[M chapter. There may be an innuendo here haha] Hope you like this one.
My eyes flitter open, waking naturally to the December sunshine peeking through the gap in the drawn curtains. The New Year is drawing closer, almost 2007. I feel as though I barely blinked and poof – gone. Habitually I reach for my phone before I remember it was destroyed by Scott and instead read the digits on the alarm clock. Oh God it's 10:45am. The pain in my collar-bone is like a tightened hinge as I struggle to sit up in bed, but Alan – who timely walks in with a cup of coffee – helps me up. He's looking utterly handsome dressed casually in a white shirt and dark grey pants. He comes and sits next to me on the bed and asks how I'm feeling. Just to have him run his thumb across my forehead, pushing back my hair to inspect my bruises has my heart doing somersaults. His small gestures and acts of kindness mean the world.
"How does it look?" I dread.
"By opening it."
Laughing at his dry joke, I smack him on the knee. I love that little smirk of his.
"Greener," he comments, "It's healing. Looks a lot better this morning."
I pull in my lip, which apparently also looks to be on the mend.
As I sit down to a prepared breakfast made essentially by the man of my dreams, every thought I had during my shower returns – Scott – Had he woken up yet, what was he thinking, doing, was he planning anything, what was his reaction when he saw I was gone. Mid thought, Alan places a hand upon my back, which makes me jump out of my skin. I guess I had zoned out whilst he'd been taking calls. A comforting kiss on the top of my head brings me back to the present.
"Alan, do you mind if I call work? That's if I even still have a job..." I sigh.
He hands me the phone and I make the dreaded call to Mr Pellicci. I'm beyond delighted when Isabelle answers and we have a moment to chat. She informs me that she explained my absence as 'personal,' when I didn't show up for work the following morning after the dreaded night with Scott. Isabelle hands the phone over and I have a moment to speak with my boss, who to my relief is understanding. Respectfully he asks no personal questions, just an estimation of when I can return. Having no real idea, I quote him a week, realising the prospect of returning to work is rather terrifying after what I had run from. Who knows what Scott is capable of when he knows my whereabouts.
"Do you need any of your things?" Isabelle asks "I could go back to the house with you?"
"I don't want to go back. I wouldn't be surprised if he's destroyed everything."
"You know you can stay at my place Rebecca. Although, I have a feeling you're where you want to be right now..."
I can feel Isabelle's gentle smile the other end of the line as I gaze across the kitchen at Alan. How can one man be so beautifully handsome whilst shoving a piece of toast in his mouth and licking butter off his fingers.
"I am," I reply, with a little smile.
Alan takes a fair few calls, including a Skype which seems to be a meeting as he goes to sit in his office in private. Without my phone to sieve through, I feel a little lost. I can hear Alan in the distance discussing upcoming theatre work, and automatically I feel the loss of my play script. Fury isn't a strong enough word to express the guttural pull as flashes of Scott destroying my laptop poison my thoughts. I have never in all of my life felt hatred this deep toward anyone. How could anyone claiming to love another commit such an act of pure evil. It wasn't just the script I had lost, but every thought, every idea, every note I had ever written...gone. The thought of starting from scratch is utterly overwhelming.
Whilst Alan is busy, I occupy myself with his large expansion of books, scriptures, poetry, history...no wonder he is a fountain of knowledge.
I tuck myself into the corner of the sofa with a book on Shakespearean theatre when he walks in casually with his hands in his pockets.
"Darling I've managed to get out of working today, possibly tomorrow, but Thursday I'm going to have to leave because I have a dress rehearsal scheduled for a play I'm directing at the West End. Things are getting underway so..."
"Oh it's ok. I don't want to get in the way of your work. Isabelle said I could stay at hers."
"Well, I was thinking perhaps you'd like to join me."
Clearly I'm overwhelmed in more ways than one at this prospect and it shows. Alan sits down next to me, places a hand to my lap and tells me how it would be good for me to get out, that I would be safe with him, and that getting back into theatre isn't such a bad idea. Again, another selfless caring act on his part.
