Waiting For Superman Part Six (Explicit Content)

Henry pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. My heart is overflowing with emotion and I struggle to keep myself in check. I quickly wipe away the traitorous tears before he can see. He might find the giggling-after-sex-thing cute, but I’m sure he won’t think the same about crying, and that’s not a conversation I want to start with him right now.

I don’t even know why I’m crying anyway – or maybe I do and just don’t want to admit it. Focus on the present, I tell myself sternly. For pity’s sake, you just had sex with Henry Cavill, get back in the room – and the minute I think his name it’s like a switch is thrown in my mind and I’m suddenly shy again. I just had sex with Henry. Mind-blowing, life-changing, earth-shattering, knee-trembling sex with Henry. I don’t have a good enough analogy to properly describe what just happened. I giggle. Again. This time out of sheer, overwhelmed wonder and joy and my smile is wide, genuine and slightly dazed. I can still feel him deep inside me, even though it’s been a few minutes since we both came and I have the irrationally idea that if I move and lose this connection with him, that somehow it will make him disappear.

Henry sighs and starts stroking my hair. We lie like this for a while, each lost with their own thoughts and I’m struck at how often he makes those little relaxed noises that are peculiar to the male of the species. I sometimes wonder if it’s their way of communicating without actually saying anything, or if they realise they are doing it. In Henry’s case, it’s frequent and endearing, especially as he starts to hum to himself shortly after. I listen carefully, trying to ascertain if there is any recognisable tune behind his humming and am surprised when I recall the melody to a Rhianna hit.

“Rhianna?” I look at him questioningly.

“Yeah, I heard it on the radio this morning before I came over. It’s been going through my head all day. Nothing wrong with a bit of Rhianna,” he replies, arching his eyebrow in that way of his.

“Nooooo, but it really depends on which bit,” I say tartly.

He snorts. “Well I know most men would disagree, but her “bits” don’t do a lot for me. There’s no mystery when a woman flaunts herself like that. She’s a great looking girl, sure, but she needs to leave something to the imagination.”

I’m not sure whether I find Henry’s views on womens’ dress ever so slightly misogynistic, or if he is simply old-fashioned. He is so earnest, so good, it’s a little unnerving.

“But, that’s just my personal opinion,” he continues with a shrug, “if she wants to wear clothes that showcase her charms for all the world to see, then good luck to her. I’m sure she wouldn’t be interested in what an old bloke like me has to say anyway. Personally, I don’t find it attractive. There’s a difference between being confident in oneself, being comfortable in your own skin, rather than exploiting that confidence. It’s a side of my work that I’ve never been at ease with.”

And just like that he has me back on side, all thoughts of the patriarchy and the good old boys network dispersed. Is this man for real? He is too good to be true.

“You do realise that it’s those kind of comments that have endeared you to your legion of fans?” I say it teasingly, but it’s true. I should know.

I wonder if this means there won’t be as many butt-naked, backside flashing scenes a la The Tudors in Henry’s career in the future. I know I should be disappointed if this is the case, but for some reason it’s kind of slipped to the bottom of my priorities right now. I run my hands down his chest, through the dense hair and make my way leisurely south to his hard stomach, out across his hip bones and snake around his buttocks – just because I can. It’s a revelation. I don’t know how often it’s going to keep hitting me that this is real, that it’s really happening, but each time it does, I want to laugh, or scream or do something crazy like run into the street naked.

“And by the way,” I look at him beadily, “you are not old.”

“Huh? Oh, yes of course, I forgot you’re older than me, aren’t you? I’m sorry. I wasn’t including you in that description. Did you not know, you’re only as old as the man you feel anyway? Well, that’s what they say. Which would make you, er, thirty one- the same as me!”

He gives me such a sardonic, sweet look that I beam at him.

They talk a lot, don’t they?”

“Tell me about it,” he says, not without irony, that eyebrow lifting again, “now, unless you plan on joining them in their inane natter, I’d very much appreciate it if you could stop talking and kiss me!”

Take two, I think with a grin, as I feel him growing hard inside me again.



It’s almost two hours later when we resume our conversation. We’ve made love four times altogether, our passion taking us from the bed to the floor and then to the bathroom, where we’ve gotten clean and downright dirty at the same time. The echo of my moans still resounding off the tiles, we sink like spent fireworks together onto the shower floor. Thirty seconds previously, and Henry had me pushed up against those tiles, quite literally banging the oohs and aahs of appreciation out of me, in spectacular, eye popping, fizz and sizzle technicolor. My arms and legs securely wrapped around his hard torso, as if I’m climbing a tree, I curl myself up into him, as snug as a nesting animal. The warm water cascades over us, as surely does our post-coital bliss. Henry is the first to speak and when he does, it’s unstressed, even though he’s breathing hard.

