In one second...Meryl Streep and Martin Short

by InOneSecond

Chapter 1: only flirting in the building

First day of shooting, and she was nervous. Not completely unusual, but she hadn't expected to feel this way. It was a simple role, and she'd prepared, as always.
To try to understand the feeling, she asked herself why. Was it because she hadn’t been working lately? It had been a while since she’d done a series... The last one was—what?—the one with Reese and Nicole.
She finished makeup, grabbed her lines, and headed to the set, where they were already filming.
Was it because the show was already a hit? Because the trio had such a great dynamic?
Where would she fit in?
Was that what was making her nervous?
Well, she is who she is. Surely, they’ll make room for her. And she had worked with Steve before. She liked him. He was fun, he was polite.
Selena seemed like a darling. She'd been so starstruck at the SAG Awards.
Oh! Better not to think about the Shag Awards. She’d thought about that night so many times. No—not here at the studio. Not when she was already nervous enough. Block that thought, Meryl!

Marty. Marty is so funny. Damn! That feeling again. Was working with him what was making her nervous? Is that it?
Nooo. You're being silly, Meryl.

Everyone on set welcomes her warmly. Big smiles, kisses, and hugs all around. Steve stops by just to say hi, and John—a dear—hugs her tightly.

"Hi! Thank you. You’re all very kind. Thank you for having me here on your wonderful show. I’m such a fan!"
“Well, Meryl, we’re all just honored to have you here. We’re just waiting for Marty to show up. He must be finishing makeup or something,” John laughs, wondering where Marty is—he's usually early.
Marty. Where is Marty?
He’s finished dressing. Finished makeup. Knows his lines. Still in his dressing room... calming his nerves.
There’s a strange feeling in his stomach, like he’s about to take the bar exam.
But he doesn’t have to wonder why. He knows.
It’s her.
The one thing he wanted most, all these years—it’s finally happening. He’s working with Meryl Streep.
It feels unreal. Feels surreal. And it's making him freeze.
He’s always had a crush on her. That’s okay, right? Everyone has a celebrity crush. It's harmless, because it's never going to happen.
Sure, he’s a celebrity too, but she’s in a league of her own. Untouchable.

They’ve met before. Been at events together. Sat next to each other at the Diane Keaton thing. God, he made her laugh like crazy that night. And she was funny as hell too. He hadn’t known she was that funny.
Every time, he got a little nervous. He wanted to do well, to seem at ease... but she always got to him.
That aura.
Unreachable.

A sweet, funny, effortlessly cool woman—still, unreachable.
And now, here they are. He’s doing a hit show. She’s coming in to play his love interest.

He has to get out there. They must be expecting him by now.

He arrives on set.
“Hi, hi. I’m sorry—I got a call I couldn’t end, although I really tried.”
Meryl’s back is slightly turned, but when she turns to face him and greet him, she gives him the sweetest smile and a soft, drawn-out, “Hiiiii.”
So Meryl. So warm. God, her face is spectacular.
She gives him a small kiss on the cheek.
“So, are we ready?” John Hoffman calls out to the crew.
The scene is at a piano. Nothing complicated—no big monologues, just light dialogue.
As soon as the camera starts rolling, they both calm down. Their experience surfaces. It’s always easier to play someone else—to not have to deal with their own feelings.
Cut. Scene’s done.
“Okay... so my nerves are now down to half,” she says with a nervous, funny laugh.
She was nervous? Marty is surprised. To work with me? Meryl Streep was nervous to work with me. Wow.
That puts Marty more at ease—her admitting that.
“Really? Wow… not me… I’ve just been awake since 2 a.m.… not that that indicates anything.”
They both laugh.
And slowly, the nerves start to melt away.

Out with the nerves. In with the laughter.
Over the next few days, Marty keeps her laughing constantly. She loves working on this set. She feels free—able to talk about anything, sing, dance, be silly... be herself, all the time.
And it feels so good.

Marty makes everyone laugh, but with Meryl, it’s more than that. He’s attentive. Thoughtful.

She, of course, notices everything.

She loves observing people—it’s one of her techniques when building a character. And she can tell Marty is different around her. Not just in the way everyone treats her a little differently. No, it’s something else.

He’s always checking in—asking if she needs anything. By now, he even knows exactly how she likes her coffee... and what she likes to eat. He listens…everything she says. Really listens.
And that feels amazing.
Even his voice changes when they’re alone. It’s calmer. More grounded. More... what is it? More sure of himself. Not cocky—never that. And she likes that.

Meryl! She pulls herself out of thoughts about Martin Short.

Again.
She’d been watching him, wondering about him. Sitting with her legs crossed, feet dangling, biting her lip and her index finger... just wondering.

MERYL! She mentally shouts at herself, louder this time. Stop it.

There’s also the kiss scene. It’s today.

She’s been thinking about it since she went to bed last night. Just a staged kiss, of course. But still—a kiss. His lips on her lips.

Ever since Marty read in the script that he was going to kiss Meryl, his stomach had turned upside down. Sure, of course he'd have to kiss his love interest. But seeing it on paper for the first time—it got to him.

On OMITB, actors don’t always know what happens across all 10 episodes. The writers adapt, tweak, rewrite as filming progresses. And John is really excited about this storyline between Oliver and Loretta, so they really don’t know where he’s going.

Kiss. Back to the kiss.
He’s going to kiss her.

These past few weeks have been a dream. Meryl is a dream. So professional—he already knew that—but also so funny, so beautiful... and sexy. Every time she walks into the room, he can’t help but smile. She dances. She sings. She takes his breath away and makes his heart beat faster.

He doesn’t stop to wonder why. He doesn’t want to wonder.

It’s like a conversation between two versions of himself: one that’s falling hard for Meryl Streep, and the other—desperately—trying not to, because she’ll never fall for him.

Yet… he’s caught her looking at him.
Sometimes she looks away quickly.

Other times... she keeps looking. Until he blushes. And she smiles.

Why is she doing that?

They’re called to set. They’d rehearsed, as they do with every scene—but hadn’t actually kissed yet.

Action!

The lines leading up to the kiss fly.

“Oh my God, I could kiss you.”
And he does.

It’s the first time she feels his lips... the warmth of his skin... the scent of his cologne as it lingers in her hair. It’s quick.

Second take.

Softer.
This time, she feels more—his embrace, his hand on her back. He holds her tightly.

That night, when she goes to bed, she can still smell his cologne on her.
She takes a deep breath and smiles.
She’s taking him to bed with her—in a way. She buries her face in the pillow and laughs at the thought. Silly, maybe. But real.

Marty can only think of her. Not the kiss, exactly—he just pressed his lips to hers. Harshly on the first take, softer on the second.
But she’d looked at his lips before the kiss. And she kept looking at them—at him—after “Cut.”

She even parted her lips.

God, she’s sexy.

Her.

He can’t stop thinking about her. The way she moves, the way she dresses...
Meryl in Loretta’s jeans? It sent him to space.

When she wraps for the day and changes back into her own clothes, he can’t help but admire her. From top to bottom.

Fuck, she’s so hot.
And of course, she knows he’s looking.

The ferry scene... and other scenes... done.
The theatre scenes are next.

Things have changed.
The nervousness has been replaced by closeness. And that closeness has grown... into flirting.
And flirting—that’s so much more fun.
The energy, the chemistry, the sexual tension—it’s all there. On fire.
The days on set fly by. But the weekends? Soooo long... because they’re not together.
Every morning, she wakes up excited to go to work. She feels alive. She even thinks more about what she’s wearing.
Nothing out of the ordinary—but some pants that fit a little better. A blouse unbuttoned one button lower. Perfume. Body lotion.

This morning Marty wakes up looking... well, worn out. Usually, his first thought is of her. Today’s no different—but he tries to resist thinking about her.
(Doesn’t work.)
How is he supposed to face her today... when last night, he touched himself with her on his mind?
He’d been resisting for weeks—but last night, it was impossible.
They'd spent the entire day flirting. Just like they do every day.
Exchanging glances, clever remarks, a small touch here, a teasing comment there, teasing and teasing…being around each other... She’s on his mind all the time. And when he comes home to his quiet apartment, it’s like... she’s still there, keeping him company.

But last night—he couldn't help it.
He closed his eyes and imagined her.
Kissing her first. His tongue entering her mouth and tasting hers. One hand on her neck, pulling her in. Kissing down her throat... her collarbone...
She’s wearing a long white button-up dress. He unbuttons it, revealing her bra. He squeezes her breasts through the silk. He strokes his cock at the thought of squeezing her breasts. Takes her bra off and then with nothing between them, he lets out a low moan as he imagines it: licking her nipples, one hand slipping under the dress to her thigh, sliding under her panties, and feeling her pussy.
She’s wet. So wet.
He imagines sliding a finger inside her—and she moans his name.
“Marty...”
And that’s when he comes. Eyes still closed…a finger still inside her. Breathing hard.
Opens his eyes. Alone.
Just him. Sitting in his living room.

And to make things better—or worse—that night, he dreams of her.
He’s sitting in the same place—in that same living room.

She’s straddling him, her back to his chest, and he’s thrusting into her. He can’t see her face, but he knows it’s her. Her blonde hair falling down her back. Her scent—by now, so familiar.

He holds her hips, then wraps an arm around her belly while the other hand cups her breasts.
She starts to turn her head, but doesn’t.

His cock is so hard. She’s so tight. So warm around him.
She leans back on him and says his name.
Marty... God, he loves to fuck her.

Wake up, Marty!!

He shoots up in bed. Holy shit. It felt real.
He slides his hand down. Still hard. But not like in the dream…when he was inside her. In the dream... it was perfect.
He lies back down, covers his eyes with both arms.

“How the fuck am I supposed to sleep after this?”

It’s Sitzprobe day.

Marty arrives at the theatre. He barely slept.
He can’t stop thinking about the dream... and about touching himself while imagining her. He can’t stop wondering what she’s really like in bed.
She must be... amazing.
And he can’t stop thinking about how he’s going to face her.

He walks onto the set, looks around, and there she is.

Shit!

She sees him. Smiles.
“Hiii,” she says softly, giving a little wave.

He can’t. Not yet.
He turns around and walks away.

“What the...?” Her smile fades. She doesn’t understand what just happened.
She follows him. He didn’t go far—just to the coffee cart.
“Marty?”

Oh no. She came after him.
And the way she said his name... fuck. It’s Meryl. From the dream.
In his mind, she’s already naked. His mouth is on her nipples. His hand between her thighs.

“Yes,” he replies, without turning around.
She frowns, but her voice stays sweet.
“Is something wrong?”
“No. Thank you.” He turns slightly, still avoiding her eyes.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
He grabs a coffee cup and starts walking, eyes on the floor.
“Nothing happened. All normal.” God, I must sound like a complete jerk, he thinks.
She presses her lips together, clearly not understanding—or enjoying—this.

“Marty.”
He hears the tone shift in her voice. He stops. Glances at her, then looks away again.
“Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

She starts to wonder if she did something wrong—something that made him uncomfortable.
She knows they’ve been flirting... sharing cheeky remarks. She thought they both enjoyed it. She thought they both wanted it.
Maybe she was wrong.
“Meryl, I told you—there’s nothing wrong.”
“Then why aren’t you looking at me? And why are you talking to me like that?”

By now, they’ve caught the attention of a few crew members.
People have noticed what’s been going on between them—quiet comments, lingering looks, giggles. They're always together. Always.
And now... Meryl Streep does not look amused.
Nobody wants to be near this.
Selena and Steve are on their way over when Selena slows down. She sees them talking—sees Marty staring at the floor, Meryl’s tense expression.
She stops.
“Uh-oh.”
Steve stops too. “What?”
Selena gestures toward Meryl and Marty.
“Maybe we should come back later.”
Steve squints. “Why?”
“You know... they’re clearly having a thing.”
“A thing?” Steve asks, confused.
Selena shrugs. “Well, no lovey-dovey today.”
“Lovey-dovey? What do you mean?”
Selena rolls her eyes. “Come on, Steve. You see them. Every day. Flirting. Hitting on each other.”
Steve blinks. “What?! Flirting?!”
Selena keeps walking, shaking her head.
________________________________________
Back with Meryl and Marty—
Marty, the guy who always has a quick response, suddenly... doesn’t.
He has nothing.
“Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?” she asks, voice quiet, vulnerable.
That gets his attention.
She made him uncomfortable?
He finally looks at her.
“I’m sorry. No. You didn’t do anything. I know my reaction must seem... off. But it’s me. It’s not you.”
Oof.
Meryl takes a breath.
Wow. That one stings.
“It’s me, not you.” The classic line.
She nods. “Okay.”
And walks away.
“Fuck!” Marty mutters. That was the worst possible thing he could’ve said. How did this spiral so fast?

It’s Sitzprobe day.
And they both remember.
Meryl remembers. Marty remembers.
In today’s scene, Oliver has to apologize to Loretta... and tell her he loves her.
Marty needs to sit down and figure out how the hell he’s going to say those words—today.
Oliver hasn’t said those words to a woman in a long time.
Marty hasn’t either. Not in thirteen years.
But it’s not Marty saying it... it’s Oliver.
It’s not Meryl... it’s Loretta.
Still…

Meryl leans against a wall, away from Marty, waiting for John to call her to set.
She wishes she could just go home.
She feels stupid. How could she have let this happen? How did she misread everything so badly?
She shakes her head. She feels foolish.
She thought Marty liked what was going on... like she did.
Didn’t he?
Then what was all of that?
Damn it, Meryl! Does she actually like him?
No time to answer. John calls them both.

They take their positions.
John can immediately tell something’s off. The air feels heavier.
But Meryl launches into her lines, as if nothing is wrong. Ever the professional.
Marty... wishes he could disappear.
Not only is he dealing with last night, but now he’s also dealing with the fact that he’s hurt her.

They begin the scene.
And what seems like brilliant acting…It’s not acting.
It’s real.
Marty is trying to find a way out of the mess he’s created. Meryl is disappointed—maybe in him, maybe in herself. Her eyes glisten, full of real tears.
Great for the scene.
Except, it’s reals tears and Marty knows they’re real.
And then... it’s time for the line.
“And there’s more... and it’s a biggie. I love you.
Wow, haven’t said those words in a minute.
But you know what? It felt right, so I’m going to say it again.
Here it goes. I love you, Loretta.”

She swallows hard as she hears it.
He takes a deep breath after saying it.
The scene ends with Meryl far from him—visibly shaken.

John is amazed at the performance….so amazed they don’t need to do more takes.
“Okay, guys! I just got the note that we can’t shoot anything else today—technical issues. I’m really, really sorry. That’s a wrap for today!”
Relief.
Marty follows Meryl.
She’s grabbing a bottle of water, trying to steady her emotions.
Hearing him say those words—to Loretta, sure—was just too much.
“Meryl.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, exhales deeply, then turns to face him.
“Marty... you don’t have to say anything more. It’s okay. I got it.”
“No. I don’t think you did. And that’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault. I misread it. It won’t happen again.”
Wait—what?
What is she saying? Are they even talking about the same thing?
“Meryl... you're right. I was acting differently. There’s a reason... but I don’t want to tell you.”
“But you wouldn’t look at me. So I know it’s something about me. Isn’t it?”
He takes a deep breath.
“It is. But it’s nothing you did. You couldn’t possibly make me uncomfortable. I love being around you. We have fun... don’t we?”
“Fun,” she echoes.
“Yes... we have fun.”
“You know what I mean...”
“Clearly, I don’t.” She shakes her head.
Shit.
He can’t lose her.
“Meryl—” he grabs her gently by the arms. It’s the first time he touches her like this. Her heart races. He’s looking straight into her eyes.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I also don’t want to lie to you. So I’m going to tell you something... but please, don’t ask me anything about it.”
She’s quiet. Curious.
He pulls her in a little closer. Then leans in, mouth near her ear.
“I had a dream about you last night. And this morning, I just... I couldn’t face you.”
He pauses, then glances at her neck, catching her scent without touching her, but wanting so much that his cock hardens a bit.
“I’m going to turn and walk away now. And hopefully, tomorrow, we can pick up where we left off yesterday... and forget about today.”
He kisses her cheek, lowers his gaze, and walks away.
Meryl is frozen.
Her heart pounds so loud, she can hear it in her ears. There are butterflies—no, elephants—stomping in her stomach.
She can’t think.
His nearness. His breath on her ear. His hands on her arms, pulling her to him. The pressure of his fingers.
He had a sexual dream about her. A hot wave went through her body, when she heard this.

After finally being able to move again, Meryl leaves the theatre as fast as she can. She needs to be alone.
She gets home, drops her things on the hallway table, and sinks into the big sofa.
Only now can she truly think about what he said.
And she smiles.
Then grins.
The thought of it makes her feel something she hasn’t felt in years.
Now she wonders... what was the dream?
Was it just kisses?
Or did he dream he was fucking her?
Oh, god. Meryl!
She hopes it was both. She knows it was both. That’s why he couldn’t look at her.
She bites her lip and smiles wickedly.
Marty Short is having sex with her in his dreams.
And that can only mean one thing: he’s probably fucking her in his daydreams, too.

Also... it brings her mind back to the SAG Awards.
Ooooh. She takes a deep breath.
She has a secret too.

Marty arrived at his apartment completely drained.
What a day.
What a morning—and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
He dropped his keys somewhere near the counter, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa like gravity had personally declared war on him.
He sat there for a full minute, staring at the ceiling.
Then groaned.
“Good one, Marty.”
Real smooth.
Best decision ever: tell Meryl Streep—the best actress of all time—that you had a wet dream about her last night.
He dragged both hands down his face and let out a low, strangled noise.
What the hell had possessed him?
Well. She did. Obviously.
By now, she could be calling HR.
Or worse—deciding never to speak to him again.
But even in the pit of shame he was wallowing in, he knew that wouldn’t happen.
Not really.
Not after what happened this morning.
He had seen the way she looked at him—hurt, confused. Like she thought he was trying to push her away.
And then when he grabbed her arm—when he pulled her to him— She hadn’t pulled away.
In fact, she almost leaned into him.
That part stuck in his head like a song on repeat.

He wanted her.
There.
He admitted it.
Not just “oh she’s nice” or “oh she’s sexy” kind of wanting.
He wanted her.
Wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone in a decade. Maybe longer.
Hell, he’s ashamed to admit it, but wants her like no woman before.
It was hard to admit that—to himself, to anyone—but it was true.
Meryl was... intoxicating.
He liked everything about her.
Her mind.
Her talent.
Her voice.
Her kindness.
Her laugh.
Her everything.
And yeah, her body.
Jesus.
That body.
He was attracted to everything about her.
And the truth? He had been for years.
Of course he had.
But it was always distant. Admiration from afar. An occasional flirty joke. A fantasy that lived in the back of his mind like an old photograph.
Nothing serious.
Not until SAG.
Oooops.
There it was again.
The SAG thing.
He flopped sideways onto the couch, groaning into a cushion.

Chapter 2: wrap party

Marty’s memory. December 2021

It’s a party—one of Marty’s. He’s chatting with Rita Wilson when she suddenly says:
“Oh, Marty... you know what? I don’t think I’ve ever told you this. And you can’t tell anyone—I mean, A-N-Y-O-N-E. It’s a secret. Really. Tom would kill me...
Your crush? She’s separated. She’s not with her husband anymore.”
Marty blinks.
“My crush?” He laughs. “I have many crushes, baby.”
“Oh no,” Rita says, smirking. “Not like this one. She’s been your true crush. Marty...”
He’s still not getting it.
“You don’t know who I’m referring to? Then maybe you don’t deserve to know,” she teases. “I’m disappointed, Marty.”
“I mean... I have this crush on—you know who—but it’s not her, so...”
Rita nods slowly, lips pursed.
“What?” He squints. “It can’t be... Meryl Streep?” He whispers.
She nods again. “Yes.”
“Separated?”
“Yep.”
“No. Who told you?”
“She told Tom. But she doesn’t want it out there.”
“Maybe because they might get back together?”
“No. Not a chance. It’s not recent, Marty. She’s been separated for years. Like five. Things had been bad for longer... She was always working away. Don didn’t want to go anywhere. Always in Connecticut. Quiet, reserved, few words. It was all held together by threads. She told Tom while they were filming The Post.”
“Wow,” Marty says. “I had no idea... I mean, I’ve only met her a few times. She always seems so full of life.”
Rita nods. “I know. Complete opposites. It’s a shame. Meryl’s a great person—fun and lovely.”
“RITA!!” Tom calls from across the room.
She holds up a finger to Marty and walks off.
He downs the rest of his wine and pours himself another.
He needs it.
Not that he would do anything with this information. Surely, by now, she could be seeing someone else...

Cut to: February 2022, Meryl’s at home

She’s in her closet, trying to decide between two dresses for the SAG Awards. Louisa walks in.
“Hey, Mom... what are you doing?”
“Trying to decide between these two dresses,” Meryl says, unenthusiastically.
Louisa senses the vibe. Low energy. Quiet.
“Those two...?”
“I know. They’re boring. Like me.”
“Come on, Mom. You’re not boring. That’s the last word I’d use.”
“Why did I say I’d go?” Meryl sighs.
“You’re nominated, for god’s sake.”
“No one wants to give me more awards...”
Louisa hates seeing her mom like this. After the divorce, Meryl had still done a few films, but the pandemic took its toll. She’d become quiet. She read all the books, heard music, drank wine, took some walks... but felt detached.
Here she was—seventy years old, divorced, alone, old...no rush...no sparks of living...it was tough. She doesn't feel her age. She doesn't look her age. But the world is unforgiving.
Some days, that hits harder and Louisa, her youngest, the one who still spends a lot of time with her mother, knows today, is one of those days.
“Also, I’m presenting,” Meryl mutters. “That’s the worst part.”
Louisa starts scanning her mother’s closet.
“How about this one?”
“I don’t want to add one more to the list. And that one’s strapless.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I can’t wear strapless.”
“Why not? You wore one two years ago. You’d look hot in it!”
“I don’t want to look hot.” She pauses. “Correction—I can’t look hot. Not anymore.”
Louisa puts her hands on her hips.
“Mom... are you kidding me? You work out. You do Pilates. You swim. Your arms are amazing. You have a perfect neckline. You should wear this. You’ll empower women your age. You’re always talking about how Hollywood treats women over 50. So show them—show everyone how, at 72, Meryl Streep can still stun.”
Meryl watches her daughter with admiration. Louisa. Her sweet girl. So powerful, so beautiful, so fierce and fragile at the same time. So Meryl, but so unique.
Meryl knows she can wear that dress.
“I’ll think about it,” she says, half-smiling.

 

At the 2022 SAG Awards, Meryl arrives in a stunning black strapless gown.
Her toned arms turn heads. Including his.
Martin Short sees her... and looks again.
Her arms. Her back. Her neckline.
She looks incredible.
Sexy. Elegant.
That night, he’s presenting with Selena. He has the perfect joke. A joke he would only risk, after knowing what Rita told him.
“So here we are, Selena—the Shag Awards!”
“No, wait, wait—it’s the SAG Awards.”
“Ah, see? That makes much more sense. I was surprised to see Meryl Streep!” He grins and looks at her.
She bursts out laughing.

During one of the breaks, Meryl makes her way over to say hello to Selena. She’s a fan of the show. Marty watches as she kisses Selena’s hands—Selena looks elated.

They chat briefly. Marty can’t hear what they’re saying—someone else is talking to him—but when Meryl turns and walks toward him, he stiffens slightly.

“Hi,” she says.

“Meryl, hope you’re not mad at me,” he replies, smiling as he takes her hand and kisses it, just like she did with Selena.

She’s a little surprised—but she likes it. He’s such a gentleman.

“Well,” she says with a sly grin, “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered that you were surprised to find me at an event honoring performances in... shagging.”
Oh, Meryl!

Marty lives for this kind of banter. When he finds someone who can match him in wit, it lights him up.
He dares to take it further.

He places his hands on her waist—just gently. She shivers a little at the touch, then casually places her hands at her own waist too, her fingers brushing his.

“Oh, Meryl,” he says low, “one thing’s for sure—if this were the Shag Awards... you’d win.”
As he says it, he pulls her just slightly closer, his fingers pressing softly against her waist.

They’re both looking at each other now—locked in, eye to eye.
A wave of heat rolls through her. It’s been so long since a man touched her like this... Her heart picks up speed. Her body awakens.
She straightens her posture just a bit—enough to make her breasts perkier.
She feels good in this dress. Confident. And Marty? He’s only adding fuel to that fire. Flirting, sure—but isn’t that what comedians do?

“Well,” she says, teasing, “maybe if it were ten or twenty years ago...”
He lets go of her waist.
“You’d win any time.”
She smiles, lips twisting at the edges. Someone approaches and they stop talking. The ceremony is about to start again.
She walks away, but turns back once, catching him still watching her.

Later that night, the ceremony is winding down. People have started leaving.

