The wind caught Jennifer Lopez's skirt and forced it up over her hips, for a moment showing off her delicious ass, the thick cheeks utterly swallowing up her thong underwear. Grant could only tell it was there because of the waistband and a narrow strip of fabric that made it only inches between her buttocks before disappearing into their rotund plunge.
He knew good ass and this was one magnificent helping of flesh. It stunned him—so damn smooth, round, and fully proportioned that he wouldn't have been surprised if it was on some teenage beauty queen. It being on a woman old enough to be his mother was like a miracle. He stared, committed her ass to memory like he'd come along some sample of expensive ivory worked into a masterpiece by a sculptor who'd chipped away everything that wasn't perfect.
Jennifer whirled, embarrassment showing on her face even as she spotted the leering look Grant wore. Her new director was still in his twenties and attractive, with his height and trimness and dark hair, his warmly sensual brown eyes, but she still felt obliged to put him in his place. "Enjoy the show?" she demanded.
He showed no sign of being flustered by her verbal jab. "Absolutely. You know you have one of the best asses on the planet."
Now it was Jennifer's turn to be flustered, and unlike Grant, she couldn't shrug it off so easily. She was an old-fashioned girl; machismo appealed to her a lot more than 'emotional vulnerability' and obsequious displays of fawning. She wondered if Grant was just putting up a front or if he really was as masculine as he came across.
She challenged him further: "I do, do I? You're some ass afficionado, then?"
"No, I'm more of a breast man," Grant replied smoothly. "Except when it comes to you. An ass like that makes anything else pale in comparison. Not that there's any shortcomings in the rest of you. But that ass is just something else..."
"You like it then?" Jennifer cooed, a huskiness in her voice. She was aware, on some level, that she wasn't challenging Grant anymore, but soliciting more of his aggressive, almost offensive interest in her. Which, though it had been a while for her, tended to be seen as flirting...
Grant actually reached out and grasped her skirt, teasingly lifting it up, but only a few inches, enough to see her knees. Jennifer swallowed as she realized she had let him—perhaps even hoped he would go further.
"I like it," he agreed. "In fact, I almost like it too much."
"Too much?" Jennifer asked. She felt a little faint. Blood rushing through her body. This bastard was actually pursuing her, courting her, hunting her down to make the kill. It'd been a long time since anyone'd had the balls to outright try and seduce her, but it was a good feeling, a heady feeling.
"We are alone, after all," Grant said. "I try to respect women and all, but an ass like that could drive a man to rape. Especially in a thong."
Jennifer's lips dropped open. She almost let out a squeak, but she managed to restrain herself. At least, she thought she did. Talk about
muy macho—
this
guy
was practically incinerating his own career here. One word from her to any of the fawning producers who had begged her to take the lead role and he'd be cooked.
"You'd be in real trouble if a woman decided she didn't like being raped," Jennifer returned.
"Be worth it though, wouldn't it?" And he lifted her skirt some more. "At least, it would be for you. I'd be the one in the unemployment line—you'd still be in your double-decker trailer, with a pint of hot cum up your ass."
Jennifer exhaled. Okay. He was really putting the ball in her court and it was flattering as hell. Should she actually take a chance on letting this
gabacho
fuck her ass? Could he back up this totally audacious pass he'd made at her or was this all hot air?
Most men couldn't last a minute in her ass; it would be awkward as hell to be directed by a man she'd driven to premature ejaculation. And if he made her come—if he gave her the multiple orgasms she knew could go with really good ass-fucking—what kind of shoot would it be then? Take after take of acting, then back to his trailer to bend over and take direction from him in an entirely different way?
Jennifer smiled. Her trailer. She might let this rooster have her ass, but she wouldn't do the walk of shame for him.
"The thing is, Grant," she said, deciding to go blow for blow with him—she'd always been a girl who liked to sneak a peek at her presents before Christmas and she wanted to see now what kind of bulge she could make in those twill pants. "Before anyone puts his cock in my ass, he has to put his tongue in there. I wouldn't expect someone with your
cojones
to taste my ass after he's put a 'pint of hot cum' in it—so you'll have to eat my ass first. And if you don't do a good job, your face is the only thing you're putting between my cheeks."
He went from holding up her skirt to reaching under it, his hand finding her thong, shoving under it, feeling at the forbidden skin that joined one cheek to another. Jennifer could only jerk, face stunned still, as he buried a knuckle into her asshole.
"Guess my face isn't the only thing I'm putting in your ass," Grant said smugly, his eyes full of masculine pride. He knew that he'd impressed Jennifer in once more matching her diva attitude with bravado—a wall she put up that for years had reduced anyone she deployed it against to a shuddering wreck. Now he had his finger in her ass and he knew she wanted it there.
Lusty images welled up in Jennifer's mind. She imagined Grant's face pressing into her ass, separating her cheeks and seeking out her anus with an outstretched tongue—warm and wet and sensuous, like the finger inside her except without the little frisson of pain. She wanted that.
A minute later she was in her trailer, Grant's stiff cock in her hand. It was long and lovely, with a juicy knob and thick blue veins showcasing the fierceness of his erection. Grant took a flask from his pocket, thumbed off the cap, and then took her other hand in his. He poured out some of the alcohol onto her palm. She knew what to do next. When he brought her hand down to his member, she slowly ran her wet fingers up and down the hardened flesh.
"Jesus, that feels good," Grant moaned. "But it's going to feel a lot better when it gets where it's going. Bend over."
Jennifer tittered. He certainly wasn't one to waste any time. She leaned over a sofa, holding still except for a little waggle of her hips while he rolled up her skirt and bared her ass.
"When I was younger, there was a centerfold of you in Maxim," Grant breathed. "I never would've believed that not only would I get your ass, but it would be even better when I did."
Jennifer looked at him over her shoulder. "You like my ass better now?"
