Write Your Own Script Page 8

  Dipping her head, she licked up the inside of one thigh. Tamsyn growled, so she repeated the action on the other side, this time making sure to nudge a little closer to Tamsyn’s wet pussy with the tip of her tongue. Tamsyn held her breath, then expelled it in a sudden rush as Maggie moved back to the other thigh.

  “Oh, you are cruel.” Tamsyn sounded equally exasperated and amused.

  Maggie chuckled but didn’t respond other than to lick again, this time letting the tip of her tongue run over the slickness of Tamsyn’s outer lips. God, she tastes good. With Tamsyn’s ragged breathing sounding loud in the quiet room, and one of her hands gripping Maggie’s shoulder, Maggie feasted. Her tongue ran up, and in, and over, and around. Her chin and lips were coated within moments, the best dessert she could imagine at the end of their evening together. Tamsyn’s clit was so hard Maggie avoided it at first—something told her it wouldn’t take too many licks there to send Tamsyn into orbit, and Maggie had meant what she said; she wanted this to last. She dragged her tongue up a thigh again and this time didn’t stop, burying it as deep as she could inside Tamsyn, whose hips surged off the bed as a result.

  “Oh, yes. Fuck me, Maggie.”

  She did, dipping her tongue in and out, as deep and as fast as she could go. Tamsyn sounded almost in pain she was so aroused, and Maggie knew she shouldn’t make her wait a second longer. Sliding her tongue upwards, keeping the pressure firm, she ran it over the hard nub of Tamsyn’s clit and held on tightly to her thighs as she licked back and forth, over and over. Tamsyn was gasping for air, her free hand frantic on the duvet beside their naked bodies but Maggie maintained her pace, and the firmness of her touch, and when the shudders started in Tamsyn’s thighs, she braced herself.

  “Ma…ggie!” Tamsyn cried, loud and long, hips lifting off the bed as her orgasm slammed into her. It was beautiful to feel, and to watch, and to share. Maggie gazed up at her, at the ecstasy that played out on her face, the sweat beading on her chest, and held on tight as Tamsyn thrust again and again, her mouth open in a wide ‘O’ of pleasure.

  Tamsyn’s heart was thudding so sharply she was sure it must be visible from the outside and if she’d had the energy she would have glanced down at her own chest to check. However, energy was in short supply right at this moment; she was officially jelly, and it was all Maggie’s fault. Not that Tamsyn was complaining, of course.

  She chuckled and reached out so both her hands were on Maggie’s shoulders.

  “Come here, you,” she murmured, and Maggie obliged, slinking her way up, pressing soft, wet kisses against Tamsyn’s skin as she did so, making her shiver. Tamsyn wrapped her arms around Maggie and held her close, the touch of her along the length of Tamsyn’s body stirring something more than sexual within her, something that rang a small bell of alarm in the back of her head which she tried to ignore. “That was…incredible,” she whispered, kissing Maggie’s hair where the side of her head was pressed against Tamsyn’s cheek. Maggie’s breathing was heavy in her ear.

  “Mmm, I thought so too. You taste so good.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  Maggie lifted her head then, and her hot gaze and sexy smile was Tamsyn’s undoing. That alarm bell fell silent as she swiftly pushed Maggie onto her back.

  “My turn,” she growled, cupping both of Maggie’s breasts in her hands and rubbing her thumbs over the nipples, which hardened instantly, tempting her to taste them.

  “Oh, yes.”

  Maggie was squirming already, and a heady sense of power rushed through Tamsyn. She was doing this, making this woman feel that good, and it was so much more thrilling than one of Tamsyn’s usual set-ups. She’d chosen Maggie, even if it was just for this one night. At that thought, of it only lasting these few hours, Tamsyn’s stomach squirmed; it stopped her thoughts, shut her mind down, and her body took over. She just needed to feel now, not analyse.

  Leaning forward, she licked at the rigid nipples before her and smiled at Maggie’s soft groan.

  “Tell me, Maggie,” she whispered, gazing into those hazel eyes and catching her breath at the intensity of their colour under the influence of Maggie’s desire. “Do you like getting fucked? Because I really, really want to fuck you right now.”