Meryl stays behind, chatting with Helen Mirren. Marty watches her while trying to maintain another conversation. Selena and the rest of the Only Murders crew are already gone.

As Meryl gathers her things and heads toward the exit, Marty also excuses himself and starts to make his way out.

She’s in the lobby, looking into her purse.
“It was lovely to see you again. Bye,” he says, brushing his fingers lightly over her arm as he passes.
She looks up. “Marty.”
He turns, but stays where he is.
“Just out of curiosity... what category?”
He tilts his head.
“Multiples, for sure,” he replies with a wink.
She grins. “I like multiples.”
She waves goodbye.
He waves back.

“I’m sure you do,” he murmurs to himself, still smiling.
Marty steps into the car that’s taking him home. He feels... damn good about himself.
He can’t believe he actually said those things. But, what surprised him the most, is the way she reacted.

She, in that dress... God. Her body looked phenomenal. She had to work out. He starts to wonder— about her legs... her stomach... everything.

God, she must be sublime in bed.
Wait. Why am I wondering how she is in bed...?
By now, dressing like this, and with that body, for sure she's seeing someone.

Because it’s her.

Meryl gets home.
The big house is dark and silent. She turns on a few lights, slips off her shoes, and heads to the kitchen. She opens a bottle of wine, pours a glass, then walks outside. It’s cold, but she doesn’t care. Her body is warm—buzzing with something new. Something alive.
That conversation with Marty… it made her feel something. Something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Seen. Desired.
Like a woman.
And not just as a grandmother, or a legend, or “Meryl Streep.” But as a woman.
It made her want things again. Things she had buried. Like sex. Intimacy. Touch.
After the divorce, she’d lost hope. The pandemic made things worse. She got older. Her circle stayed the same. Her life narrowed.
She was still Meryl, but sometimes, it felt like all she was... was a grandmother. That's what she thought she became, a grandma. If she tries to figure really for how long she hasn't had sex...the number would scare her. Been divorced for 5 years...add more what, 4 or 5 years... God!!
She sips her wine and steps back inside, pouring another glass before heading to her bedroom.
She takes off the dress—the strapless one that made her feel like a goddess. Unhooks her bra, which had started digging into her back hours ago. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
She still feels good about her body.
Sure, her breasts aren’t what they used to be. She resents that a little.
But they’re still good.
She drinks more wine. The warmth in her belly starts rising.
She thinks of Marty.
Of all the men in the world... Marty made her feel like this tonight?
Yes. Yes, he did.
She lies back on the bed.
She knows exactly what she’s going to do.
Of course, she touches herself often. But it’s never... personal. It’s not about anyone. Just a release. She slides her panties down and starts touching herself
Tonight?
Tonight it’s about him.
Her hand moves lower, slowly, deliberately. She closes her eyes.
Tonight, on her mind, while she rubs her clit and fingers herself, Martin Short has his mouth on her cunt.
She moans—loudly—as she comes. Once. Then again. And again.
Multiple times.

Meanwhile, Marty...
He’s in the shower. Water pounding down his back. His hand moving faster, stroking his hard cock.
He’s thinking of her.
Thinking of fucking her—pulling up that black dress, yanking down her panties, and thrusting into her. The scent of her skin. The curve of her neck.
He finishes, groaning her name.

 

There’s no denying it.
Something shifted inside her that night.
And so, not long after the SAG Awards, Meryl reaches out.
She contacts Steve Martin.
Sometime after, casually—but intentionally—she tells him, “If you ever decide to do another movie... or something fun... I’d be open.”
What Meryl doesn’t say is what was truly on her mind.
The set of Only Murders in the Building.
She’d heard about the fun they were having. The creative joy. The freedom.
And she couldn’t lie to herself—Marty sparked something in her.
He reminded her of what it felt like to flirt. To feel butterflies. To be wanted.
And she wanted to know more.
More about him. More about how he made her laugh. More about how he looked at her. More about how it felt to be near him.
She was curious.
So damn curious.

 

Back to the present day. Back to the theatre.
She can’t wait to get there.
To work. To see him.
She’s not going to bring up the dream. She wants to respect the vulnerability it took for him to tell her.
It must have been hard for him.
Hard.
She almost laughs out loud at the word. Oh, it was definitely hard.
God, she’d love for him to tell her exactly what the dream was about. Whisper it in her ear... with his body close... his breath warm on her skin.
Meryl, Meryl, Meryl...
She knows what’s happening. She’s into him.
She likes him.
She’s attracted to him. And now that she knows—without a doubt—that he’s attracted to her too... it’s on a whole new level.
But one thing lingers in the back of her mind.
They’re nearing the end of filming.
What happens after this?
It’s the one thing holding her back.
Stopping her from admitting how much she wants him.
Stopping her from doing anything that might make it real.

 

Marty, meanwhile, is already at the theatre.
He’s been there all morning, filming scenes with Steve and Selena.
He knows she doesn’t need to be there until later—but secretly, he’d hoped she might show up early.
Sometimes, they stay for each other’s scenes.
He’s nervous. He wants to see her. To see her face.
Her face will tell him—before she says a word—how she feels about yesterday.
He’s in the middle of chatting with Steve when he hears her voice.
“Hello, boys! Steve. Marty.”
They both look over.
She’s beaming. Radiant.
“Marty, how are you? I didn’t see you yesterday,” she says sweetly.
Her tone makes Steve nearly jump.
What???
Marty instantly understands what she’s doing.
“Yeah... I had a horrible headache. Stayed home,” he says.
Steve looks from Meryl to Marty and back again, totally baffled.
Meryl grabs Marty’s hand.
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says, her fingers warm. “I’m going to change. We’re filming For the Sake of a Child today!”
“I know... can’t wait to be thrown off the lighthouse cliff,” he grins.
She walks off to change.
Steve turns to Marty with the dumbest expression on his face.
“What the hell just happened?”
“What?”
Steve starts gesturing wildly. “You two were here yesterday!”
“Well... that’s your opinion,” Marty shrugs.
Steve stares. “What?!”
Then he laughs. Now he gets it. Selena was right. He hadn’t been paying attention.
But now?
Now he sees it. When Marty dodges questions, something is serious. And, he also knows, Marty will speak about it, when he wants to speak. But, it's serious. That, Steve is 100% sure.

Meryl dazzles everyone.
Singing, acting, performing—she owns the stage.
She’s magnificent. Effortless. Magnetic.
Shooting the musical scenes with Marty is a dream. It’s fun, it’s silly, it’s chaotic. There are lots of takes, lots of resets, but the energy between them makes the work feel light.
She loves to sing. He loves to sing.
They’re such a match.
Today, it’s not about flirting.
It’s about laughter. Joy. Play.
Exactly what they both needed.

 

Over the next few days, they finish filming the theatre scenes.
And Marty? He stays for every single scene she’s in.
Even when he doesn’t have to.
Watching her sing is mesmerizing.
She sees him there, sitting in the audience as she films a scene with Paul. She loves that. She feels his presence. His support. His devotion.
And during breaks?
He teases her. Makes jokes. Riffs off the smallest things.
He jokes about everyone on set—but saves the sharpest, funniest bits for her.
And she throws it right back.
Witty. Sharp. Funny as hell.
And that—that turns him on like nothing else. Like nothing or no one, ever did.
Does she have flaws?
What are they?
One day, after yet another brilliant take, he looks at her and says:
“You’re perfect. You always nail it. I’m amazed. I’ve been wondering tough... do you have any flaws?”
She sighs dramatically and shrugs.
“Oh, yes. I’m lousy in bed.”
And walks off, just like that.
He stares after her, stunned.
As she walks away, she turns back and winks.
Winks.
Marty’s jaw drops.
If she can joke like that? If she’s that bold, that playful?
She’s definitely not lousy in bed. She must be excellent.

 

It’s been what... four, five years. He can’t even tell anymore.
Since Nancy died, he hasn’t been in a real relationship. Sure, there were dates. A few longer flings. But nothing with meaning. Mostly, just sex. He was never in love again. Attracted yes, but not really invested in anyone.
And the good thing about those years?
He learned.
He explored. He perfected.
He knows how to please. And he knows what he likes.
He likes to lead. He likes to dominate.
But Meryl?
Meryl is the first woman he actually wants.
Not just for sex.
Not just for fun.
He wants her.
Really wants her.
That’s why he hasn’t made a move.
And that’s what scares him the most.
What happens after this?
Filming’s ending.
They haven’t kissed—not outside of the scene. They haven’t gone out. They don’t even text.
Is it just chemistry around the set. Or it could be something more.
And if it is more... what the hell do they do about it?

It’s the end of April and it’ a wrap.

John decides to throw a celebration—dinner at a private room in a Manhattan hotel. Cast, crew, and a lot of champagne.

Meryl feels a lump in her throat. This might be the last time she sees him for a long time.
They haven’t done anything outside of set. No dinner, no kiss. No late-night text. Nothing.
Just... this electricity between them.
Still, she breathes deep and pushes those thoughts away.

She chooses a long black dress with a deep neckline. She originally bought it for an event she’ll have in Spain in a few months, but decides to wear it tonight first.
She wants to feel sexy. And she wants him to see her. He makes her want to dress like this…to feel like this.

She arrives at the party, accepts a welcome drink, and scans the room. She's a bit nervous on the effect she's going to make on him.
There he is.
He’s laughing, telling a story to some crew members. A glass in hand. Black suit, no tie, shirt slightly unbuttoned.

Dashing.
She watches him for a minute.

Then he sees her. And his face changes.
That smile? It’s just for her.
Of course, he walks straight toward her. She's starting to blush because she knows he's already seeing her cleavage.

“Hello, Ms. Streep... you’re looking very... (his eyes fall to her cleavage, then back to her face) ...dark.”
“You don’t like it?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
He kisses her cheek, hand lightly brushing her elbow. His voice drops.
“You look ravishing.”

She clinks her glass against his. Drinks it down in one go. He chuckles, does the same.
“I’m going to grab us another. White wine?”
“Whatever you’re having,” she smiles.
He heads to the bar.

She moves through the room, greeting Steve, Selena, John, Paul. Everyone’s at the same table—including her and Marty.
“Oh, this is going to be a fun night,” she says.

Marty returns with their drinks just in time.
He hands her a fresh glass, watches as she takes a long sip.
He knows: they’re both going to be a little drunk tonight.

The dinner is loud, joyful, a little chaotic. The party is at closed doors. Has a security outside and people were discouraged to take photos or film anything.
M&M table is one of the loudest.
Everyone’s in high spirits. Tipsy, at the very least. Even Steve is a bit looser than usual.

Marty and Meryl sit side by side. It’s dangerous. Yet another good surprise for Marty, is how well she can handle alcohol. Like the rest of them, she's a bit drunk, which makes her more loose, more frisky.

She’s playful. Leaning in to whisper things. Her hand has already landed on his thigh—twice.
The second time? Near his crotch.
If it had been the other leg, she would’ve touched his cock.
He can’t tell if it was intentional—or if she’s just not being as careful anymore.
Another time, she leaned in and he couldn’t help it—his eyes dropped into her cleavage.
He saw her lace black bra. The curve of one perfect breast.
God, its driving him crazy. His pants really got tight.

Then someone at the table brings up fitness. Who works out. Who has trainers. What workouts they like.
Meryl chimes in.
She does Pilates at home, has a trainer, and swims. Selena’s impressed.
Meryl scrolls through her phone and pulls up a few short videos of her workouts and shows it to Selena.
“Wow, Meryl... you look extremely hot in your gym gear,” Selena says.
Paul peeks over and does a double take. “Meryl! Respectfully, you look incredible.”
"C'mon guys..." She's embarrassed.
“Can I see?” Steve asks.
His reaction is the same.
“Hot mama!” Wesley laughs. “We need to dance more!” She laughs.
One by one, everyone at the table sees the videos—Meryl in black leggings and a sports bra, toned and glowing.

Marty’s the last to get the phone.
He senses the group watching him.

The video plays. Meryl doing Pilates with a personal trainer. Tight, strong, beautiful.
His cock twitches.

He keeps it light: “I do Pilates too. But my leggings are purple and they match my Stanley cup.”
Laughter erupts. The attention shifts—thank god.

He leans in and keeps watching. Quietly.
“Marty—my phone?” she says with a smirk. He looks up to her, but then again at her phone.
Zooming in slightly on her form. Her ass. Her waist. He’s never seen her like this.
Jesus. He's feeling a hard on, just by watching it for a few seconds. He doesn't know how, he's going to get up, but it's all worth it.

Then: “Can you send it to me? I could really use it. I haven’t done anything in New York—I think this could be... inspiring.”
She laughs, takes her phone back. “You wish.”
“I really do.” His voice is low. Serious.
“Marty...” she leans toward his ear. “I’m getting a little drunk. Don’t push me.”

She moves to place her hand on his right thigh, but he catches it—midair.
“Meryl, be careful with that hand. You might get a surprise.”
Her heart skips and she feels the heat on her face. There's a moment of silence while they exchange knowing looks.

“Show me what you mean…” she whispers.
Fuck. Are they really doing this?

They’re seated with their backs to the wall. The lighting is dim. No one’s watching.

He hesitates.
Then—fuck it.
He takes her hand and guides it to his crotch.
Hard. His cock is hard.
She suppresses a gasp. The adrenaline rushing through her body eliminates the alcohol effect.
Her hand explores slowly, fingers mapping the shape, feeling the size.
He’s rock hard. And just from watching her stretch on a video.
He’s dizzy. His hand still on top of hers. Holding back every sound.

Then—BZZZT!
A microphone feeds back. The static startles them both.

She pulls her hand away, brushing her neck, trying to look casual.

“What was that?” Selena asks.
“A surprise,” John grins from across the room.
A mic turns on.

“Hello everyone!” Michael announces. “John had this idea, because some members of the crew sometimes do karaoke...we should do a karaoke contest! Don't shoot the messenger!"
Now everybody turns at John who is chuckling.
The room is buzzing.
There are six tables. One performer per table. One song each. There will be a vote.
Someone brings a list of songs to each table.
People start standing, mingling between groups, laughing, debating who should sing.
It’s loud, messy, alive.

Meryl uses the moment to slip away.

“Wait—where are you going?” Selena calls.
“You pick,” Meryl waves. “I need the ladies’ room.”

Marty watches her disappear, her hips swaying as she walks.
He knows where that hand was just minutes ago. His body is still on fire.

She just needs a moment to breathe.
She reaches the mirror and leans in. Her cheeks are flushed, her pulse high.
Oh my god. She can't believe what happened. She touched him.
And with his hand on top of hers.
He was so hard. Because of her.
She runs cold water over her hands, trying to cool down. She smiles to herself. Shakes her head.

Someone enters. She quickly composes herself, says Hi! and leaves.

Back at the table, Wesley calls out, “Meryl! It’s you with ‘Mamma Mia’ or Selena!’”
Selena groans. “You do it, honey!” Meryl says smiling.

Marty leans in.
“Are you alright?” he asks in a low voice.
She meets his gaze, playful. “Are you?”
“I need a drink, or two. Stronger than the wine we’re having.”

He’s staring at her lips. She’s biting one softly, also looking at his lips, then shifts to meet his eyes again.
“I’m going to the bar,” he murmurs. “Want anything?”
“They don’t have what I want at the bar.”
He grabs her arm, leans in close to her ear.
“Fuck, Meryl. I don’t need another hard-on.”
She shivers.
“Then bring me a martini,” she whispers.
He nods and goes.

The karaoke is a hit.

Everyone’s laughing, cheering, clapping.

Meryl and Marty are keeping distance. Talking to others. Keeping it cool.
But their eyes? Constantly finding each other.
Stealing glances. Small smiles. Heat flickering like a low flame.

Marty can’t stop thinking about her hand. The way she asked him to “show” her, when she knew damn well what he meant.
The way she stroked him. She felt him.
She wanted to.

He finds her across the room. As if she senses him, she turns, catches his eye, and motions him over.
“Another martini?” he asks as he reaches her.
“Better not.”
“Afraid you’ll do something you’ll regret?”
“I’m not that drunk,” she says, her voice like silk. “Tonight, I’ll only do things I really want.”
He stares at her mouth. She’s biting her lip again. Her gaze flicks between his lips and his eyes. They smile at each other and continue the flirting and the laughing.

By now, people have started to leave. They are both still there, a bit drunk, very onfire but both don't really know what to do.
“I’m leaving!” she says suddenly, laughing, grabbing her purse.
“What? Where are you going?”
“Leaving—as in, goodbye, Marty.” He follows.
"Goodbye?!?!?"
"Yes! A have a flight tomorrow. " She loves that he's following her.
She walks toward the exit.
“Yes!” she laughs, but her eyes are daring him to chase her.
She pushes open the door into the hallway. There are two corridors.
She pauses—unsure of which one leads out.
“Here,” he says. “It’s this way.”
He grabs her wrist and pulls her toward the other corridor—then stops.
It’s empty. Quiet. Dimly lit.

And he turns.
Backs her to the wall. Places his hands on either side of her, trapping her without touching her.
Their bodies are close.They’re both breathing harder now.
She places her hands behind her back—really, behind her butt—and swallows.
Her heart is racing.
They stand in the corridor.
Close. Too close.
His arms cage her in—hands flat against the wall, either side of her shoulders.
He hasn’t touched her yet. But it’s already too much.
Their breaths mingle.
"What do you mean you have a flight tomorrow?"
“I’m heading back home, to L.A.… and then I have to be in London. I didn’t know we were going to have this party and—”
She stops talking when she feels his hand moving.
He caresses her face, then trails down her neck, stopping at her collarbone. Her eyes flutter closed—her heart pounding like it’s about to jump out of her chest.
“Are we doing this?” he asks.
She opens her eyes and shrugs. “I don’t know, Marty…”
He’s hoping for a different answer.
“I’m afraid this is just because we’re working together… and then your feelings are going to change…”
He doesn’t let her finish.
He kisses her.

For the first time.
The moment his lips touch hers, she gasps, then parts her lips—and his tongue finds hers.
Her arms wrap around him as they kiss hungrily.
He presses his body against hers and she moans when she feels his bulge on her leg.
The sound drives him wild. Makes him even harder.
“Tell me this isn’t the wine,” he murmurs.
“It’s not the wine.”

The kiss seems endless—tongues tangling, breath shared, their mouths greedy with need.
She breaks away, breathless, only to have his lips move to her neck. His hands grip her waist, pulling her tighter against him.
She moans again.
He returns to her mouth and this time… the kiss feels like fucking.
They don’t stop—until voices echo down the hallway.
She pulls away.
“Nooo…” he whispers against her skin, knowing what’s coming.
“I have to go.”
She looks once more—at his mouth, then his eyes.
“Meryl…”
He grabs one of her hands in both of his, but she slips it away instantly.
“Bye, Marty…”
And she’s gone.
Marty is left in frustration and silence. And loss.

Chapter 3: waiting

Two months pass

They haven't seen each other.
No calls. No texts. No contact.
Nothing.
That night—that kiss—rattled her.
It was just a kiss, but it cracked her wide open.
The emotions… the feelings… the needs. It made her dizzy.
And afterward?
Everything changed.
She realized things she hadn’t let herself admit.
The timing was awful. If it had happened earlier, maybe something more could’ve grown.
But the show ended. She flew to L.A. Then London.
And he never said a thing. She doesn’t even know if he’s in NY or LA.
She thought her feelings would fade in a few weeks.
But they didn’t.
She can’t stop thinking about him.
About the kiss. About his jokes. His gentleman charm. His sexiness. The dream he had with her.
The way he held her waist. The way he guided her hand to his crotch. The way he looked at her—sometimes proudly, sometimes like he wanted to consume her.
She misses him terribly.
Why hasn’t he said anything?
She’s going crazy. Can’t focus. She’s cranky. Frustrated. Sad.
And furious.
Because—fuck—she’s in love with Marty.
And he doesn’t give a damn.
She grabs her phone.
Dials.
________________________________________
“Meryl, honey! I was just about to call you!” Tracey Ullman answers, full volume. “I miss you! How are you, girl?”
“Hi, Trace…”
“That voice—wait—are you ill or something?”
“No, I’m… fiiine…”
Tracey pauses.
“Something wrong with one of the kids?”
“No, no. Everyone’s fine. Nothing like that.”
“Shit. Are you pregnant?!”
“What?!” Meryl bursts out laughing.
“Honey, with that voice? You’re either sick, pregnant, or—Mary Louise!—do you like a boy?!”
“Oh God…”
She flops dramatically onto the couch.
“I’m on my way,” Tracey declares. “And I’m bringing wine!”
“What? Nooo—” actually Meryl really wants her to come over.
“I said I’m on my way. We’re getting drunk tonight. Prepare the guest room!”
Call ended.
Meryl drops the phone and covers her face with her arms.
She’s glad she called.
She needed this.
She really needs to tell someone what's going on, or else she'll burst. Louisa already is suspecting something is going on. Right now, she's the closest to her mother. She lives on her own, but sometimes she stays with her in Pasadena. She told her a few times how much she was enjoying working with Marty...all casual of course. And if Louisa suspects anything, Grace already knows.

An hour later, Tracey arrives with a bottle of red, hugs her friend, and they settle in the living room.
Meryl sits on the floor, leaning back against the couch in front of Tracey.
“Alright. Spill the tea, bestie. Or whatever the kids say. Who is he?”
“Oh, Trace… how the fuck did I end up here?”
“Ooooh you’re down bad, aren’t you?”
Meryl just nods.
“Who is it? Wait—is it that guy? Don’s friend?”
“Nooo! That guy?? He only cared about golf. Please no friends of the ex!”
“So… someone I know?”
“Uh-huh…”
“I know him, hummm...that's interesting. Someone from the industry?”
Another nod.
“Someone from work?”
Yet another nod—this time hiding her face.
“Oooh my God!! Meryl…from work… did you fuck already???”
“No. We kissed. One single, mind-blowing time. And…(whispering) I stroked his penis.”
Tracey blinks.
“BUT HE WAS DRESSED!” Meryl adds, justifying herself.
Tracey nearly falls off the couch laughing. “Slutty Meryl! I love it. And I know him... who are you working with?... can't be Steve...I don't know the director.”
Then it hits her.
She gasps.
“Wait… You lucky bitch. No. No! Marty?! It’s MARTY, isn’t it?! You like MARTY SHORT!!!”
Meryl buries her face in the cushions while Tracey screams.
“OH MY GOD! MARY LOUISE STREEP! You stroked Martin Short’s cock?! Tell me everything!!!”
“There’s not much to tell…”
“I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING.”
"Actually it was all at the same night. There was this party. We got a little drunk... we were flirty... he was seated next to me... he got hard looking at some of my pilates videos...and I stroked him, with his hand on mine...the kiss was later..." she hides her face. Tracey drinks up.
"Oh my god!! Some party!! And what did you felt? Was it good? You know..." They burst laughing.
"Very, very good..."
" Good for you girl!" They toast.
Meryl grins. “Trace, he’s… wonderful. Sweet. Funny. Kind. And sexy. I didn’t expect it, but—he’s everything.”
Tracey suddenly gets serious.
“Meryl… you got one of the good ones. I'm shocked it's him...but he's wonderful...He’s golden. Everybody likes him. But wait—you got him, right?”
“That’s the thing. I didn’t.”
Tracey frowns. “But you kissed. You flirted. He’s not into you?”
“I thought he was. We flirted for two months. Then we kissed at the wrap party. I flew out the next day. And then—nothing. It’s been two months.”
“Okay but… did you text? Call?”
“No. Neither did he.” Tracey blinked.
“You flirted for two months... and only kissed? What are you, 23? Babe, at our age, if you like someone, you sleep with him the first night out.”
“We didn’t have a night out,” Meryl groaned. “We didn’t even text. Or talk on the phone. After work, we’d go home.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I don’t know… we didn’t need to. We saw each other almost every day.”
Tracey looked unconvinced. “So you think it was just a kiss. That he didn’t want anything more?”
Meryl exhaled hard. “I don’t know. I thought he wanted me. In a lot of ways. But then—nothing. So now I don’t know anything.”
“Well why haven’t you said anything?”
“I was waiting for him. And then time passed. And I started to think maybe it was just one of those things—an attraction that builds up when you’re close with someone… and then fades when it’s over.”
She covered her face with both hands.
“God. And now? I can’t stop thinking about him. The kiss. The flirting. The dream. Everything.”
Tracey perked up. “Wait. What dream?”
“Oh.” Meryl’s eyes flicked up. “He had a dream about me. That he was… you know… sleeping with me.”
Tracey sat bolt upright. “Whaaaaat?! And he told you that? And you still think he’s not into you?? Meryl—he wants to be inside you!”
They both burst out laughing, nearly dropping their wine glasses.
“That’s what I thought too,” Meryl said, giggling. “But then…”
“Meryl. Honey. You’re in love. Your head’s just tricking you into being scared.”
“Shit,” Meryl whispered, tears brimming suddenly. “I miss him, Trace. So much. What the hell have I done…”
Tracey reached over and grabbed her hand.
“Babe. This is the best thing that could’ve happened to you. You know he lives in the same city, right? Martin Short is a lucky son of a bitch. You—Meryl freaking Streep—panting over him... what the fuck is he waiting for?”

