Maybe seeing her was not going to be such a good idea at all.
Merciful heaven, she was more beautiful than ever. She'd cut her hair short, bringing out the youth of her face. She was wearing jeans and a t shirt, looking totally comfortable. And sexy, too. That ass under the faded denim-how could he forget the feel of it? And the weight of her breasts in his hands. The shirt might disguise them, hiding them somewhat, but he knew their reality, how they responded to touch, to kisses and caresses. He longed to have them now, to have her.
Fists clenched, he squirmed in the seat. Let it be done, he thought, let this audition be through so he could reject her and move on. There was only one problem. As the small blonde opened her mouth speaking the words that he had written, it became immediately apparent that she was perfect for the part. No-that was an understatement. In truth, the part of Summer Lust had been written precisely and exactly for her. And if he did not choose her it would be a crime, against the play and against whatever audiences were destined to see it.
"Enough,” he called out.
"What is it, sir?” The assistant wanted to know. “Do you wish to move immediately on to the next auditioner?"
"No, I wish to go to my office and not be disturbed. For the rest of the afternoon."
"What about the actors?"
"Send them all home,” he pronounced. “I have a headache."
* * * *
Julie was sure she knew the voice from somewhere. But where would she have met the man? She wished now she'd done her homework, as to who he was and where he came from. Truth be told, she'd done so many of these auditions lately in between her double shifts waitressing at the Golden Triangle Deli that she wasn't really sure which end was up much less what the difference was between “Seasons of Lust” the play and Four Seasons, the hotel.
Admittedly, this was the easiest script she'd ever read in her life. One read through had been enough to memorize it. She was even confident enough to change one or two of the stage directions, adding little things she thought the character would do as she was talking. In some ways it was a little spooky-curious, at least. In the same way it was curious that the director was dismissing himself instead of her. Okay, she'd blown it. He didn't like her improves, whatever, there were a dozen more waiting in the wings to take their best shots, all of whom were at least as well qualified as her.
Yes, there was something fishy here. Something oddly familiar. In the voice, as in the script. But there was nothing she could link it to in her memory. That is until the assistant director responded to his boss injunction to shut down the audtions for the day.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Vrastor,” said the skinny, effeminate man. “Can we bring you some aspirin? Some cold compresses?"
Vrastor. Now that was a connection she could not ignore. Did this director have anything to do with Grigori? Their voices were similar, she'd thought of that earlier only to dismiss it. The man spoke almost no English, after all, and he was hardly in the market to be producing a hit play.
On the off chance, she called out his name. He made no reply as he stormed from the theater. He was large, though, as large as her bear wrestler and the hair was right, too.
"Grigori,” she cried, her sneakers bounding down the wooden stairs. There was no way to catch up with him. His booted feet and denim-clad legs were managing one step to her two. He did have to stop to close his office door behind him, however, and that's where she had him.
"Please, Grigori. I only want to talk."
Actually, she wanted more than that. The man looked lean and delicious, his cock nicely filling the Levis, his chest smoothly covered in a turtleneck. It had been so long for her-since the last time with him and Giovanni, actually.
"There is not anything to talk of,” he replied, though he let her in before closing the door.
She stood there, moist eyed. “Your English is so good, Grigori."
His frown deepened. “It is passable, that is all."
Julie licked her lips. How did she break ice like this? It was fate, them coming back together. She couldn't let the opportunity slip by. “I missed you,” she whispered.
Grigori was silent.
She moved to touch his cheek. He held her wrist in mid air. “I do not want this, Julie."
Julie felt a tugging at her heart. “You can say my name now.” It was a bittersweet thing; she was proud of him and yet there had been something so special about being his Julya.
He looked at the hand he help captive. “You are not married?"
"No,” she breathed. “There is no one…” She was going to say ‘no one else,’ but she stopped short.
Grigori nodded. “Your hair, it is good like this."
"You like it? I was afraid … well, I thought maybe the short hair wouldn't be pleasing.” Julie flushed red at the sound of her own babbling. She'd had no idea she'd see the man today or ever. How could she be standing here like a schoolgirl in the company of her first crush?
He released her wrist. “Your performance,” he said. “It was excellent … very pleasing."
She lowered her eyes. “Thank you, Grigori."
A moment later her hands were at the bottom of her t-shirt … oh, god, what was she doing?
"And these?” She asked softly, pulling the garment over her head to reveal her bra-clad breasts. “Are they pleasing also?"
Grigori's features tightened. She noticed some action in the groin area, too. “This is not a road to go down, Julie. It would be different now. I am different."
Her heart was beating like a rabbit's. Reaching behind her back, she unhooked the pink lace bra. “Different how?” She pulled it forward over her shoulders.
"When you knew me before, there was guilt inside me, a frozen wasteland. I burn now. There is no telling what that would do to a woman. I have not dared try, Julie, not since I was with you."
Her heart melted. “You … you saved yourself?"
"I saw no opportunities,” he corrected as the bra fell to the floor.
Julie stood bare breasted before the man, her mouth parched, her nipples twinged with heat. “Vrastoya,” she said.
He smiled wryly. “Vrastoya, for the vrastor."
She took a step closer, holding up her aching tits with both hands. “No other man has seen or touched these, Grigori. They were held in safe keeping for you."
"It will be different,” he warned once more. “I may not let you go so easily."
Boldly, she took his hands now and put them on her, gripping tight. “And maybe I do not want to be let go of."
He narrowed his hold to her nipples, applying just enough sweet pressure to make her exclaim, half a wince, half a moan. “Vrastroya."
The man did not relent, not till she was on her knees. “Grigori,” she sighed, burying her cheek against his clothed erection. “Please fuck my mouth."
"No,” he denied her. “I want you on the desk. You will take off all your clothes and lie on your back."
"Yes, Grigori.” She tore eagerly at the opening to her jeans. She was going to be fucked. The long dry spell was over and best of all it was one of the two men she cared about most in the world taking her. Her panties were sopping wet as she slid them down. Her fingers trembled as she rushed to get naked and put herself into position. Without even touching her, this man could drive her out of her mind. Far from fading, the fires of last year only burnt hotter now.
The desk was made of metal and it was cold on her flushed skin. She felt dirty and wicked crawling onto it, especially the way she was dripping between her legs. She spread her thighs wide as she glued her ass solidly to the surface. Planting both feet flat, she gave him an unencumbered view of her pussy.