Extra Scene: Chap. 29 Museum Outtake

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As Michael slides out in front of me to leave the third row, he glances down and winks a chocolate eye at me. He’s sporting that little smirk he always gets right after he’s played a prank on me. Kind of smug. Kind of sweet. So him.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have put on that skirt, girl.” He grins, removes his right hand from his pocket, sucks on his index finger, and swaggers smoothly to the door behind his posse, whistling a merry little tune under his freakin’ breath.

“Oh, this so isn’t over.” I mutter.

I gather the few strands left of my dignity, stuff them securely in my pocket, and follow behind.

& & &

“And this…this is one of the daggers that were used to assassinate Julius Caesar himself.” Mr. Duvall speaks loudly, an air of importance cloaking his person as he lifts the worn handle with much care to display to his sparse audience. “Now, this is particularly damned difficult to get but here at Los Angeles History Museum of All Things Momentous we make sure to get the significant roots of history shelved and hung for your enjoyment. This dagger was originally wielded by Roman senate member, Servilius Casca, who was said to have struck the first blow but the dagger was later discovered by Nicolaus of…”

I sigh beneath my breath, history never a subject I particularly cared for, and instead glance about idly at the faces surrounding me.

Not surprisingly, everyone seems to be hanging onto his every word, Demitra especially. She looks like she’d love nothing more than to touch the dagger for herself just to see if it’s real. Geez, someone needs a time machine bad; I’d bet she’d get a kick out of visiting all of these ancient places to do her own research. I move my gaze over to the edge of the crowd and see Lawrence talking quietly into his big cell phone, his eyes cutting across to Duvall every once in a while as he hurries to finish his whispered conversation. Hm. There’s always someone too busy for their surroundings. The security actually look interested. I thought they’d be the ones secretly ticking off the seconds until departure time, having once again been forced to share in one of Michael’s many muses.

Speaking off…

I steal a glance over at his long figure only to find him watching Duvall with a very interested look on his face. I scoff quietly and turn back around. Punk.

I can’t believe what that maniac had the nerve to do to me while that film was rolling. Almost twenty minutes ago and I’m still shaken up. I mean, what the hell, right? That was completely insane—even for him. Anyone could have caught us—and I mean anyone. Demitra could have decided to turn around at that moment and inquire what Michael thought about the scene only to find his hand stuck up my skirt and my eyes rolling in the back of my head like a highly paid prostitute. And I couldn’t even tell him off!

And why not?

Oh, yeah, because I let him do it. I freakin’ spread my legs so his fingers could slip right in!

Why again?

​Because I’m insane. Because I’m stupid. Because I had momentary lapse in judgment that will never happen again.

Am I sure that’s why?

Ugh. Okay, because I’m addicted. Because I wanted him to do it. Because it was a momentary lapse in judgment that won’t ever happen again…unless he says otherwise. Because he’s in my bloodstream now and there’s no getting rid of him.

Biting my lip, I peak sideways at him again and immediately snap my head around when I catch myself looking directly into deep mahogany.

I hear a small almost inaudible chuckle and I scowl. He thinks he’s so clever, catching me off guard like that. I bet now he thinks he’s the man or something. And why shouldn’t he? He did, after all, get tough, snooty, little Asha to submit to sexual activities in a room full of potential snitches. He’ll probably be wearing that stupid smirk to bed tonight.

That is…if I weren’t such stubborn know-it-all who always must have the last laugh.

And now’s no exception.

There’s no way in hell or high heaven that I’m letting him get away with that. In fact, what better a time to cut his ego in pieces and show him just how much I differ from his usual brainwashed little groupies than now? Asha Rockweiler is nobody’s fool (except his on occasion…damn him) and I think it’s time that I teach that particular lesson to my spoiled superstar lover over there.

Roaming my eyes around hastily, I scan the exhibit for a nice secluded—(but not too secluded, as you remember; he didn’t give me that luxury) spot to run my game in. Suddenly, my eyes catch on a rather nice display of a miniature Roman village of the ancient times presented in a wide glass case with facts and details about their way of living written on the plaques hanging from the wall just over it. Hmm…not too close to the group being steadily more drawn into Duvall’s impressive narration of Caesar’s downfall, but not far away enough that he can be at all comfortable with what I’ll be doing. Perfect.

Need I say that hanging around with Michael has definitely brought out the more mischievous side of me? Haha, sucks for him.

Focusing my eyes on my chosen display just a few feet away, I reach out and blindly grab hold of Michael’s sleeve as though too entranced by what I’m seeing to tear my gaze away. “Wow…Michael, look at that!” I whisper excitedly. “That’s so cool how they did the village almost just like it…”

He glances down at my hand clutching his shirt then back up to give me an inquisitive stare. “Huh?”

