sex scenes. He so much as touches you, and you and I are through.” This seemed unfair. After all, I’d recently caught him with Ella Rogers in the beer garden at the Stony Swan. It was December, and the garden was empty, the wooden tables slick with ice, but there was Ella on the edge of one, thighs parted, spine arched, knee-high boots jerking as Keith pounded into her. She’d dropped back her head, eyelids closed, scarlet lips glossed with saliva, and Keith was grunting like a dog in heat, his hips thrusting, his hand on her breast. As he grew wilder, Ella’s eyelids fluttered and she cried, “Oh, do it, do it …” and the table jolted beneath them, as her fingers gripped the wood. But I’d soon forgiven him, knowing it was for kicks. Besides, Ella Rogers went with anyone who asked.
Yet now he was jealous of a sex scene? I felt my anger spark.
In our bedroom, as he was pulling on his socks, I told him he couldn’t stop me. “After the thing with Ella …”
“Sex is different for men,” he said. “We don’t attach like you do.”
“Tell me about it!”
He rose and grabbed my shoulders. “You wanna do your sex scene? Fine. But I’ll be there, so you’d better behave.”
I blinked at him. “You mean I can get you a ticket?” He’d never come to a play of mine before.
Softening, he smiled. “I’ll be there, Terri, baby.”
“To check on me? Or what?”
“I just want to see you shine.”
But I knew the sex scene was still an issue, so backstage, I told Jake we couldn’t meet at my place. “My partner wouldn’t like it,” I said.
Jake gave a boyish shrug. “Let’s do it at mine.”
We agreed to the following evening. He winked as he walked away.
That night, in bed, I dreamed of screwing Jake, his body hard on top of me, his hands on my breasts. I could feel him filling me, warm between my thighs, and thrusting with a wildness I hadn’t felt in years; but still, in spite of the vigor, he pressed his lips on mine, moaning into our kisses, drinking at my mouth. The more crazed his thrusting, the hotter our kiss, and I splayed my thighs widely, begging him for more. He worked me deep, plying me open, nudging at the perfect spot that Keith had never reached. But just as I was coming and our bones were jolting hard and the bed was rocking savagely, I woke quite suddenly and found Keith upon me, sweating like an animal, no tenderness, no kiss. I cried out, but he didn’t stop rutting, eyes half closed in the darkened room. “Christ,” he groaned, pelvis slamming down, as he came at my ear with a long, loud moan. At last he rolled off me, groaning with pleasure, and my insides twisted as I saw his proud grin. “See, baby?” he said. “We can screw when we’re not fighting.” And the saddest thing was the kindness in his voice.
The following evening, I stood in Jake’s kitchen as he poured us amaretto. Aroused by our rehearsal, I’d chosen thigh-high stockings, and I kept on flushing at the thought that he might guess. “I’m serious,” he said, with a shy smile. “If we don’t have some alcohol, I won’t be able to do it.”
Amazed at his coyness, which seemed so out of character, I took the glass and asked why he was nervous.
“It’d be fine if you and I weren’t attracted, but.” He shook his head, as if he’d said too much, then raised his drink and downed it. He widened his eyes as he swallowed. “Fuck it, you’re hot.”
I sidled in next to him and said I felt the same.
He laid a hand on my arm. “What would your guy say if he knew you were here?”
“He’d probably throw me out.”
With both hands, Jake smoothed back my hair. “Because we’re rehearsing a sex scene?” I nodded, smitten. “Can’t say I blame him.” His words smelled of almonds. “If you were mine, I’d be just as possessive.”
I wanted to tell him what life with Keith was like—how the sex made me feel cheap, how we rarely shared affection—but the scent of the liqueur on Jake’s warm breath made me lose my thread. It seemed like years since I’d kissed a man, like decades since I’d felt this way for anyone. All I could think of was his mouth on mine. “Why don’t we start?” I asked.
“What? You mean, now?” “Why not? We’re in position.”
With a boyish laugh, he began to walk me backward. “We need something to lean against, remember?” I felt the countertop behind me, felt him pressing up against me.
“That’s better,” I sighed.
“No warm-ups needed.”
His thigh touched mine. His scent drowned my senses. His hands slid down my sides. “So I pull your veil off—” he said, miming just that “—and throw it on the ground … like this … and now.” But all the while, he held my gaze, and I pulled him up against me so I was sandwiched there. He cupped my face.
“Just a stage kiss,” I told him. “Sure,” he said, and he kissed me.
His mouth was wet and sweet with amaretto. I leaned into him, sensing him there, firm beneath his sweater, warm against my chest, and when I felt his tongue I wasn’t surprised, just grateful. Our kiss was seamless, and he moved with ease, raising my thigh, pressing against me. The sudden feel of him between my legs made my body jolt, and I gasped a little, astonished at my need. His hand slipped higher till he found my stocking tops, and then I felt him lunge against my core. The shape of his hard-on dug against my clit and I felt a sudden desperation. “I want you,” I whispered, as he kissed along my neck. “Let’s get it out of the way.”
Suddenly, he stepped back, eyes jerking open. His hair was tousled, his cheeks red. “What does that mean, baby?”
I caught my breath.
“Are you saying once we’ve fucked, you won’t want me anymore?”
“It’s just there’s all this heat between us! Keith need never know…. Once you and I have … done it … this won’t be such an issue.”
He held his head, turning from me. “Dan told me about your man,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve you. But I won’t be a one-time screw. It’s not the way I work.”
“You’re saying you want to date me?”
He spun around. “Of course I do. Why does that surprise you?”
I must have looked astonished, but he still strode up, pushing against me, his hands on the countertop behind. “Is this just an act for you? Being with me like this? Are you faking, like you do with that man of yours at home?”
I told him no. This was genuine. I wanted him.
“How genuine?” he said. “You wanna go to dinner?”
“Maybe,” I said, but I was so damn wet that I foolishly added, “afterward, perhaps.”
“You mean after you’ve used me.”
“That came out wrong.”
He