“Christ, we’re good together! You bring out the competitor in me. I want to make you giggle like that everyday. In fact, I don’t think I could ever tire of hearing you laugh like that, not knowing I’m the reason for it.”

I’m laughing uncontrollably again, as is my usual way and am trying to stop so I can speak. His words are sobering and I look at him, wondering whether he really means it. ‘Good together’ is probably the understatement of the century. I don’t ever recall reaching such zeniths of passion with any previous lover, and certainly not with Gary – not to say we had a bad sex life, but it wasn’t as all encompassing as this!

“Maybe I should start trying to make you laugh instead?” I look at him coquettishly and run my fingers lightly up and down his ribcage. He tenses and pushes my hand away, giggling himself and it’s a joy to behold. Henry Cavill, self-possessed star of the Silver Screen, collapsing in mirth on my shower floor as I tickle him.

“Stop, stop Jea!” he says between laughter, and he grabs my hands at the wrists, like he’s slapping me in shackles. He’s too quick for me and, tickles me back. I shriek and try and fail to escape him in the confined space.

“Peace!” I scream, holding up my palms with difficulty, as he still has one hand locked around my wrists. He is so strong, I realise – much stronger than me and it’s comforting and frightening at the same time.

“Are you gonna behave yourself if I let you go?”


“Well, maybe I’ll never let you go then.”

“Don’t then,” I hear the desperation in my voice even though I try to disguise it, and look down at the floor.

He shucks a finger under my jaw, forcing me to look up at him, and the intensity I see in his eyes causes my breathe to leave me, like a draught whipping rapidly through a room. The tightness across my chest is almost painful and the knocking of my heart is the sound of that wind slamming many doors and windows shut with an hypnotic, rhythmic drumming. He leans down and kisses me more tenderly than ever and, without taking his eyes from mine, reaches up to turn off the shower.

“As wonderful a thought that is, we can’t stay here all night,” he says quietly, lifting his chin in the general direction of the bathroom, “although, I would like to stay, if that’s ok with you?”

“I’d like that too.”

“Good,” he says agreeably, planting a chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth, “now, I don’t know about you, but I’m worn out, so maybe we should get some sleep? Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I left Ginger, my Saturday girl, on her own today and she’s quite capable, but I have a few appointments. I need to be there.”

“Can I take you for lunch?” There’s that eyebrow raise again. It’s so hot -he really should patent it or something

“That would be nice, but no big surprises this time, ok?”

“Just lunch, I promise.”

We dry off and head for the bedroom. I’m shattered and get sleepily into bed, musing about all that has happened during today. Henry cuddles up beside me and, before I know it, I’m asleep, cocooned softly by his arms and peaceful dreams that float through my mind like whispy clouds.


I wake before my alarm, something I never do and I’m disorientated, desperately trying to cling on to the last vestiges of my dream with slick fingers. Fragments of it lie scattered like a burlesque dancer’s discarded clothing on the floor and furniture of my mind and I’m unprepared and unwilling to open my eyes. Just five more minutes, I think crazily, recalling a movie premiere, a skyscraper roof,  flowers in a summer meadow, a picnic, a yacht, Henry Cavill and sex. A lot of sex and in my dream it was pretty fucking spectacular sex – the kind that never happens in real life. Oh, what a dream! Why did I have to wake up? I dazedly come to full wakefulness, ruefully open my eyes and realise I’m hot. Too hot. It takes me another second or two to process the reason for my overheating is because there’s someone lying behind me – well practically wrapped around me and as reality dawns, I grin stupidly. It wasn’t just a dream, I think elatedly. It really all happened! I then experience a moment of heart-thumping anxiety, as I have a fleeting image that it’s someone else in my bed – a stranger, one who is definitely not the Sexiest Man On The Planet, and I curse Stacey and her penchant for 2-4-1 cocktails, although I have no recollection of going out last night. No, I didn’t see Stacey at all yesterday, I remind myself, I spent the day with Henry; at least I think I did. I know I have a vivid imagination and, in the not so distant past, have had nightmares so realistic, that I’ve been known to call Stacey and Craig in the middle of the night to check up on them, panicking due to some misguided concern caused by my erratic and over-imaginative dreaming. I lie like this for a minute, afraid to look over my shoulder. It feels like Henry and smells like him as well, I think, breathing in his delicious spicy scent, but maybe I’ve imagined that too! In the end, I make myself do it and turn to look at the sleeping figure next to me.