"Let's open another door shall we? Everything happens for a reason. Why don't you join me? Time to do a little something for you I think. You said you wish you'd have stayed with the theatre... No time like the present. What do you say? Dip your toes in a little"
His amber eyes are full of kindness.
"I umm...you mean watch you work?"
"Well, I was thinking you could perhaps mingle, meet some new faces, gain some contacts, a little inspiration..."
Scott's words suddenly flash in my mind like a neon sign. "Getting your cunt filled to get your script read." My eyes avert and Alan picks my chin up.
"Darling, you're not going to let this arsehole rule your life. You're a smart, talented fabulous woman who is capable of wonderful things; you just need to believe in yourself again. So what do you say? Get those creative juices flowing..."
It's impossible not to feel the warmth of his words. No one has ever rooted for me as much as he. Every part of me warms right though to my toes.
"It depends," I smile, cocking my head to the side in a jokey manner, "Will I get to see you in Shakespearian tights?"
"At my age, I'd clear the bloody theatre."
Chuckling I go to kiss him. "I beg to differ Mr Rickman. You are a blessed man."
...............
Thursday
Managing to cover the remainder of my bruising with makeup gave me one last thing to worry about. The other worry was that I was walking into a room of unknown people who were essentially Alan's co-workers in a new theatre production that he'd been asked to direct. He'd been telling me all about it on the drive.
Perfume - The story of a murderer, based in eighteenth-century France. It tells story of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille – an orphan with a super-human sense of smell who becomes homicidally obsessed with maintaining and bottling the scent of a woman. Instantly I am intrigued, sucked in by the dark yet strangely erotic story line.
"I knew you'd like it. It's an adaptation of the book by Patrick Suskind. Tom Tykwer – German fellow has written a wonderful adaptation. I have the book at home...Great read."
"Maybe you could read it to me. Although...in your voice I'm afraid you may make murder wickedly tempting."
"You sound just like Grenouille."
"Well, you do smell pretty good, and I have no intention of letting you go anywhere."
Alan's eyes meet mine in a sideward glance with a playful smirk.
.............
Being back in a theatre environment surrounded by people is both exhilarating and terrifying. Alan, who rests a reassuring hand on my back as we enter, introduces me professionally by my first and last name, which generates hand shakes all around. A large part of me feels like a phoney, but the rational part of myself tries to reason with my negative thoughts, reminding myself that this was a place I once longed to be – The West End – theatre, my love, my passion, my escapism. Relax, I tell myself. It's as though Alan can hear me thinking and offers a gentle smile over the worry lines etched about my brow.
Highly tiered with an ornate interior, the theatre is breath-taking, and takes me back to a time in my life where I would visit the London West End with my Gran and marvel at the grandeur of the venues in the days before she passed. She was my inspiration and belonged to the theatre herself. Sadly, I never got to see her perform, but I always enjoyed her stories.
I am handed a cup of coffee and the script by a team member and I take a seat down in the front row along with the producer, the scriptwriter and Alan, the director. He is a man of razor focus when he is working. I wouldn't have expected anything less.
The moment the play begins, I am mesmerised. Though the story line is hooking, my mind diverts and I'm envisioning my own play, Sweeny Todd playing out before me to a sold out audience that came to hear the tale of the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.
My thoughts are interrupted when Alan takes to the stage during a crucial scene to comment on the body language of the two characters at play, one of them being an extremely pretty red head. In this scene she is to be followed by Jean Baptiste who is enticed by her sweet scent, thus heightening his obsession. Ultimately, she will be his first victim. Up there on stage, I watch Alan intently giving her direction. She is periodically dressed in eighteenth century clothing, her breasts alluringly on display in a stomach-busting corset.
Ugh. I bet he likes that. Stop it Rebecca. Be professional. It's just a bloody costume.