Meanwhile…
Marty is a wreck.
Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Can’t function. He’s silent, mostly silent.
He thinks about her constantly.
Her kiss. Her taste. Her sighs.
The way she looked at him before he kissed her. He could still feel her lips on his. Her tongue, wet and soft, moving with his. The way she moaned when he pressed his body against her. Her hands on his body. His on hers. The way she melted into him, gasping in his mouth.
Her sighs? They ruined him.
Those soft, helpless sounds she made. The thought of her sighs, make him come every time he touches himself.
And that hand—her hand—stroking him through his pants…
Her scent when she leaned in to whisper…her voice saying his name…Marty. Her Everything.
“Marty.”
He blinks.
Eugene’s voice broke through.
They were at lunch—technically. But Marty had been gone the whole time, mentally floating in some Meryl-shaped cloud.
Eugene had noticed immediately. His old friend hadn’t touched his food. Hadn’t laughed at his jokes. Had barely even blinked in the right places.
Now the meal was over, and Eugene couldn’t take it anymore.
“What’s going on?”
“What? Going on?”
Eugene gave him a face. A very Eugene face. The kind that said, Don’t play dumb, Short.
Marty sighed.
“I’ve got something on my mind.”
“Clearly.”
“Not something,” he corrected. “Someone.”
That stopped Eugene.
“Is she someone I know?”
“Well,” Marty said slowly, “everybody knows her.”
Eugene blinked. “Okay…And you like her?”
“I’m obsessed with her,” Marty admitted. “She’s in my head. Constantly. Twenty-four-seven.”
Eugene sat up straighter. Marty never talked about women like this. Not during. Not even after. Which meant—this one was different.

“Wow.” Eugene was honestly stunned. “Does she know?”
“Yes.”
“And… she doesn’t feel the same?”
“I don’t know how she feels.” Marty ran a hand through his hair. “At first, I thought she’d never even look at me twice. She’s completely out of my league.”
“Hey—wait, is she a model or something?” Eugene chuckled, but then caught himself. “You’re not talking about, like… a young girl, are you?”
Marty laughed.
“No. No. She’s not young. I mean, she could be a model. She can be anything.”
“Okay… so who is she?”
“We started flirting on set…”
“You work with her?”
“It’s Meryl.”
Eugene squinted. “Meryl? You’re saying it like I’m supposed to—wait. Is she part of the crew?”
Marty shook his head.
“No, Eugene. It’s The Meryl.”
Eugene’s eyes went wide. “Meryl... Meryl Streep?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t she married?”
“Was. Not anymore.”
"Oh, oh...i see.. you said you flirted with her."
"Together, we flirted together. And, we were always together...and then, we had this party at the end of the season shooting...and we got a bit drunk...and some things happened... and we kissed...and..."
“Holy shit.” Eugene got up and started pacing. “You kissed Meryl…Meryl Streep?!”
“We kissed,” Marty said. “At the wrap party. We were both a little drunk. Things... happened.”
“Wow. Just... wow.”
“Yeah.”
“And then?”
“We were in New York. She flew back to L.A. the next day. Then went to London. And... nothing. No texts. No calls. It’s been two months.”
Eugene sat back down, stunned. “So she pushed you way?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I’m going crazy. I miss her. I... fuck, Eugene. I want her.”
Eugene stared. He had never heard Marty talk like this.
Not once.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “But do you think she didn’t want the kiss? Maybe she was just tipsy…”
“No,” Marty said immediately. “I know she wanted it. She’d been teasing me for weeks. We flirted like crazy. But since that night—nothing. And I haven’t said anything either. I didn’t want to push.”
“But you told her you liked her?”
“Not exactly,” Marty said. “I told her other things. Things she’d have to feel. She knows.”
“She lives in L.A.,” Eugene said. “It’s not like she’s unreachable. Why haven’t you just called and asked her out?”
Marty looked up, dead serious.
“Because she’s Meryl Streep.”
“So?”
“So maybe that kiss was just a kiss. Maybe I read too much into it.”
"She's your work colleague...is she coming back for another season?"
"Possibly, yes... but that's months away... I just...fuck..."

“You always had a thing for her.”
“Yeah. But I never thought... I mean, I never thought anything like this would actually happen.”
Eugene clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Does Steve know?”
“Yeah. I talked to him a couple of weeks ago. I’m actually heading to his place after this.”
Eugene smiled. “Good. You need to talk this out. Or act on it.”
Marty didn’t answer.

An hour later, Marty arrives at Steve’s house.
Steve and Anne are playing cards and Marty joins them. It’s light at first—casual, friendly—but after thirty minutes, Anne elbows Steve under the table.
Marty isn’t himself.
He keeps zoning out. Forgets when it’s his turn. When he does play, his moves are awful. Completely unlike him.
Anne gets up and announces, “I’m going to get us some food.”
She gives Steve a look—do something.
Steve clears his throat.
“So… what’s the deal with Meryl?”
“Disaster,” Marty mutters. “No news. Which is bad news.”
“You didn’t call her.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Marty shrugs.
“Impose?!” Steve scoffs. “You kissed her. I think it’s fair to say you might want to know if she wants, I don’t know, to kiss again.”
“Yeah… but it’s been two months. I’m sure she’s not even thinking about it anymore.”
Steve’s never seen him like this. Sad. Defeated. It worries him.

Later that evening, after Marty leaves, Anne looks at Steve.
“He’s not doing well.”
“No. Still nothing. They haven’t spoken. He thinks she’s not into him.”
Anne folds her arms. “And how come you never told me this was happening on set?!”
“I thought they were just friends. Then one day in the theater, they did this weird scene… the energy was off. Marty played dumb. That’s when I knew something was going on…but not like this…”
“Well, we have to do something to help.”
“What?? We??!! I'm not going to call Meryl!”
“Yes you are!”
“Anne???!!”
“You’re going to call her. Invite her to dinner here.”
“A dinner? Like… a double date?”
“No. Just a group dinner. Casual. But if they’re both here, maybe something will happen.”
“What if she says no?”
“Then we’ll kind of know where she stands. But call her.”
“Now?!”
“Yes. It’s Monday. Let’s say… Friday.”
“This Friday? Anne—this is sudden. What about food? Guests?”
“Tom and Rita. Eugene and his wife. Maybe Jimmy. Steve and Kate maybe. Paul Rudd if he’s in town. C’mon—call!”
Steve groans, grabs his phone, and hits her contact.
“Put it on speaker,” Anne whispers.

Meryl answers.
“Hi Meryl! How are you?”
“Hi Steve! What a surprise. I’m good—how are you and Anne?”
“All good. Listen… Anne and I are hosting a small dinner Friday night. We’d really love for you to come.”
Silence.
Her heart pounds. Could Marty be there?
“Friday… yes, I think I can. Thank you. Who’s coming? If I may ask…” She closes her eyes, a bit embarrassed she asked that question.
Steve smiles at Anne—she asked.
“Well, it’s not finalized, but Tom and Rita—”
“Oh, I love them.”
“Eugene and his wife… probably Jimmy and his wife… we wanted to invite Paul too.”
No mention of Marty.
“Is Marty going?” she asks, trying not to sound too eager.
Steve hesitates. What if they tell her he's going and she backs out.
“He doesn’t know yet.”
“Oh. Okay.” Her voice dips, and Steve hears the disappointment.
“Does he know you invited me?”
“No… he had something Friday, wasn’t sure if he could make it.”
“But we can count on you, right?”
“Yes, yes. I’d be delighted. Thank you.”
“Great. We’ll send the details. See you Friday, Meryl.”
“See you. Bye.”
They hang up.
“Ooooohhh…” Anne beams. “That was a great sign.”
“She asked about him twice,” Steve nods. “Okay. I’ll call Marty.”
“No! Don’t mention Meryl. Just say it’s to cheer him up.”
“What? Let him suffer for four more days?”
“He’ll be overthinking if you tell him. Let it be a surprise.”
Steve dials.

“Hey, it’s me again,” Steve says.
“Did I forget something at your place?”
“No, no. Anne and I were talking… we’re hosting a dinner Friday. Nothing big. Just Tom, Rita, Eugene…”
“I don’t know if Eugene’s in town Friday.”
“Either way. You’re coming, right?”
“That’s your invitation? Well… I don’t think I’m much company these days…”
“Marty—you have to come! It’s an order!” Anne shouts.
He laughs and understands they’re trying to cheer him up. “Alright, alright. I’ll come. Thanks.”
"Ok. I'm gonna call Eugene right away.
Steve smiles. One half of the plan in place.
________________________________________
Thursday

Meryl’s pacing her house.
She wants to know if Marty’s going—but doesn’t want to look desperate.
Still, she grabs her phone. Calls Steve.
Steve shows Anne the screen—Meryl’s name.
“Do you think she’s backing out?”
“Hope not…”
“Meryl, hi!”
“Hi, Steve. Sorry to call—just wondering… is there a dress code?” Dress code, really Meryl? She puts her hand on her forehead.
Steve frowns. Dress code?
“Dress code? No. Come as you are. Wait—let me put Anne on.”
“Hi, Meryl!” Anne says cheerfully.
“Hi, Anne darling. Just wanted to know if it’s formal or casual.”
“Very casual. Hopefully we’ll be outside, if the weather behaves.”
“Lovely… by the way… has Marty confirmed?” Meryl rolls her eyes at her own behaviour.
Anne grins. There it is.
“Yes. He’s coming.”
Meryl’s heart does a somersault. And so does she—after she hangs up.
Now, the two hardest questions:
What to wear?
And how the hell to sleep tonight?

Friday

She barely slept.
Couldn’t focus all day, thinking on what is going to happen this evening.
Now she’s at Steve and Anne’s gate, trying not to tremble.
She chose jeans and a white shirt. Rolled sleeves. Unbuttoned just enough for a hint of cleavage. A white camisole underneath, semi-sheer. A statement necklace. Ankle-fit jeans. Soft beige flats. Hair in a low ponytail.
She wanted to look... fresh. Youthful. Like herself, but effortless.
Anne greets her first—grinning.
Steve hugs her warmly.
Inside, Eugene’s already there.
He nearly drops his wine glass when he sees Meryl.
He had no idea she was coming.
He’s sure—absolutely sure—that Marty doesn’t either, because they talked just an hour ago on the phone
And when he gets here...
Well.
Eugene pours himself another glass.
This is going to be good.

Eugene greets Meryl warmly, but he can't help observing her too.
Wow. She looks incredible.
He feels a pang for Marty—because, honestly, he fears that Meryl Streep is really in a league of her own. There’s no greater star.
While they’re chatting, Rita and Tom arrive.
They spot Meryl immediately—both surprised and delighted.
“Wow, we missed you so much!” Rita exclaims, hugging her tight.
The group gradually shifts outside to the garden. The sun is setting, painting the sky in rich oranges and pinks. It’s the perfect evening—warm, soft, golden.
Anne chats with Meryl, showing her the garden.
Then—
Marty arrives.
Steve’s heart kicks up a notch; he wants this so badly for his friend.
Marty sees Eugene, Tom, and Rita first.
“Hi guys!” he says, waving.
Rita rushes in for a hug. “Marty, honey!”
They chat for a moment, but Eugene watches Marty carefully—waiting.
Then Marty spots Anne standing a little further away... talking to someone with her back turned.
Steve is watching him too.
“Who’s that with Anne?” Marty asks.
He doesn't wait for an answer. Slowly, almost cautiously, he starts walking toward them.
Steve follows. Rita watches, wide-eyed.
Meryl shifts slightly—and Marty sees her.
Sees her.
“Meryl?”
He turns sharply to Steve.
Steve grins, slapping Marty on the back. “Surprise.”
“You invited her... for me?” Marty asks, voice cracking just a little.
“What? Of course not!” Steve smiles mischievously. “Now go.”
Marty takes a deep breath and walks up to them.
Anne sees him first, smiling wide.
And then Meryl turns.
Their eyes meet—and Meryl’s face lights up.
Marty hugs Anne quickly. “Hello, Anne. Thank you for the invitation. You look lovely.”
Then he turns to Meryl—unsure, awkward.
He leans in and kisses her cheek.
It’s nothing.
And yet—it’s everything.
“Sorry, I need to check on the caterer,” Anne says brightly, and leaves them alone with a wink.

“Meryl,” he says, smiling nervously.
“Marty,” she answers, her voice warm.
“You look great.”
Just great? she thinks with a quiet, amused sigh.
“Thank you.”
God, her smile could break him.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.
“No?”
“No. Did you?”
She nods. “Hum-hum.”
There’s a light breeze, teasing strands of hair across her face. He wants to brush it back so badly.
I wish I could kiss you, he thinks.
But he doesn’t say it aloud.
They just stand there, breathing a little harder than usual, caught.
“I missed you,” he says finally, voice low.
She inhales sharply—a breath full of relief, hope, emotion she barely holds back.
“I missed you too. Every day,” she whispers.
He steps closer.
“You ran away that night…”
She shakes her head.
“You didn’t say anything after,” she counters. “I didn’t run. Someone was coming. We were—”
She swallows.
She doesn’t want to say it.
“Kissing,” he finishes for her, his voice gentle.
She nods, takes another deap breath and bites her lip.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“I wanted to call,” he says.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid you regretted it. That maybe… since the show ended… you didn’t want me invading your space.”
She stares at him.
“I loved that kiss,” she says, “I loved everything about that night.” She lowers her voice on the last part of the sentence, and suddenly, she reminds them about her touching him...
He grins. “Teasing again, are we?”
“It’s what we do best,” she says, laughing softly.
God, how good it feels to laugh with him again.
Yet, she wonders, if they can do something more than teasing and flirting.

Across the garden, Rita nudges Tom and Eugene.
“What’s going on over there?”
“Marty arrived, barely said hi, saw Meryl… and now they’re stuck to each other,” Rita observes.
They all sneak glances.
“Yeah… the usual,” Steve mutters, smiling into his wine glass.
“I keep forgetting you’re all working together,” Tom says. “Are they always like this?!”
“More.”
"Not that he has mentioned at home!" Anne says.
"Well, at first I didn't noticed... it was Selena who mentioned..."
"They look very...smitten..." Tom adds.
Eugene chuckled. “Marty’s gone. Completely down for her. I’ve never heard him talk about anyone the way he talks about Meryl.”
“Oh my God, really? What about her?” Rita asked, almost breathless.
“She likes him,” Steve answered simply.
Anne corrected him, smiling: “He means—we think she feels the same.”

“Our Marty... in love!” Rita clutched her chest dramatically, overwhelmed. “Well, I’m rooting for them," Rita says.
She lowered her voice, serious now.
“I have to say, if this comes true, I’ll be so, so happy for Meryl too. You all know she’s divorced, right?”
They all nodded.
“The separation happened while we were filming The Post," Tom picked up. "It was really hard on her. They had been living mostly separate lives, but making it official… that was brutal.”
“It was decades of marriage,” Rita added softly. “Tom was very protective of her on that set.”
“I adore her,” Tom said. “Since then, she’s felt like a big sister to me. I just want her happy.”
They all looked toward the garden again—Marty and Meryl, still lost in each other.
Only Jimmy Fallon’s and his wife arrival broke their quiet watching.
“Hey, guys! Sorry for the delay. What are we staring at?”
Everyone laughed.

Later

Dinner is a blast.
When you put that much brilliance, humor, and heart together in one place—it was inevitable.
Meryl was radiant again.
Alive.
With Marty beside her, her energy was back—laughing, drinking, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, nudging him with her elbow when he made a joke. Flirting again.
Their legs touched under the table.
Their arms brushed when they reached for the same bottle of wine.
It wasn’t subtle.
They longed for touch.

After dinner, under the warm summer night, the group spread out across the patio and garden.
Eugene pulled Meryl aside to chat.
Meanwhile, Rita kidnapped Marty.
“Marty!” she said, dragging him by the arm, voice low. “What’s going on with you and Meryl?”
He froze. It's the first time, someone openly asks about it.
“Well… not nothing... but hardly something yet. We’re very good friends.”
“What?! Marty—everybody sees it. You’re falling for each other. And you’ve always had a crush on her.”
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “She likes my company. I make her laugh…”
Rita shook her head at him. “Marty. I’m a woman. And I know Meryl. She’s falling for you. If she’s not already in love. I know you are.”
Marty swallowed hard, not trusting himself to answer.
Rita kissed his cheek.

He wandered back over to where Meryl and Eugene were laughing about old stage stories.
“You two having fun?” he teased.
“We are!” Meryl beamed at him.
“You know who should be here?” Eugene said.
“Catherine.”
“Definitely,” Marty agreed.
"But hey...a few more days...and we'll have our little reunion." Meryl isn't following.
Meryl tilted her head. “Catherine?”
“Eugene is talking about Catherine O’Hara,” Marty explained. “Every year we get together in Canada—dinners, swims, lunches… chaos.”
“That sounds amazing,” Meryl said.
“I’m going Sunday. Marty’s flying Monday. Right?”
“Yes. Monday.”
Meryl’s smile faltered.
She hadn’t realized how soon he was leaving.
Although, she reminded herself, she had plans too—time with her kids, her grandkids.
Still… she hated the way her heart dropped.

Eugene grinned knowingly and excused himself, leaving them alone.
Marty immediately stepped closer.
"You told him about us?” she asked, voice low.
“Yes. Just that I missed you... and that we kissed. Nothing else. He's my oldest friend."
She smiled softly.
"He’s like family, right?”
He nodded.
“Meryl…” Then gently took her by the arms. She tries to see if anyone is looking.
“They’re all friends here," he said, glancing around. "We’re safe.”
She bit her lip, nervous but willing.
“I know…I just…”
“Meryl…” He pulled her further into the shadows of the garden.
“I want to tell you something,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
He wrapped his arms fully around her.
“Whatever this is between us... it’s real for me," he said, heart in his throat. "And I know it’s real for you too. And I want to say it, because I just spent two months thinking maybe it wasn’t what I thought it was," he whispered. "I don’t want to wonder anymore."
"Me either," she choked out.
"And I know we have plans—we're going to be apart this summer," he said. "I hate it. But I want to believe that when summer ends... we’ll pick this back up. That we'll find our way back."
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them, and one slips down her cheek.
She wiped it away quickly, embarrassed.
"We can do this, Meryl. Right?" he wipes another tear with his thumb.
She nodded. “Yeah. We can call. We can text…”
“Not 'can.' We will,” he said fiercely.
He cradled her face, leaning in.
"And Meryl..." he whispered into her hair, "I dream of kissing you again. I dream of making love to you. I want you." He’s looking straight into her eyes and mouth.
She shivered in his arms.
Closed her eyes.
Pressed her forehead to his chest to steady herself.
"I want to make love to you, Meryl," he whispered again, raw and reverent. He’s hoping for her to come home with him tonight.
She could barely breathe.
She can’t believe he’s saying these words. She feels the strength drain from her body, a shiver rising from her spine.
She doesn’t look at him.
Her voice comes out low. Hesitant. Honest.
“I just don’t want that to happen... and then we don’t see each other for another two months.”
She swallows, hard.
“You’re leaving for Canada on Monday. Like you said. And I have plans with the kids... Let’s just see how we pick things up after.”
She hates saying it.
Every word feels like a betrayal of what she really wants.

And he hates that she’s saying it.
He hates that he said anything at all—anything that put her in the position of having to say no to something she obviously wants too.

But he doesn’t let go.
He just keeps holding her.
Her hands slide slowly up his chest, resting gently over his heart.
“Marty...” she whispers. “I want it too. Just not today.”
His eyes close.
Relief. Hunger. Something deeper.
He pulls her in tighter, as if trying to protect the moment from slipping away.
He says nothing.
Maybe not tonight.
But soon.

Chapter 4: then fuck me, Marty

It’s Summer

Marty is in Canada, while Meryl splits her time between her children and grandchildren.
They’ve been calling and texting, rarely going more than three or four days without contact.
But still, it wasn’t the same.
There was space between their words.
And underneath it, tension.
Want.

OMITB premiered on August 8th with two episodes. Meryl didn’t watch it. She received a few texts about it—one from Marty. There were no premiere red carpet, on anything like that because of the writer’s strike.
On August 15th, another episode dropped. This time, Tracey texted her:
“Watching you and Marty on screen... there were sparks coming through my TV!!!”
Meryl wonders how much of what’s between her and Marty is visible to others. Tracey knows about it... but she wonders about her kids. But it’s summer, and they’re not really paying attention to the series or chained to Hulu or any other. She decides she’ll watch it when she gets home.

In Canada, Marty hasn’t watched it either, but he’s curious. He and Meryl are, in a way, spectators of their own story.

Though he’s enjoying time with friends, something’s changed. For the first time, he feels... absent. He’s there, but not fully. And it’s not that Meryl should be with him (though he wouldn’t mind that… in the future), it’s more that—he’s now different. She’s made him different. And he is, in his heart, wherever they are.

Meryl, meanwhile, is splitting time between her son and two eldest daughters. She loves being with family, but Grace can’t help noticing how her mother lights up every time she gets a mysterious call or text. She once asked who it was. Meryl lied. Grace knew—and it made her even more curious.

It’s early September. Meryl is back in New York. Marty’s in L.A.
She texted him yesterday, saying she was back.
No reply yet. She’s a bit upset. She was secretly hoping he might come to New York.

Knowing her mother is back in NY, Louisa came to visit, have dinner and stay the night. Because her mother is alone, she sometimes does that. Again, she’s watching her mother and knows she’s upset. She actually exchanged a few texts with Grace, and they’re both curious about what’s unsettling their mother.
Meryl’s phone rings. It’s him. She lights up.
She answers and immediately walks into her bedroom.
Louisa watches her go.
"Hi!"
"Hi... I'm sorry I didn’t reply. I was between airports and Ubers... completely forgot."
"Forgot?" She twisted her lips, annoyed.
"So... you're back in L.A.?"
"Yes. Finally, home."
"I'm in New York."
"When are you coming back to L.A.?"
"Not sure. I’ve got a few meetings here. Did you get Johnny’s message about the dinner?"
"Yes, I did. It’s at the end of the week, right?"
"Yes. Thursday."
"I’ll be there. I booked a flight—arriving around 3 p.m."
She smiles. Couldn’t help it.
"So, I’ll see you then."
"Yes... Can’t wait." He says softly.

"Lou?" Meryl walks back into the living room, trying to sound casual.
"Mom?"
"I’ve been thinking... I want to buy some new clothes."
"New clothes?" Louisa asked, brow raised.
"Yes... but something different from what I usually wear. Something more..."
"Sexy?" Meryl’s surprised by the comment.
"Kind of..."
Louisa grinned.
"I have a few events, and I want to look..."
"Sexy? You want someone to see how sexy you are?"
"Louisa! I was going to ask for your help, but now I’m not so sure!"
"Oh Mom... please. I want to help." She hugs her.
"Do I know him?"
"Louisa!"
Meryl leaves the living room, not wanting to have that talk.

That evening, Meryl decides to watch OMITB.
Five episodes are out. The sixth drops tomorrow—but she’s not in that one.
"Is that your series? I want to watch it too!" Louisa joins her on the couch.
Meryl had hoped to watch it alone, in case she wanted to stop or rewatch some scene.
"Oh... are you sure?"
"Yeah. Let’s binge it together!"
The first episode is light. Loretta is introduced. Sure, there’s the piano scene, but Louisa is used to seeing her mother act. It’s just a character. A love interest. Normal.
Meryl smiles. That was her first day on set.
“I love that scene…” she says with a low voice, smiling.
She’s not in the second episode. Louisa wants to skip it.
Meryl’s not sure about the third. She doesn’t remember what scenes are in…only certain, that it’s not the ferry scene yet.
They jumped to Episode 3.
And that’s where everything changed.
The third episode features a lot of Loretta and Oliver. Another piano scene.
Louisa looked sideways at her mother, who was suddenly very quiet.
The chemistry between her mother and Martin Short is... intense. The way they look at each other. The way her mother looks at him.
By the end of the episode, they kiss. And Meryl held her breath.

Oh.
Louisa picked up her phone and texted Grace..
"Have you watched Mom’s new series?"
"No." Grace replies quickly.
"Watch it. She’s in episode 1. Skip 2. But you MUST watch episode 3."
"What’s going on?"
"Watch it. Then we’ll talk."
"Wow... Mom... your song! It’s so beautiful! Loved it!" Meryl smiles, relieved there’s no comment about Marty—yet.
The next episode is titled “Ah, Love”. The ferry. The bed scene.
Meryl yawns.
"I think I’ll watch it tomorrow."
"Really? Are you tired?"

