Posted: August 2004
Title: Slumming
Author: Ginger
Type: RPHet
Characters: Marton / OFC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is an elaborate lie constructed for entertainment. In other words, fiction.
Beta: Tammy
Summary: Marton sees a woman in a bar and suffers an acute attack of lust at first sight.
Author's Notes: Marton is not exactly suave in this. He's a bit of a goof. People laugh at him. Sorry. Nothing is sacred ;-)

*****

She leaned against the pool table, in low slung jeans and a tight t-shirt, and kick-your-ass black motorcycle boots. She looked athletic, with strong arms and shoulders. The black cotton clung to a chiseled torso, and the loose jeans did little to camouflage the rest of her sculpted body. A small jewel glittered in her nose. Apart from that, she wore no jewelry and, as far as he could tell, no make-up. Short, shaggy black hair and smile like a Christmas tree. Marton couldn't peel his eyes off her.

Her opponent missed his shot, and she picked up her cue and sauntered around the table. The way she moved made him think of Irish Cream pouring over ice cubes. Cool, smooth, velvety. He licked his lips. She leaned over the pool table to take her shot, one long, shapely arm stretched out in front of her, cat like. He watched muscles ripple under tawny skin and felt his jaw go slack.

Her t-shirt rode up as she leaned forward, exposing the curve of her lower back. From where he sat he could see the dip of her spine deepen into a hollow as it disappeared into the low waist of her jeans. The slight swelling on either side of that hollow hinted at an ass he just knew could make a man weep. He allowed himself to imaging walking up behind her and sliding his hands over the silky skin of her back; grasping her slim hips and pulling her back against him; rubbing against her, his erection nestled in the valley of that perfect round ass...

Mistake. He shouldn't have let his mind wander in that direction. Now he was sitting in this crowded bar with an obvious hard-on, and Karl was standing in front of him telling him he had to get up and walk out of here.

"Whenever you're done checking out the local wildlife, remember Rob wants to shoot that sunset scene on the boat."

"Fuck off," Marton said. "Get out of the way."

Karl laughed and sat back down. "Which one?" he asked.

"Black hair. Black t-shirt."

"Playing pool?"

"Mmm."

Karl watched her for a few moments. "Damn," he said, "She's good."

Marton looked at him incredulously. That was what he'd noticed?

Her pool game? Karl flashed him a look and winked. "Nice ass, too."

They both laughed, and Marton looked back. She was good, he realized. Her shots were smooth and precise, and deadly accurate. She put the 8 away and leaned against the table, idly chalking her cue while the next challenger racked the balls. He watched as she laughed and bantered with the waiter, slapping his ass as he walked away. A regular, then. Marton finished his beer and stood. He'd be back.

Olivia wasn't sure exactly when she noticed the big man. She just gradually became aware of his eyes on her. He was staring at her as if she was wearing something of his. She smiled at the image of her t-shirt stretched over that huge frame. He was a big sonofabitch. Well over six feet, she guessed, and muscular. She decided she didn't mind him staring at her.

He was wearing a black sweater made of some kind of thin stretchy fabric that clung to his body. She could actually see the peaks of his nipples, the contours of his hard stomach. Damn! And leather pants. Who the hell wore leather pants in a blue collar dive like this? She was a little surprised one of these baseball cap - wearing fuckwits wasn't giving him a hard time. On the other hand, he stood half a head taller than the biggest guy in here, and he looked like he could bench press a Volkswagen.

Not from around here, she decided. Probably one of those Americans working on that movie being filmed on the waterfront. She tried to concentrate on her game, but he had her attention now. She studied him discreetly. His hair was on the long side, not quite shoulder length, and curly. Dark brown, maybe a bit of red to it. Hard to tell in the bar light. She couldn't tell what colour his eyes were without making direct eye contact, and she didn't want to do that.

There was something - unexpected, about his face. Something that made you keep looking at him. She tried to figure out what it was. Strong features, square jaw, heavy brow that gave him a slightly menacing look. And those lips. That was the surprising element. Full, soft, sensuous lips in that chiseled, masculine face. It was enough to make a girl swoon. She flashed on an image of herself taking that lush lower lip between her teeth and biting just hard enough to make him gasp...

"Liv! Wake up! Your shot." She snapped out of the reverie and focused on the game. She cleared her balls from the table in five shots, then sank the 8. "Batter up," she said as she absently chalked her cue.

The next time she looked, he was gone.

The next evening at about the same time, Marton walked into the same pub. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. As he took a swallow, he turned around on the barstool and scanned the pool room. She was there. Not playing this time, but engaged in an animated conversation. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could hear her laugh. Throaty, uninhibited, the sound made his skin tingle. She was standing, too full of energy to sit. The air around her seemed to vibrate. Marton smiled, thinking about the implications of that energy. He felt his pants get tighter. She had a habit of slipping her hand under the hem of her shirt and absentmindedly rubbing her belly. It was the sexiest gesture he'd ever seen. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seen such an unselfconsciously sexy woman. He caught himself reaching to rub the bulge in his pants. He wanted to talk to her. OK. He wanted to take her back to the hotel and fuck her senseless. But he wanted to sit here and watch her too. He couldn't stop watching her. And the more he watched her, the harder he got. He caught himself again, unconsciously reaching to rub his erection. Shit! He was well and truly hard now, his cock throbbing and demanding attention.

He cursed the jeans he wore, which were not really tight, but didn't have much room for expansion. The t-shirt was much to tight to tug down over his hips. What the hell had he been thinking when he got dressed? Vanity. Think you're hot, eh Csokas, he thought. See where that's got you? He'd bulked up for this movie. He was bigger than he'd ever been, and he wasn't entirely happy about it. He knew he wasn't prepared to commit the time and effort to maintaining this much muscle, and he was a little worried about it turning to flab. Still, he had to admit he'd been working it a bit lately. He was getting a big head. He was suddenly very self conscious. Self conscious about his oversized body, self conscious about his too-tight clothes, and most of all self conscious about the unmistakable bulge in his pants. He turned back to the bar and willed the hard-on to go away. But he heard her laugh again and his cock twitched. No way he was going to be able to talk to her tonight. He finished his beer and left.

When he got back to his hotel room, he shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He undid his pants and freed his still throbbing cock. Cradling his aching balls in one hand, with the other he began to stroke himself. He imagined looking down at that Christmas tree smile just before she slid her hot velvet mouth over his head... And that was as far as he got when he came all over his hand with a grunt. It occurred to him that he didn't even have a name to moan. He started to laugh out loud at himself, standing there with his still-dripping cock in his hand, making a mess on the hotel carpet, fantasizing about a woman who's name he didn't even know.

He had to meet her.

He was back; the big man from last night. Olivia looked up and he was sitting at the bar. Looking at her. Mother of God, he was beautiful. But what was his problem? Was he shy? How the hell does a man walk around looking like that and be shy? She shrugged mentally. She knew she intimidated a lot of men, but if he didn't have the balls to walk up and say hello, she wasn't interested. Still...

She succeeded in ignoring him for a few minutes. But when she glanced back she nearly shot a mouthful of beer out of her nose. "What the hell..." said her friend Rose.

"Don't turn around right now," Olivia said, laughing and coughing, "But there's a guy sitting at the bar with a hard-on you can see from across the room." Rose waited until Liv had herself under control, then she shifted in her seat so she could see the bar without turning her head. "Big guy. Curly hair. See him?" Olivia spoke to her beer.

Rose started to laugh. "Did you see that? I swear, he was just about to rub himself when he realized what he was doing and stopped. Oh my god!" Rose laughed until she couldn't breath. Finally she said, "You realize that's for you, right?"

"That's what I figured. I don't know what I did to cause it, though." She paused. "He must be hung like the proverbial horse."

"I'm sure you could find out if you wanted to." Rose replied. Olivia laughed and looked back toward the bar. He had turned away. He was hunched over the bar looking tense and uncomfortable. After a few minutes he stood stiffly and looked around. He tried to sidle out without drawing attention to himself, but he was having a hard time walking normally. The two women managed to wait until he was around the corner before they burst into peals of uncontrollable laughter.

Poor bastard. Olivia hoped he hadn't realized he was the object of their laughter. She really wanted him to come back.

*****
Chapter 2

He was back the next night. He sat at the bar again and ordered a beer. He sat sipping it, wondering if he'd lost his mind. He'd been fucking up his lines all day, to the exasperation of every one else on the set. He couldn't get that woman out of his head. And now here he was again, basically stalking her. At least he'd had the sense to wear a long loose shirt. He looked into the pool room, but she wasn't there. He scanned the rest of the bar, disappointment mounting. Well, what were the chances she'd be here three nights in a row?

