Kissed by a Rose
Copyright© 2022 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 41
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 41 - Who'd have thought that hearing someone's tears in the library could change your life? For Adam Smith, it led to love. But when your new girlfriend is England's Rose, the latest starlet to grace the silver screen, then life's not going to be easy. Hounded by the press. Autograph hunters at every turn. Everyone says an ordinary student & a superstar just don't mix. They're from two different worlds. It will never last. She's his power, his pleasure, his pain & every Rose has its Thorn
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction School
“Adam? Adam?” She shook him gently.
He blinked and stared through weary eyes. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
“But you’re dressed and ready to go.”
“I know. It’s an early start on set. You know, make-up and wardrobe and stuff.”
“You should have woken me earlier.”
“I figured that after last night you needed your rest.” She bent and whispered in his ear. “You were amazing last night. Fucking amazing.” Chloë straightened up again. “I want you all rested for a repeat performance tonight.”
Adam sat up in bed. “But I wanted to see you act.”
“And you will. Josh will pick you up at nine and bring you to the set. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to be hanging around while nothing is going on. You’ll probably be bored hanging around when something is going on. You have another hour or so. I’ll see you later.”
Adam couldn’t get back to sleep after Chloë left, so he had a shower and got dressed instead. Then he had a look around the posh apartment. It covered just under one half of the building’s twenty-fifth floor. Cut in half by a hallway along its length, there were two large bedrooms and an opulent bathroom on one side of the hall, and a large open-plan kitchen and living area on the other. Chloë’s master bedroom had a splendid view of the river Thames and the City of London and was twice the size of her bedroom back in Westmouth. The other bedroom was smaller but still bigger than the main bedroom in her Westmouth home.
Adam made breakfast in the kitchen and ate it on the balcony overlooking the river.
Right on time at nine, the security intercom buzzed and Josh told Adam he was ready to leave at any time he liked.
The journey to the set was uneventful. The shoot was taking place in a large, unassuming warehouse in West London. Inside there were four sets—a teenage bedroom, a bachelor pad lounge, a classroom and a pub. Josh left Adam with the director, Chloë’s friend Mark Watson.
“Hi, Adam. Nice to see you again. How are you?”
“I’m fine thanks. How’s the film going?”
“Honestly?” Mark sucked in a breath. “Not well. Between you, me and everyone else on set, Chloë’s been a bit of a pain. It’s weird—she’s normally a dream to work with. But this past week ... It’s like she’s a different person. Always late for the shoot. Telling make-up and wardrobe how to do their jobs.” He shook his head. “And she keeps reminding us all that she’s an Oscar winner. Like she’s the only one on this set with a gold statue. Sam’s got three, I’ve got one and the costume designer has four.”
“Four?”
Mark nodded. “She’s very good.”
Adam shrugged. “To tell the truth, she’s been like that in Westmouth too.”
“I guessed as much. It happens to a lot of them. Shame, ‘cause I thought Chloë was better than that. Looks like I was wrong. I was hoping you could have a talk with her and make her see sense, but...”
“I was hoping you or Sam would be able to do the same thing,” said Adam. “Did she show you those scripts that the woman from America sent her?”
“That she did. I told her to be careful of Hilda, but she’s stopped listening to me.”
“What did you think of them?”
“Garbage. Hollywood trash. As a favour to Chloë, I sat and read through them over two nights. I shouldn’t have bothered for all the notice she took of my advice.”
“What about that Cosmogirl thing. It’s pretty high profile.”
“It’s a career killer, that’s what that is. She needs to stay well away from it. From all of them. But I bet she doesn’t.”
“Is that young Adam?” said a booming voice from behind them. Adam turned to greet Sam Bradwell. “So it is. Good to see you.” He held out a giant hand, which Adam duly shook.
“It’s a pleasure. Again.”
Sam smiled. “Wish I could say the same about young Chloë. Don’t know what’s wrong with the girl. No, wait, I do know what’s wrong. Oscaritis. That’s what she’s got. That damn statue has gone to her head.”
“You think so too.”
“I know so. Sort her out, will you please? I don’t care how you do it—just sort her out. Even if you have to withhold her conjugal rights, I want that girl behaving properly, taking direction and playing the part she was cast for. Her piss poor attitude is costing me money.”
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