Brit Flick Sweethearts: A Rom-Com With Spanking Page 3

  Without hesitation he rolled off her and stood up. His cock strained against his suit pants, making him want to howl in frustration.

  He was about to say that he would order a cab, that she should get dressed and get the hell out his hotel room and wait in the lobby, when he saw the tears in her eyes. Hastily she brushed them away, and reached down for her dress to clutch it pathetically to her body.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, turning the full force of lust filled glare upon her.

  He could imagine that he looked a right evil bastard now, but that was only because his entire body was thrumming with desire.

  “I, I…”

  “What?”

  “I’m not who you think I am.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m…. different.”

  Curt sighed. He hated it when women talked in riddles, it did his head in.

  “You mean you’re not the biggest bitch on the planet, that it was all an act when we filmed Brick Face and really you’re a sweet, misunderstood young woman?”

  “If you’re going to take the mickey, then forget it.”

  Take the mickey? Since when did Dahlia stop swearing like a fishwife?

  Curt felt strange. He felt his desire and confusion spiralling out of control and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Just say what you want to say and leave,” he said, far more harshly than he had intended to.

  “Could you turn round please? I’d like to get dressed.”

  “Turn round? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “Please.”

  “I do not believe this shit,” he complained, but turned round anyway.

  He listened to the soft rustle of her clothes and the sound of a zipper being pulled up.

  Miracle I didn’t break the damn thing...

  “There. I’m done.”

  “Bully for you,” he said, knowing full well he sounded like a petulant child but unable to stop himself anyway.

  When he turned round she was fully dressed once more, if a little rumpled round the edges.

  “The thing is Curt, I’m really not the same person you met on the set of Brick Face…”

  “I know that,” he said, interrupting her. “I know you’ve changed. What is it? Have you come off the drugs? Or are you taking more of them? Don’t tell me you’ve found God.”

  “No. nothing like that.”

  In that moment Curt was overcome by weariness by this whole conversation. He was too horny to be sympathetic and he suddenly got the distinct impression she was playing him.

  “What is it Dahlia? Are you playing hard to get? Is this a pathetic attempt to appear more interesting to me? Don’t worry, you’re not the only one that’s already dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s of all those fabulous Hollywood contracts. Because believe me, that’s the only reason I’m giving you the time of day. That, and because I want to fuck you one last time.”

  “You’re impossible,” she said, the colour rising in her cheeks along with her voice. “I’m trying to tell you something important and all you can do is ridicule me.”

  “Something important? Something self-important, more like. It’s all me, me, me isn’t it Dahlia? I don’t want to hear your bullshit about how you feel you’ve grown as a person, or you haven’t take drugs for a week, or some such naval gazing bollocks.”

  “You’re so patronising, it’s untrue, if you would only actually listen to what I’m trying to tell you instead of belittling me…”

  Belittle you? I’ll belittle you alright, you silly, whining, self-important little madam.”

  Her wide eyed expression was deeply satisfying. For the first time in his life, Curt broke the rule he lived by. Because he was going to spank Dahlia’s arse whether she liked it or not.

  And he was damn sure the little prick tease was going to like it.

  In one swift movement he scooped her up and slung her over his knee.

  “Get off me!” she squealed, writhing like a landed fish on his lap. He held her down, his elbow pressing into the back of her neck and twisting her arm up into an arm lock. He didn’t do it hard enough to hurt; it would only hurt if she struggled. He smiled. It was nice to know that all those years of martial arts training would come in useful.

  With his other hand he yanked up the long gown so it bunched at her waist, exposing her plump little arse.

  His cock swelled to full glory in appreciation and he pulled down the flimsy knickers exposing the fleshy orbs of her buttocks.

  He slapped a cheek and she bucked up her hips in the most adorable way.

  “Get off me you Bastard!” she said.

  “Not until I’ve taught you to stop being such a self-obsessed little bore.” He slapped her again and she squealed, the faintest red hand print on her buttock. “That one was for the time on set when you claimed the makeup artist was glaring at you in the mirror and you threw a wobbly.”

  Really? I did that? Ow!”

  “And this one is for the time you refused to film a scene with me because I’d eaten garlic the night before…and you didn’t even have to kiss me.”

  She gasped and her buttocks clenched together when he slapped them, dimpling slightly. Jesus, he was gonna blow in his pants a minute.

  “Please stop.”

  “And this one will be extra hard because you really have to stop taking drugs.”

  “Ow!”

  He could hear the tears in her voice, and as much as he wanted to continue and even though he had an endless list of reasons for why he wanted to slap her arse, he stopped.

  But not before he slipped his fingers between the tight cleft of her arse and wiggled them up to her vagina.

  Wet, he thought smugly. Just as he knew she would be.

  She half groaned, half sobbed when his forefinger entered her, the walls of her vagina wet, hot and springy around his probing digit.

  He jabbed his finger in and out of her a few times with no real thought for her; he was just enjoying the way she felt. He pulled out and trailed his damp fingertip up to her clit.

