Page 84 of King of Hollywood

Fuck.

The idea of licking inside Felix’s mouth was just…yes.

I was still flushed and flustered by the time I pulled into Felix’s driveway to pick him up. I opened his door for him, and his eyes flashed with warmth as he settled into the passenger side, the seat already programmed into position to fit his short gremlin legs.

He smiled at me, leaning over the console by the time I slid into my seat, so he could give me a long, lingering kiss.

“Hi, Marshall,” Felix said, voice low and sweet.

“Hi, Felix.” I grabbed his face, holding him still so he couldn’t pull away. All nervous thoughts fled my head as I crowded in and kissed him a second time. And then a third. And then a fourth.

I wanted to ask him about the woman I’d seen going over to his place the night before—but I was too distracted by how soft his lips were to do so.

An hour later we were parked at the back of the drive-in lot. An old black and white movie was playing, and Felix was…distracted. He kept glancing at the screen wistfully, then at me, then the screen again.

“I remember this one,” he said softly as I passed him the blanket I’d brought for us to snuggle under. I’d shown him how to shift his seat into position, so we were both reclined while we snuggled under the comforter. Lights danced across Felix’s face, and his eyes were far away again.

“You’ve seen it before?”

“I’ve lived it,” Felix sighed, shifting closer to me, though the console was—annoyingly—in the way. I shifted closer too, half-tempted to pull him over it entirely and tug him into my lap.

I didn’t know what he meant. This was a ballet film. Older than his car, probably. As far as I knew, Felix had never been a professional ballerina. Though, now that I thought about it, he was a good dancer.

And he had said that he was frightened of being recognized.

Perhaps he really had been?

There was a man on the screen that looked oddly familiar, but I ignored him for now, twisting to give Felix my full attention as I tried to figure out an appropriate—and not too forward—way to ask him if he would like to sit in my lap while I sucked on his tongue.

The car to our left—that was visible through Felix’s window—rocked subtly, the glass already foggy.

Horndogs.

It wasn’t fair.

I wanted to do that.

I just…didn’t quite know how.

I squinted at Felix, and his attention moved from the film to me. He cocked his brow in question, the lovely muscle in his jaw flickering as his lips twisted up in amusement. “Is there something you want, Marshall?”

I cleared my throat, prepared to be suave. To seduce him with flowery words and declarations. Instead, all that came out was a garbled whine.

Felix’s expression softened even more, a frankly smitten look on his face as he turned away from the film entirely. “What is it, darling? There’s no need to look so distressed.”

Darling.

God, I loved that.

“I want to kiss you—” There. I’d done it. Amazing! Fucking, finally.

Fuck you, brain.

Felix nodded, shifting over the console gracefully, his fingers curling around my shoulder to steady himself. “Okay,” he leaned down, pressing a soft, delicious little kiss against my lips. Electricity zinged down my spine. Victorious, I languished in it, a muffled groan escaping me as our lips slid together, soft and slick.

Only…Felix pulled away.

Sure, a few minutes had passed—but that was not enough. It would never be enough. When he started to move back into his own seat, my life flashed before my eyes. I was old and grayer—and Felixless. It was awful.