to accommodate him. Salinger swore, and his hips lifted off the bed restlessly. One of his hands settled on the base of my spine as I rose and fell over and over again, grinding relentlessly against the hardness between my legs. His other hand slid under my hair and clasped the back of my neck, fingers tightening as my pace sped up and my arms wrapped around his neck for balance. My nipples dragged erotically across his tattooed chest, puckering to the point of pain as every place we touched tingled with sensation. My blood felt hot and pleasure was rushing through me. The slick sounds of sex echoed in my ears, along with low growls and short grunts that escaped Salinger every time I moved my hips in just the right way. His lips touched mine lightly, and I could tell he was smiling as I bounced on him like he was the best ride in the amusement park.
I’d had my fair share of sex in my thirty-six years. But I couldn’t recall ever having the kind of sex that had me wanting to do it all over again before I was even done with the first round. He was the one in his twenties. He was the one who was supposed to have the unstoppable libido. I was the one who said we were only doing this once, but I had a sinking feeling Salinger was about to make a liar out of me.
My inner muscles clamped down on the unyielding flesh inside of me, causing Salinger to swear. He squeezed my neck tighter, and I knew I was more than likely going to have fingerprint-sized bruises under my hair tomorrow. “I can’t wait until it’s my turn to fuck you, Maren. You haven’t forgotten a thing.”
I couldn’t wait for him to fuck me either. Even with him just sitting there and holding me as I took everything I wanted from him without giving much back, he was still better and made me feel more than anyone else I’d ever been with.
He even let me come first, and when he didn’t make me feel bad or embarrassed about it, but instead looked proud of himself for bringing me the kind of pleasure that was unstoppable and overwhelming, I wanted to cry.
Leave it to the boy who ruined me all those years ago to become the man who very well might bring me back to life when nothing else could.
Salinger
“WE NEED TO change the ending.”
I shot up in my chair and slapped my hand on the table in front of me. It was a knee-jerk reaction that wasn’t appropriate for the private dining room in one of the most expensive restaurants in LA. The bang on the table made the world-famous director sitting across from me jump in his seat, and Maren shot out a hand and placed it on my tense thigh in a warning gesture. I felt the press of her fingernails even through the thick material of my jeans.
She’d been extremely careful in the days following our night together. She made sure she didn’t touch me in any way that could be confused as something personal. She was keeping her distance as much as she could, so the touch surprised me enough that some of my anger bled out. It was hard to stay mad when her hands were on me.
“Why do we have to change the ending?” Maren kept her voice calm as her fingers loosened. She patted my leg under the table, and when she went to pull away, I put my free hand over hers to keep it in place. I was glad she asked the question in a calm, professional manner. The director was pretty jumpy and twitchy. If I started to grill him over the request, there was a good chance the guy would pass out the second I raised my voice.
For the first time since I decided to start this project, my dream collaborator came looking for me instead of the other way around. Well, he went looking for Maren and found me by default.
Heinrich Lange was one of the most revered independent film directors of the time. He had more than one Oscar to his name and a slew of other awards. He could pick and choose the kind of films he wanted to make. The man was ridiculously talented and knew his worth. He had a very clear, creative vision, but was rumored to be difficult to work