"Mm-hm. I’m going to grab a book and go to bed." Kisses Louisa on the head “Love when you come and stay with me.”
“Love you too mom!”
Meryl goes to her bedroom. She really didn’t want to watch that episode with her daughter.
Louisa waited five seconds, then popped in her headphones and hit play.
The ferry. The bed scene.
Yep.There it was.
Grace’s text came in mid-episode:
"Oh my god... do you think it’s him she’s been texting with?"
"Yep. Today she went into her room to take a call. Then, asked me to help her buy new clothes."
"They really have great chemistry. The way they look at each other!"
"Exactly what I thought!"
"He seems nice... but we don’t know if this is true. LOL"

 

Thursday arrives—the night of Johnny Hoffmann’s dinner.

It’s in a private dining room at a well-known restaurant.
Steve and Anne, Paul Rudd and his wife, Selena, a few producers, Meryl... and Marty.
Meryl arrives before him. She’s edgy. She hasn’t seen him in a long time. Sure, they’ve texted and talked— each warm but oddly distant. She’d expected more. She wanted more. But nothing could replace seeing him. Being near him.
Johnny Hoffmann’s dinner was the first time in weeks that would happen.
She’d dressed with that in mind.

She’s nervous. Excited.
She’s wearing a silk midnight-blue blazer with just a bra underneath. Black tailored pants. An envelope clutch. Black satin lingerie she chose with care. Heels. A long necklace that ends at her cleavage. Her makeup is flawless. Her scent, intoxicating.
She’s slaying.
Marty is late. His flight was delayed. But he didn’t tell her—Steve did. She didn’t like that.
By the time he arrives, she’s drinking, laughing, already dominating the room. She doesn’t see him right away.
But he sees her.
She’s animated, radiant, talking fast and smiling. He sees what she’s wearing. The jacket dipped open just enough to reveal black satin—is that her bra?
God…he felt the shift in his pulse.
She was stunning. Confident. Smoldering.
His.
Only she wasn’t.

He starts greeting people at the table, one by one. Finally, she notices him. She stops mid-sentence. Bites her lip. He makes his way over.
He gently grabs her elbow and kisses her cheek.
"Meryl." He smiles, then moves to greet others—but brushes her lower back as he goes.
She shivers. He notices.
She’s at the head of the table. There’s no seat for him near her. He sits at the other end.
He can't even see her, unless he leans forward. Hates that.
Too far to talk to her. Too far to touch her.
And it killed him.

The night goes on. Everyone’s buzzing. A little tipsy—including them.
Eventually, Marty switches seats, and ends up across from her, diagonally. Meryl is mid-rant about roles for women over 50.
"I’m lucky, sure. But still—most roles I’m offered now? Grandmothers. Witches. Bitter in-laws. Old ladies. That’s why I’m so grateful to John—for giving me a role where I have a love interest. Even a bed scene!" Everybody laughs.
"We did an interview—me, Candice Bergen, Dianne Wiest—after Let Them All Talk. I don’t remember where. And I talked about, how the industry, and men in general, see us... as unfuckable. That’s why we don’t get romantic roles anymore."
Gasps. Laughter again.
“I mean it,” she continued. “Apparently, women over 60 don’t have sex...”
The women nod.
"I get what you’re saying," Paul says.
"Of course - Meryl smirked - Men don’t want to watch a woman in her 60s, 70s flirting or doing bed scenes. They want young women. Or 40-year-olds playing 60-year-olds."
"I don’t agree," Marty says.
All heads turn from Meryl to Marty.
"You don’t?" Meryl asked, eyebrows high.
"No” He said. Calm. Clear. “Some men like younger women. Others like women their own age… or close to their age."
"Oh, come on Marty. Wouldn’t you rather see a 40-year-old than a 70-year-old?"
"Not necessarily. There are stunning women at 70."
"True. You, Meryl of course," Steve jumps in. "Diane Keaton. Catherine O’Hara—she must be close to 70. No?"
"Glenn Close. Jessica Lange," John adds.
"Sure. All stunning…and all struggling for good roles, I’m sure." Meryl says.
"Jean Smart," Marty says. Meryl looks at him straight away. "She’s fabulous. Hacks is incredible. And her character is sleeping with a man. I would never, ever say she’s unfuckable. On the contrary." Meryl raises an eyebrow and twists her lips.
Now, it looks like there’s a tennis match going on. Heads turning from Meryl to Martin and vice versa.
Paul jokes: "Jean has a great body. A good pair of…" He gestures with his hands at the chest zone. His wife shoots him a look.
"Yeah. She’s got... big…" Marty adds under his breath.
Meryl’s eyes flashed. Not amused. She gets what he said.

Jealousy.
He smiled faintly. So did she.

Steve throws in: "Helen Mirren—still has a great body."
Marty pushes: "Jean’s better. And was highly underrated, unfortunately —until now."
Meryl is fuming. Jealousy fueled by alcohol. She drinks more.
He knows he hit a nerve. And he’s teasing her on purpose.
She knows he likes Jean. Had an Actors on Actors with her...helped her get on stage at an awards ceremony. Talks about her character.
Does he think Jean is sexier than she is? She rolls her eyes. Fuck! He really messes with her head.
But, Meryl knows better… and the conversation moves to aging male actors.
"Men of a certain age, surely must struggle with roles they're offered?" John says.
Meryl laughs.
"Come on John. There’s always that saying - Men age like fine wine," Meryl scoffs. “Although” She pauses for a moment. “That's true in some cases...of course. Look at Pierce Brosnan. He looks better and better every year."
Ouch. A kick right in Marty's balls. Revenge for Jean Smart.
Marty's smile faltered.

John leaned in to Steve. “Are they quarreling?”
Steve shook his head, grinning.
“No,” he said. “That’s foreplay.”

Marty looks at her and says nothing. He hated that. Hated it.
The mention of Pierce Brosnan. She knows, the obvious chemistry she had with him in Mamma Mia—was common knowledge.
He downs the rest of his drink.
She looks at him.
God, she’s fucking hot in that jacket.
Every time she moves, it parts just enough for him to see her bra. That means every man in the room can see it too.
He hates that too.
Hates it because she’s not sitting next to him.
“Pierce Brosnan is very, very good-looking,” Anne says casually.
“Is that so?” Steve smirks.
They laugh.
“Richard Gere,” Selena adds.
One of the producers throws in, “Kevin Kline.”
“And Pierce, above all, is such a gentleman…” Meryl says, adding fuel to the fire.
Marty stares at her. Really, she wants to keep this going?
She doesn’t meet his gaze—on purpose.
Now the jealousy really kicks in.
Hard.
He wants to stand up.
Wants to walk over there, grab her, kiss her senseless, and slide his hands under that jacket.
Instead, he clenches his jaw and stays put.
Pierce. He knows that Meryl can have any man she wants. That’s why he never thought she ever would look at him twice.
But Marty knows one thing, that other men don’t know…exactly what to do to put her on fire.
“To the fine men and the unfuckable women!” Meryl raises her glass, laughing.
Everyone joins in.
A good laugh.
A tidy end to a messy topic.
They keep exchanging glances. Subtle. Loaded.

Eventually, Marty finds her without anyone hovering.
He gets up, walks over behind her, puts a hand on her shoulder—his thumb brushing the curve of her neck, his fingers on her collarbone… looking down at her breasts—and leans in close to her ear.
“To me, you’re the most fuckable woman on this planet. And you know that.”
Just that.
Then he walks away, leaving her burning. It’s the way he is with her. A Gentleman on one hand and the man who wants to fuck her, on the other…and says it bluntly. She adores that.

Marty leaves the private room where they’re at, and heads to the restaurant bar. It’s loud. Packed. Dim.
She can’t help it.
She gets up and follows him.

Outside the private room, she scans until she spots him.

He’s at the bar. She walks over.
“Can I get a martini, please?” she tells the bartender, not looking at him yet.

He turns.
Their eyes lock.
She bites her lip.
“So, you like them big?” she asks looking at her own cleavage.
“What?”
“Jean Smart…”
He chuckles.
“Pierce Brosnan…” fights back.
They’re both smiling now. They know they were just teasing each other.

He pulls her in by the waist—close enough to hide it in the crowd. No one can see.
His hand slides to her back.

“It’s you I like. You I want.”
She feels his fingers trace her spine.
“No big boobs here,” she says, running a finger along her cleavage, under the necklace. He pulls her closer.
“It’s your tits I want…You’re giving me such a hard-on with that jacket, Meryl.” He says with lust.
She leans into his ear.

“Then fuck me, Marty.”
His breath stops. Combustion inside.

He looks at her—the most serious expression she’s ever seen on him.
“I’m calling an Uber,” he says. “You coming with me?”
She’s breathing hard. Did she just say that? Is this really happening?

“No,” she says. “I’ll go by myself. I text you my address.”
He blinks. Wait—her place?
They stare at each other.
Eyes. Mouths.
“I’m going to get my purse.”
He's holding her hand and feels it slide when she turns to leave.

He finishes her martini.
This is happening.
He’s going to her apartment.

Marty is already on his Uber, after getting her text.
Fuck, he's nervous as hell.
Nervous if he's able to perform. Nervous about meeting her expectations. Nervous about dealing with her.
Nervous because it's her.
His heart is racing...exhales several times.
But God—he’s so turned on.
She makes him so damn horny.

Meryl arrives first.
She’s trembling.
Nerves. Excitement. Euphoria.
She stands in front of the mirror. She looks stunning. Knows she looks stunning.
She adjusts her bra. Fluffs her hair. Checks her makeup.

She walks through her apartment. Turns on the bedside lamps.
Then the living room lights—soft, low.
Outside, New York glows through the giant windows. It calms her for a second.

Then— Buzz. It’s the door.
Text.
“I’m here.”
Her legs go weak.

She buzzes him in.
Gives the concierge permission.
And just stands there for a moment.
How long has it been since she last had sex?
Too long.
An eternity.
That’s about to end.

Chapter 5: combustion

Marty enters the elevator and leans against the wall. What is he going to do? Kiss her the moment she opens the door? Make small talk? Undress her—undress Meryl Streep? Even now, part of him still sees her as unreachable. Not always. But often enough.
His heart pounds as the elevator rises. He adjusts himself through his pants—he’s been half hard since the moment she whispered those words in his ear.
Then fuck me, Marty.
His cock twitches just remembering it.

The door opens. He walks down the hall like he’s headed into battle, pulse hammering.
Knocks—lightly.
Inside, her hands are shaking when she opens the door. But when their eyes meet, she smiles. He does too.
He steps into her apartment silently. She leads the way into the center of the living room, pausing near the windows that frame the night skyline. Her back is to him, but he can feel her tension.
He approaches quietly and places his hands on her shoulders, letting them glide down her arms. She leans back into him. He circles her waist and she turns slowly to face him. Their eyes meet—both nervous, breathing heavy, hearts pounding.

Both of them sharing the same thought: tonight, right now, right here, they could do whatever they wanted. Say anything out loud, to each other, without holding back. No need to stop. No fear that someone might hear or see them.

He kept one hand on her waist, pulling her close, while the other gently moved to her neck, drawing her in for a kiss. She parted her lips, letting his tongue slide into her mouth. She sighed—softly, but without fear. The apartment was silent. It was the first time he truly heard her like this. No muffled sounds. It drove him crazy with desire.

They kissed slowly, hungrily. It was wet—like the heat growing between her thighs. She could hardly believe it. Just kissing him was making her wet. That, and the certainty that they were going to fuck. Her mind was already there: imagining him inside her.

The kiss deepened as he moved to her neck, then her collarbone. His hands slid under the hem of her jacket, fingertips brushing the skin of her back. She moaned, and he sounded ravenous for her. His breath was heavy and audible, his erection pressed firmly against her. She gave a little bounce, rubbing herself against the bulge, making him even more desperate. She loves feeling how hard she can make him.

She slid his jacket from his shoulders, untucked his shirt, and began to unbutton it, wanting to see and feel his chest. When she opened it, her hands moved from his stomach to his chest, gently brushing his flat nipples. He shivered under her touch.

Still standing in the middle of her living room, she kicked off her heels. His hands circled her bare waist. He opened her jacket, leaving it on but exposing her black satin bra. He looked into her eyes, silently asking permission before trailing his hands up from her belly button to the edge of her bra, gently brushing the fabric. Her chest rose and fell. She was nervous—and so aroused.

He kissed her again as he squeezed her breasts through the satin, fingers rubbing her nipple until it peeked through the fabric. The heat in her body kept rising. Their tongues moved wildly against each other.

He didn’t want to undress her there, but he was aching to see how ready she was. His right hand unbuttoned her pants. She moaned as his hand slipped inside. He swallowed hard, knowing he was about to touch her for the first time. His fingers found their way beneath her panties and felt just how wet she was.

She let out a high-pitched sigh.
“Marty...”
“God, you’re so wet,” he whispered. “So wet.”
“You make me wet for you...” she murmured.

He loved hearing that.

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” she said, taking his hand.

In her room, he immediately stripped off his pants and shirt. Then he carefully slid her jacket down her arms, kissing her shoulders and back, and knelt to remove her pants—his lips following the trail from her bottom down her legs. She was left in her lingerie.

He stood, looking at her. “You’re so beautiful, Meryl. So beautiful.”

They kissed again, more skin pressing against skin. His hands slid beneath her panties, grabbing her ass, pulling her to him. She could feel how hard he was. Her right hand slipped between them, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs. She gripped it tightly, closing her eyes at how good it felt having his cock on her hand. He moaned into her mouth.

Her hand moved up and down along him as he unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. He broke the kiss to look at her bare chest, to touch her. For a moment, she felt fragile—not just from being naked, but from being seen.

“Magnificent,” he murmured, before his mouth found her breasts.

He slowly guided her to the bed, laying her back. She crawled up and spread her legs. He climbed on top of her, still partially clothed. His lips returned to her neck, then her chest. He pulled her breasts together, licking, sucking, massaging them. He’s crazy about her breasts. She arched her back, moaning.

“God, Meryl,” he said, leaning close to her mouth, “you drive me crazy moaning like that. I could come just by hearing you.”
“I just want to have you inside me,” she panted.

He smiled and kissed her hungrily. Then, on his knees, he pulled her panties down her legs, slowly, watching her eyes flutter shut at the touch.
Then he stopped—to look at her.

At her cunt.

He gently spread her legs and stared, mesmerized.
She spreads wider, inviting him. His right hand parted her folds. He couldn’t believe how wet she was.

“Marty…” she whispered.

He had wanted to thrust into her, but now he just wants to taste her.
Her eyes were closed, waiting for penetration. Instead, she felt his tongue.

She screamed—pure pleasure. She hadn’t expected it, and it exploded through her, though it wasn’t yet an orgasm.

“Oh my God, Marty…”

His hands held her hips firmly, thumbs pressing into her hip bones. She trembled beneath him. He’d barely touched her, but she was already so aroused, so swollen, so sensitive, that she came within seconds—moaning loudly.

He paused, letting her breathe, then resumed. Long, slow licks. He sucked her clit and folds. Tasted her. Drank her in.

She couldn’t believe she was coming again. The thought of his face buried between her thighs… his mouth on her… it drove her mad. Then his tongue slid into her and she exploded once more, even louder.

He held her as she trembled. She clutched the bedspread, gasping.

As she calmed, he whispered, “You are so beautiful, Meryl. Your body… you’re so hot…”

He began licking again.

“Oh my God, Marty… what are you doing to me?”
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, looking into her eyes, mouth still on her.
“No,” she whispered. “No… make me come again…”

Her right hand pinched her nipple. He saw it—and his cock hardened even more. He licked and gently sucked her clit, then slid one finger inside her.

“Oh Marty… I like that…”
“You do?” he asked.
“Oh yes… so much…” her voice was barely a breath.
“And my tongue?”
“You know that’s the best…”

He smiled and kept going. Sometimes his finger inside her, sometimes his tongue. Then just his thumb on her clit with slow, deliberate licks. He added his finger again, patient this time. She’d need longer. But he had time.

She started bouncing her hips, moaning softly. He knew she was close. He flicked her clit faster, sucked harder—and she burst into another orgasm. He pressed his palm to her cunt, feeling her pulse through it.

“I love hearing you come for me, Meryl.”

“I want you inside me, Marty… now… get inside me,” she gasped.

There was nothing better she could’ve said.
Took his boxer briefs out.
Positioned himself between her legs, lined up, and gently entered her. She was so wet, he knew it wouldn’t hurt her. Still, he went slowly.

As soon as she felt his cock inside, her lips parted in a loud moan. She arched her back, her nipples hard and pointed.

“Oh Marty… so good…”

He pulled back, then slid in deeper. His body sank onto hers—his cock buried in her, his weight on her, his mouth on hers, her hands gripping his back and strong arms.

God, she loved sex. How had she gone nearly ten years without it?

“God, Meryl, you’re so tight… so fuckable. I want you so much.”

His words made her dizzy. His thrusts—just right—made her soar.
“I love feeling you inside me... You’re so good, Marty... You fuck me so well...” Her hands gripped his ass, pulling him closer.

“Do you want it harder?” he asked, kissing her as he raised his body, his hands massaging her breasts. “Do you want me to fuck you harder, Meryl?” He gently pinched her nipples.

“Yes, Marty... Fuck me harder... Make me come...”

“Oh baby, you will come... I promise.”

He thrust harder and faster, just as she asked, his fingers finding her clit.
She was a goddess.

“Marty... come down and kiss me.”

He obeyed. Kissing her while inside her—nothing turned him on more. Her body writhed beneath him, breasts brushing his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist. And he, moving inside her, steadily, then faster, then slowing again to make it last. He hit every spot she loved, and she whispered in his ear, voice breathless and urgent.

“I’m going to come again... Oh Marty, you’re making me come again...”

He grinned. “Oh baby, that’s so good...come to me Meryl…give all of yourself to me baby.” whispered on her ear.

She moaned as he slowed, drawing out her pleasure.

“Oh Meryl... you’re so beautiful... Yes... I love to hear you...” But he kept thrusting, faster now, pushing toward his own climax. A few more deep, intense thrusts—and he came, hard, crying out as he filled her. He collapsed on top of her, breathless, face buried in her neck. She smiled, feeling his cock still pulsing inside her. Her fingers combed through his gorgeous tousled hair.

He caught his breath and began to move, but she stopped him.

“No... I want you to stay inside a bit longer.”

He smiled and kissed her. She closed her eyes, fingers gently stroking his back. Silence settled between them. Thoughts drifted.

They had finally done it. Made love. Or had sex. Or fucked—whatever it was, it was everything they’d been building up to. Months of flirting, teasing, wanting, waiting—culminated in a night that was, simply, mind-blowing.

“I’m taking it out,” he murmured. She nodded. He slipped out of her and rolled onto his back with a deep exhale. They turned to each other. Looking at each other without talking for a moment.

“Hello, Ms. Streep,” he said playfully.

She gave a small, embarrassed smile. “Short.”

“But I didn’t fall short, did I?” a grin on his face.

She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he leaned in, fingers trailing across her nipples as he admired her body.

“Did I?” His voice was low, teasing. She turns to look at him again.

“You made me come four times. I guess you’re... okay.”

He bit his lip, pleased. “I can make you come as many times as you want.”

A flush warmed her. His voice, his gaze—it stirred her again.

“I guess you can...” She kissed him.

“But right now,” he chuckled, “I could really use a bathroom.”

She directed him to the guest bathroom, saying there’s a guest robe there, and he left the room—naked. She liked that about him. His confidence. His incredible shape.

Alone in bed for a moment, she stretched, grinning. She’d need to go soon too. His cum was already threatening to drip from her. His cum. She has Martin Short cum inside of her. She shivered at the thought. He was inside her, like she wished for so long, and she still has him inside of her. The thought was strange—and thrilling.

She cleaned herself in the ensuite while he finished in the guest bath, washing his face, still seeing her—open for him, all his. To kiss. To taste. To fuck. God, she's amazing. Just like he always thought she was.

When she returned to bed, she pulled back the throw pillows and the bedspread. Pulled back the fresh and clean white sheets. Gets inside, still fully naked. Should she cover her breasts? She did. Then she heard him return.

No robe. Full frontal nudity. His penis dangling. Still confident. She loved that about him.

He slipped in beside her, and they lay on their elbows, facing each other. Smiling. He played with her fingers, kissed them.

“So here we are... at the Shag Awards.”
She burst out laughing. He adored her laugh.
“Was it good for you?” he asked softly, almost shyly.
She nodded, blushing. “Mmm-hmm.”
“After months and months of flirting and tension,” she added, more sure of herself.
“Oh, but we’re going to keep flirting, aren’t we?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe this was the end of the line.”

He pulled the sheet from her breasts, placing one hand on her butt, drawing her close. Her breasts rubbing his chest. His eyes danced between her breasts and her face.

“Absolutely not. There’s so much I want to do with you. To you.” He kissed her. Her desire reignited instantly. She can't believe how much he turns her on. Pulling her by her ass. He's so sure of himself in bed. She's so turned on by that.

“What do you want to do with me?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Everything. You drive me crazy, Meryl.” He lowered his voice. “You’re so sexy.” He kissed her neck, her collarbone. “The way you move and sound in bed... I told you already, I could come just hearing you moan in my mouth.”

Just his words made her ache.

“I want to know exactly what you like... how you like it... when... where... I know you love sex. I do too. So much.”
His mouth found her breasts again. Rubbing his face on them, his tongue licking them.
“Fuck, Marty... What are you doing to me...” Her voice was hoarse with want. Her body responded—swollen breasts, wet heat, again, between her legs.

He pressed his body against her, half-hard already.
“I want to touch you again.”

She tilts her head back. Why does hearing him say that he wants to touch her, makes her feel dizzy.
“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you’re making me come again.”
But she wants it so much.

She lays on her back as he kissed her, pulling down the sheet to see her, hand sliding between her thighs. He closed his eyes at how wet she was.

“Fuck... you’re so wet again, Meryl... You’re driving me mad.”
“You’re the reason.”

They kissed hungrily as he slid two thick fingers inside her, slow, precise.

“Do you like this?”
“So much.”

“Touching you is a dream. Seeing you... all naked, alive... Hearing you. You’re so fuckable, Meryl. I know I’ve said it. I’ll say it endlessly. I never want you to forget. You are so fuckable. Your tits drive me insane. I’ve imagined them so many times... so many…”

He licked her nipples, and the combination of his fingers and the sex talk unraveled her. She isn't used to talk like this during sex...and turns her on so much.

“I love the things you say to me.”
He felt her tighten.
“I can feel how ready your cunt is, Meryl... Do you like the way I touch you?”
“Yes...” she gasped.
“How about this, baby?”

He gently slapped her clit a few times—and she shattered. Her back arched, her body convulsed, her scream filled the room. He mounted her, sliding inside her just as she came. Her arms flew around him.

“Marty...” she murmured.
“Yes, honey...” he kissed her neck.
“Fuck me.”

And he did, until he exploded inside her once again.

Later, their breathing slowed. She lay against his chest, fingers absently playing on his skin. They were both spent. Satisfied.
He touched her in ways she was never touched. And he talked. She loved that. She wanted that.
She wants everything he's giving her.
But right now, she wanted to sleep. She didn’t even bother to clean herself. She wanted to keep his cum inside her... on her thighs... on the sheets. She wanted him everywhere.

“Sleep here tonight,” she whispered.
He was surprised, but held her close. “Okay.”

Meryl stirred in the early light of dawn, a gentle thirst nudging her awake. She slipped quietly from the bed, reaching for her robe and padding softly to the kitchen. Pouring a glass of water, she sat for a moment at the counter, letting the stillness of the house settle around her.

Her thoughts drifted to the night before — the intimacy, the connection that had finally sparked into something undeniable. The way he touched her and looked at her.
Amazing sex. She feels so well...so well fucked, honestly. He just took her out of misery and injected life into her.
She felt awakened, wanted, adored.
Marty. Sweet, sharp, surprising Marty. And in bed... so confident, so attuned. Dominant and sexy.

A smile curled at her lips as she stood, carrying the warmth of the memory back with her to the bedroom. He was still asleep, lying on his stomach, the sheet barely covering him. She paused in the doorway, admiring the shape of his ass, back, the soft rise of his shoulders, the relaxed rhythm of his breath. God, she loved the sight of him.
She let the robe fall from her shoulders, slid beneath the sheets, and pressed a gentle kiss to his back. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Pulled the sheet over them and fell back to sleep.

Chapter 6: the article

Marty was the first to wake up.

Lying on his stomach, eyes slowly blinking open, the first thing he saw was her — still curled beneath the sheets, hair tousled, lips slightly parted in sleep. He smiled.

Careful not to disturb her, he slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom, slipping on the robe this time when he got out. Then went to the living room. The morning was quiet, soft light spilling through the windows as he stood before the skyline. The city looked calm — nothing like last night.

