Questions and Answers

---

It was her outfit.

Literally her outfit.

Rebecca stood in front of the mirror and stared at herself with the distinct impression that somebody was making fun of her.

Not an outfit like hers. Not something the wardrobe department had picked because they thought it suited her. The cardigan was hers. The little floral skirt was hers. The shoes were hers.

She'd worn all of it on the first day of filming.

And somehow, it felt different.

Rebecca turned sideways.

Underwear. A dress. A cardigan.

She felt surprisingly covered up.

Three days ago she had worn this exact outfit in front of a camera crew without giving it a second thought. Today, after spending half the morning with James's penis pressed against her backside, sitting half-naked beneath the shower with her fingers between her legs and then marching completely naked into the bedroom hoping he would see her--

Rebecca's cheeks burned.

Don't.

---

The smell reached her halfway down the stairs.

Bacon.

Rebecca slowed.

Then eggs.

Her righteous anger immediately encountered a problem.

James was cooking breakfast.

Not cereal. Not toast. Not something he'd thrown onto a plate because they needed to eat before filming.

Actual breakfast.

Rebecca entered the kitchen to find him standing at the stove with a spatula in one hand, bacon sizzling in a pan and eggs cooking beside it. Two plates were already waiting on the counter.

He looked irritatingly comfortable.

Worse, he looked happy.

“Morning again,” James said.

Rebecca stared at him.

James glanced over his shoulder.

His smile faded slightly.

“What?”

“You left me.”

“I... what?”

“You left me.”

James looked toward the front door as though checking whether he'd accidentally moved house. “I showered, got dressed and came downstairs.”

“Yes.”

“And now I'm making you breakfast.”

“I can see that.”

“So what did I do?”

Rebecca frowned. “You shouldn't have left me in the bedroom.”

“I thought you were showering.”

“I was.”

“So I left you to shower.”

“Yes.”

“Which was wrong?”

“Yes.”

A smile threatened at the corner of his mouth.

The bastard knew.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I really don't.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Becky, I got out of bed, had a shower, got dressed and came downstairs to make you bacon and eggs. I'm struggling to identify the crime.”

Rebecca's mouth opened.

Because I wanted you to fuck me.

“You just shouldn't have left.”

James's mouth twitched.

“Don't.”

“I'm not doing anything.”

“You're smiling.”

“I'm making breakfast.”

“You're smiling while making breakfast.”

“I like breakfast.”

He was really going to stand there pretending he had no idea what she'd wanted from him.

Fine.

Rebecca took hold of her cardigan and fastened the first button.

Then the second.

“Are you buttoning your cardigan at me?”

“No.”

“You definitely are.”

“I'm cold.”

Rebecca looked him directly in the eyes as she fastened the rest.

“There.”

James stared at the fully buttoned cardigan.

Then at Rebecca.

“Is that supposed to be a punishment?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

Rebecca's eyes narrowed.

“You know what.”

James's mouth twitched again.

Rebecca folded her arms across her chest.

No boobs.

See how he liked that.

James turned back to the stove.

Rebecca hated him considerably less when he put breakfast in front of her.

By the time she'd finished, she'd almost managed to forget that she was angry.

Almost.

Bzzz.

James's phone vibrated against the table.

He picked it up and read whatever had appeared on the screen.

“New challenge.”

Rebecca lowered her fork. “What?”

“Back to the living room.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I'm not wearing any blindfolds.”

James stood. “Noted.”

Two small whiteboards and a pair of markers were waiting beside the sofa.

Rebecca took one while James checked his phone.

“We both answer the same question. One answers honestly, the other guesses what they'll say. Point if we match.”

“We're going to be terrible at this.”

“You think?”

“You barely know me.”

James looked at her.

“Properly,” Rebecca amended. “Oh, shut up.”

He checked his phone.

“First one. What was the first thing James noticed about Rebecca?”

Rebecca's confidence disappeared.

“Oh.”

James was already writing.

Of course he was.

