Page 67 of The Producer: Aaron

I never take my gaze away from his while he pulls my hair slightly, silently telling me to move away because he is about to come. But I don’t want to, so I stretch my lips and sink his cock deeper into my throat, sucking vigorously until I feel him coming with a growl piercing his chest.

I swallow as waves of his pleasure invade my mouth, but some of it drips down my chin. It’s a dirty orgasm loaded with a pleasure that is almost animalistic. Aaron drags me to him for a frantic kiss as soon as my lips leave his erection, his tongue invading my mouth, the taste of our pleasures mixes, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand slips between my legs, and when two of his fingers make their way inside me, they find no obstacle to stop them. I’m so wet that Aaron slips up to his knuckles, and when he starts fucking me with his hand, he swallows the moan that comes out of my lips.

I ride his hand, chasing a second orgasm that comes as soon as his fingers bend, touching that sensitive part of me that no other man has ever been able to find. I thought it was an urban legend, that that famous G-spot didn’t really exist, but Aaron proved to me several times that I was wrong and that he memorized my body to the point that he could find it on the first try.

I reach the peak of my pleasure and arch my back while Aaron puts a hand around my waist to prevent me from falling back. His lips on my hardened nipples amplifies the pleasure thatexplodes from my lower abdomen and expands under my skin to every part of my body.

Aaron kisses me before he slips his fingers out and leaves me empty, but I know it won’t be for long. I see him reaching out toward the bedside table, grabbing a condom from the first drawer, and sliding it on the erection that has awakened again. With a decisive gesture, he makes me turn, hands and knees resting on the mattress while he sinks into me from behind, filling me up until I catch my breath.

His thrusts are powerful, his fingers sink into my hips, and the dirty noise of our sweaty skins colliding is the only sound in the room. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that another orgasm starts to mount. I chase it, pushing my hips against his but never being able to reach it. A frustrated sigh escapes my lips when Aaron grabs my hair and lures me against his chest.

“Come for me, Dakota.” he orders, sliding one hand around my neck, squeezing slightly, while the other rests on my clit, playing with it while he fucks me with firm blows until I reach that pleasure that escaped me.

His thrusts get faster, like my breathing, and when my third orgasm explodes, I feel him throbbing inside me, coming with a roar that is lost when he bites my shoulder. The silence that follows is broken only by our labored breaths.

We slump onto the bed and I snuggle up on his chest as he strokes my hair. I have never felt as much pleasure as tonight.

“Happy birthday to me,” I whisper and feel his chest shake with a low laugh.

He squeezes me even closer to him while he grabs the sheets with one hand and wraps us in a cocoon that tastes of stability and home. Before I fall asleep, exhausted after this day, I realize that the wish I made blowing out the candles has just come true.

“You’re gorgeous” The words choke in my throat when I look up and see Dakota walking down the stairs wrapped in a silver evening dress that enhances her curves without appearing vulgar.

I always thought she was a unique beauty, the girl next door, but dressed for a red carpet, she is breathtaking.

“You’re not bad in this tuxedo either.” She puts her hands on my chest and raises her face to leave me a light kiss on the lips.

I would like to hold her to me and deepen this kiss, but I know it took her hours to get ready, and I don’t want to ruin the perfect work of the makeup artist. I’ve been in this industry long enough to know that the red carpet spotlights are merciless with imperfections. I don’t want Dakota’s face to be slammed on the front page tomorrow because she looks like I just fucked her. We will already have to face the newspapers because we walked together on that red carpet.

“The limousine is out here waiting for us. Are you ready?” I reach out an arm to which she leans against with an almost regal bearing.

“I’ve never been so ready,” she says with a smile as we walk out, and I help her get into the car.

We arrive in front of the cinema where the film premiere to which we were invited is held. Or rather, where I was invited because it’s one of those with a big budget my father’s company produced, and Dakota is my “plus one.” We wait for our turn onthe limousine line to get out and face the red carpet.

“Are you nervous?”

When we left home, the conversation was light, we laughed and joked, but as we approached the destination, Dakota began to look out the window and remain silent. I know that in these moments, she needs to focus on finding the tranquility to face fans and the paparazzi, but I am worried she regrets being seen with me. In Hollywood, walking the red carpet with someone is almost a wedding.

“Not so much. I’m not here as a protagonist, and my presence will go quite unnoticed apart from the gossip of being here with you. I don’t have performance anxiety.” She smiles at me serenely, and I relax a bit too.

“Better this way because they will ask us questions we must answer.” I study her expression, trying to understand if she has changed her mind about this first official appearance together. It’s baffling how she deals with the array of photographers and journalists.

“And we will answer with a smile,” she reassures me when the limousine stops and the door opens onto the red carpet lined with photographers.

I’m the first to get out, and the flashes are so dazzling that I have to squint for a moment. I reach out my hand to help Dakota, and the photographers seem crazy as I put my hand on her back and guide her along the carpet that extends to the cinema entrance. The photographers are irrepressible, calling us, asking us to pose for them.

We arrive in front of the board with the movie title and stop for the official photos of this event. I wrap an arm around Dakota’s waist and she looks up at me and smiles, then puts a hand on my chest. If anyone still doubts the nature of this relationship,how we look at each other erases any uncertainty. I could spend my evening watching her instead of the movie. We go back to looking at the photographers and smiling with that perfect and often insincere expression that we have tried in the mirror hundreds of times for these occasions.

“Aaron, are you confirming your relationship with Dakota?” one of the photographers asks.

I feel Dakota’s head leaning against my chest, and when I look down on her, I find her eyes full of sweetness and a sincere smile to welcome me. I don’t need to answer the photographer’s question. I just lower myself a few inches and lay my lips on hers to unleash the flashes that make this relationship official in the eyes of the world.

I’ve never done such a thing in public, mainly because I’ve never had a serious relationship to let go this way in front of everyone. Dakota, however, brings out the part of me that makes me feel like a kid at the first crush.

“Do you think that’s enough as confirmation?” I whisper in her ear when I separate from her lips. With a finger, I try to clean my lips from the veil of lipstick that the kiss left on me, but Dakota raises a hand and helps me make myself presentable.

“Are you used to kissing people who walk the red carpet with you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

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