Chapter 20 #2
She came with a broken cry, her hips jerking, burying me deep as her pussy clenched over and over.
When I thought she might slump forward, rest a minute on my chest, she took me by surprise and urged us to roll sideways on my giant bed.
Joan’s back hit the mattress, and I settled between her spread thighs, still inside her. She grabbed the globes of my ass and pulled me in tight, grinding against me, and making us both moan.
When I still hesitated, Joan’s eyes searched my face.
“You don’t need to be gentle with me,” she said softly. “I thought you knew that.”
Propped on my elbows, I used one hand to brush the damp hair away from her face. The woman who didn’t need me to be gentle leaned into my touch and closed her eyes.
I smiled, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her chin, the corner of her mouth. Maybe Joan truly didn’t believe she needed softness. She’d spent her life taking care of other people, being the one who sacrificed, who made concessions, who worked hard so her loved ones didn’t have to.
But maybe, with me, she could let her guard down, accept the way I wanted to wrap her up in my heart and protect her from the world. Would she let me love her like that? Like a partner, a friend, someone with the best of intentions?
My lips moved down to her jaw, lingering beneath her ear when she drew in a shaky breath.
“Maybe.” I breathed the words into her sensitive skin. “I just want to give you what you need.”
She didn’t say anything, but I felt her swallow against my mouth.
So I started to move, a steady, thorough roll of my hips that pushed her body into the plush mattress and nudged her clit over and over.
The hands on my ass loosened their impatient hold and smoothed up my back to hook around the tops of my shoulders.
She felt so good like this, close enough to sense her heartbeat, to smell my soap on her skin.
I continued moving, thrusting in shallow strokes until Joan became impatient, worked up all over again. I could detect the urgency in her touch, the quickness of her breaths, the way she met every roll of my hips with the push and pull of her own.
When her heels dug into the backs of my thighs, I grinned and placed a hot kiss on her lips. Then I lifted onto my hands and started to move.
Everything sped up. There was that edge of desperation again—to make this count, make it good for her, make it mean something.
But we’d been together for months, more than just in each other’s beds. She’d been living in my heart for even longer. Just because she was here, in California, didn’t change what had come before.
Suddenly, Joan groaned beneath me, her eyes going wide and glassy as she stretched her arms up and over her head, arching into the pleasure as she pulsed around me.
I wanted to keep going. I wanted this to never be over.
But with Joan’s hands twisted in my pillow and her body straining and beautiful, I let myself go, finding release on a bittersweet rush a moment later.
Leaning down, I kissed Joan, who cupped my cheeks and bit my lip.
Grinning, I pulled away and stood on shaky legs to get rid of the condom.
In the bathroom, the backlit mirror created an ambient glow. My eyes caught on Joan’s toothbrush on the counter.
Admittedly, this cliffside house overlooking the ocean had never felt like much of a home.
It was just a place to stay in between filming, something to spend my money on.
But Joan in my bed, her shoes by the front door, her toothbrush in the holder right next to mine .
. . it felt more like a home than it ever had before.
I knew—I knew—she would never leave Kirby Falls. The farm. The mountains. The land. Her family. It was all essential—a vital part of her. But I thought it could be home for me, too.
Deep down, I worried that anywhere Joan was would be my home.
I tried to push all those thoughts away. Made sure my face was doing something normal before I stepped back into the bedroom. I didn’t want to rush her or scare her. She was already in the lion’s den, about to experience the spectacle that was my life.
What the hell had I been thinking, begging her to come to the premiere? I supposed, some part of me wanted her to understand, to get to know all the different pieces of me.
I’d wanted to be honest and upfront. Those things were important to Joan. And she’d only seen the Ian who existed in Kirby Falls. Not the hoops I was expected to jump through, the Ian who had trouble sleeping. Or Dorian and all the chaos that came with being him.
She deserved to know what she was getting herself into if we were really going to do this. To see if she’d ever want to take all of that on, in any capacity. To decide if I was worth it, after all.
I’d hoped this trip would lead to a discussion—a compromise. In between filming and spending time with Joan and Georgie, I’d been quietly researching. I’d thought about making Kirby Falls my home base instead of this picture-perfect beach house that looked like a showroom.
