Paparazzi

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” His tone is slightly suspicious as he cocks his head to the side, large eyes narrowing into slits and a small frown appearing on those deliciously smooth lips of his. Daisuke Andou, heartthrob of the twenty-first century, popular amongst hormonal teenage girls and, apparently, amongst bearded men in their early thirties, judging by my sudden obsession with the redheaded actor. Of course he’d seen me before, after all, I was everywhere he was. Every award ceremony, every premiere, every coffee shop, restaurant, garden centre, I was there, whether he knew it or not.

“Probably. I’m a huge fan,” I give my best dashing smile, one that hasn’t won as many awards as his, but still, it removes the accusation from his eyes and he’s wearing that bright grin again, the one that turns my stomach inside out and sets my groin on fire. I swallow the thick lump in my throat and relax my face a little, my eyes widening innocently before I continue. “But I’ve always been too scared to ask for an autograph.”

He chuckles softly, sweeping a long strand of scarlet from his face with long, delicate fingers and pursing his lips together, an amused sparkle deep in his brown eyes. “And yet, the little girls manage it without any worries. How strange.” He pauses to look up at me from the curtain of his eyelashes, grin reduced to a small, innocent smile that does wonders for my libido. “What’s your name?”

“Kaoru. Kaoru Niikura.”

“Well, Kaoru Kaoru Niikura,” He laughs at himself and reaches for the book I bought for him to sign – his autobiography, with a series of highly flattering and gorgeous pictures, including a nude shot on page thirty-five – before he continues, his voice drops slightly lower than it was before, a pleasant, if slightly dirty smile playing on his full lips. “Never hesitate to ask me for anything you want. I’ll always be happy to oblige.”

My mouth opens and closes several times in a gormless manner, making me look like a goldfish with a goatee or just an idiot. He smiles, satisfied with the reaction. Then, he turns his attention to the book, taking the pen between his lush lips and rolling his tongue slowly around the lid, pretending to be thinking intently about what to write. I watch his elegant fingers trace gently over the contours of his collarbone and disappear under his shirt, shifting the black cotton aside slightly, coevally revealing the perfect skin.

It could’ve been an accident and to everyone in the line behind me, it probably looks innocent as fuck, simply like he has an itch or is just perplexed about how to sign his name. But they don’t see the look that he gives me from beneath his eyelashes, his deep brown irises blazing intensely in a way that makes my own eyes narrow and close, my throat dry up and my mind start working overtime.

My eyes snap open, out of focus and glazed over, to find him standing before me, dressed in a very different outfit to the one he was wearing just a few seconds ago. Still black but this time, studded leather, tight and revealing, creases forming in all the right places and highlighting every curve, rise and fall of his delicate, slender form. I raise an eyebrow questioningly, but with a smirk, he presses a shiny black finger to my lips before I can say anything.

Slowly, sinuously, he drops to his knees, keeping those large, doe-like eyes locked on my face, his expression sinfully innocent. My lungs tighten in anticipation, mind totally entranced by the man in front of me, his warm breath sending short blasts of heat to my groin and his fingers tantalising the skin of my hipbones beneath the hem of my shirt.

Still with his eyes fixed on me - but this time, his lush, pink lips forming a sort of crooked, cocky little smirk, laced with pure filth – he opens the button to my jeans in a split second and slowly, teasingly, pulls down the zipper, pressing down firmly in all the right places and sending shockwaves through every nerve in my body until a pleasant haze forms in my brain. I feel the denim slide off my hips and my fingers wander to the back of his head, tangling themselves into the soft, scarlet strands.

I look back down in time to see an indulgent smile, before his teeth scratch their way softly down the length of my groin, nibbling the clothed skin gently but enough to make me shudder, my mouth open in a silent gasp. He looks sensational, with his wide, chocolate brown eyes watching for every little reaction, his full lips gliding greedily, roughly, over every inch of concealed skin he can find. This alone is enough to make me gasp breathlessly, but both the image and the feeling of his tongue pressing firmly against the tip makes me writhe in sheer bliss.

“…Daisuke…” The name comes out as a sort of whimper crossed with a groan, my eyelids drooping slightly against the image burning my irises.

“Yes?” The man in question looks up, back in his normal clothes, his long fingers putting the lid back on the black marker pen, his eyes wandering over my flushed face curiously. Then, he looks down; a small chuckle leaving barely parted lips as he signals my trousers with a slight nod of his head. “It’s rude to point.” With that, he flashes a smile, handing me the book with a casual gesture, his face as calm as if we’d just been discussing the weather, and turns to the girl behind me. I stand there for a few moments more, gawping aimlessly at him until the security guard shuffles me along, pushing me towards the store’s exit.

I sigh and leave, waddling slightly because my trousers have suddenly grown a bit more uncomfortable and stop at a bench, turning to the first page of the book. No signature. I frown and flick through, until my gaze falls on page thirty-five, firstly to stare at the picture and secondly to read the words written in an untidy yet elegant script over his crotch.

You want me? Come and get me. I know you know where I live.

A small chuckle rises from my throat and a bright smile emerges on my lips. Cheeky bastard.