Catch A Falling Superstar: A New Adult Erotic Romance (11 page)

“You want to take another road back? One that's more fun?” he yelled.

Fun
? For an action star like this one, that would mean more speed. Maybe more danger. But that fit fine with my fantasy. I would trust him.

“Okay,” I yelled into the wind that blew past. He nodded once with his helmeted head.

I knew which road he was talking about. It was known as The Old Road, which was the first road that was built between my home town of Walco and Carvey. Seems there was a conflict of land rights that meant that they had to lay the road around someone's land. It must have been a bad deal for the tax payers, because the road went up into the hills and had many twists and turns, and now the asphalt was broken many places. Most people never used that road, because it was longer than the new one and there was no reason to take it unless you lived along it.

At the intersection, Archer banked left and we were suddenly surrounded by trees, tall firs and spruces that seemed to wall us in. They were so close to the very narrow road it was like we were engulfed and alone.

Archer slipped the bike down a couple of gears, and the engine growled louder and we accelerated fast up an incline. The sound reverberated softly off the trees. I felt the fresh air and the sweet smell of pine trees heated by the sun. The road rose and dipped and twisted and turned.

Archer became more active as we went faster. Now he was no longer gently guiding the heavy bike along a busy street, he was riding it, controlling it, forcing it to move where he wanted it. I don't know how fast we were going, but on the motorcycle, it felt like we were going really fast. It felt faster than I'd ever been driven in a car or anything else.

I tensed up a little, but in a good way. This
was
more fun, but it was also more dangerous than driving a car at 30 mph through a sleepy small town, which was the sort of driving I was used to. I clung harder to him and followed the movements of the bike. He was working more, but he was still in total control. I let myself relax again, reducing most of the fear to a feeling of thrill. Didn't I want to enjoy this to the fullest? This was a good time to let go and follow the flow. That was it, I thought: It was fast, but it was also fluid. No jerkiness, no bumps, just fast driving along a winding road.

I had been a passenger in cars with younger men who thought they were some sort of racing drivers, even if their talents and ability for driving were non-existent. They would take huge risks, gamble with their passenger's lives and their own, overtaking wildly through blind corners and taking the turns faster than the car was able to. That was scary and plain dangerous. This was safe, and at the same time much faster. I had a vague recollection that Archer was interested in car racing and probably had taken part in races. I hadn't read his Wikipedia page that thoroughly – it was very long – but it helped me relax and go with the flow here.

As I became confident in his abilities, I was able to enjoy the ride a lot. I held him tighter and trusted him with my life. He seemed to take me to places I'd been before, but in a different way – so calm, so confident, so skillful. I wondered what else he would do really well... and the thought turned me on, like a faucet, and I reflexively pushed my pelvis harder toward him. What would it be like to surrender to a man like this, to open myself and let him take what he wanted? Would he be as good doing that as he was handling this heavy, super powerful motorcycle? I knew that he would have had a lot of practice. He'd had many girlfriends before he met Johanne, and then he seemed to settle down. But now she was gone from his life too, it seemed. Maybe there was room for a new fling?

Whatever. I was not going to throw myself at him. But if there was a chance... I would love to try, see what it would be like to go there, to have sex with an actual superstar. Just once in my life.

T
he bike came to a soft halt outside the door of my apartment building, which had the cheapest accommodation in town. I knew, because that's why I'd picked it to live in.

Okay
, I thought, as Archer turned the engine off and kicked out the stand.
This is as good a time as any to end this adventure.
I'd had my fun. I would have loved it to continue, but if I got further in, it might be too deep.

I was a little giddy from the fast ride and the experience in the bowling alley, and he helped me off the bike, almost lifting me with his strong arms.

I smiled sweetly and held my helmet out to him. He didn't even look at it.

“A home fit for a princess.”

He gazed up at the facade of the run-down red brick apartment building from the 1920s. It had not seen much upkeep since then. It was a hovel and an affront to architecture and good taste, but it
was
my home.

“This is my palace, yes,” I said regally, gesturing to the cracks in the bricks.