Flashbacks stirred. Not gradually — suddenly, vividly.
The sex. God. It was incredible. The way she had given herself to him. Opened herself to him. The way their bodies found each other like they’d done it forever. Her softness, her curves, her heat. That cunt — he could live there, he thought with a quiet exhale. Her breasts, the way her nipples responded to his touch. The Meryl of his dreams was real.

Still grinning, he turned and went back to her room.
She was awake now.
He let the robe fall and slipped back into bed, sliding in behind her, wrapping himself around her.

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing the warm curve of her neck.
She smiled softly, eyes still closed. “Good morning. I was wondering if you’d left without saying goodbye.”
“Never.”
“How’d you sleep?”
“Wonderfully. I didn’t snore, did I?”
“Not that I heard.”

She turned to face him, and their lips met — a soft kiss, but with the heat of memory flickering beneath it. Their tongues touched, slow and knowing.
They broke apart.

“Do you want to go out? Grab breakfast? Or maybe brunch…”
He exhaled slowly, regret already on his face.
“I’d love to. But I’ve got a flight. I have to leave around eleven. I’m sorry.”
Her expression faltered. “You only arrived yesterday…”

“I really only came to that dinner because I knew you’d be there,” he said honestly. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have flown in. But I wanted to see you. Badly.” He watched her eyes. “I’m coming back Friday. A week from today. I’ve got another dinner, but after that I’m staying. For a few days. With you, if you’ll have me.”

She stayed quiet, trying to keep her disappointment from showing.
“I know what this looks like. One night and I vanish.”
“Well…” she said softly, trying not to sound hurt.
“Meryl. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t care. But I do. I wanted last night — I wanted you. And I want more.”
“I’m just… not good at this anymore,” she admitted.
“Me either,” he said gently. “We both have schedules and we have to go around them… But we’ll figure it out.”
She nodded.
She’s playing with her hair a lot. She does that when’s she’s uncomfortable. He knows that already.
“There’s no one in the world that wants to be with you, more than I do.” He adds to make her feel secure.
She starts playing with her fingers on his chest.
“I’m in New York for the next couple weeks. Then I go back to L.A.”
“Will you go on a date with me next Saturday?”
Her face brightened. “A date?”
He smiled. “Dinner somewhere quiet and romantic. Maybe a play before, or drinks after. Something special.”
“A real first date…” she said, glowing now. “Yes. I’d love that.”
“Perfect. I’ll make the reservation.”

She looked at the hours on her phone, then back at him. “So, you really have to go soon…”
“Yeah. But we’ve still got time.”
He pulled her close, lips trailing to her neck again.
“Time for…?” she asked, already knowing.
“Time to say goodbye,” he whispered against her skin, kissing the top of her breasts.
“Goodbye, Marty,” she said with a teasing smirk.
But he wasn’t smiling. He flipped her gently, pulling her against him, one arm wrapping around her chest, the other free.
“Last time you said that… you ran.”
“I’m not running today,” she murmured.
“No. You’re not.”

His kisses deepened, his hand roaming, massaging her breasts. She felt him hardening against her, pressing into her bottom. God, how she loved that feeling — the tension, the promise. His hand goes between her legs. She’s not ready.

“I think we’ll need a little help,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. “Do you have lube?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, opened the drawer, handed it to him.
So easy. So natural.

He kissed her again, fingers teasing her breasts, pinching lightly. He slid lower — hips, thighs, bottom, between her legs. Trying for her body to respond a bit more. Still, he knows that, after last night, its natural, she needs something more.

Her body was aroused but not quite ready. He knew that. He didn’t rush.
She heard the soft snap of the bottle cap, then felt the coolness of the lube between her thighs. He was behind her, guiding himself, rubbing lube over his length.
Then, slowly, he entered her—inch by inch – to not hurt her.
She moaned. He hardened.
He groaned as he pulled her hips back toward him, one arm still around her chest, the other resting on her hip. He moved gently at first, finding a rhythm, letting her body adjust.
He’s so gentle with her. And already understands her body.
As he begins to quicken his thrusts, she gasps—God, the way he feels inside her in this position.
She hadn’t expected him to be this well-endowed. And while size isn’t everything, in some positions, it matters. This is definitely one of them.
She slides her hand between her thighs to feel him, moving in and out of her - the glide of him, the fullness, and when she wraps her fingers around him, he lets out a low, guttural moan.
“Oh Meryl… again…”
She did.
“Oh…I Love it…”

That was all he needed. He quickened his pace, hips slapping against her bottom with each thrust. She moaned his name, breath catching with each movement.

“Do you like it like this? From the side?” he asked, trying to see her eyes. She turns her head to see his.

“Yes, Marty. I love it. I love every way you fuck me.”
“God I love it too… I love taking you like this.”
That was nearly his undoing.

He rubbed her clit, eager to take her with him. He knew her sounds now — knew when she was close.
She was nearly there.
A few more thrusts. One perfectly timed circle of his fingers.
They came together — loud, full, completely spent.

They stayed tangled, breathless, until he finally had to rise and dress.

Marty had left. He still needed to stop by his apartment to shower and change clothes.
God, he felt amazing. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. What a turn his life had taken—starring in a hit show, meeting a woman in his 70s… and not just any woman, but Meryl Streep. Falling for her. And now? Now, having mind-blowing sex with her.

Today, like so many days lately, his head was full of images of her. But this time, she was naked. And this time, it wasn’t his imagination.
He loved that. Meryl, fully naked. Fully his. Last night. This morning. And this morning had been... incredibly erotic.

He loved that position. Not his favorite, but definitely one of them. And now that the barrier had been broken, they had time to do everything they wanted. There was a huge smile on his face, and he suspected it would be there for a long time.

After Marty left, Meryl went back to bed. The sheets smelled like him, like them, like sex—and she wanted to be wrapped in it, at least for this morning. Last night had been amazing. Perfect. She had some expectations, but it had turned out even better than she imagined.

They were such a match. Everything was easy and uncomplicated with him. She’d been afraid of the awkwardness that sometimes comes with these things, but there had been none of that. From the very first touch to this morning, it had been perfect.

She was so happy she had to tell someone—and who better than Tracey?
It was almost noon in New York, so nearly 9 a.m. in L.A. Tracey would be up. She hit Tracey's number on her contact list.
“Well, hello girl!”
“Hiiii, Trace!” She was beaming. Tracey could hear it through the phone.
“Ohhh she’s getting some!”
Meryl laughed. “Oh yeah, I am!”
“Ooooooh, tell me everything! You’re in New York, right?”
“Yes…” She stretched and yawned.
“Wait—are you still in bed?”

“Mhm-mhm.”
“Mary Louise, start talking.”
“He made me come five times yesterday,” she whispered.
“Holy fuck! Get out of here! That’s not even possible!”
“He went down on me… and just like that—three times. Then we, you know, did it… and two more.”

Silence.

“Trace?”
Meryl looked at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. It hadn’t.

“Meryl… if you ever get tired of him, you better hand him my number immediately. Holy shit! Marty is the holy grail!”
Meryl couldn’t stop laughing.

“How long has this been going on?”
“Last night… and this morning.”
“This morning?? I’m hanging up. You’re telling me he served again this morning?”
“Only once.”
“Oh, poor you! Meanwhile, some women are crawling through the desert.”
“Oh, I know that place very well…”
“I know. Wow, I’m so happy for you. So what, are you dating now?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t really have time to talk,” she chuckled. “But he invited me to dinner next Saturday—not tomorrow, the one after—so… we’ll see.”
“So, you’re going a whole week without touching each other so you can tear the house down again!”
They both laughed.
“He’s flying to L.A. today and coming back Friday.”
“And you’re staying in New York?”
“Yeah. I have a meeting with my lawyer… and I need to talk to my children. I haven’t told anyone yet, but… I’m going to let it out, Trace.”

“Let what out? Oooh… that you’re not with Don anymore?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath.
“About time, if you ask me…”
“I know, I know. But just the thought of seeing my name all over the internet… people talking about it, speculating… it makes me want to run and hide on another planet.”
“Who cares? Meryl, honey, you’re free. It’s just a divorce. It happens all the time.”
“I know. I have to do it anyway. With Marty, I just can’t risk people thinking I’m cheating or that I left Don for him. So… I have to say it’s been over… and for more than six years.”
“God, it’s been that long? Jeez, time flies.”
“That long. And I have to tell the kids first… and Don. I’m going to have to talk to him.”
“Do you two still talk?”
“Only when we bump into each other at family things... not really, no...”

“Hey—don’t spend today thinking about that. Just enjoy the fact you are the Queen of Orgasms!”
Meryl burst into laughter.
“Oh, Trace… you’re a joy to talk to.”
“Love you, hon’.”

 

What a day. A fantastic day. Except… it was about to take a turn.
It was Friday, September 8th. Since early morning, an article about Martin Short had been circulating online. Not a flattering one.

Marty was often in the news, but spending the morning with Meryl, rushing back to his apartment to shower, then heading straight to the airport, had left him no time—and no interest—to check the internet.
Now he was mid-flight, hoping to catch a nap after a sleepless, eventful night.

Meryl, not being one to scroll through news feeds obsessively, had no idea either. But after their call ended, Tracey—always quick on a scroll—came across it.
"Sorry… just saw this," she texted, sending a link.

Meryl raised an eyebrow and clicked it. For a moment, she hoped it was some kind of joke. It wasn’t.
“Who the fuck is this moron?!” she shouted, tossing her phone onto the bed.
“Fuck!”

She already knew how this would hit him. He’d try to brush it off, say everyone’s entitled to an opinion—that not everyone has to like him. But it would hurt. She hated that.

She sent him a text.
Hi. Can you please call me when you land.

He had told her he’d try to sleep during the flight.
She called Steve.

“Meryl, hi, good morning!”
“Hi, Steve.” Her tone carried a weight he picked up on instantly.
“You don’t know where he is either?”
“What?”

“Well, you both vanished last night, and I thought maybe you left together… but I haven’t been able to reach him today. And I guess you haven’t either?”
Steve sounded genuinely worried.
“Uhm… we did leave together. And… well, he left my apartment this morning.”
“Oooooh… okay. Sorry—shit—sorry, Meryl.”
“It’s fine. He’s on a flight back to L.A.”
“I didn’t know he was leaving so soon. Well, either way…he’s always on his phone.”
“Yeah, but he said he’d try to get some sleep during it…because we…he didn’t sleep much. You know.” She chuckles.
“Right…”
Steve was clearly flustered. Not the kind of conversation he was expecting to have.

“Have you seen the article?” Meryl asked.
“Shit… you saw it too? Yeah. That’s actually why I was trying to reach him.”
“Who the hell does that fucker think he is?”

Steve almost jumped. Meryl was furious.
“I’ve never even heard of him. I talked to a few people—everyone’s pretty pissed off.”
“Why the hell did he go after Marty?!”
“I don’t know. I can’t wrap my head around it. And yeah, it’s going to hit. Marty will try to play it off, but it’s going to hurt.”

“I know… I hate even imagining that happening to him.”

Her voice softened. Steve noticed. She really, really liked him.
Steve knew Marty well. He’d been with him through one of the hardest chapters of his life—the death of Nancy. He knew how devastated Marty had been. And now, after all these years, a spark of something new. Something real.

Marty was in love with Meryl. Steve had seen it. But he worried. Meryl—Meryl Streep. A woman out of this world. Was she the right one for Marty? Is she going to hurt him?
Listening to her now, Steve felt sure of one thing. She was in love too.

“Well, there’s not much we can do except support him,” Steve said.
“I sent him a text. Asked him to call me when he lands.”
“At least he’s got other things to focus on,” Steve chuckled.
Meryl smiled, a little embarrassed.
“Bye, Steve. We’ll be in touch.”

Marty’s flight landed at LAX.

Still seated, he stretched and picked up his phone. Odd—missed calls, a flood of texts. Steve - probably about his exit last night, Paul Shaffer - probably about dinner next week, Eugene, Andrea... and Meryl.
"What is going on?"
Anything from his kids. Good.

He opened her message first:
Hi. Can you please call me when you land?
He smiled. He would. As soon as he got to the car, where it was quieter.

Then Steve’s message. A link.
He tapped it.
The article.

He sat back, rereading the headline. Then the body. A brutal opinion piece, questioning his relevance, his humor, his entire persona.

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded slowly, lips pressed together.

He got off the plane and walked through the terminal in silence. His car was waiting. He got in the back seat, pulled the door shut, and read the article again.

And just like that, the blissful energy he’d been riding all day evaporated.

So someone didn’t think he was funny. Fine. But why write something so vicious? Why now? When he wasn’t even pushing anything, just quietly doing OMITB?

By the time he got home, the driver—an older man—told him, “Mr. Short, just so you know, you’ve made a lot of people laugh. Don’t let some bitter nobody get to you.”

Marty forced a smile, thanked him, and stepped inside.
He dropped his keys and wandered around the quiet house. His life—his entire life—had been poured into his work. To his family of course. But to his work.

The phone keeps going on, but it’s on mute.
More messages from friends.
You're the best, Marty. Screw that guy.
Total BS. We love you.
You're a legend.

But none of it could drown out the one line that stung.
He sank into the couch. Exhausted. Two flights and one hell of a night.

That’s what he needed to focus on.
Making love to Meryl. Making love to Meryl Streep.

He closed his eyes and let the memories return. Her warmth. Her lips. The first time he touched her and how wet she was. Even her panties were a bit wet. Her glorious breasts. Her nipples, hard after his tongue. Her cunt. His mouth down there. He sliding inside her. That's the best part. When he finally filled her with his cock. She coming again, and again, and again.
He wants to make her come in all ways possible.
God, he missed her already.

He has to call her. By now of course, he knows she's read the article and wants to check up on him.
Just as he reached to call her, his phone rang.

Andrea.
“Hi Marty, darling!”

“Hey Andrea—give me one second?” He quickly sent Meryl a text.
Hi. I’m already home. Call you in a few minutes.
And then added,
It’s ok, kid.
He meant it. She could read between the lines—he had seen the article.

 

Meryl heard the buzz and glanced at her phone, which hadn’t left her side all day.
"Hi. I’m already home. Call you in a few minutes."
"It’s ok, kid."
So, he saw the article.

Her chest tightened. She had hoped—naively—that maybe, somehow, it hadn’t reached him yet. But of course, it had. And of course, he was handling it with grace and humor, even though she knew it must’ve stung.
She stared at the screen. It was nearly 9 p.m. in New York. She’d been waiting since noon to hear from him. She’d even napped in her robe, phone clutched in hand like a lifeline.

Still, she smiled softly at the nickname. Kid. It was so him—affectionate, teasing, reassuring.
He was late, but he hadn’t forgotten her.

She retreated to the bedroom, not trusting herself to stay awake on the couch. The day had drained her. She’d made calls—quietly mentioning the article to a few friends, hoping for support on Marty’s behalf. Subtle nudges. She didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but she wasn’t going to stay silent either.

Marty speaks to Andrea for longer than expected. Then Levy called.
By the time the calls end, he looks at his watch and it's already close to midnight. Shit.
He was flooded with love of course. And didn't forget her, he just can't refuse calls from friends. Shit! And she's the one he wanted the most.
"Are you still awake?" He texts.
The notification awakens her. She looks at the hours. He took almost 3h to say something.
"Yes."
He calls her.
“Hi,” she answered softly.
There was a pause on the line. Then, his voice, warm and apologetic.
“I’m so sorry... so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she said, too quickly.
“No. It’s not fine. I should’ve called you when you asked me to. I let too much pile up... texts, calls...”
“They know you. I don’t. You needed to hear from your friends.”
“You know me well enough to say that,” he said gently. “And I know you well enough to know you didn’t like it. I’m sorry, Meryl.”

A beat.

“How are you feeling? And don’t say you’re okay or it’s fine,” she added, her voice firm.
He chuckled softly, thinking on how much he adores her.
“I’m overloaded with love from my friends. Honestly, it’s been... overwhelming. I don’t really understand why that person decided to go after me. I’ve been questioning myself a bit. But mostly? Happy that I have something much bigger and special, to think of.” She smiles.
"That fuckin' asshole!" He smiles.
“Mostly I’m pissed because that stupid article ruined what I had planned for this afternoon.”

“Oh?” she asked, intrigued despite herself.
“I was going to spend the whole day thinking about you. Only you.”
A pause.
“Instead, I’m here reading garbage... when what I really want is to be with you. In your bed. Kissing your neck. Telling you what I want to do to you next.”
Her breath caught.

“I thought about you all day,” she whispered. “About us.”

“See, this is really what I'm interested on. What were you thinking?” His voice dropped.

She hesitated for just a second. Then, honestly:

“You kissing me. You touching me. You inside of me.” Her voice is low and full of want.

There was a low groan on the other end of the line.
“Fuck, Meryl… your voice alone sets me off, in a way I would never consider possible. I didn’t know long-distance could be this torturous.”

She let out a soft laugh.

“I just want to go back to the airport,” he said. “Get on a flight. Be back on that bed. On you. In you.” She chuckles. And then yawns.

“Go to bed, my...” he pauses “My beautiful Meryl.”
“Sleep well.”
“You too.”

The line went dead, but the silence between them was anything but empty.
Marty sat on his couch, phone in hand, heart thudding.

He’d almost said it.
Go to bed, my love.

It had almost slipped out. And the scariest part? It felt natural.

 

Sometimes we let one of our own get devoured. Other times, we devour.

The day after the article came out, Twitter was flooded with messages of support for Martin Short. Meryl was pleased. Marty, once again, was deeply grateful to his friends.
Martin Short is a national treasure!

Chapter 7: first date

The weekend passed, and Meryl asked Louisa and Grace to stop by her apartment.
The girls were curious—she usually didn't call them over so formally.
They gathered in the living room.
"So, Mom, what is this about?" Grace asked, brows slightly raised.
Meryl was nervous, of course.
"Well... I called you, since you’re both in New York, and then I will talk to your brother and sister…I just figured I’d start here…. Because…" she seemed to be stalling.
"Spill it, Mom," Louisa said playfully.
"In a few weeks, I'm going to let it out to the press that your father and I are separated… and have been for six years."
The girls glanced at each other.
"Honestly, I always thought you should’ve done it sooner," Grace said.
Meryl exhaled slowly. "It’s okay, Mom. You’ve been separated for ages."
"I know," Meryl replied, "but I still wanted to tell you myself. And I’m going to tell your father, too."
"Why now?" Louisa asked gently.
Meryl paused, searching for the right words. "I just think it’s time. I feel like I need to do it now."
Louisa and Grace exchanged knowing glances.
"Is there someone new in your life?" Grace asked, cautious but curious.
Meryl froze, clearly caught off guard.
"Maybe a co-worker?" Louisa added with a smirk.
Oh God. They know.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Meryl said quickly, a bit high pitched, turning her back to them.
Her tone made it clear—she was lying.
"We think Mr. Short is cute!" Grace said, and Meryl nearly fainted.
"And funny! That’s a big plus," Louisa added.
"You two are grounded!"
They burst into laughter, and she joined in.
"When do we get to meet him?" Louisa asked.
"You don’t!" she replied. "No—seriously, girls. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have. Okay?"
"Okay, Mom," they said in unison, wrapping their arms around her.

Later, Meryl talked with her other daughter and son. Then spoke to her publicist—she wanted the announcement to come out in October, while she’d be in Spain. She also contacted her lawyer to finalize the division of assets.
Only one person remained: Don. She kept putting it off—texting or calling felt monumental.

Finally, Friday arrived.

Marty was flying into New York that day. He had dinner plans with friends and Meryl was having dinner with her dear friend Christine Baranski.
Tomorrow, they’d reunite. She missed him. Longed for his touch and was giddy at the thought of their official date.

That evening, Meryl and Christine arrived at a buzzy, A-lister-loved restaurant. The kind of place where you were bound to run into someone. Sure enough, as they were being led to their table, they ran into Lorne Michaels.

"Hi, Lorne!" Christine greeted him.
"Christine!" Lorne beamed.
Right behind him, Marty and Paul Shaffer. Meryl felt her heart skip.
"Meryl, hello!" says Marty. Lorne wasn't seeing her and nearly jumps.
The legend, Meryl Streep.
“Hi Marty.” Her voice soft and warm.
"Lorne, I don’t think you two have met?"
"No, no," Lorne smiled, taking Meryl’s hand to kiss it. “Hello.”
"Hi."
"And this is Paul—one of my dearest friends," Marty said. He and Meryl exchanged kisses on the cheek.
"Hello, Marty."
"Christine, always fabulous! You’re dining here too? This place is fantastic."
"Yes," Meryl said, suddenly rubbing her neck—a telltale sign she was flustered. "Are you leaving?"
"No, no, we’re just heading to the bar for some drinks. Jimmy and Conan are already at our table."
Lorne and Paul continued toward the bar.
"Well… it’s wonderful to see you again, Marty," Meryl said, reaching for his arm.
He looked down at her hand.
She was wearing the wedding band.

He froze. Took her hand in his, held it for a beat.
Then, in a tone that chilled her: "I love your accessories, Mrs. Gummer. They look perfect on your hand."
The warmth in his smile faded.
She quickly pulled her hand back. "Marty…"

"It was lovely seeing you ladies. I’ll get back to my table."
"Marty!" she called, louder this time, but he had already turned away.
"Fuck!” Meryl’s heart is pounding.
Christine was baffled.
“Let’s get to our table. What the hell was that?"
They sat. Meryl covered her face. "Shit, shit, shit!!!"
Christine was utterly confused. "Meryl, what just happened? Why are you this upset?"
Without answering, Meryl pulled the ring from her finger and dropped it in her purse.
Christine just blinked.
"I have to go and talk to him. I'm sorry Christine...it will only take a minute"
Meryl stood up, and made her way toward Marty’s table, leaving a confused Christine behind.
Marty’s back was turned, and when Meryl approached, Lorne stood like royalty was entering.
"Hi—no, please, don’t get up," she said gently. Marty didn’t turn, although he clearly heard her voice. Jimmy glanced at him, clearly aware of the tension.
Meryl placed both hands on Marty’s shoulders. "Marty… can we talk for a moment?"
He turned, smiling tightly. "Sure." Gets up.
"Sorry, boys," she said to the group, then walked with Marty to a quieter corner.
Lorne seats down.
"What is going on?" Conan asks. Jimmy just shrugs and keeps seeping his drink, knowing a bit more than the rest, but not wanting to spill.

"Marty—"
He cut her off. "Meryl, I really don’t want to do this. It’s your life. If you want to wear the ring your husband gave you, that’s your choice."
"He’s not my husband anymore. I only wore it because no one knows we’re separated. You know that."
"You never wear that ring, Meryl."
"I know. But tonight… we’re in a place full of industry people and journalists. The last thing I want is tabloid speculation about my marriage."
"Right. Well, have a good evening, Mrs. Gummer."
"Marty!!" she snapped, frustrated. Angry he called her that. "It’s just a stupid ring. I already took it off. See? You’re not being fair to me."
"Forgive me if I don’t love seeing the woman I’m involved with, wearing her ex’s wedding band."
She saw how hurt and nervous he was.
"I’m letting it out," she said.
"Letting what out?"
"My publicist… she’s going to somehow let out to the press. That Don and I have been separated for six years." She says in a sad way.
He looked at her, surprised by the information and with the way she sounded.
"Are you sad about it?"
"No. I’m sad we’re having this conversation. Here. Like this."
He took a deep breath. Maybe he had overreacted.
"I’m sorry I snapped. I’m sorry I called you Mrs…you know…"
"Thank you. And I get it. I never thought you'd be okay with the ring. We ran into each other by chance."
"You don’t need to hide things from me."
"Marty, I’m not hiding you things. And I’m going to do this exactly because I don’t want to hide things anymore."
"Is that really why?"
"And because I’m… I’m falling for you."
He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her.
"Are you still mad at me?" she whispered.
"No."
"You don’t sound like it."
He looked at her. "I’m not. Not anymore."
They broke the embrace, cautious not to draw attention.
"Will you come by my place after dinner?" Hoping and needing.
"I’ll be late—we’ve got a comedy club after. It’ll be late. I’m sorry."
She tried to hide her disappointment. He kissed her hungrily, pulling her into him again. Her arms fly around him.
"Tomorrow—and the next days—I’m all yours."
She smiled.
"I'm going back to my table. Have fun." They kiss. He lets her hand slip from his.
He returned to his table. Meryl returned to hers.

Christine was on her second drink.
"Christine, I’m so sorry!"
"Sit down, girl… and tell me what the hell just happened. Why did Marty look so upset with you? And why did you feel the need to explain anything?"