Henry is an image of perfect beauty in his sleep. His face serene and devoid of worry or tension. His brow clear – that little furrow between his eyebrows smooth for once and, even though his incomparable eyes are closed, he still manages to take my breath away. He is breathing shallowly through his open mouth, and I’m struck once again by his beauty. There really are no words to do justice to his perfection. He is exquisite, as if grown from the tears of angels and carved in their image. He is Mother Nature’s Masterpiece, and I know that somewhere she is sitting with her feet up, proud-as-punch, breathing on her knuckles before polishing them on her chest on a job – not just well done – but perfected. I watch him fascinated for a few minutes, as I recall all that happened between us yesterday and last night. I remember his magical touch along my spine and his kisses, both tender and passionate, the feel of his tongue on me down there and the very hot reality of him, hard and huge inside me. I feel the dampness between my thighs and squirm with unsolicited arousal. A quick glance at my phone tells me there is time, so taking care to disarm the alarm, I decide to surprise him with my own wake-up call. Last night he made me stop, just as I was enjoying myself, but this morning I am determined to get what I want.

I scoot down under the covers and quickly take him in my mouth, I would prefer to take my time but I don’t want to wake him before I’m ready. I suck him steadily, bringing him to a magnificent, aching fullness that fills and thrills me equally. I feel him stir beneath me and grab his hips, as they rise up off the mattress to meet my greed. He tugs my hair and I hear him moan appreciatively. I suck harder, taking him as far as I can, taking care to sheath him with my lips from base to tip, where I flick my tongue and gently graze him with my teeth. I pick up the pace, sucking faster and faster, harder and harder until he bucks jerkily under me, his seed gushing from him and slipping down my throat, my name on his lips.

I smile and make my way back up his body, stopping briefly to kiss the soft downy trail on his belly and hairy chest. I peek out from beneath the covers. He is grinning down at me lazily, his eyes glowing and heated.

“Good morning,” I smile at him shyly. Who am I kidding? I just woke him with a blow job. I think I can throw away the vestal virgin act; my halo is looking decidedly rusty and there are cum stains on my habit.

“It most certainly is,” he nods agreeably, pulling me close for a lingering kiss. “For someone who isn’t a morning person that was a pretty impressive alarm call. As much as I’d like to, I don’t think I have it in me to fuck you after that and last night’s exertions and you probably need to get ready for work anyway, but you also need to come and come now.”

He flips me over on to my back and covers me with his body, his hands roaming over my breasts and between my legs. He bends his head and takes my nipple in his mouth and gently flicks his tongue over the hard flesh. I writhe with desire and watch fascinated, as he laps and nips at that little pink point of sensation, his tongue and teeth sending my over sensitised skin into raptures. He rolls the other nipple between his thumb and finger, squeezing my breasts into his face and he looks up at me, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Still watching me, he slowly slides down my body, hands still working their magic on my nipples, skimming over my navel with his tongue. It’s beyond erotic and I close my eyes as he reaches the junction of my thighs. Immediately his ministrations on my breasts cease and he lifts his head away from me. I open my eyes to find him shaking his head.

“Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch.”

I hear myself moan and am captivated by him. His eyes mesmerising and compelling, their bottomless depths full of promise. I feel like I’m drowning in a turquoise ocean full of shining stars, so bright and beautiful, yet dark and fathomless, as it stretches into eternity. He smiles that lop sided smile of his and moves down between my legs. Without taking his eyes away from mine, he inhales deeply and, as if it has a life of it’s own, his tongue appears over his bottom lip – like an predator drawn by the scent of blood. He starts to lap softly at my clit, his saliva adding to my wetness, and I whimper with undisguised approval. Watching him do this is too much. He licks me so fully and completely, working his way down my folds with unbridled enthusiasm, concentrating his main efforts on my clitoris without neglecting the other areas that are singing for his attention. I close my eyes and turn my head fractionally away and he stops, leaving me bereft, a castaway thrown up from the ocean floor on to a desert island devoid of paradise. Oh please, I think frantically.

“Please, don’t close your eyes.” he says softly but there is an underlying seriousness in his request.

I look at him squarely, determined to meet this challenge head on. If you are throwing down this gauntlet I accept and what’s more, I’m going to enjoy it, I think. He nods and, as if by magic, resumes his gentle lingual persuasion on my clit. I watch him and he watches me and it’s agonisingly erotic. I can feel my body building, the heat rising infinitesimally inside. I feel like I’m in a video game where I have to perform a rapid succession of leaps onto higher and higher levels, before reaching the ultimate pay off. There’s a quickening and gathering of synapses, gradually and inevitably growing, coming together to form a ball of perfectly intense fusion that explodes as he gathers pace, and gently, yet insistently, slips a finger into me. I cry out as my orgasm tears through me, and still he’s looking at me, his tongue slowing now, yet his finger becomes two and he rapidly pumps both in and out, as I experience a secondary climax. I’m screaming in affirmation, my back arching off the bed, my toes clenched, my fingers grasping at the rumpled sheets, but I do not look away. I feel my body tensing around his fingers in ever decreasing pulses and slowly, very slowly, come back down to earth, just as the giggles start. He waits until my spasms cease before tenderly removing his hand and kissing me lightly on my other lips. He licks his fingers with such relish I swear I can feel an answering twitch in my groin.