  When he expertly circled her clit, he noted that she had stopped wriggling. Or more like, the way in which she wriggled had changed. She was writhing on his lap in obvious arousal so he let her out of the arm lock and she clawed his thighs in need.

  And probably shame. Good. He wanted to own her, to possess her. He wanted her to feel powerless beneath him. Not because he was physically restraining her, but because she needed him like her lungs needed air.

  “Come for me,” he said softly, cajolingly.

  He massaged her clit with more determination and speed, careful not to be too rough yet at the same time bringing her to a solid orgasm.

  She moaned and shuddered, thrashing her head from side to side. He watched her butt cheeks as she came, the way they clenched and their rosy red hue from the light spanking.

  When her body went slack, he withdrew his hand and pushed her off his lap so that she tumbled onto her back on the bed in an undignified tangle of limbs and bunched up dress.

  “I’ll call that taxi now,” he said, turning his back to her and doing his best to ignore his own raging hard on.

  While he had his back to her and made the call on the hotel’s line, he could hear her straightening her clothes, then stomp to the door.

  “If I never see you again, Curt Gunner, it will be too soon.”

  He didn’t even bother to turn around and she slammed the door behind her. Well, as much as you could slam a door in hotel because of the fire regulation springs; it barely even made a sound as it shut.

  Curt felt uneasy. Dahlia had piqued his interest, which is more than could be said of any of the women he had met lately. He didn’t understand why he was so attracted to her. But attracted to her he was, and he needed to be around her. He felt this so strongly it terrified him.

  Yet at the same time, his male pride prevented him from telling her t
his. She would probably laugh in his face and that would be unbearable. No, he needed to engineer a situation whereby he could be around her day in, day out, without losing face and looking like a desperate, needy, love sick arse.

  The more time he spent with her, then with any luck his ridiculous crush would fade away.

  And he knew just what he had to do to make this happen. He took out his mobile phone and dialled the number for his agent.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Curt Gunner is a pig.

  That was Doris’s first thought when she opened her eyes in her hotel bed after a night of lurid dreams that left her sheened in sweat and with a wet pussy.

  I can’t believe the bastard actually pulled down my knickers and spanked my bare bottom. Oh the humiliation…

  She sat upright in bed, her hand unconsciously travelling down to cup her breast, her fingers splaying over the hardened nipple.

  What am I doing?

  She got out of bed and headed for the shower. She had slept naked too, which was most unlike her. Despite the chilly October weather, she was just so darn hot to the point of feverish.

  Maybe I’m coming down with something.

  Yeah, Curt Gunneritus. Careful, it could be terminal...

  Her mobile phone rang on the bedside table, making her jump. ‘Dahlia’s agent’ flashed on the screen.

  Sighing deeply, she picked it up. Whatever he was going to tell her, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like it.

  “Hello, Jeremy.”

  “Doris. Great news. I’ve just come off the phone with Curt’s agent. Curt has a massive project lined up in less than a month. It’s a British production but we’re talking big budget here. It’s undoubtedly going to be a hit on the other side of the pond. After the runaway success of Brick Face, the big boys in America are on-board too. An American actress was tipped for the lead, but Curt wants you instead. He’s refusing to star if you aren’t his leading lady.”

  “But that’s career suicide.”

  “No darling, it’s really not. Haven’t you switched on the TV or picked up a paper? You guys are the hottest couple in Britain right now. Posh and Becks have nothing on you two.”

  Doris groaned and flung herself back on the bed. She really couldn’t handle this right now.

  “It’s not me he wants. It’s Dahlia.”

  “Precisely. Which is why you say yes please, thank you very much, and pray to God that your sister gets out of rehab soon. Come on Doris, Dahlia is going to be thrilled. If this bit of news doesn’t hasten her recovery, nothing will.”

  As much as it pained her, Doris knew he was right.

  “OK, OK, just say yes to everything.”

  You owe me, Dahlia.

  He proceeded to tell her about the interviews she and Curt had lined up for today and she only half listened. A team of people would arrive in an hour to dress her and do her hair and makeup, and then the car would come and take her to the first venue, blah, blah, blah, and all the rest.

  Her mind fogged over just listening to him and she thought with a pang of her nice, quiet life back in her little village in Cornwall.

  Oh dear. This is going to be a really long day.

  She wasn’t wrong. First off was an interview with a glossy fashion magazine. The interview was to be conducted in a room at The Ritz. Apparently lots of celebrity interviews had taken place in this room and Doris had to stifle a yawn when Jeremy informed her of this. Mindless celebrity gossip bored her to tears, which is why she had never even read the magazine she was about to be interviewed by. Not unless she counted picking one up in the waiting room of a doctor’s surgery out of sheer boredom and the desire not to make eye contact with the person sat opposite her.

  When Jeremy opened the door of the interview room, Curt was already sitting there waiting for her, his long legs encased in the dark suit pants stretched casually out before him.

  “Good Morning, Dahlia. I trust you slept well.”

  “Just fine, thank you,” she replied primly.

  She didn’t remove her dark glasses for she was frightened of what her eyes might betray.