Then it hit her.
"Oh. You’re sleeping with him."
The waiter approached.
"Ready to order, ladies?"
Christine grinned. "Her plate’s already full."
“We just need a few more minutes, thank you. And a martini, please,” Meryl said calmly.
“Oh, we’re going to need plenty of those tonight,” Christine replied, raising her brows with a smirk.
Meryl took a deep breath, trying to gather herself. “So… how come I’m just hearing about all this now?”
“Believe me—this is all very recent. I was going to tell you tonight… just not like this.”
Christine leaned in. “What happened?”
“I was wearing my wedding band. He saw it, and... well, he wasn’t pleased. I never wear it around him.”
Christine frowned. “Why do you wear it at all?”
“It’s silly, I know. But some reporter could see me without it, and start speculating…”
Christine tilted her head. “So, you’re not with Don anymore. What amazes me is that no one’s caught on—you haven’t been seen together in years.”
“Thank God,” Meryl muttered.
Christine’s eyes lit up. “Tell me about Marty. I’m honestly shocked.”
Meryl smiled softly. “We work together on Only Murders in the Building. We play a couple on screen… and somewhere along the way, I fell for him.”
Christine's eyes widened. “You fell for him? I thought this was just a fling!”
“No,” Meryl said with quiet certainty. “I really, really like him.”
Christine leaned forward. “You’re in love?”
Meryl hesitated. “I don’t want to say that—at least not yet. But… I adore him. I want to be with him all the time. We just admitted our feelings… I don’t want to rush it. I don’t know what this will become, or how long it’ll last.”
Christine gave her a warm look. “Sweetheart, you can call it whatever you want, but that sounds like love. And you’re not rushing anything—you’re just seeing where it goes. But for him to be that upset… he must feel the same way.”
“I hate that it happened tonight,” Meryl said, shaking her head. “I hadn’t seen him in a week. We have a date tomorrow. It would’ve been so much better to just spot each other, wave, maybe say hi… now everyone at that table is wondering what happened.”
Christine waved it off. “Who cares? Now—this date tomorrow. Are you sleeping with him?”
Meryl grinned. “It happened once. Last week.”
“Oooh, so it’s fresh! How was it?”
“Fucking fantastic,” Meryl said, glowing.
"Really!!! That good?"
"He's sooo good... really, so God damn good"
"Marty boy!!"
"Adding to all his amazing qualities...algo excellent in bed"
Christine raised her glass. “To Marty.”
“To Marty,” Meryl echoed, clinking her glass with a smile.

Saturday

After lunch, Meryl was curled up with a book in the sun-drenched corner of her living room—a quiet reward of living high above the city. But the soft chime of a text pulled her attention from the page.
Marty's text. Always a way to light her up.

Good morning. Just wanted to say that I’m looking forward to seeing you today.
She smiled. Morning? It was almost 2 p.m.—he must’ve had a late night.
Another ping.
Correction. I’m super excited to see you. Can’t wait to kiss you.
Her smile deepened into a grin.

Can’t wait either. Are you picking me up?
Of course. 7 p.m. I’ll text when I’m on my way.

The book was forgotten. Her mind spun with possibilities—what to wear, how to style her hair, what scent to wear behind her ears.

She wants something soft, but not a blouse. A sweater that hugs her body, one that makes her feel sexy and ensures he finds her irresistible. Cleavage. She loves seeing him looking at her and trying to get a glimpse. She’s not sure about wearing a dress—no. Instead, she chooses black, flowing pants and a plunging black V-neck top with sheer sleeves. This time, perhaps a see-through lace bra. She knows they’re coming back to her apartment, knows they’re going to make love. She wants to make him crazy for her.

Later on…
This is the first time she’s dressing for him with the knowledge that in just a few hours, they’ll be naked together. That thought stirs something inside her, making her even more lustful for tonight.
Meanwhile, Marty sits in the back of a car, texting Meryl that he’s on his way. Dressed in a black suit and back shirt—unbuttoned, no tie—he feels a rush of excitement. He’s eager to see her, especially after the tension of the night before. He wants to make up for the awkwardness of their fight. He knows that once they’re together, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of them.
This is their first real date. He's on a date with Meryl Streep! Sure, they've already been intimate, but a date is different. It’s something he’s wanted for a long time: to take her to a restaurant, in public, enjoying a meal and a real conversation. No rushed meals. No having to stop mid-sentence for a scene. They have all the time in the world—if they want, they can talk until sunrise. He loves to talk. She does, too. And, better yet, when they’re done with the restaurant or the bar, they can go home... and make love.
He arrives, calls her, and steps out of the car. As he walks toward the lobby of her building, the concierge gives him a nod of acknowledgment—the third time he’s seen Marty. A few moments later, the elevator doors open, and she appears. Surprised to see him waiting, she smiles.
"Hi! You look so handsome!"
"Hi! Thank you. You look stunning, as always."
She’s wearing a dark green silk blazer, her top still hidden beneath it. For a split second, they hesitate, unsure of how to greet each other. Then Meryl leans in and gives him a brief kiss on the lips before walking toward the door. Marty follows her, and the concierge mentally notes that Marty is allowed in the building.
As they reach the car, the driver steps out to open the door, but Marty gestures to indicate they don’t need help. Instead, he opens the door for Meryl, and she smiles, pleased by the gesture.
In the back of the car, they sit with some space between them but hold hands. They arrive at the restaurant, a Michelin-starred on top of a building with magnificent views of the city. It’s a quiet, reserved place, the kind of restaurant where a Hollywood star’s privacy is guaranteed. For sure, no one here will take out a phone for a picture.
As they’re shown to a table near the window, the sun begins to set, casting a golden hue over Manhattan.
"Wow. Don’t these places usually require months of pre-booking?" Meryl remarks.
"I’ve got my contacts," Marty replies, his tone casual.
She stands to remove her jacket, and a waiter immediately comes to take it from her. She sits again, feeling Marty’s eyes on her. Her silk top clings to her body, accentuating her cleavage, and the sheer sleeves add an element of allure.
"Now that was a surprise," Marty says, leaning back in his seat with a grin. "I’m afraid I’ll have to make a disclaimer."
"A disclaimer?"
"Yes... I’ll be spending the entire dinner trying not to look at your cleavage, but probably doing it anyway."
Meryl laughs. "Well, why do you think I’m wearing it?"
They both chuckle, the air between them charged with chemistry. The dinner is fabulous—good food, good wine, and great conversation. They talk and talk, laughing along the way. There’s so much they want to share, and it feels like time isn’t enough. The conversation flows naturally, and it feels intimate, like they’ve known each other for much longer than they really have. They discover so many shared interests, and the alcohol only heightens the excitement of finding a connection that feels so right… as if made for each other.
After dinner, Marty takes her to a club to continue talking and drinking. The club has booths that are high enough to give them privacy, so they’re not seen by other clients. They settle into a corner booth, ordering drinks and continuing their conversation.
They sit close—very close. No space between them. Marty drapes an arm around her shoulders. They're flirty. Giggling. Staring. Whispering little things that make them laugh. Drinking. Touching. Aroused.

His eyes can’t help but drift to the perfect curves of her breasts peeking from her top. He knows them already—their shape, their fullness in his hands, the softness of her nipples, the way they respond to his touch. They’re his now. He aches to feel them again.

“I want to ask you something I promised not to…” she says, pulling him from his thoughts. “But I think it’s okay now.”
“What?” He watches as she bites her lip.
“The dream…”
Marty freezes. The dream.
She’s looking at him—at his lips. “Tell me what you dreamt.”
He stares at her, still stunned, and thinks how much of a dream she is in real life.
“I dreamt that we were…” He pauses, chuckling nervously.
“We were…?”

He leans in, whispering in her ear—exactly the way she’s imagined. “I was on the sofa. You were on my lap, your back turned to me... and I was inside you...fucking you…”
She gasps quietly.
“I think I only had that dream because, before bed… I’d been touching myself. Thinking of you,” he adds, kissing her neck. She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching his. He’s burning for her.

Fuck, what is this? she wonders. This heat… this desire… this fire between them. It feels like life’s beginning again. He has everything she ever wanted in a man. Everything. It's almost terrifying…and she doesn’t want to think about that now.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room before something actually happens,” she says, standing. “You need to cool it, Short.”
He grins. “You asked for it.”

As she walks away, he watches her beautifully shaped butt in those pants. The moment she’s out of sight, he discreetly adjusts himself with both hands. He’s getting hard already.
Orders another round of drinks.
When she returns, he gives her another long look.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she teases. “People might think you want me.”
“They’d be absolutely right,” he replies, pulling her in and pressing his lips to her neck. She shivers.
“Marty…” she murmurs, glancing around. Only someone standing too close might notice them. But she doesn’t stop him. He kisses her neck again, slower this time.

“You’re turning me on so much, Meryl. Those pants look incredible on you.”
She leans back, eyes flicking to his mouth. “I think we should go home.”
“So do I.”

Chapter 8: dreams come true

Meryl’s apartment
As soon as they step inside, she kicks off her heels and shrugs off her jacket. Barefoot, she walks into the living room, switching on a couple of dim lights. He follows, removing his own jacket.

“Want a drink? Wine maybe?” she asks.
“I won’t say no.”
“Let’s see what I’ve got.”

They head into the kitchen. She opens the wine fridge while he selects a bottle of white. She retrieves two glasses. He uncorks the wine and pours. Just as she turns with the glasses and a wine cooler in hand, she bumps into him—his full glass splashes across the front of his pants.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!”
He looks down, soaked.
“If you wanted me to take my pants off, you could’ve just asked,” he jokes.
She laughs, embarrassed. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“I’ll clean this. You—maybe you really do need to take them off.” She grabs a towel, dabs the floor, refills the glasses, and brings everything to the living room. “Damn it. What a mood killer,” she mutters under her breath.

She sits cross-legged on the couch. A moment later, he returns wearing a navy fleece robe over his shirt.
“Socks or no socks?” he asks, amused.
She bursts out laughing. “No socks!”
He slips them off, picks up his glass, and sits down—leaving a noticeable gap between them. She giggles.
“What?” he asks, amused.
“Sorry… but you look very cute in that robe.”
“It’s soft. And comfortable.”
They laugh together.

“Did I kill the mood completely?” she asks.
He sets down his glass. She moves closer. “You most certainly did… not.”
She kisses him, straddling him without hesitation. The mood shifts instantly. The second her body presses against his, the spark reignites. He holds her at the waist. Her tongue brushes his, the kiss turning deep and hungry.

“I missed your kisses,” she whispers.
“I missed all of you.”

His hands travel from her waist to her hips, gripping her ass as he pulls her against him. The robe muffles the sensation; he can’t fully feel her, and she can’t feel him.
They part from the kiss, and his mouth moves immediately to where his eyes had been lingering all evening — the top of her breasts.
He kisses her there, slowly, deliberately.

His hands glide from her hips to her waist, up along her sides, then around to gently cup her breasts.
She slips off her top, revealing a sheer black lace bra. Her nipples are clearly visible through the delicate fabric.
He pauses, mesmerized.

“Meryl... fuck... you look so sexy.”
He looks up into her eyes, then back down at her chest, overwhelmed by the sight.
She smiles — that mischievous, knowing smile. She loves the effect she has on him. Loves the way he makes her feel.

His fingers move to stroke her nipples through the lace, watching them respond under his touch.
“You’re so beautiful, Meryl.”
They kiss again, deeper this time.
She knows he must be hard by now — but she can’t quite feel it yet.

She unfastens the belt and opens it. His arousal is now obvious through his briefs. She shifts, grinding gently. His cock rubbing in between her legs.They kiss again—she moans softly into his mouth, loving the pressure of him beneath her.

He pulls her closer, grabbing her ass again and pressing hard. All he wants is to be inside her.
She unbuttons his shirt, trailing her fingers over his chest before leaning down to lick his nipples. He groans, startled by the pleasure. She slides to the floor, her hands exploring him as she lowers his briefs.

His cock is hard—aching.

She gasps at the sight of him. He wonders what is she about to do. He's so turned on, he just wants her to take of her pants and straddle him again.

She picks up a throw pillow and kneels between his legs.

Fuck. He freezes. Heart pounding. Whole body trembling at the mere thought of it. She gently guides him lower on the couch, her expression intense—almost reverent.
Oh my god she going to give him a blowjob.
He doesn't move.
She wraps her hand around him… her hand gently up and down

He watches, breath shallow, as she leans in and takes him into her mouth. His head falls back instantly. Eyes shut. Mouth open in stunned ecstasy, the moment hers is on him.
Fuck the sensation is out of this world! Getting a blowjob by the woman he's been desiring almost his entire life.
Getting a blowjob from Meryl Streep.
Fuck she’s good!

So good.

His moans are deep, involuntary.
Her mouth, her tongue, her hands.
She grins at the sound of him, lips never leaving him, tongue swirling with practiced skill. He watches her, moving her hair aside to get a better view.

It’s almost too much.
God, seeing his cock on her mouth is out of this world...he uses all his strength not to come immediately.
He keeps watching her and she keeps sucking until he can't hold anymore.
He doesn't want to come into her mouth.

“I can’t… Meryl… you have to stop.”

“I do?” she teases, voice low.

He leans forward, hand pulling her gently. “Yes. Come here. Please.”

She rises, and he kisses her fiercely. “I love what your mouth does to me—but now I want to be inside you.” he says in a full desire whisper.
She grins. “Like in your dream?”
“Oh Meryl…please…yes…”
She gets up slowly, unbuttoning her pants with a deliberate tease, then steps out of them and straddles him once more—only a thin layer of lace separating their bodies. Their kiss reignites, slow and charged. He wants to make her wet.
He grips her ass cheeks possessively, guiding her hips into a rhythmic grind against him.

Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in her neck, murmuring, “Did you like my cock in your mouth?”
Her voice is husky. “So much.”
“You’re so fucking good, Meryl. I think of you naked all the time.”

She pulls back just enough to unclasp her bra. He inhales sharply at the sight of her bare breasts and cups them immediately, eyes dark with hunger. Then, he pauses, just looking at her. Admiring. She’s flushed, breathing heavy, glowing.

His hands trail down her sides, over her waist, thumbs resting on her hip bones, fingers grazing her lower back through the fabric of her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, almost in awe.

She smiles, affected. “You make me feel so horny for you, Marty. The way you look at me… like…”
He pulls her down again.
“Like I want to fuck you,” he finishes, his lips brushing her neck.

She sighs as his hand slides down her back, under the waistband of her panties, fingertips teasing between her folds—just barely touching. She gasps.
“Yes… like you want to fuck me… always.”
He continues to slightly brushing her folds. She moans of pleasure...anticipating. Becoming wet to welcome him. Engorged. And ready.
“I always do.”
She’s wet. Soaked. His teasing is driving her wild.
“Fuck me like in your dream, Marty.”

“I need to take this off first. I’m burning.”
He gets up, shrugging off the shirt and robe. Puts the robe on the sofa to sit on it. She stands with her back to him. He steps behind her, pulls down her panties slowly, then sits back and gently guides her onto his lap—her back to his chest, just like in the dream.

One hand spreads her thighs, the other wraps around her waist. He touches her carefully, deliberately, exploring how ready she is.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, voice thick with desire.

He lifts her slightly, grabs his cock, and slowly slides inside.

She lets out a moan—loud, breathless.

He pauses, pulls out, touches her again—pressing his palm flat against her cunt, circling her clit, then thrusts in deeper this time.
Their rhythm builds. Slowly at first. Letting her take the lead, her hips rolling, her breath growing faster.
She’s lost in it. Turned on, thinking this was what he dreamt with her. the way his body feels inside hers. She wants to come. Wants him to touch her pussy... wants his mouth on it...wants him to fuck her this way... wants everything at the same time.

He groans as he thrusts deeper…not knowing for how long he can go. First a blowjob, now this. This woman, that he wanted, for what feels like forever—on him, around him.
He’s about to lose it. But he wants her to come first.
His fingers slide between her thighs again, rubbing her clit with expert precision. Her body tenses, breath catching.

“Marty…” she gasps. “I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” he whispers.
She does. A sharp cry, body clenching around him.
He can’t hold back anymore.

“Baby… I can’t—fuck—I’m coming,” he groans as he lets go, his arms wrapped tight around her, holding her as they both shudder.
For a long moment, they stay still, breathless.

Dreams, he thinks, do come true.

After their living room session, they go to the bedroom. There’s no need to ask him to stay — it’s understood.
They're in bed, naked under the sheets. She lies on her stomach, eyes closed, while he lies beside her on his side, propped up on one elbow, his fingers gently tracing the lines of her back.
When he pauses, she murmurs a soft protest. He smiles.
“Was it better in the dream, or in reality?”
“Hmmm?” He pretends to ponder. She opens one eye and shoots him a look.
He leans in and kisses her.
“Much, much, much better in real life.”
“So it was a shitty dream, then.”
He chuckles. “I feel like there’s no right answer here.”
She pulls him in for another kiss.
“It was so good, Marty. You are so good at it…” Her voice is low and sexy.
“We are,” he corrects gently. “And tonight... you were the real star.” He kisses her again. “You drove me crazy, Meryl. I love the way you do it. You are so goddamn sexy.”
A sly grin spreads across her face.
“You know... I really feel sexy. You make me feel like you—”
“You are,” he cuts in. “You know, last night, Lorne — who’s never starstruck, not even by the biggest names — he was speechless when he saw you. The only thing he could say after I came back to the table was, ‘She’s really sexy.’”
“Did he?”
“Yep. Then I had to kill him, of course.”
She laughs.
“I hated that I ran into you with your friends like that. It was embarrassing.”
He smiles and wraps his arm around her, spooning her gently.
“It’s fine.” He pauses, then asks, “Have you talked to your kids? About what you’re planning to do?”
She takes a deep breath. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine. The kids were all okay with it. I’m the only one tense about it.”
He frowns. “Because it still hurts?” he asks carefully.
She turns to face him, cupping his face. “What? No. It was a long time ago. I just hate seeing headlines about my personal life. It’s not about being sad or hurt. It wasn’t easy to do... it was brutal. But it was what I wanted. It just took me too long to finally do it.”
“Too long?”
“Yes. My marriage ended long before we separated.” Her voice softens. Her face clouds.
“Meryl, if you don’t want to talk about it, you really don’t have to.”
“I do. I want you to know me... maybe it’ll break the spell, but it’s honest.”
“There’s no spell. I know you have layers.”
She exhales slowly.
“Don is a wonderful man. He gave me four amazing children, a home, stability. He supported me in every project. He took care of everything while I was away — and I was away a lot. When we met, I was desperate for love, for touch. I fell for him quickly. I wanted to become a mother — and I did, again and again, until Lou. Life rushed in like an avalanche. A beautiful, overwhelming avalanche of love. But I always knew... there were things missing.” Her eyes brim with tears.
Marty gently wipes one away.
“Meryl…”
“No, let me finish. I knew I didn’t love him anymore. I can’t say when it ended. It wasn’t that we drifted apart — we never talked much in the first place. That’s just who Don is. And for a while, that was okay. But it stopped being enough. The thought of spending the rest of my life with a man I didn’t talk to, didn’t make love with, didn’t love... it became unbearable. And Don knew perfectly what we were and what we weren't. He always knew. So I left.
And I thought, ‘That’s it.’ I’d split my time between L.A. and New York. Go to plays, galleries, dinners. Be with my kids and grandkids. And it would be it. And then you — you make some joke at the SAG Awards, and everything changed. So I guess... I did the right thing.” Shrugs.
She wipes a few more tears. He’s looking at her with a seriousness she rarely sees.
There are three words on his mind. Four to be exact— he's saying them silently, not quite ready to speak them aloud.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
They kiss.
“You don’t think I’m a fraud? ‘Meryl and her perfect marriage’?”
“That doesn’t exist. I don’t think you’re a fraud. I think, for a long time, you lived the life you chose. And then it became too hard to keep pretending. That’s human. Completely understandable.”
“I did love Don. For some years, I did.”
“Of course you did.” He pauses. “Have you told him yet?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not yet. But I will. I’m going to call him next week. I have an event in Spain in October — I’ll be getting an award. The news will be out then. And I’ll be out of the country.” She grins. “Anyway — no more talk about me and my ex.”
He pulls her close, protectively. Lovingly. They fall into a peaceful silence until sleep takes them.

Chapter 9: i love you

The next morning, Manhattan wakes up sunny and calm.

They make a small breakfast, then decide to go out for lunch and see a Broadway play.
There’s no press following them — no rumors yet. No one suspects a thing. It’s still new, still private.
They even go out for dinner and drinks again that evening.
They are loving this time — being together, uninterrupted. Each day they feel more drawn to one another. Marty is over the moon just to be out of the set with her. Meryl is so happy to be with someone who shares her passions.
But drinks always seem to ignite something between them.
When they arrive at her building, and the elevator doors close, he pushes her softly against the wall and kisses her, hands already squeezing her breasts.
“Marty!” she gasps, half-laughing, pretending to scold.
“It’s been hours since I kissed you,” he murmurs. “And I really missed your tits.”
She closes her eyes. God, that’s all it takes. He barely has to say a thing, and she’s aching for him again.
The elevator dings. They pause.
Still catching their breath, they walk to her apartment hand in hand.
They enter her apartment and walk into the living room. Without a word, they take off their jackets and toss them on the sofa. She bends to remove her shoes. He follows, doing the same.

"Now what?" he asks, voice low, eyes lit with anticipation.

She pulls her top off, revealing a strapless bra.
He begins to unbutton his shirt. She chuckles and steps forward. “Let me help…”
She starts unbuttoning too, and he leans in to gently kiss her lips. Once all the buttons are undone, she pulls the shirt apart and stares at his chest, trailing her hands across it slowly. He closes his eyes, savoring the feel of her touch. She kisses his chest, then his lips again.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs.
Once in the bedroom, he wraps his arms around her from behind, kissing her shoulders and back. His hands explore her body—her breasts, her belly, the curve of her waist. Every inch of her skin is intoxicating. She smells incredible.

He unbuttons her pants, and they fall to the floor. She turns to face him and starts unbuttoning his. He kicks them off and leads her to the bed.

She leans back and opens her legs, inviting him in. They kiss—deep, wet, slow—rekindling the fire.

“I want to feel you naked,” he whispers.

He gets up, slips off his briefs, then slides down her panties. He returns to her, now both bare. He positions himself between her legs, rubbing his cock slowly along her folds. She gasps at the sensation, heat blooming inside her. Her hands glide over his back, down to his ass, pulling him closer so he presses harder into her.

Her bra is still on.
“Don’t you want my tits?” she teases.
“Always.”

He kisses her again, then slowly flips her onto her stomach. She’s surprised—but curious. What is he doing?

He brushes her hair aside, kisses the back of her neck, and lies on top of her, supported on his elbows to avoid crushing her with his weight. His cock rubs against her ass, driving them both wild. She gives in, closes her eyes, and melts into his touch.

He kisses her back, unhooks her bra, and slides it out from under her, brushing his fingers along the sides of her breasts. He keeps rubbing his cock along her, harder, slower. The wetness between them builds.

Then, he pulls up slightly, trailing kisses down her back, over her lower spine, and her ass. She shivers.

He spreads her legs gently, letting one finger slide between her folds—parting her, exploring how soaked she is.
She moans sharply. “Oh, Marty… oh fuck…”
He grins. “You’re already soaked, Meryl…”
Then he moves down the bed and lays between her legs, holding her thighs. He lifts her hips slightly—and buries his face in her cunt.

She lets out the loudest moan he’s ever heard from her—maybe the loudest she’s ever made. She wasn’t expecting this. Not like this. No one’s ever done this to her.

He’s eating her from behind—licking, sucking, sliding his tongue through her folds. The sensation is so overwhelming that she couldn't even make any sound. She grabs the sheets, breath lost to the moment, almost forgetting of where she was.

He pauses to check on her. “You like that?”
“Don’t stop… please, Marty, don’t stop…”
Her voice is soaked in need. He resumes.
She tastes amazing. So wet. So completely His.

She starts to moan again, hips moving with him. He senses her building. Gently, he sucks her clit. She gasps—then screams.
Perfect.
He lets her catch her breath, planting soft kisses on her back, climbing up to her ear, whispering:

“Now I’m going to fuck you.”

She’s trembling, barely able to move, but the sound of those words sends a new wave of pleasure through her. He slides on top of her again, props himself up, and slowly slides into her.
They both groan—deep and primal.
He kisses her neck and holds her hand. She grips it tightly, grounding herself in him.

His slow thrusts make her sigh and sigh, each one deep and intentional. He’s enjoying this—the pace, the feel, her sounds. Something stirs deep inside him. Something beyond lust. Beyond sex.
She moans, “Oh Marty… this is so good… I want you so much…”
His feelings are burning inside.
He keeps thrusting slow and intense…deep inside her. She doesn’t move in this position, only grips his hand.
And sighs.
He stops. Pulls out. Leans down and kisses her.

She kisses him back, confused by the pause.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispers.

She blinks. “Hum?”

He flips her gently and settles between her legs. His face is serious, tender.
“Marty…”
“I want to make love to you… I want to see your face… I want to kiss you… I want this way…” He whispers and a wave of want...a want of love, engulfed her.
Her heart races. Something inside her bursts open—love. Real and raw. She pulls him in and kisses him with everything she has.

