She smiles slowly. Her hand slides up my leg but bypasses where I want her to stop to press against my chest. She pushes me down onto the bench seat, wedging herself between my legs. I have to bend one knee; the other leg dangles off the seat to make room for her and my long legs.

“Do you want something for your head?”

I bump it against the door handle. “I’ll live.”

She tugs at the neck bow again. The silk swishes against my skin and I close my eyes at the sensation and the sight of her above me. Since the first time I watched her on my old laptop screen, I’ve thought about exactly this. Just snippets of it. What it would be like to kiss her, to touch her between her legs and feel how wet she is, to see her lips wet from me. Now it’s happening and my brain is still catching up to the idea that any of this is real. That an email I sent in the dead of night to a talent agent resulted in this eager fire sign becoming my head chef. And how my own mismanagement has pulled out this beast in her, this woman willing to fight me or anyone else if she has to.

Sophie pulls my blouse open and trails kisses between my breasts. She follows my ribs and I squirm and bite my knuckle to keep from laughing. She hitches my leg up on the seat, spreading me further. Her hands never stop moving, her fingers trace the outline of my nipple through the cotton of my bra. Her thumb makes slow circles over my inner thighs. She hasn’t touched me or even put her mouth on anything with an excess of nerve endings, but she’s already driving me wild.

“You’re lucky I can’t flip you over back here.”

My voice has gone growly and there is laughter in her answering tone. “Why?”

Finally, she slips her hand under the elastic band of my bra to brush her fingers over me. I close my eyes and press my head hard into the door. “Because you’re killing me, Hollywood. You’re all talk. I thought you were going to fuck me.”

“I’m not letting you top me,” she says in a singsong voice. “Not right now, at least.”

I open my eyes. She’s pulled my bra straps down and her eyes are too big in her face.

“Take your shirt off at least?” I ask.

She grins but sits back on her heels. With a quick check out the windows, she pulls the ruby knit over her head. Her full hair and the lace embellishments on her bra make her look like a retro pinup girl.

“Come here.” But I don’t wait for her to comply. I bring her down to me and lick into her mouth. Sophie moans; the sound travels through me. I feel it like a pulse in my pussy; it curls my toes. Over my pants, she pets me. Like we’re in some kind of high school fantasy, where we have to hit every step along the way: under the bra, over the underwear.