I roll my eyes and jerk my head at the glass case. “Look at the—”

“Ah, a scarily precise replica of the Roman community.” Duvall interrupts, turning to acknowledge my whisper. “Yes, that’s one of our more detailed and fascinatingly realistic pieces. Great for any ancient era enthusiast. Um…would you rather we view that now, instead?” He asks, sounding like he’d much prefer to finish his tale of the dagger’s role in Caesar’s death.

“Oh no; not at all!” I cry in mock surprise as though appalled by the very idea. “No, your description is much too fascinating to leave everyone hanging. You just keep right on doing ​what you’re doing; Michael and I will just go take a quick peak.”

Looking immensely relieved (the oddball) he nods his head, “Very well, then,” and turns to address his small audience once again.  As everyone returns their attention to him, much to his apparent delight, I tighten my grip on Michael’s arm and haul him over to the display as though I just can’t get to this exciting piece fast enough. We come to a stop right in front of the clear case and I notice that I can still vaguely hear their distinct murmuring but that it’s not entirely too loud meaning we’re just at the right distance. Oh revenge, you’re sweet to look at but let’s see if you taste just as good.

“Okay, so what’s really going on?” Michael says lightly, leaning over the top of the glass to peer down at the tiny people. He reaches down to poke one curiously.

“I don’t know what you mean?” I play dumb, batting my eyes at him to indicate otherwise.

He rolls his eyes. “Asha, we both know you’re not into history and I know for a fact that this Roman village doesn’t interest you in the slightest. So speak.”

Dropping the façade, I smirk at him. “Well, let’s just find out what’s really going on, shall we?”

He turns to look at me curiously but I just step close to him and wrap my arm around his waist. Placing my other hand on his stomach, I nod my head as though agreeing with something that he said about the piece. Ignoring his confused stare, I adjust my back just enough so that whatever movement my hand decides to make, it won’t be visible to his small entourage.

“Asha—”

“Hush up.” I whisper at him, never taking my eyes off of the toga clad citizens. “Now, what you did in that film room was nothing short of wicked…and I intend to punish you.”

He raises an eyebrow at me and just as I suspected, that tiny smirk finds its way back to his lips. “And just how do you intend to—“ He gasps quietly as my hand swiftly tugs down his zipper. He looks over at me with wide eyes, his voice coming out like a breath, “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I, Prince?” I smirk, drawing dialogue from that time when he went ballistic with a soda-hose. Hmm, this should count towards that time too…

“Please, girl. You’re not that bold.” He smirks at me confidently.

I don’t respond. Instead I shove my small hand right through the little opening created by his newly undone fly. My eyebrows shoot up when my fingertips come in direct contact with the heated flesh of his manhood. His breath hisses through his teeth, his mouth flying open in shock. I glance at him with one arched brow, “No, underwear?”

He bites his lip before choking out half-heartedly, “I was hot.”

Grinning in amusement, I roll my eyes and waste no time in wounding my hand tight around his piece, always surprised at the sheer size of him. He releases a low groan and his eyes snap close in reflex. Man, I can’t believe I even dared taking this thing into my freakin’ body! It’s a wonder I’m still alive and kicking right now. Pushing my never-failing awe away, I swallow as I feel a flare of heat shoot down my spine and settle quite uncomfortably between my own legs, the typical reaction whenever the mere thought of this thing comes into mind.

My mind flying back to our first time together right before he laid me down, I begin to tug ​gently on his hot length, my movements restricted by his pants. This earns me a low hiss as his fist clenches at his side. Smirking and always enjoying his reactions, I lean forward to ‘examine’ the village more closely, meanwhile my hand begins to pump his steadily hardening cock at a faster tempo, enjoying the way his veins seems to pulse beneath my palm.

Gosh, I love this thing. I’ve had so many dreams about his penis it’s not even funny. And the sad part? Sometimes it has no body to accompany it…it’s just an abnormally large penis coming to pick me up for dinner. If Michael ever found out about that particular dream…I think I’d die and move to China. In that order.

Noticing his tensing muscles, I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and lightly trail my nails down the sensitive flesh of his manhood. He releases a groan that makes my heart skip a few beats and my head snap back to see if anyone heard. They didn’t. Whew. Turning back to him, I pull my hand out—he literally whines, his eyes flashing open as he turns to look at me. Feeling strangely daring and vengeful, I stare him straight in the eye and  run my tongue down the length of my palm before shoving it right back into his trousers. As soon as my newly slick hand takes hold of his rock-hard cock, I give it one hard pull causing his hips to jerk harshly and his mouth to fly open as his head tosses back.

Wow…what an amazing power.

Smirking, I stroke the soft foreskin with my fingers before pressing my index finger against the tiny opening at the head of his penis. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing but it seems to be working, judging by his reaction. He releases a gargled moan and his hand flies to rest on top of mine over his pants, forcing me to press harder against him as his hips give a discreet roll into my palm. I swallow as that heat between my legs threatens to sear a hole through me and I find myself releasing my pent-up sexual desire on him by speeding up my pumping of him incredibly. My finger presses firmly into his opening and soon I feel the scorching hot drippings of his pre-release.

