Hi all! I'm posting a new series i've written on Literotica. If I get enough support on this one, I'll post the second part up later today.
I was awoken again by the sound of laughter, doors shutting and a heavy trolleys being carted down the hallway. It was becoming intolerable. There were a multitude of guests moving in and out of the room next door. Gales of laughter and chatter signalled their arrival and departure. In hindsight, all the paparazzi and security downstairs should've tipped me off that something was going on in the hotel. Suddenly I heard a female voice call out rather loudly from just outside my door,
"Are we done yet?"
"Almost, I'll send the next one up," replied someone further in the distance.
To their credit, they were both clearly trying to keep their voices down. But I could still hear them clearly. The clock read 11:45 pm. I had been falling asleep and waking up for over an hour.
Frustrated, I stormed out of my room and into the hall and knocked angrily on the door of the room adjacent to mine. The door opened quickly and before I even laid eyes on the person inside, I said,
"Excuse me, but it's almost midnight and I'm REALLY sleep deprived and you and your friends have been making a lot of noise."
"I'm so sorry. I'm almost done for tonight. I'll try to keep the noise down," replied a female English accent.
I had seen the person standing before me countless times on TV and in magazines, and yet despite that, I couldn't quite believe it was really her. She looked me right in the eyes, and gave me a beautiful smile. I know it's cheesy to say, but Emma Watson was more beautiful in person than in the movies.
She clearly realised I wasn't in the best of moods and decided not to say anything further. But when Emma Watson looks you in the eyes and smiles, any anger you might have had vanishes in an instant. Eventually, I said,
"Okay, this explains a lot. You're Emma Watson aren't you?"
"So they tell me."
"And all those people were-"
"Journalists," she said. "My flight came in late so I missed the press conference earlier today. And my publicist thought it would be a good idea to let the top tabloids and film blogs get one-on-one interviews with me. We've gone way over time."
"I'm sorry, I hadn't realised it was you. I just figured with all the noise coming from your room and all the men apparently lining up..."
A bemused look crept across her face and suddenly I realised how I sounded. I would not blame her if she were to hit me.
"Fuck. I'm sorry, I'm not implying...it's just...fuck. I'm really tired," I stammered.
To my surprise, she laughed and said, "No no, don't apologise. I get it. If there's a long line of men entering a girl's hotel room late at night; that girl's likely to be an actress or a hooker."
'Just remember that you said that and not me,' I chuckled.
I was glad to see she was apparently not the stuck-up diva I was half expecting. In fact, she seemed anything but a huge movie star. She was shorter than me, my age and wearing a surprisingly pedestrian jeans and shirt ensemble. She could've passed as an average university student.
"I would've thought someone of your stature would be up in the penthouse," I said.
"Some foreign diplomat has booked out the place," she replied before asking, "You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours."
She leaned against the door frame in a manner that was strangely alluring. For a moment, I actually forgot my own name. But I recovered quickly and replied,
"Emma," she replied and extended her hand.
"Yeah, I know," I laughed nervously, still very much star struck.
We shook hands. Her grip was firm, and her hand was smoother than I thought possible. She felt real, she looked real and her perfume smelt real, but this whole exchange still felt like it was a dream. Meeting Emma Watson just should not factor into my daily schedule. I mean, the mere geographical distance between where I live in Australia and her home country of England should be enough to guarantee a lifetime of separation between us.
"I hope I didn't wake you," she said with surprising sincerity.
"I'm glad you did, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. I love your work," I said, whilst trying hard to curb my enthusiasm.
"That's very nice of you to say. What do you do for a living?"
"Lawyer. Well, a graduate lawyer anyway. I'm still at the bottom of the food chain."
"Still, you're a lawyer. That sounds exciting."
"Says the famous actress."
She laughed. "You sound Australian."
"What's with the hotel room? Did the girlfriend kick you out of the house?" she asked with a wry smile.
In the back of my mind, a small part of me wondered if the girlfriend remark was just to see if I was single. Another part of me thought I was a fucking idiot for even thinking she would be interested. But then, she did seem very normal. And I know many relationships that have started with innocent conversations like this. But the mere thought of the word "relationship" entering into this train of thought meant I was having delusions of grandeur.
"Actually, I'm from out of town. I'm just in Sydney for a few days on business; mainly observing court proceedings. What about you? I swear I saw you on the news earlier tonight."
"Film premiere. I was suppose to fly into Sydney this morning, have a press conference and then attend the premiere, but my flight was delayed and I only arrived about 5 or 6 hours ago. I barely made the premiere. And now I've been subjected to almost two hours of interviews."
"Time to get a new publicist I think."
She gave a tired laugh. "I think you're right."
There was a momentary pause. She continued to lean against the door frame and look down the hallway absently. I had eyes only for her. It was strange to be this close to her. I could smell her intoxicating perfume, see every strand of hair and every tiny detail on her face. She wore a lot of makeup, but considering she was giving interviews and had a premiere only several hours earlier, it wasn't much of surprise.
"How much longer are you in Sydney?" I asked.
"I have a few more interviews tomorrow, a photo shoot and then I'm off to New Zealand the next day. You?"
"Attending a trial tomorrow from about 9-5 and pray to God the matter doesn't drag onto the next day. But more likely than not, I'll probably leave Sydney the same day as you."
Suddenly, a female voice called out from down the hall, "Emma! Empire Magazine is here for you."
Further down the hall by the elevator stood a professional looking middle aged woman, and with her, presumably the Empire Magazine interviewer and a cameraman behind her.
Emma turned to me for a moment and whispered, "Kill me,' before waving them over.
"Nice meeting you Miss Watson," I said.
We shook hands again as she said, "Please, you look the same age as me. Call me Emma."
I smiled and turned to leave but suddenly found her still gripping my hand. I turned to face her again and for a moment, she looked as if her words had left her. Dare I say she even looked slightly nervous. It was a strange sight to see a famous celebrity like her at a loss for words. It was even stranger given the fact she was talking to me. Eventually, she blurted out,
"I'm not doing anything tomorrow night."
This took my by surprise and I struggled to play it cool. "Neither do I."
"Great," she said sounding relieved.
"Just knock anytime after 5."
Suddenly her publicist was pushing her into the room and the Empire Magazine crew quickly followed. Neither of them gave me as much as a glance.
I walked in a daze back to my room, not quite believing what had happened. Should've grabbed an autograph or a photo I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
My first thoughts upon waking up the next morning were of Emma. Last night felt like a dream. I had woken up, got out of bed, went across the hall, talked to one of the biggest movie stars on the planet and fell asleep again two minutes later; it could've very easily been a dream. But then, my dreams of meeting beautiful actresses usually involve more nudity.
This was real. Emma Watson was next door. That was reality. A wide array of fantasies went through my head; each one more ridiculous and unlikely than the last. Eventually, I put these thoughts aside and grabbed my iPad and Googled "Emma Watson". Most of the results were expected.