He slides into her again, and she arches into him.
She loves the way he feels inside her. And he—he’s completely undone by it.
He thrusts slowly, kissing her neck, her lips, her cheeks. She closes her eyes, thinking about what he just said.

She knows what it was.
He's thrusting...and kissing her...and feeling her move with his rhythm. She pulling him, not like when she wants him to fast his pace...different.
He moves with her, gently but intensely. Every touch is full of meaning. He’s not just fucking her—he’s giving her everything.

He looks into her eyes and sees it—everything.

“Marty…”

“Shhh… don’t say it…” he whispers.

She doesn’t understand.
He holds her face. “Don’t say it… because I want to say it first.”
Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest.
“I love you, Meryl. I love you… and I want you to know.”
She stares at him. Breathless. “I love you, Marty.”

They kiss again. Not a hungry kiss—almost a trembling one. Terrifying.

He begins to move faster, eyes on her. She watches him, too—only breaking eye contact when the pleasure overwhelms her.

The way she moves under him, with him, is making him lose control. He’s so overwhelmed with what he feels, he can barely breathe. He just wants to come inside her and wants it to last all night... he wished he could be with her, all night, making love...feeling what he's feeling.

She feels it too—he’s different now. Touching her differently. Loving her differently.

She can't explain it but she's loving it. He's not being rough, it's gentle...but it's ferocious. He really wants her.
Waves start crashing through her body. Her moans rise again—louder, rawer. It drives him nuts.
“Oh Meryl, fuck… you’re gonna make me come… I love to hear you…”
She explodes in his arms, trembling, gasping. He kisses her through it, holds her close.
He keeps thrusting and she wraps her harms around him when calms down.

“Now you, my love… come, Marty…”

That’s all he needs. Her words make him come the second he ears it.
“Oh God…” he moans loudly, and comes hard, spilling into her.

He collapses on top of her, breathless, sweaty, spent. Overwhelmed
He knows she wants him to stay inside and doesn't move.
They don’t speak. Just breathe.

When his breathing finally steadies, he whispers, “I’m taking it out.”
He slides out gently and rolls to his back, hands on his chest, still stunned.

Silence.

He’s thinking: I love her. He said he loves her.
It’s the first time he’s felt this way since Nancy. And it’s terrifying—because now, he wants her forever.

She leans on her side, watching him. He’s so quiet. So is she.
She can’t believe she said those words. She feels them—but she hadn’t planned on saying them.

He looks at her.
Both trying to guess what the other is thinking.

“You are so beautiful,” he says, caressing her face.
She exhales, a bit embarrassed. He’s always saying that to her. She’s not really used to that. She loves it!

“Thank you,” she murmurs, looking down, unsure of what to say next.

He can’t help himself. He wants to say it again now. Not just during sex.
He leans in, lips near her neck. Avoiding her eyes a bit.

“I love you, Meryl.”
She searches his eyes.

“I love you too.”

He strokes her hair.
“If it’s such a joyful thing... why are we being so quiet? Why aren’t we jumping or laughing or—?” he asks.

She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t know. I’m happy. But I’m a little scared.”
“Of what?” he asks gently.
“Of being hurt. Of this ending. Of you losing interest... I don’t know.”

“I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never lose interest. Will you?”
“No. You’re an incredible, alluring, fascinating man, Martin Short. You’re everything I want in a man. Everything.”

Now he’s embarrassed.
“How lucky am I to have the most interesting woman in the world saying that?”

She wraps her arms around him, and he pulls her close.

“So... we’re in love,” she says shyly, fingers playing on his chest.
“Completely in love,” he smiles.

She breathes deeply.
“I’m going to say it again, Meryl… I love you. And I love making love to you,” he pauses, then whispers:
“You drive me crazy. I’m so attracted to you. I’ve never felt this kind of pull. I just want your body all the time…”

“Jesus, Marty… your mouth earlier… what you were doing to me—” she swallows, “no one’s ever done that to me.”

“That’s a real shame. You have such a sumptuous cunt. I want to have it every way possible” he pauses “were you enjoying it…” he asks with a husky voice.
“Yes. I love your mouth on me… your fingers, your tongue… Marty, I really, really like everything you do to me. The way you make me feel—desired, wanted… sexy. I’ve always loved sex. But you’ve made it far more interesting than it ever was.”

They kiss.

“Well, thank you. But it’s only that interesting because it’s you. I’m drawn to you like a magnet. You’re intoxicating. I get hard just from your voice. From your words. From your sounds.”
“I love you, Marty. So much.”
“Oh, baby… I love you too.” He takes her face in his hands and kisses her.

It’s late. They’re both tired. Physically and emotionally.
They fall asleep not long after.

Monday

They wake up full of positive energy. After love-making and love-confessing, everything feels light.
Still in bed—flirting, touching, giggling—until it quickly turns into sex again.
She’s on top, straddling him. He grips her hips and butt, helping her pace.
She leans down to kiss him, and he cups her breasts, fondling them.

“Mmm, so good… so soft…”
She giggles.

Then, suddenly—the front door slams.
Meryl freezes, eyes wide.

“Is it your housekeeper?” he whispers.
She shakes her head.

“Mom!!!” Louisa’s voice echoes.
Meryl’s mouth drops open.
They don’t move.

“I’ll be right there!” Meryl shouts, eyes closed in disbelief.

Louisa walks into the living room. She sees clothes scattered—on the floor, on the sofa—her mother’s shoes… and a man’s.

She covers her mouth, shocked but grinning.
“Good morning, Mr. Short!” she yells.

Meryl nearly faints. Still straddling Marty, she covers her face.
He’s surprised too. He didn’t know her kids knew anything.

“Call me Marty!” he shouts back.

“Marty!!!”
She covers his mouth.
“Hi Marty!!!” Meryl rolls her eyes.

“What? Are we pretending she didn’t say anything?” he whispers.
“Oh my God. I forgot we had something planned today.”

“So—I’m going downstairs to get us THREE breakfast! You have like15 minutes to do whatever it is you're doing!” Louisa calls out.

The door shuts again.
Meryl stays still, still covering her face.

“So… we have 15 minutes.”
She glares at him. She leans off him so he can slide out, then gets up, out of the bed, and throws on her robe, pacing the room.

“Shit! What are we going to do?”

“Well,” he says calmly, “you already have a robe. I’m going to put my robe on, and we’re going to the living room. You’re going to introduce me to your daughter.”

“What? Are you crazy? I can’t do that!”
“It’s the only thing we can do.”
“Oh, God!” She throws herself on the bed.

“Let me just go to the bathroom. You know—wash my face and hands…”
He chuckles and heads out.

A few minutes later, Louisa enters again and heads to the kitchen.
“I’m back!” she announces.

Meryl meets her there.

“Hi Mom!!! Good morning!” Louisa hugs her.
Meryl gives her the look, just as she hears Marty coming.

“Good morning,” he says softly, with a big smile.

“Well, hello! I’m Louisa.” She walks to him and kisses him on the cheek.
Meryl watches, stunned.

“Oh—nice to meet you, Louisa.” He´s surprised by the kiss.
“I brought three lattes, two black coffees, and a ton of food. I didn’t know what you like.”

Meryl sits at the table, face in her hands. Just trying to survive.

“That’s so sweet of you. I’m actually quite hungry.”
“I bet you are!” Louisa chuckles.

“Louisa, please… control yourself.”
“I see the humor gene passed down. You two have the same timing.” Marty says looking at mother and daughter.

Marty and Louisa hit it off instantly—joking, laughing.
Meryl mostly watches, occasionally scolding them both.
At first, she’s tense. But then—she starts enjoying the moment. It’s cute. Sweet, even.

“Okay, Mom, I’m leaving. And I promise from now on, I’ll call or ring the bell.”
“No—you stay. Do whatever you and your mom had planned.” Marty’s tone turns gentle looking at Mery.
“I’m going back to my apartment. To change, do some stuff.”

“She’s going to give me hell. You know that, right?” he chuckles hearing Meryl’s tone.
“Oh, she’s right. I am going to milk it.”

“I’ll just grab my clothes and be on my way.”
“There’s a few in the living room!” Louisa says teasingly.
He points at her. “Thanks.”

Meryl rolls her eyes.

Louisa looks at her mom with a wide grin.
“I really, really like him, Mom.”
Meryl takes a breath, looking out the window, then back at her.
“I’m glad you do. But please, Lou… don’t tell your sisters or brother. I don’t want them swarming me with questions, suggestions, remarks. Please?”
“I won’t. Promise. But… can I ask you questions?”
“No.”
“Come on! Just—do you really like-like him?”

Meryl hesitates. Then whispers:
“I really, like, like, like him.”
“Oh my God! It’s serious!”

“Stop! No more questions.”

A few moments later, Marty shows up — dressed, composed, calm.
He walks to Meryl and takes her hand gently.

“I’ll call you later and we’ll see what we want to do, okay?”
Louisa notices the softness in his voice with her mother. It’s tender. Respectful.

“I was planning on having dinner here tonight.”
“That sounds great. I’ll see you later.” He leans in, gives Meryl a small kiss, and whispers in her ear,
“I love you.”

She shivers. Smiles instantly. She wants to say it back — but not in front of Louisa.
“Bye,” she says softly.
“Bye, Louisa. It was lovely to meet you. Hope to see you soon.”
“Me too!” Lou smiles, genuinely charmed.

They hear the door close.

“Ooooh… he likes you! A lot! I can tell! I think he’s a bit, or a lot, in love with you, Mom!”

Meryl smiles, then walks out of the kitchen.

“I’m taking a shower!”

“And I’m taking that as a yes!” Louisa grins.

Late afternoon.
After dropping Louisa off and getting home, Meryl decides to call Don.

She picks up her phone, walks to the window, takes in the city.
Searches for his name. Hits the number.
Takes a deep breath.

It rings. Once… twice… almost nine times.

“Come on, Don… I’m not gonna bite.”

She can’t help but think about him for a moment.
They had good times — laughter, love, chaos.

She scrolls through her photo gallery. Finds old pictures.
Him. Them.
She exhales.
One photo in particular stops her. They look happy. Really happy.

The illusion of happiness.

It had been a good day though. He looked handsome. Passionate. He had been drinking. They made love that night.
One of the last times.

She feels a quiet sadness stirring in her chest.

Then — her phone vibrates.

Marty.

Her face lights up in an instant.

“There’s my man,” she whispers before answering.

“Short…” he chuckles.
“You like calling me that.”
“Sometimes.”

“So… you still want me to come over, or am I banned?”
“I always want you to come...”
She pauses — teasing.
“...over.”

He gets the message.

“Well, you do still owe me for this morning.”
“Please, don’t make me remember this morning!”
“How about last night, then?”
“Do I owe you something from last night?” she says mischievously.
“No. Last night you gave me everything.”

His voice softens with love. She remembers their exchange of words — intimate, true.

“Let me do the same today… I’m waiting for you.”

Chapter 10: matinee

Some time later, Marty arrives.

Meryl decides to cook pasta for them. Opens a bottle of wine.
They talk. Laugh. Kiss.

Then — her phone starts to vibrate.

“Can you get my phone, please?”
“Sure.”

Marty walks to pick it up.
Don.

He freezes. Just for a moment.
Then picks it up, walks back, shows her the screen.

Panic in her eyes.

“I called him today. He didn’t answer.”

She hesitates. She doesn't know either to take it or not.
She sees that Marty's face changed and doesn’t want him to think she’s hiding something.
But talking to Don now — in front of Marty — is a nightmare.

“I guess I’ll answer. It’ll be quick. You don’t mind, do you?”

He shakes his head. Gestures for her to take it.

“Don, hi!”
“Meryl, hi… how are you?”

His voice. Damn it. She flushes.
Only because, she hasn’t heard it on the phone in ages.

Marty sips his wine, pretending he’s okay. He’s not.

“I’m good… you?”
“I’m okay. I saw your new series. You look wonderful.”

She almost drops the phone.
Is he flirting? Teasing? Is he trying to hint at her and Marty?
What is she thinking...Don doesn't do that. But he knows her...he could easily see the chemistry? Or not. Who cares!
Looks at Marty…he’s watching her.

“Oh! You did. Thank you.”
Her voice goes high-pitched. She knows that’s a tell.
Marty looks at her. What is going on there?

She paces. Twirls her hair.
Marty notices. His interest piques. She’s too flustered.

“And Gracie showed me some pictures of you with the grandkids this summer. You look lovely with them.”

What the fuck.
Don just gave her more compliments in three minutes than he did in six months of marriage.

“Yes. They’re cuties… I love them.” she says with a sweet voice.

“It’s good to hear you.”

Her eyes go wide. What is happening?
She thought this would be a thirty-second call.

“Yeah… me too.”
Marty presses his lips, hard.

Suddenly — the stove.

“Oh!!” she yelps. Rushes over.

“What?”
“Nothing — sorry — I’m cooking and I forgot—”

Marty moves to help. She waves him off.

“What are you cooking?”
“What? Um… pasta. Something simple.”

Marty pours another glass. He’s not hiding his mood anymore and even starts mumbling.
But he reminds himself: Don may have been her husband for 40 years… but I’m the one in her kitchen. Drinking her wine. She’s cooking for me. She’ll be naked with me tonight.

“So… why did you call?”
“Well, Don, I wanted to tell you…”
She breathes.
“I told my publicist to let out to the press that we’re separated. And have been so for six years. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

Silence.

“Okay. And you’re telling them it’s been six years? Why not just say we’re separated?”

“Because…” she steadies herself. She didn't expect the question.
“It’s honest. So we won’t get caught in stories.”

She’s proud of that answer.

“Alright. It’s your call. No one’s going to ask me anything. When’s this happening?”
“October. A month from now. I’ll be out of the country — perfect timing.”
“Where are you going? Work or pleasure?”
“Work… well, not quite. I’m getting an award. In Spain.”
“Madrid?”

More questions.
“No. Oviedo.”

“Okay. So… I guess that’s it. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Bye, Meryl.”
“Bye, Don. Thank you.”

She hangs up. Finally.

“So… let’s see how our pasta’s doing,” she says, trying to sound casual.

“So…” Marty says, flat.

She looks at him — he’s leaning on the kitchen island, obviously annoyed.

She walks over, puts her arms around his neck, nestles herself between his legs.
He doesn’t hug her.

“I’m sorry. Don was weirdly chatty today... which is rare.”

“Was he complimenting you?”
She smirks. He’s jealous.

“Are you jealous?”
“Should I be?”
“Are you serious? After what I told you two days ago?” she looks at his lips and lowers her voice “After what I told you last night?”

His hands finally go around her waist.

“I am jealous. You were all flushed… playing with your hair…”

“What?” She laughs.
“Yes. You do that when you’re nervous. Or uncomfortable.”

She loves that he knows that. Loves that he sees her.

“He said some unusual things.”
“Like what?”
“That he saw Only Murders... and that I looked…”
She mumbles, “wonderful.”

He tilts his head. Annoyed.

“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Come on! It’s just your ex-husband saying you looked wonderful… nothing much!.”

She kisses his neck.

“I look wonderful because you are by my side. Who cares what he says?”

He pulls her close, his hands on her waist.

“Talking to him… did it get to you at all? Be honest.”

“I’m always honest with you. Hearing his voice got to me for a second. But I just wanted to say what I needed and come back to you. And our dinner.”

“Was he okay with it?”
“He asked why I was being so specific. Which is fair. He knows it’s not really my style.”

She holds his face. He softens.

“Marty… I love you. I’m yours. Only yours.”

They kiss. Deep. Unhurried.

“I love you too.”

They have a beautiful dinner.
Music plays in the background.
Later, they move to the sofa. She’s barefoot. They sip their wine. Talk for hours.

The magic of new love.
Endless talk.
Endless touches.
Endless love making.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s more comfortable,” he says.

“Is it?”
“And if we fall asleep, we’re already there.”

He gets up. Stretches his arms to help her up.

“Fall asleep? You were singing two minutes ago.”
“Come on, Streep… let’s go. You know what I want.”

She chuckles.

“What do you want?”
He pulls her close. Whispers in her ear:
“To taste your cunt.”

Every time.
He knows just when to say it. He's talking with her casually and then says something to make her burn inside.

She feels it immediately — the throb between her legs.
Heat rising in her belly. Her breasts.

She rubs her neck. His hands stay on her waist.
“Do you want me to taste you, Meryl?”
“You fucking know I do.”
He grins. Happy that he gets her every single time.
He knows her. How she works.
She knows he knows.
And it's damn sexy.

They go to the bedroom.
Undress. Naked.
Slip into bed.

Kissing. Always kissing.

Because her tongue in his mouth is his undoing.
Because his hungry mouth on her breasts makes her moan, his touch purposeful.
Rubbing himself on her thighs.

His hands on her. His mouth on her. His everything.

“I love being naked with you,” she whispers. “Feeling you.”

“Oh, me too… I love your body. Your skin. Your breasts rubbing on my chest.”

“And feeling your cock… hard…”

“Fuck, Meryl. You make me so hard. I love to hear what you like...I want to do everything you love.”

She wants him between her legs. Desperately. She grinds against him, and he grins—he knows.

He kisses her neck, then down, down… His hands follow.
He remembers their first time.
How her legs were trembling a bit.
How mesmerized he got by looking at her...all naked for him...all opened for him

First, his palm—grabbing her fully. She moans.
Then, fingertips—tracing her wetness. Teasing.
Moans and sighs.
Teasing more…barely touching her. Looking at her.
Fuck! She needs more. She’s restless. He knows it.

And then he gives it to her.

Slowly, he starts licking, fingering, tasting, sucking… Driving her wild, making her come multiple times. Her body shudders with each wave of pleasure. Doing what he does best.

Then he climbs on top of her.
She welcomes him—smiling, arms open, legs parted.
Her eyes meet his.

He’s smiling too, that same look he always gives her. Like she’s the only woman in the world.
She adores that. Because Marty is the only man in the world.

Her man.

And then—he’s inside her.
Her man fills her with his cock.

She gasps, arching toward him.

"God... I love the way you feel inside me... I love your cock..."

"Yeah?" he murmurs against her neck. "I love being inside you, Meryl... you feel so damn good… so good to fuck...so good"

He lifts her leg higher, angling deeper. She wraps herself around him, drawing him closer.

"There we go..." he whispers. "just like that… so good..."

"Marty..." she sighs, her voice breathy and full.

"I love to fuck you Meryl...

She smiles, pulling him in tighter. "Then fuck me Marty.

That line.
The line.
The one that brought them here.
They move together, moaning, panting, lost in each other.

 

Afterward, they lie in bed. He strokes her back the way she loves.

“Meryl…”

“Hmmm?”

“I haven’t told you yet… I’m going back to LA tomorrow.”

She lifts her head.

“What? No…”

She presses against his chest.

“I have to. When are you coming back?”

“I have an event at the end of the month. After that.”

“So… two weeks. Give or take…”

She frowns.

“When do you go to Spain?”

“17th or 18th. I forget. I’ll stay a few days.”

“Alone?”

“No. My brother’s coming. I didn’t want to go alone—not with the Don stuff. But couldn’t ask the kids.”

“I’m glad you're not going alone..”

He strokes her face.

“I’m throwing a party at the end of October. It's crazy...I'm going to invite lots of people. I usually do these Christmas parties...that everybody loves...” pauses “I’d really love for you to come.”

“Oh… sure. I’d love to.”

He beams. She’s sleepy.

“Let’s sleep.”

 

“Let’s sleep.”

Two weeks go by, slowly as hell.
For Meryl, it was torture. She missed him with an ache she couldn’t quite name—his voice, his smirk, the way his hands felt on her skin. His tight hugs. Holding hands with him.
Misses his presence around her. His comments. His jokes. His positive energy.
New York had offered moments, memories. Those days tangled up in each other had shown her something real. She wanted him. Around. Inside her life. Inside her.

She’d had an event last night—something glittery with George Clooney.
She smiled, looked radiant, Happy, they said.
But beneath it all, she was thinking of Marty. Especially when someone brought up OMITB. Raving about Loretta. Her chemistry with Martin Short. The way she sang. Meryl had smiled, but her heart skipped.
Oh!
Talking about she and Marty.
She panicked for a moment. But then composed herself and just smiled and thanked.

Martin had been in LA.
Working, reading, dining out with friends and obsessing with her.
They’d called, yes. But the distance had cooled the fire—at least over the phone. Distance works bad for them. They’d become short and vague.
But when she hung up at night, she could imagine his hands, his voice...and it made her wet just thinking of it. She suspected he did the same. And she liked knowing that.
He did. Now that he really knows how her body is...how she sounds...how she moves, he hang up, most of the times he had the urge to touch himself thinking of her...them…and he did.

October arrived
She flew back to LA.
Home. She missed her house in Pasadena. The quietness. The isolation.

She sent him a message around 2 p.m.—"Just landed. Home." she caught an early flight because she wanted to be home as soon as possible.
He didn’t respond until nearly 3.

"I’m glad. Did you have a nice flight?"

She blinked at the text, disappointed. She expected more. Wanted more. Hoped he would call her the minute he saw the text.

"Good. Want to come by? Sending you the address."

"Actually, I have a dinner today."

That stung. Seriously?
"Ok. Hope you have fun today."
"Thank you, I will."
Why is it so difficult for men to understand women.

Really, after two weeks without seeing each other, she arrives and it takes him 1h to answer a text and he isn't eager to see her.
She sighed, stepped outside. The warm sun bathed her skin, the air soft with silence. She was just about to grab a book and a glass of wine.
Her phones rings. It's actually the front gate.
She opens the app to check the gate camera. A car. Driver window down. A man with sunglasses.
Marty?
"Marty?"

He dropped the glasses. That boyish grin. “Are you opening the gate or should I climb the fence?”

She laughed—threw the gate open. And her heart thudded as his car pulled in.
She's so happy right now, she could burst.
But then, looks at her clothes and hair...and wishes she could have changed. How did he get her address??!!
Marty surprising her at her house.
She goes to the front of the house. Opens the door and sees him getting out of the car.
God, he looked good. Dark jeans. Baby blue shirt. Sunglasses. His hair – perfect! Confident stride. He looked like sex, and she was already burning.

 

Take his shades. “Hey, kid.”

She wrapped herself around him, kissing him like she needed air. He held her tight, firm, possessive.

“Hiii… I missed you so much.” Her voice sweet. "What are you doing here?"

“You think I’d let you come back after two weeks and not see you?” He brushed her cheek. “No way.”
They part from the hug to look at each other. He caresses her face.
"I missed you more" They kiss again and hug again.

She led him inside, holding hands, buzzing. “How did you get my address?”

“I have my ways,” he teased. “Got Tracey’s number. She didn’t even hesitate.”

The house surprised him—clean lines, openness, walls of glass. It felt like her: elegant, strong, private.
"Do you want something to drink?"
" well..."
"You know what...find the kitchen and help yourself. I'm going to take a quick shower and change, ok? Go outside if you want...feel at home." She gives him a quick kiss.
"Ok!!" He chuckles.

And she was gone.

He wandered, found the kitchen and the wine fridge. Select the wine - a chilled Riesling.
"Now...glasses..."
Starts to open cabinets until finds them. Utensils drawer.
Wine cooler. Drop stop. So many things to find. But he's feeling very comfortable there...and finds it funny to be looking for things in her house.
Took the things to the living room.
Open the bottle and pours a glass.

Explored. Outside, the place was something else. Like a sanctuary. Surrounded by trees. Silent. Beautiful views. Hidden. Intimate. The kind of home you could fuck someone in every room and no one would know.
There's a zone with sofas and a fire pit....the pool area nearby with sunbeds around.
It feels they're not even in LA. So private. So her.
Speaking of her. Finished the shower and the exquisite body lotion.
Now, choosing what to wear. The weather is still very warm...she decides on a blue wrapped maxi summer dress. She is putting on the bra but then decides to take it out. Puts on the dress... who was a plunging neckline.
Puts on some perfume and goes barefoot to meet him.
Sees the bottle, pours herself a glass and goes outside.

He sat by the pool, sipping, when she emerged.
He sees her.

Her dress flowing, parting with the light breeze and showing her legs.
The cleavage. Just like she likes to wear, and how he likes to watch, plunging.
Fuck.
Coming his way.
She walked toward him like a dream. He could barely speak.

They toasted. Drank.

“You look very summerish…” His voice dipped. “Very sexy.”

She licked her lips. “You do too...so handsome… I forgot how much I like watching you...watch me.”

He leaned in. They kissed. Tongue, wine, want. Her leg curled over him, pressing close.

“We suck at distance,” he whispered. She laughed.

“Totally. Our talks are just so...off..."
"I know...how come he can talk for hours, but not on the phone?"
"I think it's just that we're not used to...we'll get better at it.”

“I don’t want to get better at it.”
He puts his hands on her waist and pulls her for a deeper kiss.