But something inside of me snaps when Alan places his hand upon her hip and turns her around to face the actor playing Jean Baptiste, giving the two of them further direction. They share a private joke I cannot hear and it eats at me as I watch the scene play out. I know I'm being pathetic, but I cannot help myself and seem to completely disconnect from the story.
During the intermission, I go and help myself to another cup of coffee. I turn round only to see the same girl - who is only present in the first half, before she dies HA – she is speaking to Alan. Listed in the script as plum girl (for the basket of fruit she carries), I can attest her plums are most certainly out.
I raise my coffee to my lips, my eyes scornful and bitter watching her head toss to the side in a flirty manner. She is all over him. Calm Rebecca, calm. I have visions of me pouring the contents of my polystyrene cup all over that pretty red hair of hers that she can't seem to stop touching.
Unexpectedly, said redhead walks over to get herself a coffee and begins talking to me.
"I haven't seen you before, you're not an extra are you?"
"No, I'm...just watching." I smile, forcibly.
"How does it look from up there?"
Like your knockers could to hit you in the face.
"Great."
She smiles and gestures toward Alan who's giving direction to other cast members.
"He's amazing isn't he...Alan. Such a mentor. This is the first time I've ever been on stage you know. Well..." she titters, "it will be to an audience of this scale, but he's doing wonders for my confidence. It's nice to have someone believe in you isn't it."
"It is," I smile through gritted teeth.
...................
Alan and I walk to a backstage area afterwards where I have a rare opportunity to see all the costumes up close. Alan tells me he used to be a dresser in his early days in the theatre, helping the actors with their costumes, and shares a few stories as we make our way to his dressing room.
He busies himself taking a few official calls whilst I browse around, perusing the flyers on the notice board, when I hear her...her – that bloody red head. She's next door, giggling with what I assume is another cast member. The sound goes right through me like nails on a chalkboard. I'd made every effort to try and forget her words to me and the way she was seemingly flirting with my man, but her giggle makes my skin crawl.
"I just have to make a few notes darling and we'll be on our way," Alan says, thumbing over pages of the script.
The incessant giggling continues. Fighting the urge to want to throttle her, I focus all my attention on my beautiful silver fox and wrap my arms around his white shirted shoulders from behind, softly kissing the side of his face. He smells good enough to devour. He highlights parts of the script, scribbles out others and turns another page.
"I'm afraid you're being terribly distracting," he says, honey coated.
"Am I? I thought you were a man of razor focus." I smile against him – my own focus being the growing bulge between his legs.
"Would it be wrong to unzip your trousers?" I whisper.
"Terribly." I feel him smile.
I make my way in front of him between the chair and the desk, and slowly get to my knees, indulgent in everything about him, smoothing my hands up his suited legs.
"I've resisted you all day. I can't wait any longer."
"Then you best get to work," he smirks.
Alan tosses the pen aside as I unzip his trousers and is already playing with my hair, tousling it between his fingers. I look straight into those amber eyes of his and slip a hand inside the black material, smiling seductively to the warmth of the thick bulge that resides there. Alan inhales through his nose, his eyes dancing at the excitement of what's to come. Mine equally glitter with desire. He enjoys the rub on his stiffening cock through the material of his boxers until I can no longer keep the poor thing imprisoned, and free it from it's confinements. A mutual smile of explicit naughtiness messing in a public place plays about our mouths. With Alan's big beautiful rigid cock in my hand, I look into his eyes and tenderly pump him.
"You're so delicious," I whisper.
A little into it and I hear every breath leave his nose. I can hear her giggling next door. It only gives me ammunition to pump him firmer. Alan's eyes fall close as I put a twist in the mix over his silkily wet head that leaks over my palm. So great is my need to please him, that I take his cock in both hands and double his pleasure.
The adrenaline rush I get from watching his brow twist makes me leak into my knickers. Red head giggles some more next door, and my mouth draws to Alan's cock like a magnet. His gasp is sharp, his hands clasping in my hair at my desperate tongued kissed whirling his thick plump tip, so sudden, so passionately, once, twice, three times. I withdraw just to lick his essence off my lips and gaze up at him mischievously. With his mouth agape in wonder he is eating out the palm of my hand.