"EMMA WATSON- WIKIPEDIA" "EMMA WATSON- THE OFFICIAL WEBSITE" "PEEK-A-BOOB: EMMA WATSON'S LATEST RED-CARPET WARDROBE MALFUNCTION"
The latter really wasn't a big deal; just the tabloids spouting their typical drivel and blowing something way out of proportion. Other search results were more recent but not exactly interesting.
"EMMA WATSON SHINES AT SYDNEY PREMIERE OF NEW MOVIE" "EMMA WATSON RUMOURED FOR ARONOFSKY'S NEXT PROJECT"
Some other search results however...
"EMMA WATSON BREAKS UP WITH BOYFRIEND"
I clicked on the link immediately. The article was dated only 3 months ago. The subheading read:
"SOURCES CLOSE TO HARRY POTTER STAR CONFIRM SPLIT CITING ERRATIC FILMING SCHEDULES AND LACK OF COMMUNICATION IN RECENT MONTHS"
For some inexplicable reason, this excited me. But even I knew this excitement made no sense. This was Emma Watson after all. Her being single doesn't exactly mean I get to fill the void. That's like saying I get to play in the English Soccer team because David Beckham is out injured; it just doesn't work that way. But then I remembered her words to me last night: "I'm not doing anything tomorrow night" and "just knock anytime after 5".
The thought continued to occupy my mind all morning. I continued to think about it while I was eating breakfast, while I was at work and every other second of the day. Was this a date? Was it just a drink? There was only one certainty; if I wanted to do something, I needed to do it quickly. We would both only be in Sydney for another day and God knows when she'd ever return to Australia. But even as these plans and schemes ran through my head, I knew how ridiculous they were.
I sat through the trial in Court that day and barely paid attention. Closing arguments are MUCH longer in real life than in the movies. I was just as restless when the judge came to a decision and delivered his verdict late in the afternoon. I sat in the public gallery taking notes and thinking about Emma. Where do I take someone like her on a date? Her million dollar pay checks aside; should I be chivalrous and pay for the meal?
Court was adjourned at 4:45 pm. I found myself practically running back to the hotel. I arrived at 5:05 and almost knocked on her door then and there. But I decided it probably didn't look good if I knocked only five minutes after five o'clock, sweating, out of breath and still in my work clothes. So I went inside my room, showered, picked out a nice set of clothes and spent about 20 minutes trying to look impeccable. The whole time I wondered what she was doing. Was she going above and beyond preparing a potential date like I was? Was she anxiously waiting by the door for me? Did she forget?
I knocked on the door at 5:30. I had butterflies in my stomach, I was sweating and I was unable to keep still. Funny thing though; no one came to the door. In answer to my earlier question; it turns out she did forget.
It was 8:00 pm. I sat at the hotel bar sullenly drinking a beer and eating a burger. To be honest, I was enjoying the beer much more. For the entire day all I thought about was Emma. I concocted all these unlikely fantasies in my head, but I now considered them all completely impossible. I missed what ever tiny and insignificantly small chance I might have had.
To get over this monumental disappointment, I turned my attention back to the reason I was in Sydney, my work. My mind turned away from Emma and back to case law, fresh evidence and grounds for appeal. On the one hand, appealing the verdict would be relatively easy. However, given the fact that this matter was moved to a different jurisdiction and my firm already briefed the matter out to an independent barrister, no one is quite sure who should-
"This seat taken?" said a familiar voice.
It was almost frightening how attuned I was to Emma's English accent. Every word was so precisely pronounced giving her diction an air of sophistication. I turned around to see her; even in my dreams she didn't look this beautiful. I tried to find one imperfection but I couldn't. She wore what appeared to be a Burberry coat and beneath, just regular jeans and a sleeveless blouse. While she dressed like any other twentysomething year old, she also exuded a very glamorous Hollywood quality. It's probably her makeup and very elaborate hairdo; not to mention her absurdly large sunglasses she wore, at 8:00 pm no less.
"I'm not interrupting you am I?" she asked after I didn't respond.
"No, God no," I said, instantly forgetting all my dull musings about work.
She sat down next to me as I tried to think of something clever to say. As before, my words failed me and the only quip I could come up with was,
"Nice sunglasses. Do they only come in extra extra large?"
Emma smiled tiredly before replying, "It's all part of my never ending game of hide and seek with the paparazzi"
"Who won today's game?"
"Considering the hotel concierge is outside shouting that only patrons are allowed inside, I'll give them this one."
The scent of her perfume filled the air; it lured me in and I didn't want to leave her side ever again. She smiled at me and casually took some chips off my plate before ordering a beer for herself. How the hell can she make something this ordinary look so damn sexy?
"You look really pretty," I said dumbly.
"Thank you," she replied in an almost shy manner.
"Seriously, you look really good."
"Hair and makeup courtesy of Vogue Magazine. Just got back from a photo shoot."
"Oh. I just assumed you were going somewhere nice."
"I am. I'm having a drink with you. Sorry I missed out date, the photo shoot and interview ran overtime like always. I would've called, but I didn't have your number."
There was so much to process in so little time. Not least of which was the fact she used the word "date". I decided to seize the opportunity.
"Not too late to go somewhere. Pick a place."
She flashed me a very endearing smile and said, "Sorry, but I'm really tired, I think I'd prefer to spend the night in the hotel. And also, don't take this the wrong way, but if I'm seen leaving this place with you, TMZ will be running an article about how I have new boyfriend by dawn tomorrow."
"I'd actually be perfectly fine with that."
She laughed before subtly changing topics and asking, "How was your day in Court?"
I smiled at her question; partially because I didn't expect her to remember our conversation. Despite the very good impression she made, I still expected her to act very stuck-up and elitist. But aside from her Burberry coat which I could only assume was as overpriced as anything bearing the word "Burberry", she still exuded a very down-to-Earth vibe.
"Well, my client is completely fucked. So there's that. How was your day?"
"Pretty good. Interviews went well and I learnt some kick-arse hair and makeup tips from the girls at Vogue."
"So you're enjoying Australia then?"
"I love it. The people here are great. People here have much less of a "fuck you" attitude than the States and are less snooty and pretentious than England."
"You've clearly never been to Melbourne."
"And you've clearly never been to Brown University or London," she replied, laughing.
She took a few more chips off my plate which brought a smile to my face. I hadn't expected to be sharing food with Emma Watson. Such small innocent acts like this brought me more joy than I thought possible.
"I'm sorry I seem to be eating all your food but I've barely eaten a thing since breakfast. The studios been running me ragged. I'm starving."
"Don't worry. I like watching you eat."
This time she visibly blushed. I sat there for a moment trying to figure out if what I just said was charming or creepy. I suspected the latter. In order to change topics, I said,
"Oh, I almost forgot."
I reached into my bag on the barstool beside me and pulled out a copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows". She laughed the moment she saw it and took my pen without question.
"You didn't think you'd get away without signing something did you?" I said.
"Don't worry, I'm use to it,' she laughed, before adding; "Such a shame though, I was starting to like you, but you just had to bring up Harry Potter didn't you?!"
"What wrong with Harry Potter?!" I chuckled.