“It's perhaps not much to look at from the outside. But you should see the Hall of Mirrors. And the giant... uh... winter garden,” I said, as I finally came up with a luxurious-sounding room that a castle may have. “And the stables,” I added for good measure.

“I bet. Live alone? I mean except the many servants and gardeners and prize horses and all those?”

“For now. I'm between... princes, I guess,” I said airily.

“Right. Any chance of this here Prince of Denmark seeing the royal... uh... baths?”

It took me a second to get what he meant. My royalty didn't go that deep, really. Then I quickly tried to remember if my tiny bathroom with the little tub and pipes with hardly any dirty beige paint left on them was in any shape to be shown to a world class superstar. It probably never would be, no matter how clean. Well, I'd just take my chances. He put me at ease when he showed that he got my reference about Hamlet. Sometimes, he seemed just like an ordinary guy. I stepped up the stairs to the front door and waved him after me.

“Certainly. Follow me, your highness. Watch out for the moat.”

W
hile he was in the bathroom I tried to clean up the tiny kitchen a little. It wasn't too bad. When I started working at LuckyStop, I had made the decision that my house wouldn't be any less clean than my place of work. Sometimes it was, sometimes not. The living room wasn't too bad. Just dusty.

I heard the toilet flush and a few seconds later he came out, smelling faintly of soap.

“I say, Princess Blue, thy kitchen sure is small, but pretty nice,” he declared theatrically, going with the Prince Hamlet stuff in a weird mix of modern English and the stilted Shakespearean language.

“How about we cooketh some dinner here? Like, we talked about spaghetti earlier. I mean 'spake' about. Hm. Spak
eth
.”

“That'd be fine with me. I have some things we'd... uh... needeth.”

“Like spaghetti, tomatoes, garlic, cream, oregano, onions, ground beef, parmesan, olive oil, rosemary and basil? I want.. uh... I
wanteth
... to make a Bolognese. Also, we need red wine for this. Just a cheap one will do just fine. Fineth.”

“Okay, I have to go shopping,” I said. It was okay – there was a decent supermarket around the corner, and I could get all those things there. It was normally way out of my price range, but this once I'd splurge.

“Here, your princessness. You'll need some magic scrolls. For protection against evil witches. I mean
witcheth
.”

He pulled a money clip with some cards and cash out of his front pocket, peeled off a couple hundred dollar bills and handed them over. I accepted them without a word. It was my house, so technically I was the hostess, but he made more in thirty seconds on set than I did in a month. It would make no sense to make money an issue here.

“Right back, your princely majesty,” I called behind me as I ran out. “Just going to the royal... uh... Trader Joe's.”

That had to be the quickest shopping trip I'd ever done. But I found everything, including a bottle of Californian Shiraz, then ran back.

He was already busy with the few things I did have, cutting onions and carrots with surprising speed.

“Get us some glasses, your blueness. Half the fun of cooking comes from drinking while you do it. And could we get some music in here?”

I didn't have wine glasses, only cheap ordinary table glasses.

“Best kind of glass for this,” he said tactfully when I poured his. But I did have music, at least speakers that connected with my old iPhone and his new one. He quickly had it streaming some old lounge music kind of things, like 1960s stuff, with some nice mellow R&B.

He continued chopping, heating and frying. I felt superfluous in my own kitchen, but it started smelling really good.

“So I'm about to divulge a state secret right about now. You know, for making good tomato soup? Same goes for spaghetti sauce. It's cream. Enhances the flavor and gives good texture. Not much fat in the other things in the Bol', just veggies. Many restaurants just fill the whole thing with tablespoons of sugar. I don't like that too much.”

“You don't like it sweet?” I teased.

“Oh, I like
some
things sweet, your sweetness,” he replied in kind, winking sexily. I giggled.