Just then someone spoke into his ear. "Looking for someone?" He spun around and almost dropped his beer. While he'd been looking for her, she had quietly slipped onto the barstool next to him. He just sat there with his mouth open. She smiled that Christmas tree smile and laughed that uninhibited laugh, enjoying his discomfiture. He groped for words. "Uh... no," he lied. "Well um, yes, but, um, they're not here..."

She called him on it. "Liar," she said.

"Uh..." he stammered. He was off balance. He was used to being in control, and he was emphatically not in control of this situation.

She took pity on him. "Look. You've been in here staring at me the last two nights." He blushed hotly. Had he been that obvious? She grinned widely. "It would creep me out if you weren't so hot."

He was taken aback by her directness. Then he laughed. He was back on his mark. He was well aware of the effect he had on women. He saw the attraction in her eyes and decided that was the way to play it - straight up.

"I guess I wasn't very subtle," he said. "I'm glad I didn't creep you out!"

"I nearly peed my pants watching you limp out of here last night," she laughed with one eyebrow arched. "Or maybe ‘limp' is a poor choice of words." He felt his face getting hot again. Then she leaned toward him. "My name is Olivia," she purred. His eyes flew open. Jesus! Could she read his mind? Did she know what he'd done? What he'd thought? No, he had to be imagining it. But he was off balance again.

"M - Marton," he stammered. " Marton Csokas."

She'd caught his accent. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"No. I'm from New Zealand. I'm here working."

"What kind of work?" she asked.

"I'm, ah, I'm an actor."

" Hmmm... Are you famous?"

He laughed. "Apparently not!"

She laughed again, with him this time, as opposed to at him. Then, Christmas tree smile; " Wanna shoot some stick?" He had no desire to get his ass kicked at pool, but he nodded dumbly and followed her into the pool room.

The ass kicking was about what he'd expected. But he'd relaxed again, losing good naturedly. She was animated and funny, and she put him at ease even when she was poking fun at him. To his profound relief his dick was behaving itself. Abruptly, she seemed to lose interest in playing against such an inferior opponent. She dropped her stick on the table. She leaned against the wall and tilted her head, looking at him with narrowed eyes. She did that tummy-rub thing, and his mouth went dry. He reached for his beer, knocked it over, tried to right it and sent the bottle skittering across the table, spilling beer everywhere. "No more booze for you, buddy," she laughed. "Want to walk down to the lake with me?"

" Lake?" he repeated, "Yeah. Sure. How far is it?

"Right across the street. Let's get out of here before they make you clean up that mess."

They walked out into the summer night, through the parking lot, across the street, and down a grassy slope to the shore of a lake. They walked along the edge of the water until they came to a small bridge over a stream that flowed out of the lake. "Nice," he said lamely.

"The city planners are big into this urban wilderness thing," she explained. "Mostly it's a place for teenagers to drink." She walked onto the bridge and stopped, waiting for him. She leaned against the guard rail, looking up at him, her smile unreadable. He just stood there, looking back at her. His mouth was still dry. He didn't know what to do with his hands. Why the hell was he so nervous? He was pretty sure she wanted him. Why else bring him here? Finally she spoke. "Look, relax, would you," she said. She arched an eyebrow. "You're not a virgin, are you?" It broke the tension, and he laughed with relief. "No." he said, moving closer.

*****
Chapter 3

Better, Olivia thought, as he visibly relaxed. She'd been too hard on him. She had him sitting on pins. She looked up at him. He was really, really big. She could feel the heat radiating from him. She bit her lip as she suddenly realized just how badly she wanted him.

He placed one hand on the rail beside her, his other hand hovering near her hip, but not touching. He leaned down and gently touched his lips to hers, nothing more. He moved his head so that his lips brushed hers. He ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of her top lip, then took her lower lip between his and sucked ever so gently. Her legs trembled. She felt like she was melting. She remembered her earlier desire to sink her teeth into him, to assert her dominance. Now was not the time. She wanted this slow, restrained, sensuous kiss to go on and on.

Finally his mouth closed over hers, his tongue slipping between her lips, lightly flicking her tongue, teasing it out of her mouth and into his. When he had it he sucked gently, caressing it, then slipping his tongue back into her mouth, encouraging her to do the same. Her hips jerked once before she mastered herself. She concentrated on holding her body very still, focused on breathing normally. God! Where did he learn to kiss like that?

She could feel him trembling, feel his hips rocking, almost feel his cock throbbing, even though their lips were the only point of contact. She reached up to touch his face, ran her fingertips along the line of his jaw, down his neck where the artery pulsed. She felt his trembling intensify, felt his hips buck as her fingertips trailed across a nipple. She stopped and rubbed it to hardness through the thin cotton of his shirt, and he moaned into her mouth. Suddenly something in him snapped, and he was all over her. His arms went around her, hands in her hair, under her shirt, hips grinding against her, pinning her against the railing, grunting and moaning like some kind of wild thing. He lifted her up onto the railing so he could kiss her without bending down. She opened her legs and pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his muscular torso. Her hands flowed down his back, over the curve of his ass. She grabbed him with both hands and pulled him hard against her, arching her back and slowly writhing against him, riding him as if there weren't two layers of denim between them.

He went crazy, panting and moaning and thrusting into her so hard that the guardrail of the bridge driving into her back brought her back to awareness. He was too far gone to remember that they were on a bridge in the middle of a public park, barely out of sight of a busy street. He would come in a minute if she didn't stop this. The thought of letting him come in his pants humping her was amusing. But she wanted more than that. She put both hands on his chest and pushed gently, breaking the kiss. "Stop." She said.

He didn't seem to hear, reached for her again. So she pushed a little harder, spoke again: "Stop." He stood there, breathing hard, not saying anything. She waited for his eyes to focus before she spoke. "Let's go," she said.

"Go," he repeated. "Where?"

She shrugged. "You tell me."

It took a few moments to penetrate, then he realized what she was

saying. He took her hand and they walked out of the park and back to the parking lot of the bar. He held the car door for her.

They said little as they drove. She leaned against the car door looking at him, drinking him in. He really was spectacular. Still, she had to smile at his white knuckles on the steering wheel. She knew it was wicked, knew it was cruel. But she reached across the seat and put her hand on the inside of his knee, traced the path of the artery up the inside of his thigh with her fingertips. He gripped the steering wheel even harder, made a strangled sound. Watching the muscles knot in his arms, she was tempted to do it again. But he stopped at a red light and turned to her, a pleading look in his amber eyes. "Please," he murmured, "Wait. I can't take any more. I really can't." She took pity on him and leaned back in the seat, a cat smile on her lips. They drove the rest of the way to the hotel in silence.

*****
Chapter 4

By the time they got to his room, he was shaking so badly he had a hard time getting his key in the door. Once inside, he tossed his keys on the dresser and pulled her close. He kissed her, not letting the kiss get too intense. He had to be careful. He was so close to losing control. She had her hands under his shirt. With shaking fingers he fumbled with his buttons, quickly gave up and whipped the shirt off over his head. He reached for her again, tugging at her t-shirt. He needed to feel her skin against him, needed it like he needed his next breath. She pulled the shirt off, then the bra, and he wrapped his arms around her. He slid his hands over her back, her shoulders, her breasts. She was hard and soft at the same time. Hard muscles wrapped in tawny silk. Her skin mesmerized him. He thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. Flawless, velvety, the colour of Irish Cream. He slid to his knees, kissing her stomach, arms wrapped around her hips. He clutched her, cheek pressed against her flat belly, trying to catch his breath.

When he was able, he stood, moving behind her. He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against his chest. They were facing the big mirror above the dresser, and their eyes locked in the glass as he covered her breasts with his big hands, kissing her shoulder, her neck. He watched her face as he placed his teeth against the side of her neck, just above the curve of her shoulder, and bit ever so gently. A shudder went through her as her head rolled to the side, exposing her neck more, effectively surrendering to him. Still watching her carefully, he bit harder, almost hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, moaned, went limp against him. He slid his hands down her belly, unbuttoned her jeans, and slipped one hand in. His fingers found her opening and slipped inside. He moaned against her neck. Oh God... She was so wet! He struggled for control. He knew he wouldn't last five seconds once he got inside her. He was determined not to surrender to his own need yet.

He had two long fingers inside her, the heel of his hand pressed against her clitoris. He began to rock her gently, using the motion of his hips to push her forward against his hand, then pulling her back again. It didn't take long. Her breath came quicker, her whole body tensed, and he felt a new rush of wet heat as her muscles rhythmically clenched his fingers. She let go a long, shuddering breath, but never made a sound. He smiled into her hair. Control freak, eh? When he was feeling more in control of himself, he would break that control. Oh, yes.