"You obviously don't like talking about your work. I don't like talking about mine. And seriously, of all the books you got 'Deathly Hallows' "
"I would've gotten 'Prisoner of Azkaban' but they were sold out."
"Shame, it's my favourite."
She finished writing something on the inside of the book and handed it back to me. I put it back into bag without another word. Emma ordered another drink having already finished her first. We lapsed into a momentary silence. I looked at her carefully for a moment and realised she was tapping her foot on the floor furiously and simultaneously tearing apart a napkin. I realised just then that for whatever reason, she was nervous. Why, I could not say. But then it dawned on me that for all her fame and riches, she was still a 23 year old girl having a drink at a bar with a guy she just met. Could it be that she was just as scared of me as I was of her? Even the mere notion seemed ridiculous, but here we are. After a moment, she said, and I suspected more to break the silence than anything else:
"A signed copy of that book will fetch you a few hundred quid on eBay."
"I'll keep that in mind."
More silence. She just sat at the bar leaning heavily on one elbow sipping her beer. I peered beneath the makeup and realised how tired she was. I just sat in Court all day but now that I actually thought what she said, I realised she must've been on the move constantly.
"Tired?" I asked.
"Very. And jet-lagged," she explained.
I watched her as she brought the cold beer to her lips and drank almost a third of the pint at once. I loved that she could just sit at the bar and have a beer; somehow I had expected her to be the Cristal drinking type.
I finished up my dinner as she looked around the bar for a moment before turning to me and saying;
"That guy sitting at the end of the bar on my left."
I looked past her down the bar to see an ordinary guy in his 30s looking at us. Not surprisingly, he appeared very interested in Emma but seemed harmless enough.
"What about him?" I asked.
"Is he taking photos of me with his phone?"
I looked at him carefully and saw his iPhone was sitting on its side on the bar. He subtly had his finger on the camera button and appeared to be furiously taking photos stealthily.
"Well I'll be damned," I muttered, "should I call security?"
"No, let's just go," she sighed.
"I thought you didn't want to go out."
"I don't. We'll head up to my room. It'll give us some privacy. We'll have a few drinks."
I didn't hesitate to say "yes" and was already on my feet before she could say another word. Before we left, Emma got the bartender's attention and said,
"Can I grab two of those bottles!" Emma said, pointing to some champagne bottles on the top shelf with labels didn't recognise.
This took the bartender by surprised, I assume partly because Emma Watson was speaking to him but also because no one probably asked to buy that brand of champagne. "Two? One bottle is quite pricey."
Emma just chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him. He caught on pretty quickly that price wasn't going to be an issue for this girl. He grabbed two bottles from the top shelf while Emma placed what appeared at least eight $50 bills on the counter.
"And could you have sent up to room 1138 whatever my friend was eating. I'm starving," she said before turning to me and asking, "Do you want anything?"
"I've got everything I want right here," I replied not too subtly.
Emma casually handed me both bottles, grabbed her purse and stood up.
"Will you forgive if I abandon chivalry and not offer to pay for these?" I said, while trying to pronounce the name of the French champagne label in my head.
"Don't worry. I can afford it."
"Yeah I know. I Googled how much you earn," I muttered.
Getting to Emma's room took much longer than I expected, in no small part because we were stopped repeatedly by her fans who approached her asking for photos and to shake her hand. I was exhausted just watching this, but Emma, ever the consummate professional and was patient and polite to every single on of them.
Eventually, we finally reached our rooms. I blindly threw bag into my room, hearing the books and folders inside crash with a loud thud against the cupboard, before closing the door and hurriedly walking into Emma's room. It was certainly smaller than I expected for a celebrity, but still considerably larger than mine. It was clearly a room meant for a family, but I suppose with the penthouse booked out, this was the next best thing. And the hotel had clearly added a couple of extra luxury amenities to make her feel at home from considerably more expensive furniture to a comically large gift basket. Emma hadn't even touched the gift basket save for a bottle of wine which stood mostly empty beside the basket; I only spotted one glass.
"Make yourself at home Nate. I'll be back in a minute. Just need to freshen up," she said, before adding, "and open up the champagne. I need a drink."
I sat down on the couch and opened the bottle of champagne and filled two glasses I found in the kitchen (the fact this hotel room even had a kitchen took me by surprise). I drank a large portion my glass to calm my nerves and quickly refilled it so Emma wouldn't notice. I decided I'd try to take it easy on the alcohol. I only just realised I already had several beers down in the hotel bar. But then, so did she. In fact, now that I thought about it, she finished both of her beers remarkably quickly. I didn't know what to make of the fact she brought me up here along with two bottles of expensive champagne.
I was lost in these thoughts when Emma slinked past and sat down on the couch beside me and grabbed her glass. She had taken off her coat and slipped out of her heels. She rested her bare feet against on the table and casually took a sip and turned on the TV without saying a word. Her jeans clung tightly to her legs and her sleeveless blouse showed off her slender arms.
"Emma, that perfume of yours is something else."
"You don't like it?" she said with a hint of concern in her voice.
"Oh no, I love it. You smell so damn good."
She blushed and turned away for a moment taking a large sip of her champagne before replying,
"Something I picked up in Cannes during the film festival. I'm glad you like it."
I looked at her once more; it seems looking at her is all I'm capable of doing around her. She just had this wonderful quality, beyond her fame, which just made her impossible to turn away from. At the moment, all I could think about was how perfect she looked. And I don't mean that to be hyperbole, I mean she actually looked perfect. Everything from her makeup to her hair just seemed that much neater and flawless compared to when we first walked into the room. Was this for my benefit? She noticed I was staring at her and asked,
"Nothing, you just look so..." I said before trailing off.
Emma leaned in close to me on the couch and asked in a seductive voice, "Yes?"
I couldn't help but chuckle nervously as I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her eyes for a moment. I was going to reply with a cheesy pick-up line when I spotted something in my peripheral and said,
"You're on TV."
Emma turned to the TV and sure enough, there was footage of the film premiere from last night. Emma reached for the remote and turned up the volume. I was thankful for the distraction. I was hopeless at flirting under normal circumstances much less with famous actresses. On the television, Emma walking down the red carpet in an ornate white dress. The reporter said,
"Harry Potter actress Emma Watson was 20 minutes late for the Australian premiere of her new film and walked down the red carpet alone. The 23 year old actress later cited a delay with her flight in Kuala Lumpur. Watson was eventually joined by her co-stars for photos, but not before an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction caused her to bare more skin than she would have liked, causing a flurry of photos from the press."
"Oh fuck me!" Emma muttered exhaustedly before adding, "I didn't even realise."
I struggled to suppress a smile but Emma shot me a glare that was two parts embarrassment and one part annoyance.
"It's not as bad as you think," I said comfortingly.
"You're just saying that. They didn't even show any footage."
"Well it's all over the internet."
Emma looked surprise and said, "Have you seen the pictures?"
I trailed off as Emma looked at me again with those eyes of hers. She didn't seem particularly angry, just embarrassed. Her face was red as a beet as it became more flushed.
"I may have seen a couple of articles about it this morning," I continued.