  “Jesus! Yes.”

  Maggie’s laboured words sent Tamsyn’s blood raging through her veins. Keeping her tongue moving over Maggie’s nipples, and alternating licks with the bites she already knew Maggie loved, she ran a hand firmly down the centre of Maggie’s body to her soft curls. It was refreshing to feel hair—most of the women she spent time with were models or other actresses, always fastidious about removing as much body hair as possible, as she herself did. Running her fingers through a soft bush made her smile, but she didn’t linger; she had a much more interesting destination in mind and a huge desire to get there quickly. Maggie’s pussy was hot, and wet, and Tamsyn could tell she was open and ready. When two fingers slid easily inside, and Maggie gasped at the sensation, Tamsyn’s own pussy clenched in response; she hoped Maggie had stamina. But first, she wanted Maggie to feel as good as she had, to melt beneath her and gasp for air.

  Slowly, but with intent, Tamsyn did as she’d promised. And when, a short time later, Maggie’s hips bucked off the bed, and her entire body went rigid with pleasure, a warmth and satisfaction infused Tamsyn in a way she hadn’t remembered feeling in such a long time. Before she could revel in it—or run from it—Maggie was kissing her fiercely, and pushing her onto her back, and letting her mouth roam once more down the length of Tamsyn’s body.

  Chapter 9

  Gizmo’s whining brought Maggie awake. Tamsyn stirred, her arms unclenching from their position around Maggie’s waist. Maggie was half-lying on top of her, her back to Tamsyn’s chest, her head on Tamsyn’s shoulder. She wouldn’t have imagined it was possible for her to drift off in such a position, but it appeared she had done so.

  “What’s that noise?” Tamsyn murmured against her hair.

  Maggie chuckled. “That, I’m afraid, is the noise of a dog who needs to go outside.” She gently pushed Tamsyn’s arms away. “I’ll be back, just give me five minutes.”

  “Mm, ’kay.”

  Maggie smiled and reluctantly extricated herself from Tamsyn’s arms, then found her shirt and socks and pulled them on before padding out of the bedroom. Gizmo stared up at her from a few feet away, shuffling from side to side, his eyes reproachful.

  “Hey, buddy. I’m sorry. I’ve got you now.” She patted him quickly on the head then led him to the back door. By the time she had it open he was frantic, and he didn’t run far down the garden before finding a useful fence post to take care of business. Maggie shivered just inside the door as she watched him, making sure he didn’t get any crazy ideas about spending too long out there, but she needn’t have worried; Gizmo seemed well aware of how cold and late it was and was soon scampering back up the path and into the warmth of the kitchen.

  She shut and locked the door, then topped up his water and his dry food before paying her own visit to the bathroom. As she washed her hands, she smiled at her dishevelled state, reflected in the mirror above the sink. She’d had sex—amazing sex—with Tamsyn Harris. Even though she’d tried so hard to forget Tamsyn’s status in the world, it wasn’t every day a woman got to spend naked, sexy time with someone famous they’d crushed on since they were a teenager. At the same time, the woman she’d been touching, and bringing to the height of ecstasy—more than once—was just Tamsyn. There’d been no acting, no need for pretence; they’d enjoyed each other as equals.

  With dry hands and a buzz between her legs at the thought of returning to that hot body in her bed, she flipped off the bathroom light and walked back down the hallway. When she pushed open the door, she stopped dead. Tamsyn, caught in the act of pulling on her jeans, met her eyes briefly before looking away.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, her voice muffled as she
leaned over to yank her jeans up. “I’d better get back.”

  Ah. So this is how it’s going to be. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised, but it stung, nonetheless.

  “Right. Okay. Want me to walk you back?”

  Tamsyn stood and smiled, but it was weak and lacking warmth. “No, I’m good. You stay snuggled up in the warm.”

  “Tamsyn?”

  Tamsyn walked over, kissed her quickly on the cheek, then continued past her and out the door without another word.

  The coffee tasted bitter, but it was the same brand as yesterday, so Tamsyn had no idea why it stuck in her throat.