Rebecca looked at her empty board.

What had James noticed first?

She knew what men noticed. Richard certainly noticed, and James had spent enough time looking at them since.

And he was a porn star.

Fine.

Rebecca wrote her answer and turned the board against her chest.

“Ready?”

“Yep.”

They revealed them together.

BOOBS.

Eyes.

Rebecca stared at his board.

Then at him.

“Eyes?”

James laughed. “My answer isn't the questionable one here.”

“Your first thought was my eyes?”

“They're nice.”

Rebecca immediately started wiping BOOBS away. “I thought that's what you'd put. You're a porn star.”

“What does that have to do with your eyes?”

“Nothing! That's my point.”

James was still laughing when he picked up his phone again.

Rebecca scrubbed harder.

“Next question.”

His eyes moved across the screen.

The next few questions did little to improve Rebecca's dignity. She guessed James's favourite feature of hers was her legs; he wrote her smile. She predicted he'd say she looked best wearing NOTHING.

James wrote THAT CARDIGAN.

“No.”

“What?”

“You don't get to like the cardigan.”

“I do, though.”

“Stop.”

James laughed. “I'll try.”

Rebecca folded her arms tightly across her chest.

“Try harder.”

Still laughing, James picked up his phone again.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“We're switching.”

“Good.”

“Questions about me now.”

“Finally.”

James read the first one.

“What was the first thing Rebecca noticed about James?”

That one was easy.

HANDSOME.

HANDSOME.

“Yes!” Rebecca laughed. “Finally, a normal answer.”

“You did tell me I was handsome.”

“You are.”

She realized what she'd said half a second too late.

“Next question.”

James checked his phone.

“What part of James does Rebecca like looking at most?”

Rebecca knew this one.

EYES.

Respectable. True, even. James had nice eyes.

She caught him smiling at his board.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

She held the board against herself until he finished.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Three, two, one.”

They turned them.

EYES.

DICK.

“JAMES!”

“What?”

“Your--”

Rebecca stopped herself.

James looked at his own board.

Then hers.

“My eyes?”

“Yes!”

“No chance.”

“What do you mean, no chance?”

“You stare at my dick constantly.”

“I do not!”

“You stared at it this morning.”

“I was looking at your towel!”

James nodded solemnly.

“My mistake. You really like my towel.”

Rebecca's face burned.

“And yesterday--”

“That was a challenge!”

“And in bed--”

“I was asleep!”

James looked at her.

Rebecca stopped.

Oh.

His eyebrows rose.

“You were asleep?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Her fingers tightened around the marker.

James's smile slowly returned.

“Interesting.”

“Next question.”

“Becky--”

“Next. Question.”

He laughed and reached for his phone.

James was still smiling when his phone buzzed again.

“Last one.”

“Good.”

James read it, then looked at Rebecca.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying nothing like that.”

His mouth twitched.

“What does Rebecca want from James right now?”

Rebecca went still.

James didn't.

His marker touched the board almost immediately.

“You haven't even thought about it.”

“I have my answer.”

“You can't possibly.”

“I think I've got this one.”

Rebecca stared at her blank board.

She knew exactly what she wanted. That was the problem.

Her eyes drifted toward the kitchen.

Breakfast.

They'd already eaten it, which made it ridiculous -- but safe.

She wrote it down.

James was waiting.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“That's unfortunate.”

“James.”

“Three.”

“Don't.”

“Two.”

Rebecca hugged the board against herself.

“One.”

They revealed them.

BREAKFAST.

SEX.

Rebecca stared at his board.

Her mouth opened.

Nothing came out.

James looked at hers.

Then toward the kitchen.

Then back at Rebecca.

That made it worse.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Sex?”

“Yeah.”

“You think I want to have sex with you?”

“Yes.”

“I do not.”

“Okay.”

Rebecca blinked. “You're wrong.”

“Then I'm wrong.”

He put the marker down and stood.

That wasn't how this was supposed to go.