"Like I said, it's not bad. Just a hint quick glimpse of your...um," I stammered, not sure how to best phrase it.
"My tits?" Emma suggested with a nervous smile.
"No, just you nipples," I replied hesitantly.
"Oh God," Emma groaned, burying her head in her hands.
"Actually it's more like nipple. Only one of them was visible."
"I just had to pick the dress with a lot of cleavage didn't I?" she muttered, more to herself than to me. "I wasn't even wearing pasties last night."
"Wearing what?" I asked.
"Pasties. They're these little patches that cover your nipples. Actresses use them all the time when they're filming a nude scene or on the red carpet to avoid stuff like this. They've saved me from a few awkward wardrobe malfunctions in the past," Emma explained.
"Still, don't worry about it. Not really a big deal. And you looked great."
"I looked great? Or my nipples did?" she asked wryly.
I thought about the question for a moment and before slowly replying, "Both."
Emma laughed and gently placed a hand on my forearm. Emma Watson was touching my arm. It's strange how something so innocent could feel so good. It only lasted for a moment though. She quickly reached for her champagne glass again and took another sip. And a few moments of silence, Emma said,
"It could've been worse I suppose. The dress hugged my body rather closely, so I had to go commando last night."
"Commando? You mean no...um...no panties," I asked slowly as my mouth suddenly went dry and my pulse suddenly quickened just a tiny bit.
"None," she said.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Emma jumped to her feet and headed to the door. Her food had arrived.
The next couple of hours were a blur. She ate her dinner, we both drank and talked while the TV was on in the background. It was hardly a romantic date. We were just two people hanging out. It wasn't at all how I expected a night with Emma Watson to go. Despite all appearances pointing to the contrary, part of me still expected a prima donna who would complain about all the grease and the amount of calories in her burger. Instead she devoured the whole thing plus her fries and spent a couple of minutes debating whether to order another one. She was just an ordinary girl in her early twenties. Mind you this ordinary girl was famous worldwide and had millions to her name, but as we talked about everything from favourite restaurants to music and even our shared love of 'Game of Thrones', it was hard to view her as anything more than a girl my age who I shared common interests with and whose company I enjoyed for reasons that went beyond her fame. In other words, if this were anyone else, I would've asked her out on a date by now. And call me crazy, but she seemed to be flirting just as much as I was.
Long after she had finished her meal and we were well into the second bottle of champagne, we found ourselves leaning on oppose ends of the couch, facing each other with our legs intertwined. Her right foot was running up and down my leg; neither of us made a big deal of it, but secretly, I think by this point, we both knew what the other wanted. I said to her,
"So, sorry if this sounds rude, and not that I don't love hanging out with Miss Hermione Granger, but aren't there other people from your film who were at the premiere that you'd rather hang out with?"
"Do you hang out with your work colleagues?"
"Just because I worked with them for a couple of months, doesn't mean they're the type of people I'd hangout with. They're good people, but just not my type of people."
"But I am?"
"You're funny. And aside from the book you had me sign before and the fact you just called me Hermione, you've barely mentioned Harry Potter. A quality I look for in a guy."
"Are you looking for a guy?"
"Not actively. But I'll admit, I've been keeping an eye out during these past months."
"Ever since you split with your boyfriend?" I asked while watching her face carefully to gauge her reaction.
She lowered the glass of champagne from her lips and said, "You've been researching me."
"You're an interesting person."
"Because I played Hermione Granger?"
"Partly. But also because you're not at all what I expected."
"And what did you expect Nate?"
"A spoilt child actress," I said honestly.
"You haven't seen me on my bad days," she replied with a smile.
"I'd like to."
"You really wouldn't. I can be a real prima donna when I want to be. Every bit the bitchy Hollywood celebrity."
"Are you sure that's not just you being a woman?"
Emma laughed and playfully kicked me. "How very chauvinistic of you."
"Alright, so we've established that I'm funny and you're not a prima donna. But I still don't think that explains why you invited me up here."
"I'm just feeling a bit lonely I guess."
"Really?" I asked.
I took that as a sign and sat up straight and pulled her right leg into my lap.
"Really," she replied firmly.
I placed my hand on her knee and slowly ran it up the inside of her thigh. The champagne had given me a bold courage. I'd been drinking so much I barely realised the significance of what I was doing and to who I was doing it to. All I knew in this moment was that I wanted her. And she seemed very willing.
I slid my hand over her coarse denim jeans until my hand was right between her legs, the top of my fingers grazing the zipper of jeans. Despite all that, I could still feel the warmth from between her legs. Emma held her breath and waited for me to continue. She remained still on the couch, with her legs in my laps and my hand between her thighs. Things had escalated quickly.
I decided to go for it and laid my hand flat against her groin. Emma inhaled sharply at my touch. I took her reaction as a green light and leaned in a kissed her on the lips. Her perfume filled my nostrils again but this time I could also smell champagne on her breath. This was probably not a good idea. But neither of us cared. Her lips were wet and soft and her tongue...
I moved my hand from between her legs and slid it up her shirt. I laid a hand on her bra and pulled it above her breasts and savoured the bare skin beneath my hand and the nipple between my fingers. My hands were all over her. I was so preoccupied I barely noticed the fact she was basically just lying still and not moving much.
"I want you Emma. I want you so badly," I whispered into her ear.
I reluctantly tore my hand away from her tits and moved it back down to her jeans. I undid the top button and her zipper to reveal her white panties beneath. Without thinking, I slipped my hand into her panties and ran my fingers through her pubic hair. Emma moaned slightly as I touched her most intimate area. All the while, I was still kissing her when she suddenly pulled away and said,
"I don't think I can do this."
I was barely listening. There was no romance in this moment. I just desperately needed her and assumed she felt the same way. It was like a frenzied dream. I moved my hand further down and felt her tight hot opening at the tip of my fingers.
"Nate," she said meekly.
I pulled my hand away momentarily before taking her jeans and panties in my hand and roughly yanking at them, bringing them down halfway down her thighs. I was about to undo my own jeans when suddenly Emma sat up and brought her hand to my face.
"Stop," she said with authority.
"What's wrong?" I asked frustrated.
"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this."
"This. We've just met. We don't know each other."
"You invited me up remember?" I said in a slightly more aggressive tone than I intended.
"I know. It's just, I don't know what I was thinking," she stammered. "I think you should leave."
I looked at her pleading eyes. We were both sitting up on the couch, our faces inches away from each other. Her jeans were still pulled down to her knees. I placed both hands on them causing her to shut her eyes and say,
Ignoring the alcohol fuelled impulses in my head, I gently pulled them up her legs and covered up her nakedness. I even zipped her up and buttoned her jeans before looking her in the eyes. She smiled weekly at me before saying,
"I'm sorry I lead you on. I don't know what I was thinking. But I think you should leave," she said.
I looked at her again and suddenly realised again who this was; Emma Watson. In my drunken lust, I had almost forgotten this fact. The champagne had given me a boldness that surprised even me. I nodded and stood up. I realised now the extent of my drunkenness as I tried not to fall over. Emma fixed her blouse and her bra before standing up as well. Like me, there was also a wobble to her. Despite everything, I leaned in and gently kissed me on the cheek.