But right now he couldn't wait any longer. He gently turned her around to face him. She was like a rag doll in his arms, soft and yielding. He had a feeling she wasn't like this often. He pulled her close, clamping his mouth over hers as if he meant to suck the life from her. He thrust his tongue into her mouth in rhythm with the thrusting of his hips. She responded languidly, stroking his chest and shoulders, her fingertips tracing the contours of the muscles in his arms. She was soft, liquid. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with her at this moment. He remembered how she'd driven him into a frenzy on the bridge, grabbing his ass and writhing against him. But this gentle surrender was driving him a whole other kind of crazy.

Then her hands were in his hair. She held his head as her tongue swirled around his. She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, stroking the underside with hers. He realized his pants were undone. When did that happen? And then his cock was in her hand. He shuddered and moaned as she stroked the length of him, then fondled the head, spreading the drops of clear fluid that formed there. She circled his cock with her fingers and stroked him slowly, so slowly it was maddening. He tried to count the number of heartbeats it took her to stroke the length, desperately trying to maintain a shred of control. Her fingertips massaged the sensitive ridge on the underside of his head, making him thrust into her hand. He couldn't control the motion of his hips, no matter how hard he tried. Then she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit gently, slowly increasing the pressure as she gripped his cock tighter, stroked faster. He gasped at the sensations racing through his body. He couldn't distinguish pleasure from pain. He almost whimpered when she released him.

She pushed her jeans down and stepped out of them. He quickly did the same and pulled her toward the bed. He pushed her down on her back and covered her with his long body. He was at the end of his endurance. The head of his cock nudged her slick opening. Breath held , he prepared to slide into her, when she said quietly, "Stop."

Her tone penetrated immediately. He sat back and looked at her, confused. "Condom?" she reminded gently. He smiled sheepishly. "Right. Sorry." He rummaged in the drawer of the nightstand, found what he was looking for. He tore the package open with his teeth and quickly suited up. He was glad of the layer of latex. It might buy him a few extra second.

He positioned himself again, kissed her softly and looked into her eyes. "This is going to be quick. I'm sorry," he apologized in advance. She nodded understanding, smiling.

With a loud groan, he buried himself in her. He didn't even try to hold back. He'd been waiting for this for days, spent the last several hours in a state of excruciating arousal, and he was long past caring about his performance. He was dimly aware of her legs wrapping around him, thought he heard her cry out. Or maybe it was his own voice ringing in his ears. He was babbling, no idea what words were coming out of his mouth. Maybe swearing undying love. Then the words trailed off into a long shuddering cry that might have been her name. His whole body convulsed as he drove into her and stayed, frozen in the moment while the pressure built to exploding. Then the orgasm ripped through him. He roared as the pulsing in his cock spread throughout his body. He felt like he was coming all over. It went on and on. Every time he thought it was over another shudder went through him, like an aftershock. Finally he collapsed on top of her, trembling and seeing stars. He worried for a moment that he had detached a retina or something. Then he knew nothing for a while.

He slowly became aware of a gentle tickling sensation. It was making him squirm. Olivia's fingertips trailed across a particularly sensitive area of his side, and he giggled. Suddenly he came to himself, horrified. Had he fallen asleep?! Right there on top of her? Christ, Csokas, he thought, Could you be any more of an asshole?

He raised himself up on his elbows and looked at her. "Was I out long?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "Only a few seconds." Then she laughed. "Do you always pass out when you come?"

*****
Chapter 5

Olivia lay with her head propped up on her hand, watching him sleep. The downtown lights filtered through the shades, illuminating the room softly. He looked younger in his sleep. Guileless. Innocent, almost. But he was a lethal bastard. Her toes curled when she thought about what had transpired after that adorable little blackout.

"I swear," he'd said, "That has never happened before. It was just so... intense." He'd looked wistful. "If I could do that for you, I'd be a happy man." Then he'd started to kiss her, on her face, her neck, her shoulders. All over her body, he'd kissed her. Not little pecks, but soft, full mouth kisses, with tongue, just as if he was kissing her lips. She thought about the way his hands had moved over her skin, feather light, barely touching, raising gooseflesh. When she'd reached for him, wanting him inside her again, he'd shaken his head. "Not yet," he'd whispered. He'd slid down her body till his long legs dangled over the end of the bed, bent his head down to taste her. She remembered arching up to him, and the jolt that went through her when his tongue made contact. His tongue was soft, gentle. Licking, no, lapping, really, like a cat lapping up cream. Not going straight for the clitoris, but softly sliding his tongue over her sensitive labia, gliding over her clitoris without really making contact. Over and over, until she was rigid and shuddering, muscles screaming with tension, until the lightest flick of his tongue on her clit would have sent her over the edge. And then... he'd stopped. Went back to kissing her belly, her thighs, his hands gliding over her skin. She'd collapsed, taken a deep breath. She knew what he was doing. Knew the orgasm would be more intense when he finally let her have it. But oh, the frustration.

She had no idea.

After the fourth or fifth time he'd pushed her to the edge, then

pulled her back, when the sweat was running into her eyes and she had charley-horses in her calves, she'd asked, "Are you trying to make me scream and beg?" He'd looked up at her, smiling wickedly. "Yes."

"Bastard," she'd breathed as he renewed his assault. Olivia did not give up control easily. She held out for a couple more rounds, but he would settle for nothing less than total abandon. In the end she was screaming his name, begging him please please motherofgod don't stop. Then he'd spread her folds with his fingers and, with one last loving lick, brought the tip of his tongue to rest in the little hollow at the top of her mound. He made a stiff point of his tongue and worked her clit until she arched up off the bed and wailed until the neighbors banged on the wall. She collapsed, shaking and gasping, but never got a chance to catch her breath. He was on top of her in an instant, his cock sliding into her still quivering tunnel. He raised himself up on his strong arms and fucked her hard and fast until she came again. And again. And, oh sweet jesus, again. He fucked her until the muscles in his arms twitched, until the sweat was dripping off the tip of his nose, running in rivers down his chest, making a little puddle in her navel. His hair was drenched with sweat; it was dripping from the ends of his curls. And still he kept going. She felt like her bones would crack. "I can't," she'd gasped, "I can't..." She was unable to finish the sentence. "We'll see," was his reply. He straightened up on his knees, lifted her hips up off the bed, and changed his rhythm. He slowed down, leaning back slightly, holding her up with his powerful arms so that the angle was just right. With each slow thrust the head of his cock pushed against her G-spot. The pressure built until she thought she would die. She writhed against him, instinctively wanting him to go faster. But he knew what he was doing. He fucked her slowly and deliberately, until her vision blurred and she came harder than she ever had in her life. Then he'd let himself go, throwing his head back and roaring until the neighbors banged on the wall again. They'd both collapsed in the puddle of sweat then. It was wet, clammy, and uncomfortable, but it was a long time before either of them had been able to move.

Now she lay awake in the near-dawn, watching him sleep. Feeling the heat rise in her body thinking about what he was capable of. She wished he would wake up. She reached out, rested her hand on his stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall. And lightly, ever so lightly, slid her hand down.

*****
Chapter 6

He'd thrown the covers off in the warm summer night. One heavily muscled arm was flung over his head, the other dangled over the side of the bed. His legs were impossibly long; one foot stuck out past the end of the bed. The other knee was bent slightly, turned out, exposing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. She wanted to touch, but didn't. She had noticed that he was very ticklish, and she didn't want to wake him. Not yet.

Her hand came to rest on his pelvis, just above the base of his flaccid penis. As she watched, it twitched, began to swell, either because of the proximity of her hand, or the onset of the morning hard-on. She smiled, wondering if she could get him hard without waking him. She lifted her hand from his stomach and, with a feather light touch, ran one fingertip from the base to the head. She was rewarded with further swelling, and her touch grew bolder. Using just her fingertips, she stroked his cock as if she was petting a small animal. Within a few moments he was erect. She ran a fingertip around the edge of the head. He moved and sighed when she touched the sensitive ridge on the underside. She stopped and waited for his breathing to become regular again. When she was sure he was still asleep, she very carefully wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked him lightly, slowly, careful not to apply too much pressure. She observed with satisfaction that he was almost fully erect, and still apparently sleeping soundly. She continued to stroke his stiffening cock as she contemplated her next move. She bent down and lightly licked the head with the tip of her tongue, staying away from that little ridge that always made him squirm.