“Where are you going?”

“Upstairs.”

“Oh.”

James looked at her. “You staying down here?”

“Of course.”

He walked away.

Rebecca remained on the sofa.

She heard his footsteps climbing the stairs.

Then nothing.

Bastard.

Her cheeks were hot, and her heart was racing.

You don't want to have sex with me? No worries. Well, I'm gonna go upstairs for a completely unrelated reason.

Right.

Last night came flooding back. His arms around her. His tongue in places no tongue should ever be.

His penis against her butt.

His dick against her ass.

Rebecca chewed her lip.

She could stay here.

Make herself a cup of tea. Find something on television. Spend the rest of the day doing exactly what she'd do at home.

Rebecca stared toward the hallway.

She didn't want to stay here.

She didn't want fucking breakfast.

James knew what she wanted.

Rebecca became painfully aware of the cameras.

Eight that she could see from the sofa alone, including one on the coffee table pointed directly at her. Every one of them had a microphone.

Even the confrontation in the kitchen would have been filmed.

How many were watching?

Was Richard watching?

Oh God.

That was the only thing that stopped her from standing and chasing after James.

She felt their eyes on her. Knew how transparent she must already look.

Rebecca stayed exactly where she was.

For perhaps thirty seconds.

Then she stood.

I need to brush my teeth.

“Where are you going?”

Rebecca froze at the bottom of the stairs.

The voice was faint and crackly. Not Mike -- she didn't think. She looked toward the nearest camera.

“Upstairs.”

“To see James?”

“No.”

Silence.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

Nothing.

“We just ate.”

Still nothing.

“It's important to brush after meals.”

Why was she explaining oral hygiene to a ceiling?

“For dental health.”

Rebecca closed her eyes.

Stop talking.

The voice said nothing, which made Rebecca feel worse, but made the decision to keep walking easier.

She started upstairs before the voice could say anything else.

By the top, she was taking the steps two at a time.

James was lying on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

He looked up. “Hey, Becky.”

Rebecca closed the door behind her.

Click.

No cameras.

Rebecca stood at the end of the bed and reached for the first button of her cardigan.

James's attention left his phone.

She undid another.

Then another.

“Becky?”

Rebecca pulled the cardigan from her shoulders and let it fall.

His phone lowered.

She reached for the hem of her dress.

“What are you doing?”

She didn't answer.

The dress joined the cardigan on the floor.

Rebecca straightened.

James's eyes moved slowly down her body. Over the swell of her breasts inside the little cream bra, the narrow dip of her waist, the soft curve of her stomach and hips, all the way down her bare legs -- then back up again.

“Becky--”

“James.” She stepped forwards and knelt on the edge of the bed. “Shut up.”

Her hands sank into the duvet as she crawled toward him.

His eyes dropped.

Of course they did.

Her breasts shifted inside her bra with every movement, cleavage pressing against the cream cups. Behind her, the position pushed her butt higher, the thin panties stretched across it.

Tits.

Ass.

Rebecca's face burned.

James said nothing.

Rebecca crawled over him and straddled his lap.

The position immediately felt more obscene than she'd expected.

Her knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips. Her panties were pressed directly against the hard ridge beneath his sweatpants, the pressure landing exactly where she was already aching.

Rebecca inhaled sharply.

Oh.

She was wet.

Not vaguely aroused. Not warm. Wet.

“So you came upstairs to scroll on your phone?” she asked.

His hands remained frustratingly still by his side.

“Becky--”

Her finger found his lips.

“Shh,” she instructed.

Rebecca shifted her hips.

The hard shape beneath his sweatpants dragged against her through the thin fabric of her panties.

Her breath caught.

She did it again.

Slower.

This time she deliberately rolled herself along the length of him, and a hot little pulse went through her.

His penis.

His dick.

Rebecca swallowed.

“Is that what you came here to do?”

A pause, then James nodded. “Yes.”

“Is that what you still want to do?”

He shook his head.