I smiled at her and stumbled towards the door. From the time her food arrived till now, I don't recall much. Only the bitter disappointment at how it all ended. It seemed like only one second before that I giving her one last look and the next I was collapsing on my bed in my hotel room next door.
This whole thing may not have worked out as I might've liked, but at least I got to kiss and grope Emma Watson. Not many people can say that. It was cold comfort though. But in the end, it was unrealistic to expect something to happen given I've only known her for about 24 hours and we've talked for an accumulated total of two and a half hours at best. It usually takes me two months just to pluck up the courage to speak to a girl. Taking two hours to get to second base is personal growth. But no matter what kind of spin I put on it, it still didn't make me feel any better.
As I lay motionless on my bed, my mind wandered to what I could've done or said differently. First things first, I probably should've said no to the second bottle of wine. I wondered if I had acted a bit gentler or waited a little bit longer to touch her, whether I'd currently be in bed with her. But after so much time of analysing my mistakes, I just started to think about her; that pretty face, those slender arms, those thighs and the way her shirt clung tightly to her chest, accentuating her... bountiful features. I recalled how firm and perky her breasts were and how hot she was between the legs. I wanted nothing more than to walk in her room and tear her clothes off and spend all night doing things to her. I wanted my hands all over her slender body. I wanted to hear what sounds she made and what face she pulled when she climaxed. But alas, here I was.
I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and found myself on Google. Soon, the whole screen was flooded with a wealth of images depicting up skirt shots, cleavage shots, wardrobe malfunctions and surprisingly sexy photo shoots of Emma. Masturbating over images of celebrities is natural to any male, but there was something particularly strange about doing so when that celebrity happens to be in the adjacent room. Nevertheless, a combination of this and the alcohol sent me into a deep sleep. My last conscious thought was whether she'd still be here when I woke up.
There was a loud knock at the door. My eyes open. I sit up, feeling remarkably alert. Beside me were some scrunched up tissues and my iPhone which had remained on and showed a particularly sexy picture of Emma from some film premiere; evidence of a particularly sordid and unglamorous moment from just before I fell asleep. I slipped my phone in my pocket and threw the tissues in the bin and headed for the door. The effects of the champagne had mostly worn off, although I'd be lying if I said I walked a perfectly straight line. I already suspected who was at the door. After all, who else knew where I was.
"Emma. What time is it?" I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.
"1:30 am. I can't sleep. But now I feel bad because I see that you had no problem sleeping."
"No, don't worry about it. Anything I can do to help?" I asked, desperate for both of us to ignore what happened earlier.
"No, probably not. It's just jet-lag I think. I'm just lying alone in bed, it's a bit boring and lonely."
Even though I was dreadfully tired and far from focused, I was aware enough to note the tiny implication in what she had said. The tiniest sliver of a request beneath her guarded words. But I wasn't about to dive in headfirst again. Before I could reply, she continued,
"I'm sorry I asked you to leave before. That was rude of me," she said.
This took me by surprise me. I had assumed I was at fault. After all, I was the drunken lawyer who had forced himself onto a famous actress in a hotel room. It seemed like typical Hollywood scandal. I chose my words carefully and replied,
"No, it was my fault. I overstepped."
"Not really. I was leading you on but I couldn't pull the trigger on it. I got nervous when things got serious."
She was obviously tired. She leaned against the door frame wearing only a hotel bathrobe. I took a good look at her and saw just a tiny hint of shame in her expression. This was turning out to be a strange situation for all involved.
"Are you okay Emma?" I asked.
"No. No I'm not. I haven't had time to relax in months. I broke up with my boyfriend not long ago and since then it's been non-stop filming movies and doing press junkets for months. It's too much Nate. I just need something to take the edge off. I just need some relief."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Well, maybe there is. To be honest, I've been feeling rather under-fucked lately."
It took me several moments to process that statement. The meaning sounded clear, but the fact she said it, and said it so freely had me on edge.
"Does that mean the same thing in England as it does in Australia?"
"Keep me company tonight. I won't get cold feet again, I promise. I don't know what that was before but it won't happen again. I just....I want you."
"Have you been drinking since I left," I asked, just to be cautious.
"Don't worry, I'm completely sober now," she replied with a mischievous smile. "And you?"
"Me too. That champagne wasn't very strong."
She laughed quietly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the hotel. It was an infectious sound and soon I joined her in her laughter. It's true, she didn't appear drunk. But guys like me don't meet girls like her, and girls like her sure as hell don't make such proposals to guys like me. What happened earlier was vexing but in all honesty, it seemed like a realistic end to our courtship. We looked at each other for several long moments, neither wanting to make a move, but both of us clearly wanting it.
After a moment, she simply extended her hand. I looked at it for a moment, before taking it in my own. And with that, she led me out of my room and into hers.
The moment she closed the door, I made my move. I took and firm grasp of her hand and pulled her towards me before pinning her again the wall next to the door. This took her by surprised, however this time, as promised, she didn't get cold feet. I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into me and planted a kiss on her lips. She didn't hesitate to reciprocate and before long, we were locked in a passionate kiss.
I wasn't inebriated this time and was able to appreciate every little detail from the feel of her slender waist to her soft, supple her lips and even the sound of her soft moaning as we kissed. I don't know how long we continued this way but before long, I made the conscious decision to undo the belt of her bathrobe and pulled it open to reveal the fact she only wore a flimsy white tank top and pink panties. I slipped my hand under her shirt and ran my hands up her sides before I was surprised by the feel of her bare breasts instead of a bra beneath my hand. My thumb momentarily grazed her nipples when she suddenly pushed me away. I thought for a moment I had grossly misread the signals or she was backing out again but instead, she said,
"If we're going to do this, you need to give me your phone first," she said.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my iPhone before handing it to her without question. She took it without a word and held the on/off button until it prompted her to power off the device. She did so instantly and placed it on a nearby table.
"Seriously?" I asked.
"I don't intend to be like Scarlett Johansson or Blake Lively and end up with my tits all over the internet."
"After that nipple slip, I think it's a bit too late."
Emma laughed playfully punched me in the arm, "Fair enough. But I already had one arsehole in college who tried to film us during sex. Not about to risk that again."
"Any other ground rules?" I asked, half expecting her to produce a list.
"None," she said placed her hand on the back of my head and pulled me in for another kiss.
This kiss didn't last very long. I pushed her up against the wall against and kissed her once more on the lips before pulling her top up above her breasts. For a moment, I was frozen by the sight of her perky breasts. I quickly shook off my awe and moved my lips to her left nipple and began sucking on it hungrily. Emma gasped as my tongue moved across her breasts and paying particular attention to her nipple. As I moved from breast to the other, Emma shrugged the bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I stepped back for a moment to pull her shirt over her head before she did the same to mine.
I had to step back for a moment to look at her. She stood there wearing on a tiny pair of pink panties while her tank top and her bathrobe laid by her feet. Her breasts were rather small, but perfectly proportioned in relation to her body. She was a small girl with a well toned body. I looked at her face for a moment and suddenly realised she wasn't wearing any makeup. I was so use to seeing her all dolled up for movies or premieres that it took me by surprised. She had a very natural beauty to her.