Olivia didn't like to do anything half-way, but as she held his heavy cock in her hand, she suffered a moment of self-doubt. She could barely encircle it with her fingers, and he wasn't even fully hard. She didn't think she could take it all. She shrugged. She had to try. She leaned forward and licked him again, kept licking this time, gently, watching him. His breathing was becoming less regular, his chest rising and falling a little more quickly. She flicked her tongue over the ridge and he shifted slightly. She licked a little more aggressively. She watched as his eyelids fluttered, then opened just as she took the head of his cock into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the edge, then sucked hard and pulled as much as she could take into her mouth.

His hips jerked. "Sweet merciful Christ," he growled, his voice thick with sleep and lust. "What a sight to open my eyes to." She watched him watching her as his cock moved in and out of her mouth. But she soon had to focus her attention on the task as his excitement grew and he began to thrust up toward her. No way she could take it all, not in this position, but she curled her hand around the lower part of his shaft and milked him. His hands were in her hair, and he was growling deep in his throat when she felt his scrotum contract. Abruptly she stopped, pulled away, and climbed on top of him, pinning him down. "Payback time, baby," she laughed, reaching for the box of condoms.

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated. "Olivia," he pleaded as she slipped the condom over his erection. She slowly lowered herself onto him as he thrust up to meet her. "Slow down," she whispered, and he tried. He really tried. He breathed deeply, relaxed his tense body. She began to ride him, excruciatingly slowly. She raised herself all the way up so the head of his cock was outside her, just resting against her opening. She held herself there until he whimpered, then lowered herself back down just as slowly. When she did it again he lost it, grabbed her hips, slammed her back down onto his cock, growling. She bent down to kiss him, and smiled when the ruse worked. When he reached up to touch her face, she quickly grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms to the mattress above his head. She held his forearms in her hands and leaned on them. He struggled, but she was strong and she had leverage in her favor. She knew she wasn't strong enough to hold him if he really wanted to get loose. But she was counting on him being afraid of hurting her if he fought too hard. She hooked her lower legs over his thighs, holding his lower body down so he couldn't thrust upward very much. Then she began to lower herself onto him again, but stopped as soon as his head was inside her. She lifted back up until he was out in the cold again. She continued to ride him, never letting him get more than the head of his cock inside her, until he was cursing at her, his head thrashing from side to side.

Abruptly, she came down on him, burying his cock in her, released his arms as she cried out. It was almost too much. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him wildly, gasping his name as her orgasm came crashing down on her. He sat up and wrapped his arms around her, pulled her head down to kiss her, swallowing her cries as they went over the edge together.

They collapsed on the bed together, lips touching, arms and legs wrapped around each other. They drifted back to sleep as the sun came up.

*****
Chapter 7

The jangling of the telephone jarred him awake. He extricated an arm from the tangle of limbs and fumbled for the receiver. " Mmrrfl," he said into the wrong end of it.

"Where the fuck are you?" someone shouted at him. He sat up with a grunt. " Ungh. In bed." He held the phone away from his ear as the yelling continued, rummaging through the pile of condom wrappers for his watch. Ten o'clock. He should have been on the set two hours ago. He looked over his shoulder into Olivia's laughing eyes. He considered pulling a prima donna, telling Rob to fuck off, shoot around him today. But she was already getting dressed.

He hung up the phone as she was heading for the bathroom. "I'm late for work," he said, "And I'm in shit."

" On Saturday?"

"We lost a couple days of filming last week because of rain." She splashed water on her face and ran damp fingers through her hair, and came out looking exactly as she had the night before. He smiled. Gotta love low maintenance women. He got up from the bed and strode across the room. He took her in his arms and kissed her until she pulled away, gasping.

"You're going to be a lot later if you keep that up."

"I don't care," he said, lunging for her. She slipped out of his grasp.

"Go to work," she ordered.

"I wish I didn't have to," he sighed. "I'll drive you home."

"Don't worry about it. You're already late. I'll get a cab."

"No way. What kind of asshole would I be if I let you go like that?"

"Um, the kind that gets his ass to work before he gets fired?"

"They can't fire me. I'm the Star!" He struck a theatrical pose, making her laugh till she had the hiccups.

"You're just trying to put off the ass chewing that's waiting for you. Now," she poked him in the ribs, making him giggle. "Go," poke, "to," poke, "work," poke. He'd backed up until the back of his legs were against the bed, and the last poke knocked him down. She leaned down and kissed him, wrapped her fingers around his half hard cock and gave it a couple of slow strokes. Then she was gone.

He flopped onto his back, laughing, hard now, but not painfully so. He could wait. When he got back from the set tonight he would call her and...

Call her! Phone number! Shit! He leaped off the bed and bolted into the corridor, realized he

was stark naked, ran back in, grabbed a sheet from the bed, and tore back out, winding it around his waist. He took a couple of steps toward the elevator, but she was gone. Then, as he stood stark naked but for a bed sheet in the hotel corridor, inevitably, the door clicked shut behind him.

*****
Chapter 8

Marton gazed at the outside of the door to his room. Pointlessly, he tried the handle. He sighed, his forehead pressed against the door. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse, the door of the next room opened. He remembered noisy sex and neighbors banging on the wall. He remembered yelling his head off, and using some very raunchy language. He was trying very hard to melt into the carpet when an elderly couple came out into the corridor. They stared at him as he smiled weakly, clutching his sheet. Then with a huff the old man turned and stalked down the hall toward the elevator. The old lady stared a moment longer, the corners of her mouth twitching, then followed. He watched them enter the elevator, and he started to breathe again. His relief was short lived; within a few seconds he heard laughter from down the corridor. He mentally recited every obscenity he knew as two young girls in the hotel uniform came around the corner. They stopped dead, their eyes as big as golf balls. He caught a couple of words amid the giggling and squealing, and realized they knew who he was. He resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. Instead he readjusted his sheet and smiled his best movie star smile. Might as well have some fun with this. He pitched his voice low and let just the hint of an eastern European accent creep in. "Excuse me, ladies," he said in something between a growl and a purr. The blush that crept up both their faces made him feel slightly less ludicrous. One of them couldn't suppress a squeal. "I seem to be locked out of my room. I don't suppose either of you have a master key?" They just stood there, looking up at him, their eyes wide. They were probably about nineteen. Cute, both of them, in their little chambermaid outfits. A cheesy porno soundtrack started playing in his head. He almost laughed out loud. This morning was just one fucking cliché after another.

He was about to start trying other languages when one of the girls recovered her composure. She took out her keys and unlocked the door. "Shouldn't you make sure this is really my room?" he teased. "I could be a thief or something."

" Umm... We know who you are... Mr. Csokas." More giggling. God, he could hear Karl: What do you mean, you didn't ask them in? What the fuck is wrong with you? But he wasn't quite that much of a bastard. Almost, but not quite. "Thank you," he said, closing the door. "Thank you very much."

After the embarrassing business of getting back into his room, Marton flopped down on the bed and spent a few minutes berating himself. How could you not ask for her phone number? He ranted. She probably thinks... Oh, hell, maybe she doesn't even want to see you again. It was just sex. Meant nothing. Move along. But he shook his head. No way. No way that was a one night stand. A one night stand was no more than scratching an itch. Only marginally more satisfying than jerking off. A one night stand didn't leave you stunned and aching for more. It had been as mind blowing for her as it had been for him, he was sure of it. He remembered her clinging to him, sobbing with ecstasy, her body arching and shuddering, making him feel invincible. "Olivia..." he whispered, realized he was stroking himself.

He sat up with a groan. No time for that. He had to get to the set, and he wasn't going anywhere without a shower. He was covered with the sticky grit of dried sweat, and he probably smelled like... well, like he'd been fucking his brains out all night.

He would just have to go back to that damn bar and find her.

Olivia had the cab drop her at the bar, where she had left her car. She got in, opened the window, and put the key in the ignition. Then she just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, letting her head fall back against the seat. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. What a night. She was exhausted. Her lips felt bruised and her hip joints ached. What the hell just happened? Had that stammering, beer spilling doofus really turned out to be quite possibly the best fuck of her life? She had a sudden vivid memory of drops of sweat splashing onto her face and shoulders. She could see him in her mind; eyes closed, teeth bared, muscles bulging, grunting with each thrust. Christ... She shook her head sharply and started the car. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. He hadn't asked for her phone number or anything. Then she smiled, remembering the look on his face, and his cock throbbing in her hand as she kissed him goodbye. She had a feeling he'd come looking for her.

The light on her answering machine was flashing insistently when she got home. She looked at it for a moment, then turned away and went upstairs. There was no one she wanted to talk to right now. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, debating the merits of the bed versus the shower. The bed won. She left her clothes in a heap on the floor and collapsed on top of the blankets.