She pressed herself down firmly against his dick.

“Tell me what you want to do.”

“You.”

His hands finally moved.

Both hands closed around her ass, his palms seeming enormous as his fingers spread over the soft flesh through her panties and tightened.

He pulled her forward against his erection.

“Oh.” That tiny sound escaped before she could stop it. “Me?”

“I want to fuck you, Rebecca.”

She felt those hands squeeze her ass tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh and kneading it beneath his palms.

Being on top had seemed like such a good idea when she'd climbed onto him.

Now James was staring up at her while his hands kneaded her ass, and Rebecca had no idea what she was supposed to do with herself.

She was suddenly horribly aware of everything -- her breasts inches from his face, her thighs spread around his hips, the damp fabric between her legs rubbing against the hard shape beneath her.

He's a porn star.

And she'd climbed on top of him like she knew what she was doing.

“You could have fucked me last night, James.”

“I could have. Last night. This morning.” His hands loosened slightly around her. “I wanted you to come to me because you wanted it. Not because you got carried away and regretted it tomorrow.”

She bit her lip.

Would she?

“Becky, I need you to actually want this. Not dare yourself into it.”

“I do.”

“Then tell me.”

“James,” she whispered. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Louder.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words seemed to hang between them.

Her face was burning, but the embarrassment went somewhere different this time -- down instead of up. A hot tightening low in her stomach. Another wet pulse between her thighs.

Fuck me.

God help her, saying it had made her want it even more.

“Yeah?”

He pulled her harder against him, the thick ridge of his cock trapped between them.

Her lips parted, her breathing shallow.

“You want me to fuck you? Right now?”

She nodded, small.

“Right here, on this bed?”

“James.”

“Do you think you can take it?”

She could feel him trapped beneath her, thick and unyielding even through his sweatpants.

Rebecca's stomach fluttered.

That.

She was asking him to put that inside her.

“I hope so.”

He made the tiniest move toward her, as if to sit up, and she met him the rest of the way.

Their mouths met, and something changed.

James stopped being careful.

One hand slid firmly up her waist, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast before traveling back down to grab her ass. The other slipped behind her and between her spread thighs.

Rebecca jolted against him.

The edge of his palm pressed against her through her panties. Each slow pass dragged the damp fabric against her.

Rebecca's stomach flipped.

He could feel it. Of course he could.

She was soaked.

“Oh God.” The words broke against his mouth.

Rebecca arched into him.

He wasn't even touching her properly. His hand was still outside her panties, and somehow her hips were already moving against it, chasing the pressure.

“Is that good?”

She could only nod at him.

“Tell me.”

She closed her eyes tight. “It feels good.”

“Where?”

So embarrassing. “My vagina.”

“Your pussy.”

She nodded again, eyes still shut tight.

“Say it.”

“My pussy feels good when you do that.”

The pressure narrowed.

Rebecca gasped.

There.

That spot.

He'd found it immediately.

Her thighs tightened around his hips and she rocked helplessly into his hand.

“And this,” he said. “Your clit?”

Rebecca's eyes opened.

Oh God.

That was her clitoris?

Of course it was.

She knew what a clitoris was. Obviously. There had been a diagram in sex education. A label. An arrow.

Two fingers settled over the spot through the damp fabric and began circling.

Yep. Here it is.

“I asked you a question, Becky.”

“Yes!” she squeaked. “Yes! My clit! That's my clit!”

“Is it?”

He circled faster.

“Fuck! James. Why... why do you keep...”

“Keep what?”

“Keep fucking talking!”

That feeling.

No.

She knew that feeling.

She'd spent half the morning desperately trying to reach it with her own fingers.

James hadn't even taken her panties off.

He was saying something else beneath her, but she couldn't hear him.

“Oh God, James. Oh God--”

James was staring at her.

Not her breasts this time. Her face.

Rebecca could only imagine what he saw -- flushed cheeks, parted lips, hair falling across her face, her chest rising and falling far too quickly.