Oh, man. What have I done? This is torturing me just as much as it is him…well, scratch that. He is definitely the more tortured victim here. Haha.

“Oh my…Asha…” He hisses, his voice quivering.

Noticing the dangerous way his cock is pulsing in my grip, I seize my chance and lean over to press my lips to his ear. Hearing Mr. Duvall nearing the conclusion of his epic retelling of a historic event, I sum up my most demanding whisper and I use it to give one simple command, “Cum.”

And with that I feel my hand being drenched in his creamy hot essence, my cue to withdraw. Pulling free and hastily yanking his zipper up as I go, I tuck my left hand into the pocket of my blazer, balling my newly moist palm into a fist. Michael’s own hand flies out to the wall in front of us to catch his body as it gives one final shudder, a loud and distinct, “Oh God!” tumbling from his lips and echoing around the exhibit.

I see Duvall and the rest of the groups’ attention snapping to us in my peripheral vision, no doubt Michael’s irrepressible cry of pleasure catching everyone’s attention. And now they’re all coming over. Man. Get it together, Michael, really!

“’Oh God’ is right, Michael; I mean, look at the detail!” I exclaim falsely, leaning over to take a look at the village for the umpteenth time.

​“What’s all the commotion about, Mike?” Demitra asks, coming to stand between me and Michael, her blond brows lowered in bemusement as she takes in the way he’s leaning over the glass case with his palm pressed into the wall. “You okay?”

Michael cuts his gaze to me before turning his attention back to his perplexed assistant. Clearing his throat and gaining his composure with a swiftness and elegance that I’ll never be able to explain, he announces, “Of course I’m okay! I’m just…astounded by this amazing piece of art. The detail is incredible. And I can’t get over the way every piece seems to be precisely sculpted just so—”

“That’s because they were, Mr. Jackson!” Duvall interrupts proudly. Then glancing at Michael with a hesitant smile, he asks, “Er…does that mean you would like to purchase it? Surely that kind of a response isn’t elicited for every relic?”

I smirk at him over Demitra’s shoulder, and he scowls discreetly before straightening up and saying, “Of course, I would! I haven’t seen anything this amazing in a long time.”

“Really?” Demitra inquires, raising a brow as she tilts her head, trying to see the glamour in it that Michael obviously does. “Well…I guess it is nice.”

“Of course, it is!” Michael nods, clapping his hands together in finality. “Uh…mark it for me, please. I’ll have someone swing by to pick it up tomorrow. I think we’re done here, Demitra. I need to fall dow—uh, sit down. I need to sit down…in a chair. Back at the house…Now.” And with that he turns his back on us and starts towards the exit, his first couple of steps a little shaky before he clears his throat and gets his walk together.

“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Demitra asks, turning to give me a funny look.

I scoff and shake my head. “Who knows what goes on with that goofball? I guess the art just…really got him excited.”

Demitra thinks for a second and then gives me a bright smile. “Yes, he does get a little crazy when he sees something he likes. But oh well,” She sighs shrugging her shoulders. “That’s just Michael, for ya. You ready?”

“Um…can I just run to the bathroom really quickly?” I ask already heading back down the hall. Got to clean this hand off. “I’ll be right back!”

“Okay, sweetie, hurry up!”

Haha. Man, am I awesome or what? Revenge you are so good to me.

___________

“So…I just made you spend about a hundred thousand dollars on a village that you didn’t even want.” I whisper smirkingly at Michael as the car begins to move.

He scowls at me. “I can’t believe you.”

I fold my arms at him. “Oh, so you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Slowly his scowl morphs into a grin, his tongue coming out to roam his bottom lip quickly. He shrugs, “No. I just can’t believe you’re so damn perfect.”

I smirk. Bingo. “You can’t? Still? So…does that mean you’ll be needing another example?”

He sighs and closes his eyes as his head tilts back against his headrest. “Girl…don’t even start talking like that right now. I don’t think I could take it. All I can say is, this has been the best musuem visit I have ever experienced.”

​I laugh quietly and lean in to whisper in his ear, “I love you, Michael.”

At my words, his bottom lip slips right between his teeth. He opens his mouth, hesitates…and then offers me a small smile. He reaches out and takes my hand, closing his long (and freakishly talented) fingers around mine before saying quietly,  “I know you do.”

He eyes me for a second longer, those words he never speaks to me on the tip of his tongue…and then just as fast, they’re gone. Closing his eyes and turning his head, he prepares to take a nap for the remainder of the ride. I frown a little. He didn’t say it again. He never does. Not really. Every once in a while…I guess, I understand it, though. I do. He’s been burned by the words a million times before. He shows me he loves me in different ways. He kisses me like a man in love. He touches me like a man infatuated. He stares at me like there’s no one else around for miles.

But I wish he didn’t hesitate so much with the words.

I sigh.

He squeezes my hand gently, causing me to glance over at him and give a small smile. He loves me. So much…even if he doesn’t actually say it. I know he does.

….