For the second time in one day the phone jolted her awake. She reached for it, succeeded in knocking it to the floor, along with her alarm clock and a glass of water. She was still swearing when she raised the receiver to her head. "Whoa, Liv! Chill!" It was Floyd the Drummer. He was always referred to as Floyd the Drummer. Never just Floyd. No one remembered why.

"Sorry Floyd," she said. "I'm not swearing at you. I'm just swearing. What's up?"

"What's up?? Where are you, girl? You sound like you're half asleep."

"Yeah, well, that would make me half as asleep as I want to be. Or twice as awake. Or something. Anyway, what?"

There was a long suffering sigh. "Olivia. We have a gig tonight. We are rehearsing at Ed's this afternoon. You didn't forget, did you?"

"Shit." She sat up, grabbed the clock by its cord and pulled it up to where she could see it. Three o'clock. "Shit," she said again. "Sorry, man. I can't believe I forgot. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What happened? Not like you to forget. You OK?"

Olivia laughed. "OK? Oh, yeah. Evidently the _expression ‘to

fuck one's brains out' is not just a figure of speech. I'll be over as soon as I shower." She hung up and stumbled to the bathroom.

*****
Chapter 9

By the time Marton got to the set it was almost noon. He was in wardrobe when Karl found him. "So?" he prodded.

"So what?" Marton didn't really feel like talking to Karl about Olivia. For some reason, he was reluctant to give the blow-by-blow account that Karl would want.

"So what the fuck? You're four hours late and you look like you slept in your car." He grinned. "You found her, didn't you?"

He started to play dumb, then gave up. "Yeah, I found her." He couldn't suppress the shit eating grin that spread across his face. He started to laugh, and slapped Karl on the shoulder. "I found her, mate. And now I have to find her again."

Olivia got to Ed's place by three thirty. Joy, Ed's wife, let her in. Joy was visibly pregnant. What was it, the third? Olivia shuddered. She'd seen Alien as a teenager, and it had permanently scarred her. The thought of having something growing inside her gave her the squirming willies. "Thank god you're here," Joy said. "The boys are having a fit down there."

She chatted with Joy for a few minutes. "The baby's kicking like crazy," Joy said. "Want to feel?"

"No." Olivia said quickly. Joy laughed. They'd been friends for years, and she knew about Olivia's little phobia.

"You know, you'd probably feel different if you met someone who made you want to have children…"

Olivia waved her hand impatiently. "Yeah yeah yeah. Right man, yadda yadda yadda, settle down, blah-de-blah, changes everything." Olivia had never had any urge to reproduce. She'd make a shitty parent anyway. She was too much of a hedonist. "I better get downstairs. I'm in enough shit as it is. Floyd the Drummer just woke my ass up half an hour ago."

"Jesus, Liv! What were you up to last night that you had to sleep until three o'clock in the afternoon?" Olivia just laughed and went downstairs to Ed's studio.

"Well, look who it is!" someone crowed. "Miss-couldn't-make-it-to-practice-cause-I-was-out-whoring-around-all-night-and-had-to-sleep-all-day!"

"Fuck you, Mario. Who died and made you my dad?" she laughed, setting down her guitar case. "Let's get to work."

They had a two hour drive to the gig. It was the civic holiday long weekend, and they were playing at a big outdoor concert with a bunch of other local bands. It was looking like a great party. It was in Olivia's home town, which meant she would have to visit her parents. But she could survive that. She lay in the back of the van, unsuccessfully trying to sleep. She always got keyed up about performing. She might feel different if she did it for a living, but they played strictly for fun. Good thing, too, because they never made any money. These gigs paid for themselves, and that was about it. They'd been playing together since high school, and they were good. Tight. But none of them were dedicated enough to make a career of it. They all had day jobs. All the guys had wives or girlfriends. Ed and Mario had kids. Olivia was the only one who really had the freedom to play music full time. And she didn't want to. Playing one or two gigs a month just for fun was fine with her.

The ride home Monday afternoon was hellish. Olivia had the mother of all hangovers. They had decided to stay on for the Sunday night jam, and it had gone on all night. She wondered if, at 36, she was getting too old for this shit. She found herself thinking about Marton. She was sure he would go back to the Lamp looking for her. But how long would he keep looking? No way she was going there tonight. The very thought of even the smell of beer made her retch. Tomorrow night. Then, with a groan, she remembered that she was on the late shift all week. Working until midnight every night. By the time she could get back to the bar, he would surely have given up.

They finished filming for the day around 9 0'clock. Marton went back to the hotel to get cleaned up. It had not been a good day. He was horny and distracted, and he didn't know his lines. Rob was just about fed up with him. He'd come to Marton's trailer to give him one last blast of shit before they'd called it a day.

"Look," he'd said, "We're going to shoot around you for a couple of days. Whatever you need to do, go do it. Don't come back until you get your shit together, because you're wasting everyone's time." He sighed, sat down, and looked at Marton with concern. "What's wrong with you, man?" he asked. "I've never known you to let anything interfere with your work like this."

Marton looked at the director. They'd been friends for quite a few years. He was being unprofessional, and he owed Rob an explanation. "It's a woman," he said finally, looking at his hands.

Rob laughed. "No shit!" he said. "What I want to know is, with the filming schedule we've had, when did you find the time to get laid, never mind get so involved that it's fucking you up like this."

Marton opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head. How could he explain that he was obsessed with a woman he'd spent one night with? A woman whose last name he didn't even know?

He made his way to the bar where he'd met Olivia. It was in a seedy little strip mall. What the hell was the name of it? The Lantern? Something like that. He pulled into the parking lot, looked at the sign above the door. The Lamplighter. He could hear the music in the parking lot. He didn't remember it being this loud last night. But it was later tonight, and it was Saturday. There would be a band playing.

The noise and heat hit him like a wall when he opened the door. He made his way through the crowd to the bar, got a beer, and went around the corner to the pool room. No Olivia. He went back to the bar and sat down, wondering if he should stay. She might show up later. She might even be here, in another part of the bar. It wouldn't hurt to walk around.

He got back to the bar a few minutes later, finished his beer and ordered another. The music was too loud. It was making his head hurt. He sat rubbing his temples when someone slid into the seat next to him. He looked up, hoping. But it was a little blonde in a tight dress. Curvy, sexy, just a little bit trashy. Exactly the type of woman he would usually be attracted to. He found himself comparing her to Olivia. The blonde was about six inches shorter than Olivia, and a lot rounder. Round in a good way, but all he could think about was Olivia's athletic body, and the way her muscles rippled under her skin when she moved. He looked at the blonde's red lips. Cocksucker red; that was how he always thought of that colour. Usually he loved it. Like every other man on the planet. But it was drab compared to that Christmas tree smile that had sucked him in from the start. He smiled politely, and she leaned closer, smiling back. Uh oh. Time to go. He quickly finished his beer, flashed the girl a quick smile, and got the hell out of there.

The next few nights were not quite so bad. The bar was quieter during the week. Just a low key dive where the blue collar crowd went for a beer after work. He sat at the bar every night, waiting. And every night he went back to his hotel room alone. It was depressing. He asked himself what the hell he was doing, sitting here night after night. But every night he went back.

Saturday night at the Lamplighter. Again. Marton got out of his car and looked at the entrance. He was starting to hate this place. It had been a week since he'd seen Olivia. He had to be out of his mind, to spend twelve hours with a woman and then spend the next seven days looking for her. If he didn't find her tonight he was going to give up and try to forget about her. That was what he told himself. He trudged toward the doorway, feeling morose. The dive bar atmosphere inside did nothing to improve his mood. The bartender looked up and glanced at him inquiringly. He nodded, not the slightest bit cheered that the wait staff knew what he drank. He leaned against the bar and raised the bottle to his lips. Here's to obsessed stalkers, he thought.

Then he heard it. Her laugh was unmistakable. He followed the sound through the arch into the alcove where the pool tables were. Then he stopped, suddenly uncertain. Would she be glad to see him? Would she tell him to piss off, get over it? She was standing by a table, haranguing some guy about BCA rules, whatever the hell that was. She gestured with her cue, pointing and shaking it. The guy threw up his hands, laughing. Marton had to smile. He had a feeling there was no winning an argument with Olivia.

She looked up and saw him, and her face lit up with that Christmas tree smile. His uncertainty evaporated, and he crossed the room in four strides. He kissed her until she was breathless, oblivious to the laughter and whistles from around the room. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded when he came up for air. Then: "Never mind. Let's go." He pulled her toward the exit. She looked at him with a bemused expression, then turned back to the table. "I forfeit," she said, "Guess BCA boy here wins. Gotta go." Then she laughed that infectious laugh as Marton practically scooped her up and carried her out the door.

