all those years when I was missing what was right in front of me?” He slicks a finger through my center, spreading that wetness all around, up to my clit, where that finger starts to rub me delicately, teasingly, perfectly.
I moan appreciatively, until he stops his motion and I’m forced to open my eyes. That’s when it hits me—the way he’s staring at me, waiting, he wants me to answer him. “Um,” I start shyly. “I didn’t want to…cross that line. It was mostly emotional, what I felt for you.” He slips a thick finger inside me, far from gently, and my head falls back.
“Was it now?” he asks, pressing that digit inside me to hit the spot that makes my knees give out and pleasure flood my insides.
“Mmm,” is all I can say, my eyelids fluttering at what he’s doing to me.
“And now?” he asks, continuing to tease me, torture me, with one finger inside me, as his thumb starts circling my clit. “Is it still just emotional?”
“Now,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes. “Now I know what an ass you can be,” I quip. His tongue wipes away what would’ve been a smile from his lips as he keeps tormenting me for answers. I put the forgotten can down behind me somewhere and place both of my hands on his shoulders, steadying myself, so I can whisper into his ear. “But now I also know how good you feel inside me, and it’s so hard not to remember that every time I see you, Stone.”
He groans at my confession and presses his hips into me, letting me feel his appreciation for how much he likes being inside me, too. He adds another finger to what he’s doing to me, and he uses more pressure to work me up, winding me tighter and tighter as he rubs, massages, and fucking annihilates me from the inside out.
“I don’t want you to try not to remember, Gem.” He grits the words out through his teeth. “I don’t want you to go a day without feeling me everywhere . You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. But you get this wet for me?” He pulls his hand back and I feel so empty all of a sudden—the feeling is awful, wrong. I need his fullness again.
Aaron brings his hand up to the space between us, his first two fingers held up to show me what he’s talking about. His fingers are absolutely soaked, glistening even in the dim fluorescent light of his trailer. The feeling of mortification I expect doesn’t hit me. I’m not embarrassed at how turned on I get with him, at how quickly my body responds to him, how much I need him. The heat in his eyes as he takes in the sight is enough to let me know how much he appreciates that particular visual, but when he groans, it’s nearly enough to send me hurtling over the edge even without his touch.
“You get wet like this, you fucking find me, Gem. No matter what else is going on. I’ll make it better.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just brings his mouth to mine, sucking my upper lip into his mouth sensually, kissing me slow, deep, and with so much passion I feel like I’m floating. Or maybe that’s just the start of my orgasm—I can feel it within reach, and so can he. His hand finds my core again, his fingers sliding back in with ease and he twists his wrist, making the most out of that spot that I never knew I loved until him. He starts to apply more pressure to my clit, steadily circling and circling it until I feel the tension tighten, then start to bubble around the edges of my nerve endings, ready to pop.
I pull back from our kiss to find him watching me intently, so fucking attuned to me, my needs, like always. I keep my eyes on his, staring into every level of him as he pushes me over the edge, and the dam bursts, sending me into a new stratosphere of existence. Waves of pleasure pulse through me, starting in my core and expanding out, rocking my very foundation as I grapple to stay connected to the physical world, holding onto him for all I’m worth as I fall through the planes of bliss, his eyes locked on mine as I do.
I’m always watching him when we’re together. After so many years of seeing him unintentionally when I came, I have yet to miss a chance to watch him on purpose when he makes me see sounds and hear the rainbow. This time is no different.
Heavy breaths wrack my chest, my exhales puffing onto his mouth as his eyes flame with desire at seeing what he’s done to me. He told me our first night together that he’s never had a partner who watches him while they come. Honestly, I’ve never done it with anyone else before now, but I didn’t think him hearing about how I used to come with Spencer was a good topic of conversation and I kept that tidbit to myself.
Aaron told me it drives him crazy that I do it, that my eyes stay open and on him, that I’m in the moment, every time. After learning it was always him I was seeing when I found release, he promised to always make sure I can see his eyes when I finish, and he hasn’t let me down on that yet. Even if we try a new position (he’s pretty partial to doggie, and while I enjoy it, I prefer anything that brings us face to face), he always brings me back around before we finish. I think I’m not the only one who can’t get enough of whatever this magic is between us when we get physical.
I thought we had it going on, the perfect relationship, a kind of symbiosis that could last the ages when we were best friends, coworkers, and nothing more. No daydream could have prepared me for the kind of chemistry we have now, the passion that’s been unlocked between us.
It takes a minute or two of heavy breathing, prolonged eye contact, and the hand of his that isn’t still inside of me gently tracing my face, my hair, my neck, my shoulder, for me to come down. And then there’s a knocking on the trailer door.
“I’m changing!” Aaron yells, his tone of don’t fucking come in here unmistakable to whomever is outside.
“You’re needed in five!” A familiar female voice comes back, and we can hear the footsteps retreating, headed down the metal stairs and away, leaving us alone again.
He drops his forehead to my shoulder and sighs, withdrawing his fingers from my heat, and eventually stepping back and away from me.
“You’re fucking addicting, you know that?” He tells me, an almost teasing tone to his voice.
“You’re one to talk.” I can’t help the smile that blooms on my face, my cheeks still flushed from my orgasm, my eyes probably all fucking gooey and stupid with how much I love this man.
He looks down at the tent in his pants, a forlorn expression on his charming face, which makes me laugh. “Hang in there, buddy. You’ll be home soon,” he tells his dick, tossing me a quick wink and a once-over of my body. A thrill shoots through me at knowing he considers me, my body, home.
With a final sigh, Aaron takes off his jeans, giving me an even better view of just how much he enjoyed those activities, and I try to calm down my own parts, not letting them get their hopes up for more just yet. He readjusts himself, tucking his hard-on into the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and heads to the clothing rack, where he puts on his costume that was laid out for the next scene. It’s a ragged-looking shirt that was probably white once upon a time, which is now absolutely filthy and cut nearly to shreds, with a pair of pants that look like they’ve gone through hell as well. Somehow, he manages to look absolutely edible, even in rags, and I curse the unfairness of it all.
Once his shoes are on and he’s all set, he walks across the space toward the door, holding his hand out for me to join him.
“Wait,” I tell him, suddenly realizing. “You need to wash your hands first.”
He gives me another cheeky wink. “Nah,” he says smoothly. “I’d rather you and I know exactly where my hands have been every time we see this episode air.” He brings that same hand up to his mouth, licking the tip of one finger while keeping his eyes on mine, and it nearly buckles my knees again. He tosses his head toward the door, his other hand still extended to me, waiting.
“Let’s go, baby. I need to get this shot over right the hell now so I can fuck you proper.” He adjusts himself again, bending his knees briefly as he does so, and the thought of him hard for me underneath his costume, my release on his fingers, unbeknownst to anyone else, while he films his first shot of the season…it does things to me I’m not proud of. We will definitely be watching this episode the second it’s streaming. From bed. I take his outstretched hand and follow him back into the epicenter of our former life.