"What?" she said, noticing my surprise.
"I've never seen a picture of you without any makeup. Never noticed you have freckles."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Are you kidding? It makes you look even cuter."
I grabbed her breasts with both hands and began to kiss her again. Her breasts were firm, perky and full of bounce. I got endless enjoyment from massaging and kneading them in my hand and gently pinching her hard nipples with my fingers.
After a moment, I ran my hands over her long smooth back before moving down to her rear and sliding her panties long the legs. She was completely naked now and as I took her nipple in my mouth again, hungry to suck on them. At the same time, I also slid my hand down towards the length of her hot tight opening. This caused her to gasped and staggered backwards against the wall.
"Sorry," she mumbled.
This concerned me for a moment because I thought she would ask me to stop again. But I suddenly realised in that moment what the reason behind all her hesitation was; she was just as nervous as I was. Despite the wealth and the fame, Emma Watson was ultimately just a young twenty-something with what I assumed to be relatively limited sexual history. Her fame had blinded me to that fact. I looked at her in a new light. It humanised further in my eyes and in a way, made her more perfect.
I slid my hand between her legs again, this time watching her reaction closely. As my fingers moved up and down her tight hole, she bit her lower lip and waited for me to do something further. I gently inserted one finger partly inside of her, causing her to inhale sharply. I savoured how tight she was and wetness that had begun to grow inside of her. I looked at her and her at me. She placed a hand on my chest and said in almost a whisper.
"Let's move to the bedroom."
"Too far," I replied.
And with that, I pulled my finger out of her vagina briefly before sliding in two fingers back in and applying pressure to her clit with my thumb. She moaned loudly and as my fingers buried themselves as far inside of her as they would go. I saw her knees buckle slightly and wrapped my arm around her waist to keep her steady. All the while I began to finger her with my other hand. With my thumb, I began searching for her clit and with the two fingers inside of her, I began to move them in and out of her with great speed, each time moving deeper inside of her and searching for that elusive spot that would be guaranteed to make her squeal in pleasure.
She grew very wet very quickly and soon, every time my fingers buried themselves inside of her, I could hear a soft squelching sound. Emma remained relatively quiet, but her breathing was becoming deeper and much more audible. Once in a while, I'd hit the right spot and a soft cry of pleasure would escape from between her lips. As I held her naked body against mine, savouring the feeling of her smooth, warm skin along the length of mine, I watched her face. That famous face, contorted in pleasure. Her eyes were shut, her jaw slackened.
We continued to stand there in the middle of the room, mere metres from the door, my arm around her naked body, my thumb rubbing her clit, my fingers quickening their pace as she became even wetter. We stood there for what must've been a full minute as her breath became shallower and her knees became even weaker. Before I knew it, my two fingers were furiously probing deep inside of her, pressing up against her most sensitive areas. I diverted all the strength into my arms to intensify my wrist and finger action. The only sound in the room was her heavy breathing and the now very audible sound of my sloshing caused by my fingers inside of her.
I fingered her so furiously that my arm began to ache, but it didn't matter though. All of a suddenly Emma let out a loud cry as her entire body tensed up. Her back arched backwards and her thighs closed around my hand. Her eyes remained closed and her expression changed from one of shock to pure pleasure as she let out another pleasurable moan until finally her legs gave way, and a fresh wave of moisture enveloped my fingers and squirted onto the carpet beneath out feet. Her naked body collapsed in my arm as I lowered her onto the floor. All the while, I kept my fingers inside of her. Her squirting had covered my hand in her juices.
I laid her down on her back and brushed the hair from her face. She still had her eyes close and every few seconds would convulse ever so slightly as she came down from her orgasm.
"How was that?" I whispered into her ear.
"Amazing," she said between deep breaths.
I let her rest for a moment and watched as her breasts rose and fell with every breath she took. I leaned down and gave her a kiss on lips and on each nipple. I just couldn't get enough of her nipples. When she had calmed down sufficiently, I whispered in her ear,
"Spread your legs Emma, I'm not done yet."
My fingers were still buried deep inside of her and her thighs were still clamped over my hand like a vice, and amidst all that, she was completely wet. I looked down at her naked body and could barely contain myself. She finally opened her eyes and said,
"Can we at least move to the bed? I don't want you to fuck me on the floor of a hotel room."
I obliged and scooped her up in my arms and moved across her spacious hotel room. I placed her gently on the bed before taking off my trousers. Emma paid particular attention to this and when she saw how hard I was, she simply raised an eyebrow and laid back down on the bed. I climbed on and placed myself on top of her. She was so beautiful. I never forgot once who this was. In my head, I kept repeating her name again and again to hammer home who I was about to make love to. But out loud, I simply said to her,
"Spread your legs."
Emma did so, albeit very slightly.
"Wider," I said.
Again, she spread her legs open an extra couple of inches. I smiled and leaned in close whispered into her ear.
"Wider Miss Watson."
She chuckled nervously at this and spread her legs open as far as they would go. I looked her in the face one more time before aligning myself between her legs and slowly allowing myself to slide the tip of my penis into her wet, hot vagina. She was a very tight girl, but her orgasm had made her so wet to the point where I met almost no resistance. My hands began to freely roam her body as I buried my penis as far into her as possible. Emma moaned loudly as I began to plant kisses along her neck.
It is impossible to describe how perfect everything felt in that moment. As I began to thrust in and out of her, it was an assault on the senses from how she looked squirming in pleasure beneath me to the feeling of her breasts and the rest of her naked body pressed up against mine and even the lingering scent of her perfume.
I built up a steady rhythm and soon I was moving in and out of her freely and with increasing pace. I gently grabbed her by the chin and looked at her face front on. I wanted it to be in the forefront of my mind that I was fucking Emma Watson. I wanted to see this famous face react as I fucked her. We looked deep into each others eyes as we made love. For a brief moment she smiled, but that quickly disappeared as a particularly hard thrust elicited a loud moan from between her lips. Still, there was no doubting the enjoyment on her face.
I reached underneath her with both hands and grabbed her tight ass and pulled her in to meet my thrusts. Emma began to punctuate each of my hard thrusts with increasingly louder moans. I sensed it was becoming too much for her when she clamped her legs down around my hips as if to slow me down. But not wanting to interrupt my rhythm, I forcefully pried her legs open and spread them far apart allowing for maximum penetration with each push. Emma glanced down the length of our bodies and saw my penis moving in and out of with great speed. I watched as she moaned loudly and rolled her eyes back into her head. Her breasts were bouncing back and forth hypnotically with each thrust.
I lost track of how long we fucked. I just remembered details like how her legs continued to close only for me to force them open again or the way I grabbed at her breasts as they bounced rhythmically back and forth or even something as simple as the feeling of her tongue in my mouth.
At last it was too much and with one very rough squeeze of her left breast and a tight grip on her right wrist, I fucked her hard into the mattress as I felt myself explode inside of her.