  “Yeah, right,” she said to the cold, empty cottage.

  She tugged the blanket closer around her shoulders and glared at the logs on the fire, as if that would make them catch and burn quicker. Getting back after midnight to an icy cottage hadn’t been fun, but there’d been no point lighting a fire then. Now, in the early hours of the morning, she’d built one as quickly as she could with numb fingers, but it was taking an age to get going, as if to spite her. The regular heating in the cottage was on, but the radiators weren’t that effective and only took the edge off the cold. What she wanted was the deep warmth that only a fire could provide.

  Or a soft body pressed up against hers.

  She shook her head. No, leaving had been the right decision, even though the mix of emotions on Maggie’s face had been hard to stomach. But really, what did Maggie expect? Tamsyn didn’t necessarily regret their night, but she’d had to walk away. Protecting herself and her career had to come first, as always. Lingering for more would be a huge mistake, and not because of how Maggie might feel.

  You wanted more, accused a voice that hadn’t given her any peace all night.

  Leaving the warmth of that bed, and of Maggie’s arms, had torn her in ways she hadn’t imagined were possible. She’d never felt like this leaving any of her other dalliances behind, so what the hell was different now?

  She trembled as the answer came loud and clear.

  Maggie.

  Maggie was different. So very different from all the women who had come before her, and Tamsyn craved her like a drug.

  But, like all addicts, she had to resist. Had to fight it. Because giving in, heading back down that path around the lake, held the risk of ruining everything she’d created for herself. And no woman was worth that. Surely.

  Maggie sipped from her coffee and gazed out of the window at Gizmo exploring the back garden. It was the eighth or ninth time he’d done so since they’d arrived last week, but of course so much could have changed in that time, as far as a dog’s nose was concerned. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be a dog? To have no cares other than when your next meal was arriving, and whether you were still going to get the best spot in front of the fire. Freedom to laze around all day, or go for a walk—owner permitting, of course—and cuddles whenever you played the big brown eyes card.

  She sighed. Being human was so…complicated. She put down her coffee mug and rubbed at her tired eyes. There hadn’t been much sleep after Tamsyn’s departure, even with a warm dog laid across her feet. And she couldn’t blame the little snuffling and snoring noises he made while he slumbered.

  On one level, she totally understood. Tamsyn was closeted, and her levels of self-protection would therefore be sky high. Of course she didn’t want to get dragged into anything that had the potential to get messy. But Maggie hadn’t asked for that, or even expected it. She knew it was completely ridiculous to think they could have anything beyond whatever it was they were finding in this secretive little corner of Norfolk. She would have liked to wake up together though, maybe have coffee and breakfast, maybe make plans to walk Gizmo together later. Just…be. No questions asked, no expectations. Tamsyn hadn’t given her that opportunity. What a waste.

  She lifted her shoulders and inhaled a deep breath. If nothing else, everything that had happened between them had only fuelled her imagination as far as that story idea went, and today she was going to test the waters and see whether words would flow. It made her nervous—what if they didn’t, even when she was this excited about a story?

  Gizmo yipped at the back door and she walked over to let him in. He went straight to his water bowl and lapped noisily for a minute or so, then wandered off to the living room, licking his chops. She smiled; he was so easy to please. After draining the last of her coffee, she set her shoulders once more.

  Right, let’s do this.

  She pulled out a chair from under the small dining table, sat down, and picked up her glasses. After pushing them up her nose until they were perfectly comfy, she slowly opened her MacBook. Scrivener was open, a blank page awaiting her. She pulled her Moleskine notebook closer and opened it to the page of notes she’d scribbled so furiously the day before.

  Flexing her fingers, she began to type.

  Two hours later, she leaned back in her chair, an enormous smile on her face.

  Bloody hell, I can still do this.

  The thought gave her a glow. She glanced at the time on her screen and chuckled. When was the last time she’d immersed herself in her writing so deeply? Gizmo came padding into the kitchen and gazed at her from beside his food bowl.

  “Yep, I think you’re right, Giz. Time for some food. And maybe a glass of wine for the grown-up. She’s earned it.”