She must look completely desperate.

His expression told her she did.

Then he stopped.

His hand disappeared from between her thighs and returned to her ass.

“James!”

“Yes?”

“Why did you stop?”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Did you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She stared down blankly into his face.

Her whole body felt hot. Her nipples were almost painfully hard inside her bra, and between her legs the cotton was soaked through, clinging wetly against her.

Why on Earth would I want you to continue?

“I was about to cum!”

His fingers touched her clit again.

Not moving.

“And?”

Rebecca stared at him.

“James.”

“Words, Becky.”

“I wanted to cum.”

“Wanted?”

Her thighs tightened around him.

“I want to cum.”

“Ask me.”

His face didn't change. His fingers didn't move.

“Please, James. Please make me cum.”

He smiled, and then he shook his head. “You're not allowed to cum until I'm inside of you.”

It was what she'd been asking for all morning, yet hearing James say it out loud made Rebecca's stomach tie in knots.

His hand between her legs. She'd had that.

His penis inside of her.

His cock.

Inside of her pussy.

She lowered herself against it again, reminding herself of how thick it was.

James sat up beneath her, his chest pressing against hers as he kissed her again. Rebecca stayed astride him, tits crushed against his chest, his cock still hard beneath her.

His hand slid up her bare back and found her bra, and in a second, it was unhooked.

One Christmas, Richard had been too drunk to unhook her bra and eventually given up.

James had done it one-handed.

Rebecca caught the loosened bra before it fell, hesitated for barely a second, then pulled it away herself.

Her tits were completely bare in front of him for the first time.

James pulled away from their kiss and edged back just enough to see her -- see her properly.

He stared.

Not the quick glances she'd caught before. He openly drank her in now, eyes moving over the full curves of her tits and lingering on her stiff nipples.

When he finally looked back at her face, there was something in his expression Rebecca hadn't seen before.

Hunger.

Rebecca knew what she expected to come next.

Another filthy comment. His hands getting rougher. Maybe he'd throw her onto her back and finally treat her like one of the women she'd imagined him fucking.“You look incredible,” he said.

Then he kissed her again. Softly.

He cupped one of her breasts and gently squeezed it. His thumb brushed across her nipple, then caught it gently between thumb and forefinger. Rebecca gasped into his mouth.

His other hand slid beneath her panties, squeezing her bare ass.

“God, I want you so bad, Rebecca.”

“You have me,” she whispered back.

Then he lifted her off his lap and laid her back against the bed.

She moved to grab her panties, but he was faster. Slowly, he pulled them down, his eyes glued between her legs even as he slipped them off her ankles.

“Fuck,” he said.

“Is it okay?”

She was completely bare between her legs.

Rebecca suddenly became horribly conscious of that fact.

Not just naked.

**Open**.

Her legs were still parted from where he'd been kneeling between them, leaving absolutely nothing hidden. The soft lips between her thighs were swollen from everything he'd done to her, glistening with the wetness he'd spent all morning teasing out of her.

James was staring.

“James?”

His eyes didn't move.

Rebecca's stomach tightened.

“Is it... supposed to look like that?”

That finally got his attention.

His gaze snapped up to hers. “What?”

“My--”

She stopped.

He waited.

Rebecca's face burned.

“My pussy.”

Something changed in his expression at hearing her say it without being prompted.

“What about it?”

“You said fuck.”

“I did.”

“And now you're staring at it.”

“I am.”

“James.”

He laughed softly.

Rebecca immediately tried to close her thighs.

His hands caught her knees.

“No.”

Her heart thumped.

“No?”

“I said fuck because you're fucking gorgeous.”

“Oh.”

His eyes dropped again.

Rebecca followed them before she could stop herself.

Her own naked body looked strange from this angle. Bare tits rising and falling with every nervous breath. Stomach tight. Legs spread around James. And between them--

Her pussy.

Wet.

Waiting for him.

James slowly ran his palms down the insides of her thighs.

