Caitríona is almost entirely sure that there are rules against this, protocols in place to ensure a harmonious workplace environment and avoid lawsuits. And even if there aren't, logic and common sense tell her that this is a very, very, bad idea.
But she finds that she does not care.
Not here, not now-
Lying on crumpled sheets, a thin sheen of sweat upon her skin, legs splayed open as her new co-star familiarises himself with her body.
"Fuck," she groans, fisting one hand in Sam's curls as he buries his tongue inside her. His fingers paint bruises into her thighs, pinning her down, holding her in place even as she writhes against him, seeking ecstasy.
He pulls away for a moment, pressing a damp kiss just below her navel, and then on her inner thigh, before taking a deep breath and then delving right back in. First, slow, broad strokes with the flat of his tongue, and then finding a rhythm, one that has her entire body trembling in anticipation. His teeth graze her clit as he works one finger inside her, a little hesitant until she clamps down around him.
"More," she pants out, tightening her hold on his hair, almost trying to force him impossibly closer. There would be hilarity in this scenario, considering she'd been hesitant to even let him into her hotel room not thirty minutes earlier, but she's too wound up- too aroused, to concentrate on anything other than finding bliss.
"Greedy," he chides, withdrawing his hand altogether and resting his chin against her hip. She almost whines, resisting the urge to beg him to continue, propping herself up onto her elbows to get a good look at him in the dim hotel room lighting. He watches her in return, a wicked grin on his face, so far removed from the sweet smile he'd offered during their first meeting. She takes a shuddering breath when his tongue darts out, swiping deliberately over his bottom lip.
"Bloody tease," she bites back, marvelling at the ease of this entire situation.
She's not the type of woman to jump into bed with men who are practically strangers, but it feels as though they've known one another forever. He'd stripped her bare in under a minute; moving his fingers across her shoulders and sliding off the straps of her dress, nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck as the fabric pooled at her feet. She hadn't lifted a finger, standing still and allowing him to have his way with her, silently observing as he'd unhooked her bra with one hand before tearing her knickers off with the other.
They'd kissed once before, during that fateful first meeting, at the behest of the casting director. She'd been so terribly nervous about the entire thing, not entirely sure how to go about swapping spit with a stranger, despite the pull she'd felt towards him from the moment she'd set foot in the room. Metaphorical butterflies in her tummy, she'd stood there looking a little daft, when Sam closed the distance between them in two easy strides and planted one on her.
Lips soft and tasting of spearmint (he'd clearly been prepared to engage in a passionate lip lock), she'd almost lost herself in the moment. His hands had been scorching on her back, even through the fabric of the plaid dress she'd chosen just for the occasion. She'd tugged on the sweat-dampened curls at his nape, and allowed him to steal her breath, even as she tried valiantly to remember that they were in a room filled with powerful people who had the ability to make or break her career.
She’d known then and there that it would be quite the endeavour to keep her distance, maintain professionalism as it were.
She didn’t think she would cave before the first table read even took place.
A none too gentle squeeze of her thigh pulls her back to reality, and she blinks, eyes refocusing in the darkness.
“Where’s your mind gone, Cait?” he asks, the pad of his thumb drawing rough circles over her skin. His eyes are hooded, pupils blown wide with desire, but his control doesn’t waver.
“Just thinking,” she breathes out, offering him a soft smile as she lies back against the pillows, tilting her hips ever so slightly in his direction. He chuckles against her skin, the vibrations making her already sensitive body tingle all the more, and moves his hand to hover over where she wants him most.
"I'd ask you what you're thinking of," he murmurs, looking her dead in the eye and then dragging his gaze down the length of her body, pausing when he reaches the juncture of her thighs, "but I have my suspicions." With that, he draws two fingers through her folds, slick with arousal, grinning at the sight of her, so eager and ready for him. He's slow, almost methodical in his study of her, and while she has no doubt there are evenings full of drawn out and emotionally intense fucking in their future, it's not what she craves right now.
Impatient, she reaches one hand down, curling her fingers around his wrist.