“I love watching you come and I love hearing you giggle. I could do this all day,” he smiles one of his dazzling smiles, and I gaze at him in wonder before I finally close my eyes in sweet relief.


I’m dressing for work half an hour later and happen to glance out of my window, when I see a small camp of photographers still outside. What the hell? Have they been here all night? Shit. I really need to get to work. What if they follow me?


He is in the bathroom and doesn’t hear the first time I shout. A moment later, he comes running to my side, dripping wet from his shower, his hair and skin glistening. He wraps a towel around his waist and follows my worried gaze outside.

“Oh fuck. I can’t believe they are still here. Bunch of parasites the lot of them! I never would have come ba –

“What?” I round on him, spitting fire, “you never would have what? Come back here with me? Fucked me?”

“Gosh, you really do have a temper, don’t you? Please don’t say that. If you’ll allow me to finish, I was going to say, I would never have come back here with you, if I had known that they had found out about you. I don’t want you being followed by them! I would have taken you back to my place – or a hotel even,” he drags his hands through his hair, “Is there another way out?”

Shit. I am such an idiot. I hate myself with as much passion as my tiny flat has witnessed in the last twelve hours – more even. Why can’t I keep a lid on my emotions just once? Henry is looking at me expectantly and, it has to be said, rather stonily.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. You’re right though, I do have a horrible temper, and it’s not something I’m particularly proud of.”

This is a massive understatement – oh, if only he knew. I can feel my eyes itching with impending tears and I stand there helplessly looking at him, wondering if he’s considering walking out on me. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I’d walk out on myself, If I could.

“I really am sorry Henry,” my whisper is barely audible, although I mean every word I say and implore him to believe me.

He studies me momentarily before taking me in his arms and the relief I dare not hope to feel chokes me. The dam breaks and the tears I’ve been holding back for the last few minutes, hours, months and years burst forth like a tidal wave of pain. I’m shaking and blubbing and thinking that now I’ve gone and done it. The anger issues he may be able to overlook, but crying the day after our first date? That’s too big an ask. I’ve probably ruined the best chance at happiness I’ll ever have. This will be it now. I’ll never see him again and the anguish at the thought of losing him is like someone ripping my heart into pieces.

“Hey! What’s this? Jea? Stop this. It’s ok baby. Everything’s going to be ok.” He shushes me, stroking my hair and holding me close. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

I’m still silently sobbing, the pain lancing through my chest like an icicle, but I hear a glimmer of hope in his words. Surely he’s not sticking around? Oh, Henry Cavill, the amount of times I have declared you the perfect man and you’re not only that, you’re a saint. I sniff, desperate to wipe my nose and eyes. I must look like such an attractive prospect right now. I look up at him and he’s smiling kindly.

“I’m so sorry for shouting at you like that. Can you forgive me? I did tell you I wouldn’t ever lie to you.”

“Forgiven and forgotten; however I’d prefer a little less honesty in future. If you could just cut back on the tongue lashing that’d be great. Besides, I’m the only one allowed to lash my tongue in this relationship.” He grins wickedly, wagging his tongue and I giggle nervously, a soft pulsing in my underwear coming to life at his words. Relationship? Is that what this is? I don’t allow myself time to think about that.

“Now, we really need to get you to work. Is there a back door?”

“No. One way in. One way out.”

“Okay.” He takes his phone from his pocket, swipes the screen and presses to make a call. Who is he calling, I wonder? I wait whilst he speaks to the mystery person at the other end of the line.

“Steve? Alright mate? Yeah. Good yeah. You? Great. Can you pick us up in about fifteen minutes? Yeah The Parkers are outside. I know. Yeah Jeanna’s place in Candem. OK. Cheers.”

He finishes the call and takes my hands in his. Who are on earth are The Parkers, I wonder, and what are they doing here?

“OK, Steve will be here in a minute and he’ll get us out and you to work. Under no circumstances do you let them into your shop if they happen to follow us. They are leeches, they will bleed you dry if they even get within a sniffing distance of your skin. Please try not to answer them because they will attempt to goad you. They are highly skilled at making people feel uncomfortable and all they want is a reaction. Promise me you can reign in that fiery side of you just for a few minutes? Please Jea. I know it’s daunting, and I don’t want to scare you, but I have to be this way. I don’t want my life played out like some glossy soap opera, and I want you to be a part of my life, so you need to know what to expect. If you don’t want this, tell me now and I’ll go after I have gotten you to work safely.”

Woah! I was not expecting this. That was some speech. This really is too much to take in, especially on top of my crazy-lady outburst of ten minutes ago. What do I do? Of course I want to be a part of his life, but I’m scared. Not for me. For Henry. For what he could find out about me if we continue down this road, and what it could mean for him, and his career, if he did.





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