"Oh Emma!" I groaned as buried my penis deep inside of her one last time.
Whether it was my hand that roughly squeezed her breast or the feeling of cum pouring inside of her, Emma let out a loud and long cry of pleasure. I collapsed on top of her and held her tight, not wanting to move an inch.
"No keep going! I'm about cum!" Emma pleaded almost desperately.
I groaned wearily but obliged her nonetheless. It took a Herculean effort to rise up and continue fucking her before my penis grew limp. I was almost spent. I had saved last drop of cum for that last effort, but never being one to disappoint a lady, I fucked her for just that little bit longer.
It didn't take long though. Within no time, her body began to tense up and as before, she arched her back and cried out loudly in pleasure. She writhed in pleasure under me as I wrapped my arms around her body. She continued convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. She was spent as we fell into each others arms and embraced.
We remained this way for a long time, both of us verging on sleep but still finding an excuse to stay awake whether it was to fondle her breasts or simply to continue kissing. She would reach down and take hold of my penis and gently stroked it as I kissed her all over her body.
After a long while, Emma sat up gingerly and crawled across the bed and began to pull the bed sheets over us. But the sight on Emma Watson on all fours, even for just a moment, only served to turn me on once more.
I sat up and held Emma by her hips and pulled her back into me once more. At this point, Emma was almost completely out of it and basically just swayed this way and that. I knew that she just wanted to sleep, but at the same time, she didn't exactly protest as I moved into position behind her; she did however reach back to grasp my penis and guide it to her vagina. I think part of her was afraid I was trying to fuck her ass.
I slipped my penis into her once more, eliciting a barely audible moan from between her lips. Emma barely had enough energy to remain on all fours so I did most of the work, lazily pushing in and out of her as her buttocks lightly slapped against me. It was a lazy and slow effort, but one that more than satisfied me. Once in a while, Emma would let out a soft cry letting me know she was still awake. After one particularly pleasurable slide into her, I leaned forward and grasped both of her dangling breasts. The sensation of her breasts gently resting on my hands was amazing.
Not content to leave my hands in that one spot, I ran my hand across her wonderfully smooth body from her butt-cheeks, to her slender waist and her wonderfully smooth back. Emma reacted to this quite positively, as she made a sound best described as a low pur as my hands explored her body. I felt another orgasm building, although I suspected she had had enough for one night. Not bothering to drag this out or force her to climax for a third time, I returned my hands to her breasts and held them in place as I began my last salvo, thrusting into her from behind with just a little bit more intensity. Emma was nearly completely silent during this and if not for the occasional whimper and moan, I would've thought she had fallen asleep. And finally, after several final and relatively lazy thrusts, I felt what was left in me pour into her already soaking vagina.
I didn't pull out of her immediately, instead dragging her back into me and letting us fall back into bed, with my penis still buried inside of her and her firm ass held against me. Emma, completely exhausted, passed out almost immediately.
I took a moment to appreciate who I just had sex with. My wildest dreams didn't compare to this. To see Emma Watson naked, passed out and with the result of our collective orgasms oozing out of her vagina was almost a startling sight. As I felt my penis begin to shrink inside of her, sleep overcame me.
I've been single for a long time and I don't date many girls. Therefore, it's always an odd feeling to wake up in bed with any naked girl curled up against me much less Emma Watson. I call her Emma, but in my head, I always refer to her by her full name; as if to hit home the fact this was all real. Her eyes fluttered as she stirred beside me.
"Morning," I mumbled.
She looked up and me and for a moment, all words eluded me. But I could tell by her face she wasn't going to be the one to speak first so I said,
"Can I confess something?"
She furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes for a moment before sitting up slightly and replying, "That's not the best thing to say to a girl first thing in the morning, but okay."
I took a dramatic pause before saying, "I don't even like Harry Potter that much."
Emma laughed out loud and collapsed back on the bed and wrapped her arms around me.
"You scared me for a second! But please, no Harry Potter talk!"
"Well we're sure as hell not talking about my work."
"You can ask me about any other movie I've done."
"I can't name any other film you've done."
"Arse-hole!" she laughed, playfully hitting me in the arm.
"Actually, weren't you going to do a film with Guillermo Del Toro?"
"Yeah, 'Beauty and the Beast' remake. But we ran into financing woes with the studio. The project is in limbo at the moment," she said with little enthusiasm.
"What's Del Toro like?
"He's great. Really really nice guy,' she said before adding, "Anything else you want to ask me about my work?"
She looked at me with adoring eyes in a way that few girls ever had. I suspected I had an idea of what was on her mind. A smart person would've made a move. Instead, I made a bad joke.
"Yeah. How does it feel to know you were responsible for the first erection of boys worldwide?"
Emma laughed out loud again, this time blushing noticeably. I liked that she could take a joke. And more to the point, I liked she could take my jokes which historically tended to offend more often than they amused.
"Gross! I was 11 years old when the first film was made you pervert. Were you one of them?"
"No. And I was referring only to the films you made after you turned 18. Besides, we're the same age so it was never creepy in my case."
"Well, you can believe that if it helps you sleep at night."
"I'd rather you be the one to help me sleep at night," I blurted out.
"Ooh, that's a bad line," she said wryly.
"I JUST woke up about a minute ago. Forgive me if I'm not at my most charming."
"Well after last night, I guess I can let it slide."
She rolled onto her stomach and placed her chin on my chest and looked up at me seductively.
"My flight doesn't leave till the afternoon and I have absolutely nowhere else to be."
"Well, I have to stop at the Supreme Court library but I suppose it can wait. What would we do though?"
"Well, you could fuck me again," she said very matter-of-factly.
I swept the sheets aside so I could see her completely naked in the daylight. I gently pushed her only her back and looked up and down her beautiful, lithe body.
"Like what you see?" she asked.
"Very much so."
I softly laid a hand on her breasts and held it in my hand. As I said, her breasts were quite small but well proportioned, perky and full of life. I was surprised to see her pubic hair was neatly trimmed; but then she was a celebrity. She also had a rather nice tan, in stark contrast to most girls from England.
"Do you have to leave today?" I asked.
"I really do."
"Will you come back?"
She looked and me and sat up, oblivious to her nakedness. She took a moment before answering.
"Back to Australia? Maybe. I don't know when but I'd like to. But it won't be for awhile. My schedule is pretty packed."
"I can imagine," I said with a hint of disappointment.
"But let's not think about that. Just think about all the things you'll get to do to me today."
I smiled and replied, "And what about the things you'll do to me?"
She gave me a confused look, not quite understanding what I meant. I reached up and pulled her into me for a kiss. Her hair was a mess and got in both of our faces as our lips touched. After a moment, I placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down my body. Only then did she catch on.
"I never did like doing this," she muttered.
Nevertheless, she wrapped her lips around my cock. I groaned loudly and brushed her long hair to one side so I could see her face. I laid my hand gently on the back of her head and helped guide her up and down the length of my shaft. The sight of my penis moving in and out of Emma Watson's mouth was something I never even dreamed about. I could feel her breasts grazing my legs and I could see that long smooth back of hers and her lovely curvy rear. And how it felt...God. It was indescribable pleasure. Her mouth was wrapped tightly around my shaft and she sucked hard and with great vigour.