It's not a plea, but a command, and she feels something shift in the air between them. He tilts his head to look up at her once more, holding her gaze as he drags his tongue over her. Still slow, with no sense of urgency, and she's close to shoving him aside and just taking care of things herself when he releases a gentle puff of air against her flushed skin.
"You're a bossy one," he muses, before lowering his head and burying his face against her. He alternates drawing circles over her clit with his tongue and sucking it into his mouth, all while thrusting two fingers inside her, twisting and curling, trying to find the spot that will make her scream.
It doesn't take long.
She chants a litany of curses as her back begins to arch off the bed, and finds herself unable to move any further as he rests his hand over her belly, trapping her in place.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God."
Her thighs tighten around his head, the heel of one foot digging into his back and she'd be worried she was cutting off his oxygen were she not so out of it, completely lost to the sensations overwhelming her body. He shifts his head just so, his stubble prickling her heated flesh and she whimpers, body finally going slack. As she lays there, breathing heavily and at a complete loss for words, he trails damp kisses up her body;
Over the curve of her hip,
Dipping his tongue into her navel and making her squirm,
Licking one long stripe from her belly to between her breasts,
Rests his head there, right beside her pounding heart, looking far too pleased with himself.
She moves one hand into his curls, nails lightly scoring his scalp; he likes it, she can tell by the way he leans into her touch, mouth falling open slightly, eyes shut. It almost feels as though she's rewarding a pet after a well performed trick and she giggles at the notion.
God, she's being utterly ridiculous.
One of his hands rests on her hip, the other molded to the curve of her breast as he lies there, half draped on top of her. It shouldn't be this comfortable to have a heavily muscled Scotsman pinning her to the mattress, but she's not inclined to move an inch, luxuriating in the feel of his body against hers. He's toned and chiseled where she's soft and plush, and she can only imagine how it must feel for him, head lolled to one side, using her breast as a pillow.
It would be easy enough to doze off like this, with him curled around her, head over her heart, shielding her body from the chill of the night. Very much endearing and far too sweet, a level of intimacy she's never experienced before, not even during long term relationships with men she'd seen a future with.
This, whatever it is, terrifies her.
For someone who always flees at the first sign of danger, she’s not tempted to run. In fact, she rather wants to stay right here, like this, for as long as the world will allow her.
Letting out a long sigh, she shifts her left leg, curling it around his body. Her ankle fits neatly against the curve of his arse, taut and muscled as the rest of him is. He clenches, his entire body tensing as her toes brush over the length of his leg and it makes her laugh, deep in her chest, enough to jostle him.
“Sorry,” she manages, moving her hand from his hair to his cheek, brushing her knuckles over the line of his jaw. Sharp enough to cut glass, indeed.
He shakes his head and resituates himself, once again draped over her, but now propped up on one hand, the other unmoving, still cupping her breast. She watches, teeth digging into her bottom lip as his fingers trace her skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, thumb flicking over one nipple, and she feels the blood rush through her body, a flush spreading over her cheeks.
He looks up then, stares her dead in the eye.
“I would never lie to you.”
She doesn’t doubt him. It’s madness, because she barely knows him, this man that will soon become a permanent fixture in her life.
And maybe, just maybe...
Perhaps she’s getting ahead of herself, but he’s still staring at her, the conviction in his gaze as he wills her to believe his words so unbelievably strong. His fingers dance over her, trailing up her neck to her chin and then his thumb is swiping over her bottom lip. She feels a rush of adrenaline, suddenly daring and brave, and sinks her teeth into his skin. He groans and shifts himself again, and she’s more aware than ever of his cock, hot and hard and almost throbbing, digging into the soft flesh of her thigh, trapped between their bodies. Just the thought of having him inside her, a delightful stretch and delicious friction, has her clamping her legs together, squirming, arousal staining the sheets beneath their bodies.
She has no intention of letting things escalate so quickly. Now having been so thoroughly satisfied, she wants to take her time with him. Feel the weight of him in her hand, the silk of his skin as she pumps him, rough enough to make him cry out. She needs to know the taste of him, to have him in her mouth, feel him at the back of her throat.
Have him at her mercy.
So when he moves his hand from her mouth, thumb now slick with spit, intent on spreading her legs once more, she shakes her head.