He pinned her against the side of his car, finally stopping her laughter by clamping his mouth over hers. She responded by reaching up and sliding her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe and wriggling her body against him. Her tongue snaked out, seeking his. He was half aware that he was thrusting his hips against her, hard already. Get a grip, Csokas, he said to himself. He took a deep breath and looked down into her laughing eyes. "I," he declared, "am the King of the Assholes. I can't believe I forgot to ask for your phone number. You wouldn't believe the shit that happened after you left. Do you know I've been here every night this week looking for you? I don't know where you live. I don't know where you work. I don't even know your last name."

She was laughing again. "Breathe, Marton," she said, "Breathe. Everything's ok now. Relax."

He leaned down so his face was very close to hers. "Everything is not ok," he growled. "Everything will not be ok until my cock is buried so deep in you you'll think I'm a part of you. When your legs are wrapped around me and you're screaming my name, then everything will be ok." For once she had nothing to say. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were pink as he kissed her lips very, very softly. He unlocked the car. "Get in."

*****
Chapter 10

It was Olivia's turn to fumble with her keys as they stood on her doorstep. Marton stood behind her, his hands resting on her hips, layering small, soft kisses on the back of her neck. She paused and leaned back against him, turning her head to inhale his scent. Sweat and leather and lust. The keys slipped from her fingers as she turned and wrapped her arms around him, intoxicated. His mouth was hot. His skin was hot. The heat radiating from him made her dizzy.

She broke the kiss, reached up to touch his lips. Her fingertips traced the outline of his cupid's bow mouth, stroked the fullest part of his lower lip. His eyes were hooded and dark as his tongue flicked at her fingertips. He closed his eyes, long dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, as his lips closed on the tip of her index finger. He sucked gently, licking her finger as if it was her tongue. Then he was kissing her again, hard, bruising her lips. He pushed her against the door, one thigh between her legs, lifting her off the ground with the strength of his thrusts. His breath was coming in short, hoarse gasps. Much like her own.

Suddenly he pulled away. Somehow she managed not to sink to the ground as he bent down and retrieved her keys. He pressed them into her hand. "Inside," he grated, "Now."

Somehow she got the door open, and they stumbled inside. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it in a corner, reached for her again. "Bedroom?" he whispered against her lips. She glanced toward the stairs, and he nodded. He bent down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her up. She smiled and wrapped her legs around him, and he carried her up the stairs. She had forgotten how strong he was. Olivia was slim, but at 5'8'', hardly petite. But he carried her as if she was a child. When they got to the top of the stairs, she was shivering with anticipation. She tangled her hands in his wild dark hair and bent her head to kiss him. He stopped at the first door he came to and looked at her questioningly. She nodded, and he pushed the door open with his foot and carried her in.

In a heartbeat she was on her back, and he was on top of her, kissing her fiercely. He whispered her name, over and over, as they both struggled with their clothes. She succeeded in getting his pants undone. "Olivia… aaah!" he moaned, as she wrapped her hand around his rigid cock and stroked. Abruptly he pulled away from her. He got up and quickly removed his clothes, then stood beside the bed waiting for her to undress. She did so slowly, never taking her eyes from him. He was magnificent. She hadn't really had an opportunity to look at him like this before. Tall, broad shouldered, every muscle perfectly defined. His chest was smooth, his stomach hard and sculpted. Below his waist, a ridge of muscle created a hollow just above his hip. She reached out to touch, leaned forward to taste. Her tongue explored the contours of his muscled torso. Her hands stroked his narrow hips, his impossibly long legs. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. He stood motionless, breath held, as she sat back and looked at him again. She could see the pulse throbbing in his heavy cock. One clear drop of fluid clung to the head. She leaned forward slightly and licked it off. His breath exploded, his fingers clutched her shoulders, his legs trembled. She opened her mouth and gently took the head of his cock between her lips, tasting, exploring the texture of his skin. When she released him he was shaking.

"God, Olivia," he sounded desperate. "I need you. I need to be inside you. Right now. I can't wait. I can't…" and he was pushing her back, pressing her down with his body. "Do you have something?" She pointed to the nightstand, and the tension was relieved somewhat with crinkling and fumbling and giggling. Then he was on top of her again, his mouth on hers, whispering her name against her lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and cried out as he entered her, filling her. He was almost more than she could take. Her head spun. She wouldn't have believed anything could feel so good. It was better than the first time, in some way. And then her mind dissolved in a wave of pleasure so intense it blotted out everything else. She was dimly aware of him crying out, his body moving faster, then collapsing on top of her. After a few moments, or a few hours, she became aware that he was softly kissing her face, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked at him, smiling. "Was I out long?" she asked.

*****
Chapter 11

Marton's rental car was in Olivia's driveway when she got home from the gig around 3AM. They must have finished filming early. They'd been shooting at night for the last week, and every morning he came staggering in, exhausted, shortly before she had to get up for work. He would crawl into her bed and pull her close, kissing her softly and stroking her skin, too tired to do anything else, until the alarm went off and she had to get up. It was maddening. She almost wished he would get into bed and go to sleep, without touching her. Without sending her off to work with a fire in her belly that burned all day. But when he reached for her, she never thought of pulling away.

Then when she got home in the afternoon he was there, padding around her house in bare feet and ratty sweat pants, hair still damp from the shower. A couple of times he'd tried to cook. It was a disaster. The man couldn't cook to save the fucking whales. He'd ruined her best omelet pan the last time. She'd tried not to laugh at him, standing at the stove cursing, pushing a damp ringlet out of his eyes with the back of his hand, as the concoction in the pan sizzled and spit grease at his bare chest, making him yelp. Muttering obscenities, he'd dumped the whole mess, pan and all, into the sink. She'd chosen that moment to hold up the bag of Chinese takeout she'd brought home. He'd tried to sulk, but she sat in his lap and fed him noodles with her fingers until he had to laugh. He hadn't, thank god, tried to cook again.

She quietly slipped inside and put her guitar away. She showered in the downstairs bathroom. She knew he was exhausted, and didn't want to wake him by showering in the bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. She was pretty tired too. She'd been awake for over twenty hours. Friday night gigs were rough. When the adrenaline of performing wore off, she would crash hard. She slipped into her bedroom and crept to the bed without turning on a light.

Moonlight spilled into the room; he'd left the blinds open. She started to close them, then stopped. She stood between the bed and the window, looking at him. He had a habit of kicking the blankets off. He gave off heat like a furnace. He also tended to sprawl, long arms and legs extended in all directions. He took up a lot of space. And yet, in spite of his uncommon size, his muscular body, and the dark stubble on his face, there was something almost childlike about him when he was asleep.

Olivia watched him sleep. She had to smile at him, sprawled all over her bed, naked and snoring softly. With a start she realized that what she was feeling was tenderness. She squashed it like a bug. None of that shit, Liv, she rebuked herself. He's just passing through. When he'd stopped going back to the hotel a couple of weeks ago, it had never occurred to her that she might get attached to him. She hadn't been thinking of anything except that he was hotter than a grease fire in hell. But he was sweet and goofy... She shook her head sharply and closed the blinds.

She leaned over him and blew in his ear until he twitched and rolled over onto his side. Then she slipped into the bed and flipped a sheet up over both of them. She lay there, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, feeling the answering heat rise in her own body. She didn't want to wake him; she knew how tired he was. But she found she was shaking with the need to touch him. Almost against her will she inched closer, until she was curled against him. With a sigh, she slipped her arm around his waist, willing herself to let this be enough. It wasn't. Her lips were almost touching him. Tentatively, she darted her tongue out, gently touching his back, tasting the salt of his skin. Then he was turning over, pulling her into his arms, his mouth closing over hers. Her awareness narrowed to a focal point of skin and breath and hair. "Been waiting for you," he whispered. Then he was on top of her, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him down. He entered her gently, moving slowly, half asleep. She clung to him as he rocked against her gently, arms wrapped around her. His mouth never left hers. When his breath started to come quicker, he breathed into her mouth. This was a new thing, this slow, sleepy, gentle lovemaking. His arms tightened around her and he moaned , his mouth still locked onto hers. She felt his cock pulse inside her, and her body responded in kind. She felt dizzy. She was suddenly very relaxed, and very, very tired. He started to move off of her, but she held onto him. "No," she murmured, "Stay there."

"I'm not heavy?" he asked.

"No," she sighed, stroking his back, "not at all."