I could still make movies, but eventually I could be more involved in producing and directing, maybe even writing—my often-ignored long-term goals that suddenly seemed very real.
I wanted a cabin in the woods, a chicken coop, a place for me and Georgie with the people who cared about us. And I wanted to be able to talk to Joan about all this.
When I finished cleaning up, I paused in the doorway. Joan was naked, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the windows that faced the ocean.
As I watched her graceful, motionless form, it was all too easy to imagine a future. I thought about all those long-term goals and how they didn’t look the same anymore. A hazy future, more defined now because there was someone next to me in it.
I must have made a sound because Joan glanced over her shoulder and smiled.
I knew how she felt about change. How immovable, how unwavering she could be. And I hoped I wasn’t alone in planning for the future.
Joan
The following morning, we were both up before the sun, still running on East Coast time.
I found some coffee grounds in Ian’s fancy refrigerator, the doors of which looked just like the teak cabinets and blended right in.
We sat together on the balcony and sipped our coffee in the dark.
I wore one of Ian’s sweatshirts as the ocean breeze whipped my short hair around my head, but it was peaceful out here with the constant sound of the water and Ian smiling over at me.
I couldn’t get over the ocean and the sky.
Everything was so vast and wide. Yesterday, I’d ignored my window during landing, so uncomfortable with the flight and altitude changes that I hadn’t even seen the beach or the water until Ian had opened his front door, and then bam.
There it was. Spread out as far as the eye could see.
My home was just as big and beautiful, but the mountains made me feel surrounded, tucked in, bound to the land in a completely different way.
Here, I felt untethered, like I could fly.
As the sky gradually lightened, we walked along the beach and talked, deciding a run could wait until tomorrow when we’d caught up on sleep.
Eddie J was waiting for us inside the beach house when we returned.
Ian didn’t seem startled, so this must have been part of having a personal assistant. Ian greeted Eddie J warmly, but then his assistant pushed him aside and came straight over to me.
Eddie J was probably two inches shorter than I was. He had dark hair, artfully styled, and a fashion sense that my great-nana would have called loud.
Ian had told me that Eddie J was born in LA, but his parents were Filipino immigrants. They loved their gay son, who had been obsessed with the movie industry from a very young age. He was now in his early thirties and worked for one of the biggest stars on the planet.
Eddie J had been a PA—production assistant—on one of Ian’s earliest films. When Ian had needed more help managing his day-to-day life, he’d remembered the exuberant, funny, kindhearted gossip king who’d always made a point to see if Ian needed anything on set.
Eddie J had been working for Ian ever since.
I could not imagine that he and I had one single thing in common. But when he grinned at me and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, I immediately felt like he was on my team. That as long as I had either Ian or Eddie J by my side this weekend, everything would be okay.
“Oh my God. I have been dying to meet you,” he said, finally releasing me.
He wore black horn-rimmed glasses that looked more trendy than functional, but they suited his face and his slender, dark eyes.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, too,” I told him, meaning it. It was good to know Ian had people like Darren and Sophia and Eddie J in his life. People he could trust.
“Sophia brags all the time, that brat.” His tone was teasing and affectionate, and it made me laugh to think that she’d been holding something as insignificant as seeing me daily over this man’s head.
“Well, I’m all yours this weekend,” I said. “But Sophia is probably getting off way easier with George. I might be a handful to babysit. I don’t know how any of this works.”
Ian opened his mouth—undoubtedly to reassure me, as he’d been doing nonstop since I’d agreed to come. But Eddie J winked and spoke first. “Stick with me, kid. We’ll have you red-carpet ready in no time.”
I didn’t know about that, but I smiled gratefully anyway.
Eddie J took the next half hour to go over Ian’s schedule for the weekend.
I wasn’t sure if I was needed for this part, so I poured another cup of coffee and tried to sneak out of the room.
But Ian snagged my hand and pulled me onto his lap as Eddie J ran through logistics and people Ian would be meeting with.
It all sounded overwhelming to me. So much to do and so many folks needing Ian’s attention and input. Did he ever manage to sleep?
If George had come to California with us, would he have even been able to see Ian?