"Christ Rebecca," he whines, "what are you trying to do to me...ughhh..."
I'm back, moaning against his head as it slips slick beyond my tight lips and fills my mouth. Holding his cock with two hands, twisting at the base, I take him further into my mouth. Alan's thighs tense underneath my arms, his hand spans around the back of my head, gently thrusting me to his length.
I could suck him until he shoots and fills my mouth, but I pull away, hastily removing my knickers, eyeing the magnificent cock that eagerly twitches before me glistening with pre-come.
Red-head is on the phone, continuously giggling whilst I climb onto Alan's suited lap. He pushes up my skirt, aids me to position myself and with a rush of adrenaline we both melt with open mouths, gasping at feeling of his cock parting my walls. As wet as I am, the size of him still overwhelms me in the best way, especially in this position and so suddenly too. His hands span my ass taking my weight as I adjust whining against his ear with my arms around his shoulders that I love so much.
I think of that fucking red-head next door, and gripping the back of his shaggy hair at the nape of his neck, plunge my tongue into his mouth. My eyes open just for a moment, just to witness that deep frown of his as I plunge half way onto his cock. There it is. Those knotted brows. Alan's bassy moans fill my mouth at the ride of his cock, making me smile against him.
"Ugh Alan, I love fucking you...!"
"Equally."
"Tell me you like it," I pant, devouring his mouth.
"You're a great little fuck, darling," he pants. "So...ughhh...wickedly sexy."
Alan's words amp me up, my steady ride on his cock resulting in a bounce until I am fucking him so passionately we can no longer kiss. My face is buried so deeply against his knowing we mustn't make a sound, my hands all over his face, his hair, my heavy breathing against his hot skin makes my hair stick to my cheek.
A sudden knock on the door makes him look up, but I plunge a kiss to his mouth.
I recognise the voice behind the door that separates our explicit fucking.
"Alan? Alan...we're leaving now...just wanted to say goodbye. The red-head!
I hold Alan's face in my hand, his open lips that are panting continuously meet my kiss
"Fill my pussy...." I sob. "Fill me...!"
Ignoring the door, he presses me to him masking my moans and meets my aching bounce with a deep thrust over and over whilst I whimper helplessly into his neck. His cock, so thick and wet pumps me with vigour, his fingers splayed wide across my backside.
She's knocking again! Alan's cock is throbbing inside my pulsing walls. I feel he's getting off in this as much as I knowing there is someone outside.
"Rebecca..." he grunts low in my ear, rubbing my clit.
Oh god-oh-god-oh-god, my compressed moans cause me to squeak.
Alan's voice is cracking, a whine of complete loss of control, his eyes pressing close, pulling me to his ear. That voice! It fucks me deliciously - "Darling....UH I'm gonna...I'm c- I'm coming...UH!"
I peel myself away just to look at him and plummet my mouth to his feeling the vibration of his moans. His hands clasp to my backside as spurts of his hot seed burst into my centre meeting my simultaneous release that leaves me shaking in his arms.
Hot, clammy and breathless we bask in thrill of it all, smiling blissfully against each other's mouths. The look on his flushed face tells me he enjoyed every second.
"You...you bloody minx."
"You look pretty shagged out there, Mr Rickman. Did I do well?"
"Worthy of a standing ovation."
Chuckling, our foreheads meet, my tender kiss touches his nose.
"What can I say? You inspired me today in more ways than one."
I realise afterward that I had completely dismissed the red-head, too wrapped up in Alan, the man that wanted me, who filled me so full that I poured all over his trousers. We had to spend the last few minutes sponging them off before we could leave.
We exit the theatre that night hand in hand, met by a few fans outside the venue asking for autographs,and you know...it's ok. This is who he is – a man admired by many, looked up to,respected. I should feel happy, proud, not threatened. There's only one person going home with him tonight, and that's me.