*****
Chapter 12

Olivia smelled coffee. She inhaled deeply. How could something you smelled every day of your life still smell so fucking good? She rolled over, reaching for Marton, was disappointed to find him gone. Well, that would explain the coffee, wouldn't it, Einstein, she thought. She sat up, stretching and yawning, just as Marton came padding into the room with a steaming mug. He was barefoot, wearing those ratty drawstring pants he loafed about the house in. They hung low in his hips; she could see the indentation where his muscular abs curved over his hipbone, and the thin line of dark auburn hair that descended from his navel and disappeared into his pants. She felt a sudden white hot surge of lust for the man.

"Coffee?" he offered. She took the cup with a smile and sipped it while he puttered around the room, picking up discarded clothing. "Sleep well?" he asked.

" Mmmm..." she murmured. "I had very vivid dreams."

" Really? What about?"

"Sucking your cock."

He froze, looking startled, as if no one had ever suggested such a thing to him before. Except that the front of his baggy pants was rapidly taking on the shape of a tent. She smiled.

"C'mon, baby," she purred, "Don't you want to make my dreams come true?"

He dropped the handful of socks he was holding and walked toward her, untying the drawstring of his pants. "You know I do," he growled softly.

He stood in front of her, and the pants fell to the floor. She reached a hand up, stroking his belly, his thighs, the curve of his hip. Still sipping her coffee, she caressed him gently, watching his cock get harder. His breath started coming faster as she cradled his balls in her hand. She curled her fingers around his cock and stroked, smiling as his head rolled back and his hips thrust forward. She took one last mouthful of coffee, held it in her mouth for a moment, swallowed and quickly closed her mouth over his cock. His head snapped up. "Fuck!" he exploded, hips jerking. His fingers were knotted in her hair, clenching convulsively. His breath was coming in ragged gasps within seconds. When she felt the heat dissipate, she grabbed his hips to slow his thrusting. Before he had a chance to catch his breath, she relaxed her throat, tilted her head back, and... yes! She had time for a moment of triumph before the gag reflex kicked in. Her eyes streamed and her throat convulsed around him. He let out a low, shuddering moan that she had never heard him make before. Beads of sweat broke on his skin. His head was thrown back and he trembled uncontrollably. Suddenly his hips stopped rocking and his whole body went rigid. A powerful shudder went through him, his cock leaped in her throat, and he let out a howl that she was sure would have the neighbors calling 911.

After a few moments, he sank to his knees with his head in her lap. He sat on the floor, panting, clutching her weakly, face pressed against her belly. She stroked his hair and sipped her still warm coffee.

A puddle, Marton thought. This is what a puddle feels like. He really wanted to get up off the floor. He wanted to lie on the soft bed. Wanted to pull Olivia down into his arms and kiss her until he recovered. He wanted to reciprocate. Wanted to give her a fraction of the pleasure she'd just given him. But he couldn't. Couldn't do any of those things. Couldn't do anything but sit on the floor drooling into her lap. He took a breath, tried to speak. " Guh..." he said, making her laugh. She stroked his hair, tenderly pushing a damp curl behind his ear. He found the gesture inordinately moving. "Oh, god," he thought, clutching her, "God, I love you..."

As soon as he had formed the thought his eyes flew open. Did he? Did he love her? Or was it just a hormone cocktail? Pheromones and endorphins, fucking with his brain chemistry, making him think crazy thoughts. Crazy. He'd known her for a month. And anyway, he'd be leaving soon. Leaving! The thought made his stomach hurt. He shook his head. He couldn't have this conversation with himself right now. He wasn't thinking clearly.

He found he was able to move, and heaved himself up onto the bed. He reached for Olivia, and she obligingly stretched out beside him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. When he stroked the curve of her back she arched against him. He didn't need to slide his hand between her legs to know how aroused she was, but he did anyway. He moaned into her mouth as she flung her leg over his hip. "Want you so much..." he murmured, "can't get enough..." He couldn't get hard again yet, but he had other skills, and he put them to work. He loved it when she arched up to him, her hands tangled in his hair, her beautiful tawny skin flushing dusky pink as she cried out. He especially loved it when she cried out his name, over and over, like a prayer.

"You make me feel like God," he whispered, as she lay gasping in his arms, the late morning sun percolating through the shades.

*****
Chapter 13

Olivia was twisting Marton's hair into ringlets. She lay on top of him, winding strands around her fingers, highly entertained that they stayed tightly coiled when she released them. "Are you having fun?" he inquired mildly.

"Mm…," she replied. "You look like Shirley Temple. Are you filming tonight?"

"No," he sighed, "The night shoot is finished, thank god. The overseer gave us all a few days off to recover. No filming until Wednesday." He grinned at her. "By then I reckon I'll be ready to get back to the set to recover from my days off."

"Oh, well, if you're tired…" she rolled off him, sticking her tongue out, and moving as if to get up. He reached out one long arm and scooped her back into the bed, laughing.

"I am not tired," he emphasized. "But by Wednesday morning I plan to be very tired. Very, very tired." He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she burst out laughing. He could be such a goof.

"Well," she said, "Why don't you come to the gig tonight, then, since you're free." She realized he had never seen her play. She didn't think he had even heard her sing. It struck her as odd. Music was such a big part of her life. And she had spent nearly every free moment with him for the last month without sharing that. Suddenly, she really wanted him to come and see her play. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"I'd love to," he said, pulling her down. "That would be…" he kissed her, "That would be fantastic."

Olivia had her head in the fridge, vainly searching for something other than beer and onions and leftover takeout. Marton was in the shower; she could hear the water running. Then she heard something else. What the hell… she thought, straightening up to listen. As she listened, she started to giggle. Then she laughed until her stomach hurt. The crazy bastard was singing On the Good Ship Lollypop at the top of his voice.

Marton sat at a table on the edge of the dance floor. Olivia's band mates were on the stage, tuning up. Olivia herself was nowhere to be seen. Olivia's friend Rose was sitting with him, and a couple of other women. Olivia had introduced them, but he'd forgotten their names. He leaned across the table. "Where is she?" he asked. They all looked at each other and shrugged.

"Arguing with the bar manager," suggested Rose. "Playing pool, getting high in the dressing room. You never know with Liv. She's easily distracted."

"Won't they be pissed?" he nodded toward the stage.

"They're used to it," Rose laughed. "They've been playing together since high school. She's always been like this. They'll start playing and she'll come running from wherever she is. I think she just likes to make an entrance."

The other musicians appeared to be ready. The bass player, Mario, Olivia had called him, stepped up to a microphone and tapped it. "Oh- liviaaa…" he called in a singsong voice. Several people in the crowd laughed. Apparently they'd seen this little drama unfold before. He started playing something that sounded familiar, but it was just the base line and Marton couldn't put a name to it. Then another guitar joined in, and Marton started to smile. He was sure there was nothing random about them choosing that song to call their itinerant guitarist. They were in full swing when Olivia bounded onto the stage. She grabbed a microphone and launched into Mustang Sally.

Marton's jaw dropped. He immediately understood why they put up with her antics. She was explosive. You couldn't look away from her. Her voice was astonishingly powerful: deep and gritty and fucking loud. She picked up her guitar and started to play. She was good. Really good. But playing an instrument was a skill that could be learned. You had to be born with a voice like that. And her stage presence was something else entirely. He thought back to the first time he'd seen her, how he'd been unable to focus on anything else in the room. Now he understood.

She stood with her feet wide apart, one heel moving up and down in time with the beat, making her hips rock. The guitar bounced gently against her as her fingers glided over the strings. I want to be that guitar, he thought. Her eyes were closed, her head tilted back slightly, a look of bliss on her face, lost in the music. She looks like that when I'm inside her. He was so horny he was squirming in his seat. He didn't know how he was going to get through this night. He raked a hand through his hair, grabbed his beer and downed it. He looked around for a waiter and noticed Rose and the others looking at him, trying hard not to laugh out loud. He smiled and shrugged, blushing furiously, and they burst into laughter, unable to contain themselves any longer.

The first set ended, and Olivia came bounding over to the table. She slid into Marton's lap, grabbed a bottle of beer and drank thirstily. He couldn't resist wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, couldn't stop his hips from moving. His erection rubbed against her hip, and she turned her head to look at him, a slow smile spreading across her face. She turned around and wound her hands in his hair, bent down to kiss him, hard. A kiss that left him dazed, oblivious to the wolf whistles of their companions. She looked at him, grinning wickedly. The bitch! He thought. She knows what she's doing. She knows and she's deliberately torturing me! Evil, sadistic bitch! He grinned back, just as wickedly, growled into her ear. "Wait until we get home, you brat. I'm going to make you scream." He felt her shiver. She leaned back against him and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her breath hot on his neck, then he felt her teeth as she bit him, her tongue flicking his skin between her teeth. It took every shred of self control he possessed to keep his hips from bucking up off the chair. Then she was gone, bouncing back up onto the stage for the next set.

