"So, how do I look?"
A few seconds ago, I was sitting on a hotel bed, wearing a buttoned-up shirt with a tie loosely wrapped around my neck. But then Jennifer Lawrence stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a tight pink dress that hugged her incredible curves and pushed up her boobs, giving the complete package of wonderful cleavage, shapely hips and seemingly never-ending legs. Fuck, the dress was tight. So tight that I nearly came in my pants there and then.
She did a little spin. "
So?
"
I was speechless. "I... there are no words, Jen." I paused. "You look perfect."
"Don't go pulling that card, slick," she laughed.
"It's true! You look fucking amazing!"
Though she would've usually kept denying my claims of perfection, she admitted defeated and smiled thankfully. We hadn't been dating long, but it seems she'd gotten used to my constant compliments.
Jennifer walked around the room in her shiny silver heels, and I'll be honest, I just gawked. This woman, this gorgeous, talented, funny woman was gladly accompanying me to a fancy party, and would be the highlight of the entire evening. I mean, she always looked good, even in her pyjamas — but this was a once-in-a-lifetime, knockout outfit.
Her hips swung from side to side, her tits jiggled, that glorious ass of hers pushed against the pink fabric; time seemed to go in slow motion as she walked from one side of the room to the other.
Leaning against the window, Jennifer turned and saw my unabashed starring. "Aw, come on, really?" she said.
"I'm serious, Jen."
"Dude, if you stare at me for the next five hours, things are just gonna get weird."
"Oh, don't worry," I said, before boldly adding, "I plan on doing a
lot
more than just staring..."
"We'll see how that goes, Clark. We have to get through the party first." She was trying to be her professional self, but there were glimmers of excitement in her speech...
We were attending a Vanity Fair party that evening, bound to be filled to the brim with famous personalities and Hollywood hotshots. There'd be some amazing people there, sure, but I would not, could not, stop thinking about Jen.
The two of us were on route to meet Jennifer's publicist, who was waiting in the hotel lobby. As we strode out of our room and down the hall, I made sure to admire every inch of her body while we were still alone. Jen caught me staring, so she tried to imitate me by watching my suit crease and pants tighten. We arrived at the elevator and, once inside, I went in for a hasty, passionate kiss, locking lips with my girlfriend for as long as I could.
"You look so fucking incredible in that dress," I whispered, breaking the kiss. "I couldn't believe you could ever get more beautiful, and yet..."
She moaned quietly. "As much as I'd love to right now... it'll have to wait."
"Yeah," I sighed, accepting defeat.
She looked at me. "You
do
look good in that suit, though..."
We smiled at each other, but upon hearing the elevator ding, we put on our serious faces and waited for the door to open. Jennifer's publicist met us with the white beam of her teeth and a hug, and led us to our ride to the party.
Flash forward three hours later. The evening was going smoothly. Jennifer was mingling effortlessly, introducing me to a range of famous faces and interesting people. But even as we were conversing with iconic actors and giant success stories, I could rarely take my eyes off Jen. She and I cared a great deal for each other, and standing next to her in that dress whilst talking with Hollywood heavyweights, I knew I was lucky to have her.
As Jen and I walked down the floor, my girlfriend caught eye of someone across the bar. A woman, decades older than either of us, accompanied by two security guards.
"Is that Miss Jennifer?" the woman called.
"So nice to see you!" Jennifer exclaimed, running to shake the woman's hand.
Jen turned to face me as I caught up. "Clark, this is Rachel Richardson. She's one of the major donors for the party. Rachel, this is my boyfriend, Clark."
Rachel extended her hand to me. "Good to meet you."
A waiter passed with a tray of champaign, and Jen quickly grabbed glasses to pass around. Rachel shared stories of her long history with LA, offering fresh anecdotes about a town I'd lived in my whole life. It wasn't until 15 minutes into the conversation that she asked any questions of us.
"So yes, you could say my job is very varied. What is that you do, Clark?" she quizzed.
"I work for the LA Times."
"Another reporter! Just what America needs," she laughed, and Jennifer along with her. I chuckled a little, hoping it was just a tease.
"In all seriousness, I have great respect for journalists," Rachel continued. "The good ones, at least."
"Well, I aim to be one of the good ones," I replied.
"Excellent. Well, it was nice to meet you, Clark." Rachel turned to my girlfriend. "Jennifer, always a pleasure. I'll leave you both to it."
We stood there alone, and we became perfectly happy just being together. Despite the waves of prominent people around us, we were only interested in each other.
Let me tell you about our relationship. It's no secret that Jennifer's a talkative girl. For years, she'd been a bit of an outsider, so she developed a personality all of her own, and while it's not for everyone, she's found charming and unique by the Hollywood community. Sometimes she wanted to impress people, and other times, she just cut loose and went as crazy as possible. But, interestingly, she rarely felt the need to go to either extremes with me. Whenever we would talk, or spend time together, she'd be candid and honest, but there was never a perceived act she was putting on. She was just herself — smart, sweet, funny, and a little weird. And I was kind of love with that.
But holy shit, in this moment, at this party, was I horny. A quick kiss in the middle of the building wasn't gonna cut it. I craved Jen's body; every single inch of it.
"I need to talk to you," I told her.