  She made lunch for them both and ate hers standing up, looking out the back window again. The day was beautiful, with bright sunshine and a blue sky. The wine, a smooth Cabernet Sauvignon, gave her a warm glow.

  It was tempting to sit back down at her Mac and continue, but she was happy with her progress today, and didn’t want to force it. Maybe later, in front of the fire, another glass of wine by her side. Yes, she could think of far worse ways to spend her day. Although, to be honest, she could also think of far better ways. Less lonely ways.

  She shook off the thought.

  “Come on, you. Time for a walk,” she said, looking down at Gizmo, who sat patiently beside her feet.

  He leaped up, barked a couple of times, then ran between the back door and front until she’d used the bathroom, pulled on her coat and boots, and picked up his lead from the hall table.

  “You’re bloody crazy, dog,” she muttered, clipping him in and then opening the back door. After locking it behind them she walked him down the garden, letting him sniff the same fence posts he’d already monitored that morning, before urging him to follow her out and onto the path that led to the woods. It was cold out, but not biting—spring was definitely trying to push back the winter, at last, and the plentiful woodland flowers attested to that. While the woods contained a few evergreens, there were still plenty of bare branches above that let light down to the woodland floor this time of year, and, after unclipping his lead, Maggie snapped a few photos of Gizmo romping through clumps of yellow and white low-lying blooms. It was so peaceful in here, and it soothed her. Last night had played with her mind in so many contrary ways; it was good to get grounded again by nature.

  They came to the length of track that passed near the back of Tamsyn’s cottage. Maggie tried not to look but couldn’t resist a peek. Should she go up there? Knock on the door and have it out with Tamsyn? Or simply let her be, let her hide away from the world as she wanted. Who was Maggie to tell her how to live her life? So they’d slept together, so what? People had one-night stands all over the world, every night of the year. They were nothing special—and Tamsyn had made that abundantly clear in the way she’d left.

  Except, I thought we were pretty special. At least in bed. What we did to each other was…incredible.

  But since when did fantastic sex mean anything more had to happen? Maggie herself had had a couple of flings that were purely physical, so she was no stranger to no-strings couplings. She knew, though, that she was deluding herself if she thought she could just brush it off. She glanced once more at Tamsyn�
��s cottage then followed Gizmo down the path, stepping over a couple of deep puddles left over from the rain. The trouble was, she could admit, that a part of her had wished for more. For much more. She wanted the fairy tale—fan meets celebrity and magic ensues.

  Oh well, if I can’t have it in real life, I’ll just make it happen on the page. It might be torture, weaving a fantasy out of one night of blissful reality, but something told her it might be one of her best books yet.

  “Thanks, Mrs French, that’s plenty.” Tamsyn took the huge bag of kindling and smiled, albeit a little apprehensively. Carmen’s aunt was a no-nonsense woman of the country life, and it probably hadn’t occurred to her that Tamsyn normally had someone to fetch and carry for her, so the rough sack she’d thrust into Tamsyn’s arms was way heavier than expected. Tamsyn readjusted it until bits weren’t sticking into her chest.

  “Right. Just call up to the house when you’re getting low next time, and I’ll drop more off on my way out sometime.”

  “Okay, will do.”

  They said their goodbyes and Tamsyn staggered back off the step that led to the rear kitchen door of the big house. By the time she’d crossed half the courtyard that filled the space between the house and its outbuildings, she’d got a rhythm going that meant she was more than likely not going to drop the bag and its contents all over the track that led to the cottages. It had never occurred to her just to ring Mrs French for the kindling, but now that she was out, stumbling her way over the rutted track with a huge sack of wood in her arms, she was proud of herself doing the self-sufficient thing.

  She rolled her eyes. For Christ’s sakes, it’s one bag of kindling. You’re not a fucking Sherpa.

  The cool day kept her face chilled while her body heated up with her exertions. It was a pleasant warmth, though, and she was glad she’d ventured out. Cooping herself up in the cottage all day really hadn’t done her any favours; she’d done nothing but stew, her own actions leaving a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. She still thought she was right to walk away—mostly—but she wasn’t exactly proud of how she’d done so. Maggie deserved better.