Olivia was loading her gear into the van when Marton came up behind her. She didn't even know the sneaky bastard was there until she found herself sandwiched between the side of the van and his long hard body. His breath was hot in her ear as he growled, "You are the hottest thing I have ever seen." He gripped her hips and pulled her back against him. Two layers of denim didn't mute the sensation of his hard cock nestled in the cleft of her ass. Her knees went weak. "I don't know if I can make it home," he murmured, his hips rocking against her. "If you touch me, if you so much as breathe on me, I will have to pull over and fuck you senseless on the side of the road. Understand?" She nodded, breathless, and he moved away from her.

"Mario, I'll come by and pick up my gear tomorrow. Just take it home with you tonight, OK? Leave it in the van." Then she followed Marton toward his car. She got in quietly, looking at him with wide eyes. She wasn't tempted to tease him. He wasn't kidding and she knew it. He really would pull over. She'd never seen him so intense. He was a little scary. " Marton," she said quietly.

" Mmmm?"

"You're freaking me out a little. Are you pissed or something?"

He looked at her, his eyes showing surprise. He reached across the seat and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Of course not. I'm sorry, baby. I'm just out of my mind with frustration. I've been nursing a hard on for the last three hours. Do you have any idea how hot you are?" He put the car in park. "Come here," he said.

She scooted across the seat, smiling. "I thought you said I couldn't touch you."

"You can't. But I can touch you. Keep your hands where I can see them, you brat." And he bent his head to kiss her, a slow burning kiss full of longing and frustration. He released her mouth and she inhaled with a gasp. And looking into his eyes she finally understood. Without another word, he put the car in gear and drove away.

They didn't speak on the way home. Marton seemed almost contrite. The intensity, the urgency, was still there. But he had it under control. Once they were on the highway he took her hand, brought it to his lips. She thought about touching him, stroking his jaw where the dark stubble was starting to show. But she refrained. They still had a twenty minute drive. He seemed calm now, but he was still close to the edge. He could still lose control. And then he would hate himself. He would feel like he'd forced her, even if she wanted it. He was such a gentle man. He'd bitten her hard enough to leave a mark once, in the heat of the moment, and he'd been horrified. He'd touched her as if she was made of glass until the bruise faded, and nothing she'd said could reassure him that it was ok.

They pulled into Olivia's driveway and Marton shut the car off. Both hands still on the steering wheel, he took a deep breath. She smiled behind her hand. She could hear him as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud: OK. Made it home without acting like a caveman again. She gathered up her jacket and bag while he got out and went around to open the door for her. She had a feeling he wanted to act the gentleman, and she let him. She got out and he shut the door behind her. As they walked up the stairs together, he rested his hand gently on the small of her back. It was the lightest touch, but the jolt that went through her nearly made her stumble. He still had his keys in his hand; he opened the front door and held it for her. Once inside, he took her coat and bag and laid them carefully across the back of a chair, followed by his own jacket. Then he put his arms around her and pulled her so close that her whole body from knees to shoulders was pressed against him. The heat radiating from him was making her perspire. With one finger he brushed a lock of hair from her damp forehead. Then he tilted her chin up and bent his head to kiss her.

The world melted, and Olivia went with it. The only solid thing in the universe was the broad chest she was pressed against, the strong arms that held her there. His kiss was gentle, so gentle, like that first kiss on the bridge a lifetime ago, but full of need and longing and passion that poured through her like liquid fire. And love. Yes, it was there. She could taste it on his kiss, like something sweet and dangerous. For a moment, a part of her rebelled against the danger. It couldn't be. It could only lead to heartache. And then she surrendered to the sweetness. Let it hurt, then. If a broken heart was the price of this, then she would pay it. Once again, he carried her up the stairs.

Their clothes seemed to dissolve, as if clothing just didn't exist in this space. She reached for him, but he evaded her touch, dropped to his knees in front of her. His hands glided over her skin, feather light, and he pressed his cheek against her belly. When had he done that before? He gazed up at her, and his eyes were wide and dark, hiding nothing. He didn't speak; there was no need. He kissed her hipbones, her navel, slid his hands down the back of her legs to her ankles. Then with one arm wrapped around her hips, he stroked her leg from the ankle to the inside of her thigh. She gasped when his fingers brushed her labia, then cried out when he slid them inside her. Her knees buckled, and he rose quickly and caught her. He lowered her gently onto the bed, fingers still caressing her. He stretched out beside her, half sitting, leaning over her. He found her lips again, and drank her moans and cries as he gently brought her to orgasm with one skillful hand.

She was still gasping and trembling when he raised himself up and began to kiss her. Her body was so sensitive that her muscles twitched and jumped wherever his lips touched her. When his tongue flicked a nipple, she arched up, grabbing his head, her body rigid. He covered her with soft, moist kisses, leaving wet spots that rose in gooseflesh at the breeze from the open window. She was moaning again long before he slipped his hands under her to raise her hips. When he lowered his head and dipped his tongue into her wet folds, she lost all control, writhing and sobbing. He didn't tease or try to prolong it, but slid his fingers inside her again. Then, relentlessly, he worked fingers and tongue until the sobbing became wailing, and the writhing became thrashing. Finally she collapsed, exhausted and shaking. He moved up to lay on top of her, kissing her tenderly, giving her a few moments to recover. She found she had enough strength left to wrap her legs around him as he slid into her, his whole body shaking with restrained passion.

When he felt her respond, he threw off his self control with a loud groan. Olivia clung to him, hanging on for the ride as he gave in to the desire he'd been holding in check for hours. One of the things she loved about him was that when he was done holding back, he held nothing back. The headboard bounced off the wall like his wordless cries with each powerful thrust. She was starting to think that the bed couldn't take much more when his mouth came down on hers. He moaned, long and low, into her mouth as his cock pulsed forcefully inside her. She felt it, arched against him, and came again, echoing his moans back to him. He collapsed in her arms and she stroked his hair as they both drifted into sleep in a puddle of sweat. Again.

Olivia's bed was a mess. The sheets were in a knot, wedged against the wall, and the mattress was askew. She looked at the man snoring softly beside her. Damp curls clung to his forehead. His lips looked swollen. Bee stung. A description usually applied to women. But it fit. He was beautiful. She looked at him, and knew she was in trouble.

*****
Chapter 14

"I have to leave," Marton said. "We've been done filming for a month. I'm starting another project in a week." He sighed, pulled Olivia closer, held her tightly for a few moments. Then he pulled away and looked at her. He made a decision. "Come with me," he said. She blinked.

"What?"

"Come with me. Back to LA. I don't want to leave you."

" Marton, I can't. I can't just pack a bag and fuck off. I can't get the time off just like that."

"No, I mean…" he swallowed. "I mean come with me. To stay." She blinked again.

"Are you crazy? Think about what you're saying."

"I have thought about it. Constantly. For weeks. Olivia, I…"

" Shh!" She interrupted him. "Don't."

"But I… "

She laid her fingers over his lips, shook her head. " Marton, I can't just pack up and leave. I won't. My life is here. My job, my band, my friends, my family, my house, everything. Would you abandon everything that's important to you and come and live here?"

He thought for a moment, and answered honestly. "No." He felt like there was something stuck in his throat, felt like if he didn't say the words out loud he would choke on them. But she wouldn't let him. He tried again. "Olivia, I…"

"Look," she said, interrupting him again. "We had a couple of incredible months. I've never experienced anything like it…"

"Neither have I." It was his turn to interrupt.

"So why do you want to fuck it up by getting all angst ridden? Let it be. We have something amazing, but it's gone as far as it can. Just let it be what it is and feel good about it."

He sighed. She was right. He would get on a plane and go home. He would forget about her. Or he would ache for her night and day for the rest of his life. Probably something in between. He sighed again and held her tightly. When he kissed her it was with something like desperation. He tried to let the pounding of his heart drown out his thoughts; tried to numb the ache in his chest with his lover's body. But when she arched against him and cried out his name, he couldn't stop the tears that wet his face.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you to the airport?" Olivia asked, not for the first time.

"No. I'd rather say goodbye to you here." Marton answered. "It's hard enough without doing it in public." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently. She wanted to cling to him, but she didn't. There was a distance between them: a protective barrier. The easy intimacy was gone. She knew he was hurt. But there was nothing she could do about it. It was as it had to be. A car horn sounded. The taxi.

"You know," she said, with an attempt at a smile , "If you're ever back in the neighborhood…"

He smiled back, and for a moment it reached his eyes. "I will be."

Then he was gone.

*****

THE END

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