T
he wine loosened me up, and having a superstar cook for me in my own kitchen seemed even more unreal than before. And more interesting. Now I was giving him long stares and twisting my hair and laughing louder and louder at his jokes. The presence of him, his round and firm ass in those jeans that fit so well, the play of muscles in his back and shoulders and forearms and hands... I was getting seriously amorous. I knew I was getting wet. And he hadn't even touched me since we got off the bike! That's what superstardom can do, I guess. I felt a definitive tingling sensation down below. Something there really wanted him to get closer.
Much
closer.

He was concentrating on cooking the Bolognese sauce. I guess I had gone a little quiet, because he turned to glance at me. He must have seen something in the way I looked back, because he gave me a little smile that had more warmth than the smirks he was usually giving out. And then he sort of looked me over, as if he was seeing me for the first time.

It was an appraising look, and it lingered by my chest and my crotch. It sent little lightning bolts to my pussy, and I half-consciously slid into a sexier pose, sticking my chest out more and arching my back to get my ass to stick out a little. He saw it, his eyes widened a little and he almost bit his lip. I looked at him from the corner of my eye and stroked my neck gently.

Okay, so much for not throwing myself at him. It was the wine, that was my excuse. Again he looked me up and down, and then he pursed his lips a little and exhaled through them in a very sexy “whew”. It was a clear signal to me: it was on. A new little lightning bolt shot through my pussy.

He reluctantly turned back to his cooking.

“No need to set any table,” he said. “We just need a bowl, a fork and a spoon each. And some napkins, I guess. Very messy stuff, Bolognese. Taste it.”

He dipped fork into the kettle and filled it with fragrant, dark red sauce.

He served up a helping of whole grain spaghetti and the sauce into a bowl and stuck it out for me to taste, then gently placed the other hand at the back of my neck like you would for a child.

It was steaming hot, and I gingerly accepted it. And... oh my. That was spaghetti the way it was meant to be made. Savory and spicy and just perfect.

“Like it?” he said.

I didn't know if he meant the sauce or his hand at the back of my neck. It didn't matter, because the answers were one and the same.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” He could see in my face that I meant it, too.

He scooped up a bowl for me and one for himself, then ushered me into the living room, because I had no kitchen table. Not that there would have been room for one, either.

He sat me down in my old, but clean couch and sat down as close to me as he could. Then we enjoyed the spaghetti, but I think we were both looking forward to what would come after. Because I wanted that a lot now. We didn't talk much, just exchanged sexy glances. And I pulled my top down as far as it would go to show some cleavage.

When we finally put our bowls on my coffee tables, I felt a giddy sensation, feeling a little dizzy with anticipation. My pussy was tingling like crazy, and I was sopping wet. I half worried that he would be able to smell my arousal.

Then I glanced at his crotch. Yeah, I was not the only one who was feeling like that. That was one serious bulge in his jeans. I felt a new wave of warmth low down.

He turned towards me.

“Blue, you are one sexy princess.”

Then he leaned in and just brushed my lips with his, looking me deep in the eyes with his intensely green ones. I responded in kind, just gently. This was going to happen, and I felt dizzy with anticipation. The butterflies in my stomach were a little sedated by the wine, but they were still there.

He made contact with my lips again, carefully sliding his hands behind my head to gently hold my neck. The other hand slid down to my thigh, with the thumb pointing right at my pussy, gently. I saw no point in being coy - we both wanted this. With one hand, and him still kissing me, I released the upper button in my jeans and quickly pulled the zipper down. Yes, it's a slutty thing to do to prepare his way like that. But I was horny. I really wanted it, and so did he. Because when I clumsily reached over to check on him, the bulge under his jeans was very large and hard.

“Mmm,” he said. “Keep exploring there...”

He kissed me deeper, and with one free hand I tried to unbutton his fly, which is much harder when you're not wearing the pants yourself. Not to mention when there's a big cock straining to get out from the other side.

I struggled with it until it would give, and then the rest of the buttons were much easier.

I glanced at his crotch. Oh my, what a sight. Now that his fly was open, his cock was getting free of its worst restraints, and it was proudly standing to attention out of his pants. Only a tight pair of black boxers was between it and freedom. I couldn't hold back, I had to see it.