  “I’ll leave you kids to it,” Jeremy said. “I’ll be waiting outside for you when you’re done. You have at least quarter of an hour before the first lot arrive. Have a coffee, relax, I’ll see you later darling.”

  Jeremy shut the door behind himself, leaving her alone with the one person that she was as drawn to as she was repelled by in equal measure. The smallish room, like everything else about this hotel, screamed opulence. It was decorated in the style of an old fashioned, gentleman’s smoking parlour; all leather wing back chairs, dark wood, and bookshelves she was just dying to poke through, but was too self-conscious to do it.

  “Since when did your agent start trailing after you like a dog?”

  “Since I started to make him very, very rich.”

  Curt let a harsh little laugh.

  “Indeed. What’s with the dark glasses, Dahlia?”

  “I’m a film star now, aren’t I?” she said, perching on the edge of the ornate chaise lounge opposite him.

  “You went out partying after you left my room, more like. Did you take too many drugs and are you frightened the interviewers will see how dilated your pupils still are?”

  Whatever. Let him think that, seeing as he’s so keen to think the worst of me.

  Not you, she reminded herself. Your sister.

  But even so. He was still a judgemental, insufferable, pig.

  “So what if I did Curt Gunner?”

  With some satisfaction she a pulse twitch in the firm set of his jaw. But she knew she had to strike the balance right. She didn’t want to burn her bridges with him completely, she did still want him to want to work with her again. But a romantic entanglement with him was out of the question and she had to make that clear.

  Romantically entangled? You’re having a laugh aren’t you? Mr Gunner is incapable of romantic…

  “I don’t like the thought of you abusing yourself like that. Ever heard of the word no? All that shit you’re stuffing up your nose will kill you. I suppose that everything you were telling me last night about how you’re a different woman now was all lies then.”

  “That wasn’t what I…” was trying to tell you, she was going to finish, but didn’t.

  That ship had sailed. There was no way she was going to tell him the truth after last night. Besides, Jeremy had insisted she tell no one of what she was doing, especially not now that there was another brilliant film role for Dahlia in the pipeline.

  “Not that my personal life is any of your business, but I no longer take drugs.”

  Was that relief she saw flit across his face? She felt an involuntary wave of affection for him for actually caring for her health. Or Dahlia’s health, that is.

  “Good. I will hold you to that Dahlia Dean. I abhor drugs. And you know what I’m capable of if you’re being a bad girl and lying to me.”

  Oh she did, and she blushed hot at the memory at him spanking her.

  “I would like us to have a purely professional relationship, Curt,” she said in a cold voice to counteract the unbidden heat of sexual arousal.

  “A professional relationship,” he repeated, his pale blue eyes glittering. “Within the parameters of our professional relationship, you do realise that I will still pull down your knickers, put you across my knee and spank your delightful little bottom whenever I please?”

  She gasped at the sheer insolence of the man. An unwelcome, but all too familiar wet heat instantly ignited in earnest between her legs.

  Bastard...

  Although in that moment it was more the treacherous betrayal of her own body that irked her the most.

  “You will do no such thing, Curt. I really feel that if you and I are going to work on another film together then the boundaries have to be clear between us, as from now. You have to respect my space.”

  “Your space. Do you want this film role or not, Dahlia Dean?”

&nb
sp; “Yes,” she said breathily, thinking how much her sister would want the damn film role.

  “Then you are in no position to tell me what gives. If we weren’t to be conducting interviews in a matter of minutes, I would absolutely spank your pretty little bottom again.”

  “No, you would not. Because I would scream blue murder.”

  “The only thing you would be screaming is my name when I make you come over and over until you go cross eyed.”

  “You are so offensive.”

  “And you, my dear girl, are gagging for it.”

  Doris felt her colour rise. She was about to tell him that no, she most certainly was not ‘gagging for it,’ when there was a knock on the door. It must have been a rhetorical knock, for the door immediately burst open and a very young man appeared in the room.

  He was an effeminate man from the high fashion magazine and quickly got down to business.

  “So tell me, you two,” he said, taking his place on a straight back chair sitting opposite Curt on the Chesterfield armchair and Doris on the chaise lounge. “How long have you two lovebirds been an item?”

  “Since we worked together on Brick Face,” Curt smoothly replied.

  “Was it love at first sight?” the journalist asked.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  Love? Is Curt announcing to the world that he is in love with me?

  Her head reeled.

  Hey relax, this is all a game to him, remember? He’s just working the press for maximum publicity. God, he was beyond ruthless…

  Doris robotically got through the interview and the subsequent interviews. She answered what she thought they wanted to hear, and by and large she thought she was doing OK.

  That was until the final interview for a trashy gossip magazine. The journalist, a middle aged, overweight, plain woman in her forties took an immediate dislike to her.

  “So tell us, Dahlia. Rumour has it that you had a rather wild past when you first started out in modelling.”

  Doris didn’t know how best to reply. Yes, she knew Dahlia had gone off the rails for a while there. Not that she had ever confided in Doris, but Doris knew her better than anyone and it was obvious she had gotten herself in deep with some pretty sleazy going ons.