I was in heaven. But suddenly, her head lurched back and her hand went to her mouth. She stood up and ran into the adjoining bathroom. I was confused until I heard her spit and rinse. I laughed and crawled to the edge of the bed to look at her bent over the bathroom basin naked.
When she was finally done, she was red as a beet and smiling widely.
"Sorry. I try to be that girl but I can never pull it off."
"Just so we're clear, I didn't cum early did I?"
She laughed. "No. Just a bit of pre-cum. I can't stand the taste."
I smiled at her and looked her up and down. Emma Watson; as naked as she could get, wearing no clothes and no makeup and all but handing me an invitation.
"I might take a shower," she said.
Without another word, she turned around and I watched as her nice, tight, curvy bottom disappeared from sight. After a moment, I heard water begin to run. I literally jumped off the bed to join her.
True to our word, Emma and I did spend most of that having sex. It was remarkable how quickly I became familiar with her body and what she liked and didn't like. Soon, I was able to play her like a harp and she was more than willing to let me. Although in spite of our urges and our stamina, it wasn't all sex. We spent a considerable amount of time just talking. I got the sneaking suspicion Emma was glad to converse with someone her own age after being stuck on movie sets for so long with a bunch of middle aged actors and directors. Now that we had gotten sex (mostly) out of our system and there was no awkwardly amusing flirting on my part, it was nice to be able to just talk to her without any hidden agenda.
Still, I'd be lying if I said most of these conversations didn't take place while we were naked and rolling around on the sheets. We were both 23 year olds with healthy sexual appetites after all. And in her own words, we had both been rather "under-fucked". As result, we made good use of the bed.
And the shower.
And the couch.
And the floor.
And the kitchen countertop.
We lost track of time during all this fucking that when there was a knock at the front door, it took us both by surprise.
"Emma! It's me!" shouted a female voice.
"Who the fuck is that?" I whispered as pulled my lips away from her vagina.
"Shit, it's my publicist. We're supposed to go over my itinerary for New Zealand. I completely forgot," she whispered back as she climbed off the kitchen countertop and scrambled about the room, trying to find something to wear. "Just a minute Wendy!" Emma shouted in reply.
I ran to front door where my shirt was from last night and quickly put it on. I didn't dare make a noise for fear of embarrassing Emma with my presence. I also spotted her bathrobe, tank top and panties where we had left them and scooped them all up. Emma had found some sweat pants and a tight fitting shirt in her room. She tossed me my jeans and I quickly put them on. I tossed her the bathrobe and she quickly threw it on. Before I could give her the tank top and panties, she rushed past me towards the door. She looked back quickly to make sure that I was fully dressed before opening the door. This took me by surprise and I quickly shoved her panties in my pocket and threw her tank top behind the kitchen counter.
Emma's publicist Wendy was the woman I recognised for the other night. She walked in and looked at me immediately.
"Hello," she said cordially.
Emma rushed to put herself between me and Wendy and said,
"Wendy, this is Nate. He's a hotel guest in the room next door."
"Oh. Hi Nate. I hope I'm not interrupting anything" she said, still obviously unsure why I was here.
"Of course not. I'm a fan of Emma's, I mean Miss Watson. Couldn't resist coming over and saying hello. Anyway, I was just leaving."
Emma moved to the door and held it open for me before saying, "I'll walk you out. Wendy, make yourself at home."
I slinked passed Wendy and basically ran out the door. Emma joined me in the hall out of Wendy's sight and giggled mischievously. I held her in my arms again and kissed her on the lips, all the while making sure no one saw us.
"Sorry about that. But I don't want to be known as the type of girl who sleeps with guys she just met," Emma whispered.
"It's fine," I said and quickly kissed her again before adding, "So is this it?"
"I think so. Wendy is here. And soon, so will a few studio big wigs and other people from the film. We head for the airport in a couple of hours. Sorry it had to end like this."
"Hey, I'm just happy we spent this time together. Even if I didn't get to finish you off," I said as I slipped my hand down her pants and between her legs as I had done so many times already. The whole time, I looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching.
"Don't worry. I don't think I had another orgasm in me," she chuckled.
It was then that I realised she wasn't wearing any panties. I suddenly remembered why and reached inside my pocket and pulled out the scrunched up white panties I had picked up only a moment ago.
"These are yours I believe."
Emma stifled a laugh and took them before patting down her sweat pants.
"Shit. I don't have pockets," she giggled.
I smiled and continued to keep watch for any onlookers. She looked for a moment as if she was considering quickly changing right there in the hall, but instead she smiled at me and handed the panties back.
I laughed and placed them back in my pocket. I held her head in both hands and we looked into each others eyes once more as I said,
"I'm going to miss you."
We kissed once more for a long long time before she finally broke away and slipped back into her room. We held hands for as long as possible but soon she was gone.
I caught a last glimpse of her an hour later when she left her room and headed towards the elevator, surrounded by her entourage. Before she got in, she looked back at my room and saw me. She gave me a quick wave before disappearing from sight. I couldn't be sure, but I could've sworn she got a bit misty eyed. And just like that, she was gone.
Later than day as the sun began to set over Sydney, mere seconds after I had was checked out of the hotel, I dragged my suitcase towards the exit, smiling the entire way as I recalled the events of the past 42 or so hours. Suddenly, one of the hotel receptionists ran up to me.
"Excuse me, sir? You were staying in room 1136?"
"Yes, is everything okay?"
"Oh no, everything is just fine sir. We just almost forgot to give you this? Miss Watson left it for you before she checked out."
She handed me a small package wrapped in ordinary brown paper. I thanked the receptionist and she made her way back to the front desk. The moment I was alone, I tore open the packaging. Inside was a hardcopy version of "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban". I opened the inside the front cover and on the title page, the following was written neatly in black pen:
"BECAUSE AZKABAN IS THE BEST ONE.
THANK YOU FOR A LOVELY TIME.
PS: I MIGHT BE IN AUSTRALIA AGAIN BY THE END OF THE YEAR. DON'T CHANGE YOUR NUMBER. I MAY NEED SOME COMPANY.
PPS: AND YES, I GRABBED YOUR NUMBER FROM YOUR PHONE WHILE YOU WERE IN THE BATHROOM. SORRY FOR THE CLOAK AND DAGGER.
PPPS: ALSO, I BETTER NOT SEE THOSE PANTIES UP ON EBAY xoxo.
I laughed and closed the book with a solid thud.
For the next few months, I kept a close eye on celebrity gossip sites and numerous Emma Watson fansites for any news of Emma and specifically, her relationships and projects. Nothing even remotely interesting ever came up. I even considered creating a Twitter account to contact her, but given the massive volume of tweets per day she received and the fact any response would be very public, I decided against it. I resigned myself to fact that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice.
But then one day, months later, her IMDb page show two new films coming out later in the year. I wonder if she'll be at the Australian premiere?