Rebecca shivered.

His gaze remained fixed between her legs.

His thumbs reached the tops of her thighs and stopped.

Rebecca waited.

“James.”

“What?”

There it was again. That innocent fucking voice.

His eyes deliberately traveled down between her legs.

“What do you want me to do?”

Her mouth fell open.

“You know what I want.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!”

“What?”

Rebecca's fingers twisted into the duvet.

The bastard was actually enjoying making her say it.

Her gaze dropped to the unmistakable bulge still trapped inside his sweatpants.

She'd spent three days pretending not to look at it.

Now she couldn't look anywhere else.

“Take those off.”

James glanced down.

“My pants?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rebecca made a strangled sound.

“James.”

“I'm asking.”

“No, you're not. You're being annoying.”

His grin appeared.

Rebecca pointed at his waist.

“Take. Them. Off.”

He finally reached for the waistband.

Rebecca stopped breathing.

Because this time there wouldn't be a towel.

There wouldn't be underwear.

She'd seen it before.

Held it, even.

But that had been different.

This time she wasn't supposed to give him a handjob. There wasn't a challenge telling her what to do.

This time she was naked beneath him, her legs already spread, waiting for him to take his clothes off because she'd asked him to fuck her.

Rebecca swallowed.

His cock.

In a moment, it was going to be inside her.

James hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.

And pulled them down.

Slowly.

Rebecca's eyes followed.

The dark fabric slipped beneath his hips, and the first thing she saw was the base of his cock -- thick, hard, rising against his stomach.

Her breath caught.

More appeared.

And more.

Rebecca stared.

Jesus.

James kept lowering the waistband. Another inch, then another.

There was already so much of his cock exposed that Rebecca expected the rest to spring free at any moment.

It didn't.

There was still more hidden inside his sweatpants.

Oh my God.

James was watching her now. He had to know exactly what he was doing, because he somehow managed to pull them down even slower.

Rebecca couldn't look away.

The waistband traveled lower, exposing more of him until it finally slipped past his cock.

His cock sprang free all at once.

Rebecca's stomach dropped.

It kicked upwards against his abdomen, completely exposed now -- thick from base to tip, hard and heavy and suddenly much more intimidating than it had ever looked in her hand.

Her thighs shifted unconsciously against the sheets.

She'd touched that.

Stroked it.

Wrapped her fingers around it.

But this time she wasn't wondering what she was supposed to do to his cock.

Rebecca swallowed.

This time she was looking at what was about to go inside her.

James settled between her thighs, his weight shifting over her.

His cock brushed against the inside of her thigh.

Her eyes dropped between their bodies.

James wrapped one hand around himself and guided his cock toward her. Rebecca watched the head disappear from view between her spread thighs.

Then she felt it.

A blunt pressure against her pussy.

Rebecca sucked in a breath.

Oh God.

This was it.

James didn't push.

No teasing question. No smug little smile. He simply looked at her.

“Rebecca.”

Something about hearing her actual name made her look up.

James was completely serious.

“Last chance.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

His cock remained pressed against her, close enough that the slightest movement from either of them would change everything.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Rebecca stared at him.

Richard.

The cameras downstairs.

The contract she'd signed without truly understanding where any of this would lead.

And the woman who'd arrived here days ago in the cardigan now lying in a heap on the floor.

She could still stop.

James would stop.

She knew that now.

Rebecca reached up and touched his face.

“Yes.”

He searched her eyes for another second.

Then his hips moved.

The head of his cock pressed harder against her.

Rebecca's breath stopped.

She could feel every tiny movement -- the slick heat between her thighs, the blunt pressure of him against her pussy, James holding himself there as though giving her one final second to change her mind.

She didn't.

Rebecca spread her thighs wider.

James pushed forward.

Slowly.

The pressure increased until her lips parted around the thick head of his cock.

Rebecca gasped.

Then he pushed just a little harder--

and slipped inside her.

Her entire body jolted.

“Oh--fuck.”