He slid his hand under her dress. Felt bare skin. She's not wearing a bra and he hardens.
Full breast. Tight nipple.
“What is this Meryl? Do you want to drive me crazy?”
Massages her bare breasts. She starts moaning on his mouth.

“Oh, god,” she moaned, arching.

He slides the dress from her shoulders… kissed down her chest, exposing her breasts, and starts kissing them. She’s surprised to be naked like that, outside. It's her house...but still. She never done that.
She gasped and tilts her head back, as he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking, licking, grazing with his teeth.
"You know what I love"
"What?"
"Matinés." She laughs.
"Humm...Not here though...I never really know when the gardener is coming."
He gets up and helps her up.
"We have to learn his schedule." They chuckle.
She leads them to her bedroom.
Inside the bedroom, her dress fell open with a tug. She lay back, naked now, watching him undress with hungry eyes.

When he pulled down his briefs, she bit her lip. He was already hard. Throbbing.
"Do you know how hard it was not to touch you for two weeks... this hard!!" He jokes holding his cock.
She laughs. He gets on top of her and they start kissing again.
She spread her legs, inviting him.
"I love you Meryl...I missed you so much." His voice is full of love.
They haven't said it on the phone. Nor in texts.
She exhales. Happy to hear it.
"I love you too Marty"
He kisses her hungrily.
"Tell me what you want?" He asks on her hear.
"What?"
"Tell me what you want...do you want my mouth on your delicious cunt, Meryl? Or do you want me inside of you?"
"Inside of me...I want you inside of me, Marty"
He slides his hand under her panties.
"Where's the lube baby?" He whispers.
"Oh...It’s in the bathroom." She motions to get up.
"Tell me where it is and i'll go get it"
“Bathroom. Second drawer.”

He rushed, and she took off her panties.
Sometimes, many times, she wishes that she was younger. When her body was young, her breasts were fuller and perkier and she was always wet enough. She wishes Marty would see her like she was.
Fortunately, he always makes her feel sexy, and confident.

He returned, bottle in hand.
"There we go" He comes to bed.
She rolled to her side, offering herself. He grins, understanding.
"Do you want to do it like this?" He says on her neck.
"Yes, I love to feel you this way."
"Oh baby..."

He poured the lube on his fingers, sliding them between her folds, teasing her clit until she whimpered. Then on himself. And then, with a groan, he pushed inside. Gently as always, feeling her, sensing her body adapt.

The stretch. The fullness. She gasped. When she starts to sigh and move with him, he knows he can start a pace.
He rocked into her, slow, deep.
He looks at her ass hitting on him. He's so attracted to her.
"You make me so horny for you" She smiles. " I love to fuck you like this. You feel...so good. So tight for me.”

“Harder, Marty.”

He gripped her hip, pounding faster, each thrust drawing a moan.
She searches for his hand and leads it to between her tights.

“Touch me… touch me Marty—make me come, fill me with your cum..” she gasped.
He gets dizzy with her words and has to control himself.
He reached around, rubbing her clit just right. Her body shook, and she came with a cry, clutching the sheets. He followed seconds later, spilling into her with a long groan, burying his face in her neck.

They collapsed together, bodies trembling.

They stay wrapped in each other for a while.
He's kissing her shoulders, slowly, like time isn’t real.
She lies still, eyes closed, breathing him in.

Then she turns to kiss him.
There’s something about her in that moment—unguarded, soft.
She looks so sweet.

He feels impossibly lucky.

How lucky they are.
After all these years, somehow the greatest actress of all time ends up doing a secondary role in a TV series—just another love interest on the page. But they turned it into something real. Fell for each other, quietly, inevitably.

Nothing special, someone might say. Nothing remarkable.
But they were made for each other.

They don’t complete one another—they complement.
That it's only explained when you find your person.

That kind of connection doesn’t come often.
And timing—timing is the great trick of life.
Sometimes you have to live nearly your whole life before you recognize what your person actually looks like.

"Do you want to go and have dinner at Baldi’s?" he asks.

"Forty-minute drive... I don’t know. There’s a nice place here in Pasadena. The food’s excellent. Small, quiet... I’ve been there a few times."

"Then it’s settled."

She smiles and curls deeper into his arms.

"Can we just stay here a bit longer?"

"Of course we can... my love."

Chapter 11: oviedo

Meryl flies to Spain on October 17th, to receive the Princess of Asturias Award for the Arts. On the fourth day of her stay, the news breaks: she and Don have been separated for over six years. Her representative confirms it to Page Six.
One the first day, when she arrived, she sent Marty a message:
“I'm going to wear my wedding band. I'm sorry. But I want to. I need to. I don't know why, but I need Don close to me. I'm sorry.”
It was close to midnight in L.A. when Marty read the text.
It broke him.
He had called her before her flight. She didn’t answer.
He sent her a message: wishing her a safe flight, a pleasant time in Spain... and that he’d be here for her.
She said nothing.
He called again. Worried.
Then he got that text.
Then saw her on the news.
Saw the ring.
He doesn’t understand.
She’s announcing their separation—yet it feels like she's saying she needs Don back.
Is she ending their relationship over a text?
Marty is shattered.
He spends three days in limbo, wondering if she'll even announce it publicly.
Maybe she won’t. Maybe she and Don talked again.
But on the fourth day, it’s out.
Meryl is emotional.
Which is saying something—because emotion defines her.
But today, it's different.
Forty-five years of marriage. Not really... almost forty... maybe thirty-five. Possibly thirty.
Still—a lifetime.
Don was hers.
Most of her life. Some would say the best of it.
And now, the world knows it's over.
“Meryl’s perfect marriage: The End.”
She's grateful to be in Spain, where everyone adores her. Even a little boy who asked for her autograph.
At the end of the day, she’s exhausted.
She checks her phone. Nothing.
She knows it’s her fault.
But something dark overcame her before the trip. She cried—really cried—for the first time since the separation.
A catharsis.
She even wished Don were there to hold her.
But not because she loves him. Not because she wants him back.
Because he was her life.
And though she doesn’t want that life anymore... it was hers.
Marty is her life now.
She calls him. He doesn't answer.
Marty is looking at the phone. He didn't sleep. Not for a single minute.
Voice message. He closes his eyes at the thought of hearing her voice.

“Marty... please call me.”
Soft. Sad. Slightly desperate.
He’s not himself.
He hasn’t slept.
He saw her on the news—wearing that dress from the wrap party.
Where they kissed for the first time.
Where she first touched him.
He’s a mess… has a huge headache. He takes a pill. Finally, sleep comes.
Hours later, his phone vibrates.
It’s her again. Calling.
What time is it? Wait...it's like 4 a.m. in Spain. Is she alright?
"Yes... Meryl?"
Silence. Her heart is pounding.
“Marty...” Her voice is small but awakens him.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry. I love you... I just want to be with you. I love you so much.”
“Meryl, I only picked up because it’s the middle of the night there. Are you alright?”
“No. I’m not alright. I will only be alright when I get back... to you.”
“Meryl... I don’t even know what to say. My head is spinning. Just... go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow or another day.”
“I’m going to the airport. First flight…trough London. Marty...”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight when I wrote that text. I’m sorry.”
“Meryl, we’ll talk another time. I’m going to hang up.”
He does… tossing the phone down in the bed.

 

Her plane lands in the end of the day…after a 20h flight.

She's very tired. Restless. Barely slept. Always waking up thinking of him.
But the thought of being back in L.A., closer to Marty, soothes her.
Her assistant sent a car to pick her up.
She's finally in the back of the car. Her hands are shaking when she starts writing.
She texts him:
“I’ve landed. I’m going home. Can you please, please stop by? I’m sending you the gate code. The front door will be open. Please Marty. I love you.”
She reads it back.
She’s never written that to him before. I Love you.
She hits send.
Now she has to wait.
Home. She showers, puts on a robe, sinks into the sofa.
Checks her phone. Still nothing.
Marty read the text the second she sent it.
Stared at it for minutes.
It’s the first time she’s actually said “I love you” in writing.
He has nothing of hers, nothing to come back to…some sweet texts, yes —no pictures, only memories from the set.
He wants to go to her.
But he’s hurt. So hurt.
She pushed him away. She wore the ring for the whole world to see. Sent that message. Then pulled him back in.
There's hurt and sadness inside of him, eating him up.
But there's also the Want of her. He wants her and loves her so much, so deeply…

He grabs his keys. Drives. But first, down the coast. Needs to clear his head.

Two hours later
Meryl is outside, trying to calm her nerves. Comes back inside. Checks her phone. No sign of him.
Nearly 10 p.m.

She knows she has to give him time.
Marty arrives. Parks the car. She doesn’t hear.
She’s on the sofa when she hears the door.
“Meryl,” he calls.
She jumps up and runs to him. “Marty!”
Hugs him.
He hesitates, but hugs her back.
Not tightly—but just enough.
Her arms are locked around him.
His legs tremble just feeling her again.
No words.
They stay there, holding each other.
“Come to my bedroom,” she says, pulling back.
“No, Meryl. I’m sorry. That doesn’t resolve things.”
“No. I just want to lie with you. Please. Just that.”
“We need to talk.”
“I know. And we will. Please, Marty. I just want to be close to you.”
He walks toward her room. She follows.
Inside, she begins to undress him.
“Meryl... please...”
“I want to feel you. I don’t want clothes between us.”
He lets her.
She takes off his shirt, his pants. He removes his socks and shoes.
When she reaches for his briefs, he stops her.
“No.”
Then she drops her robe. She’s trembling. Naked. Eyes full of tears. Exposed.
He gets dizzy just seeing her. He pulls his briefs off.
They crawl into bed.
She curls into him under the sheets.
His arms wrap around her looking at the ceiling.
They're both exhausted and sleep deprived.
They fall asleep.
They awake some hours later. It's the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.

Morning
He wakes up. She’s not in bed.
He feels tired. Just wants to lay there.

The toilet flushes. She returns, naked.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No.” He gets up slowly. “I’m going too.”
He avoids her gaze.
She watches him go. Wants him. Smells him on the sheets, on the pillows.
This is how she wants her bed to smell every day. Him.
He comes back. Silent.
Enters the bed. Sheet up to his waist.
She hugs him.
Still silence.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
He breathes deeply.
“Yes.”
She leans close.
“I’m sorry, Marty.”
“What the hell was all this?”
“I don’t know how to explain. The day before I flew out... I woke up drained... so sad about this... I just broke. I cried in a way I hadn’t before. I didn't want to talk to you and I didn’t want you to see me like that. I needed to be alone.”
“No. You needed Don close. That’s what you said.”
She closes her eyes.
“I know. I did say that. I felt that. For some reason, I wanted him around and I wanted him to hold me.”
She can't be serious. He pulls back.

“What??!! You wanted Don to hold you?! You’re here—naked with me—saying that?”
He holds her arms to remove her from him.
He wants to get up and dress.
"Marty no... Marty, listen..."
She straddles him before he can get up.
He lets her. But won’t look at her.
“It was a final goodbye to my old life…it felt like it was ending again. And I somehow felt the need to have him around, because Don was part of it. I don’t know why…”
“Meryl, please…”

“But you—you’re my life now.”
“I don’t want Don. I want you! I love you! I'm sorry...I just broke down...and I wore that ring for the last time. It’s over. The world knows. It’s over. It's over!!!" She's almost yelling.”
“I felt like you were pushing me away.”
“"I know I hurt you...I'm sorry... I wasn’t thinking straight. But, I wasn't saying I wanted Don...or that I was ending things between us...I just didn't explain myself... and I was trying to be honest with my feelings..."
She starts crying.”
“And I should have called. Explained. I made a mistake...but I'm really sorry.
Tears fall onto his chest.
He starts to wipe them gently.
“At the end of that day, when the news finally broke out, I only wanted to be with you. To have you close. Because you are my life now, Marty.”
She looks at him.
“I’ve told you before—you have everything I want in a man. You are my person. I love you.”
Tears are still trailing down her face.
He’s silent. Exchanging looking at her, with avoiding her stare.
Then, he pulls her into a deep embrace.
She sobs.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not losing me. I love you.”
Finally, his hug is tight.
She’s His.
When she calms downs, he cups her face and kisses her. She puts her hands over his.
“You’re not talking, Marty. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I'm... I'm absorbing all that you said and thinking… we need to be able to talk even when we’re falling apart. I understand what happened. But, you can't just not talk with me and not text back...and then drop that bomb. If you don't want to talk, tell me it's not a good time, or a good day...something.”
“What you did—it hurt. I thought I’d lost you.”
“You won’t lose me. Not unless you want to.”
He sighs.
"But you left me 4, 5 days without contact, except that text saying you needed Don with you..."
She takes a deep breath.
"I know...I'm sorry..." She leans her head on his chest.
"Meryl, jesus, I love you so much. I couldn't even breathe properly, these days..."
“Me either.”
“I don’t want you to wear that fucking ring again.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
He hugs her tightly again, his hand gently stroking her back.
A deep sigh escapes him.
He’s starting to feel light again—safe again.

She rests against his chest, eyes closed, her hands moving slowly up and down his torso. She’s glad to be here, with him.
She grips his arms, holding him close.

His hands trace the length of her back, drifting lower. He wants to caress her more intimately, but instead, his hands return upward. He can feel her breasts pressed against him.

She opens her eyes—she can feel him getting hard. He feels it too.
He wants her. Needs her.

She wants to make love to him. She’s wanted it since that night in Spain.
But, because she promised she just wanted to be held, she gently pulls away and sits at the edge of the bed.
He watches her, already regretting that she let go.
“Are you hungry?” she asks.
He's starving in fact.
"Very much so."
She smiles, putting on her robe.
“I’ll make breakfast. And get you a robe.”
Goes to the guest bedroom and brings him a robe.

Then goes to the kitchen.
She's feeling tired. Without energy.
Nervous, because they're not well.

He stays in bed for a minute. Drained emotionally.
He wished they could make love—he knew it would help him, they, feel better.
But now... did she run from the bed?

His mind was still spinning from what she'd said about Don. Wanting Don to hug her.
Fuck. Did she want him in her bed?

The idea makes him physically sick.
Fuck, Marty! Your head is so fucked up. She does that to him—twists him in knots.

Also starts thinking about the party he’s planning for next week. All his friends will be there.
And he wants her there. Really wants her there. He wants to show her off, introduce her to everyone.
So what now?

She’s in the kitchen, leaning over the island, her hands on top of the counter, staring blankly.
She has no idea what to make for breakfast.
She’d even told the housekeeper not to come this morning—because she’d hoped she’d be waking up next to Marty.

Shit. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.
They didn’t make love.
And now? What—make breakfast? Eat?
They’re definitely not going to have sex with full stomachs.
Then he’ll probably say he has to leave.
And that weird, heavy silence will be left hanging in the air like smoke.

Marty puts on his robe, his mind still a mess of thoughts.
Fuck. Think. She said she loves you. She said she wants you. She was naked in your arms... and not because you asked. She chose that. Because you didn't even want to. Oh... is that why? Because she promised she just wanted to be held.

He walks into the kitchen.
She hears him but doesn’t turn around.

“I’m sorry... I don’t even know what to make for breakfast. Maybe eggs?”
Her voice is small. She bends over the counter, head in her hands.

He steps up behind her.
And the sight of her—bent like that—only intensifies his desire.
The thought flashes through him: I could just lift her robe...

He approaches, touches her, pulls her up gently.
She knows that touch. Knows what it means. Her heart starts to race.
His hands slide down her arms, testing, seeing if she’ll pull away.
She doesn’t.

He circles his arms around her waist, drawing her against him. She lets out a small gasp, then leans into him.
One hand slips inside her robe, finding her breast. The other holds her firmly by the waist.
She moans softly as his fingers explore her, slowly, reverently.

“Marty,” she whispers, “please… make love to me.”

Relief washes over him.
That’s all he needed to hear.

He turns her to face him.
“That’s all I want,” he says. “To make love to you.”

They return to the bedroom.
She’s nervous, but happy. He came to her.

He ducks into the bathroom to grab the lube.
She slips off her robe and lies on the bed, and smiles when he drops his robe.

He climbs onto the bed and gently parts her legs, kissing her knees as he settles between them.
Just the feel of his body brushing hers—his length pressing softly against her—grounds him. Arouses him.

He kisses her breasts, her nipples, then her lips—gently at first. Then his tongue part her lips and enters her mouth to find hers, and fire begins.
Their mouths find rhythm, tongues meeting in a deep, slow hunger. Moans echo softly in the room.

He doesn’t want to wait. He opens the lube, spreading a generous amount on her and on himself.
His cock is still only half-hard, but needing her ignites him.
He needs to be inside her.
She needs to be his again.

Slides in. She gasps, holding her breath—it’s deeper and rougher than she expected.
He pauses. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she breathes. “Go on.”

He pulls out and enters her again, slower, deeper. She moans loudly, arching toward him.

He withdraws, then thrusts again, harder—burying himself fully inside her.
Her entire body lifts to meet him, hips rising.

He finds a rhythm.
Hungry. Needing her. Possessive. Rougher than he’s ever been—but not cruel. Just desperate.
She matches him. She wants this. She wants him.

She knows he needs to reclaim something, to feel her give in to him again—and she does.
His moans grow louder, needier. But even as he moves inside her, he wants more. He wants to suck on her cunt too.

He pulls out and moves down between her legs.
Spreads her open. Buries his face in her heat.

His tongue explores her, moaning on her folds, sucking, licking, fingering gently, just sliding a little his finger, teasing...watching his cunt. Slow, then quicker, as he listens to her high-pitched sighs, moans, the way her breath catches.
He slides a finger inside—just teasing—and watches her body respond. It’s taking her longer today.
Her cries grow louder. He keeps going, tongue circling, pressing, sliding in, until she finally breaks—screaming his name, coming hard.

He rises again and enters her, sliding into the wet aftermath of her climax.
He knows her clit is still sensitive—knows she’s on the edge again.

He thrusts fast, deep, relentless.
She doesn’t have time to recover. Another orgasm builds. She spirals.

That’s all it takes—just knowing she’s coming again—he lets go too.
They cry out together.

He stays inside her, still thrusting until he’s completely spent.
His forehead is slick with sweat. His throat dry. Their bodies slick and clinging.

“Oh my God…” she pants.

He looks at her and smiles weakly.
“I’ve gotta take it out and lie down…sorry… I need a minute,” he says, rolling to the side, breathless. Not able to talk.

He finds her hand, grips it tight.

A few moments pass. They look at each other.

“Fuck… that was so good,” he says.

She grins, leans in to kiss him.
“So good. We are so good.”
“I really like to fuck!” she laughs. He kisses her shoulder.

“Come here…” he says, reaching for her.
She curls into him, warm and spent.
He pulls her close.
She’s where she belongs.
This is her place

“Meryl.”
“Hmmm?”
“I’m so fucking hungry.”
She bursts out laughing.

“Baby... I’m not joking. I haven’t eaten in two days... I really, really need to eat”
“Okay, okay—pantry first.”
“I don't want cookies or something! I want a whole cow!
She laughs harder.
"First, cookies...so you won't faint...then we'll go to lunch."
She motions to get up but he pulls her back for a kiss.
I love making love to you,” he whispers.
“Me too. It’s so good... it’s so good for us like this. I’m so in love with you, Marty!”

They lock eyes, so connected again, everything between them feeling just right.
“I’m in love with you too... so much. I want you so much.”
They hug tight, their lips meet again, and they finally get up.
“Now, let’s see what kind of cookies—and other things—you have in your pantry, Streep!”
“Oh?”
“Yeah... that’s really important in a relationship.”
She presses her lips together in a smile.
“We have a relationship?”
“Naturally...”
“What kind?”
“The kind where I’m your man!”
She grins. That’s exactly what she wanted to hear.

They go out to lunch and return home. Marty spends the night with her.

Chapter 12: party at palisades

He wakes up alone in bed, but the smell of breakfast fills the air.
He gets up, puts on his robe, and heads to the kitchen, only to find Meryl’s housekeeper.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Martin!” They were introduced the day before.
“Marty. Where is…”
“Miss Meryl is at the pool. What would you like for breakfast, sir?”
“Well, coffee and some toast, please. But first, I’m going outside. Thank you.”

He heads down to the pool area, where Meryl is swimming.
A goddess parting the water. He can’t help but smile as he watches her.
He lays down on a sunbed, just taking it all in.
Finally, she stops swimming and holds herself on the pool’s edge. She takes off her goggles and sees him.
“Good morning!” he says, grinning.
“Hi! Good morning! What are you doing there?”
“Right now? Just waiting to see you in that bathing suit,” he teases, flashing her a grin.
She rolls her eyes and swims toward the ladder. She climbs out of the pool, and he can’t help but be amazed—spectacular.

She pulls off her swim cap and lets her hair fall free.
He picks up the towel for her.
“Here.” He drapes it over her shoulders, wrapping her in its warmth.
They kiss.
“Good morning,” he says against her lips.
“Good morning,” she replies, smiling shyly. “You look incredible in this swimsuit.”
“Can I help you get it off?”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Can I come too?”
She nods and motions for him to follow her.
They walk back into the house.

“Mr. Martin... your breakfast.”
Meryl hides a laugh.
“Oh, thank you... I forgot...” he mumbles under his breath. “...I can’t go with you...”
Marty heads into the kitchen.
“And it’s Marty!” he says again to the housekeeper.

 

After her shower, Meryl joins Marty in the kitchen.
He’s finished breakfast and is casually scrolling through the news on his phone.

“There you are.”
She leans down and kisses him sweetly.

“How was the shower?” he asks, smiling.
“Lonely.”
They both grin and share another kiss.

“Listen... I have to go home. Shower, change clothes...”
“You can shower here,” she offers.
“Yeah, but I can’t exactly wear this robe all day,” he gestures with a smirk, “or the same clothes from two days ago.”

She hesitates, then says,
“Actually... I was thinking, maybe you could go and come back later. Maybe bring a bag with a few things—some changes of clothes, swim shorts, underwear, flip-flops... I don’t know, just... stuff. So you don’t have to keep worrying about getting back home when you’re staying.”

He swallows. That hit him hard—in a good way. It feels like a step forward. A real one.
He’s elated.
“That sounds like a great idea,” he says, trying to sound cool.

She’s happy too.
Neither of them says just how happy that small moment made them.

Marty leaves that morning and returns later in the afternoon—with a trolley bag in tow.
He now has the code to the gate... and to the main house.

“Hello!” he calls as he steps inside.
Silence.
“Meryl?”
He walks through the living room.
“Meryl?”

“Here!”
He finds her outside, lounging on the sofa, book in hand. She’s wearing a white summer dress, legs stretched out, glowing in the sunlight.

He grins.
“Well, hello Miss Streep.”
He kisses her.
“Hi,” she replies, smiling.

He sits beside her and gently lifts her legs onto his lap, caressing them.

“Did you bring your things?”
“Yes. A whole trolley.”
She grins.
“Good. Then let’s put them in the right place.”

They head inside, his arm around her waist.

In her spacious walk-in closet, Marty pauses.
“Wow... is there even space for me in here?”
“Of course. I cleared a section just for you.”

He sets the trolley on the small velvet sofa and unzips it.
Inside, he’s packed sensibly—shirts, t-shirts, jeans, swim shorts, boxer briefs, a toothbrush, cologne, reading glasses... and more.
Even a suit in a garment bag.
“Is it too much?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t want it to seem like I’m... moving in or anything.”
“No,” she says gently. “You can bring whatever you want.”

She helps him unpack, hanging some clothes, folding others.

“No pajamas?” she teases.
“I sleep naked.”
“You always sleep naked?”
“With you? Absolutely.”

She chuckles.
“I’m not wasting a single opportunity to feel your skin.”

“What if I sleep dressed?”
“You wouldn’t dare...” She laughs, but raises an eyebrow playfully.

He smirks.
“But... I did bring a couple pairs of pajama pants. I usually wear t-shirts to bed. T-shirt and briefs, mostly.”

“Even in winter?”
“Please. I’m Canadian.”

He wanders through her closet.
“Do you have all your clothes here?”
She laughs.
“Of course not! I mean… I have the clothes I usually wear. But I’ve got more in New York.”
“The awards dresses… are they here?”
He’s thinking of something. She can tell.
“Some. The smaller ones. Are you thinking about something in particular?”
He shrugs. “Hmm... no.”
“You’re lying!!!”
He chuckles.
“Well… I kinda remember one or two where you looked... hmm... interesting.”
She narrows her eyes, smiling.
“Interesting? Okay. One or two? Which ones?”
He smiles mischievously.
“I’ve got a foggy memory.”
She snorts laughing.
“Then I can’t help you.”
“Rome, 2009. Gala dinner. Black dress… just popped into my mind.”
She grins.
“It’s here in this house, but in the other room. Anything else?”
“I don’t know… Oscars 2010… white?”
“Oh! The white one. That one’s actually here…” She flips through a few white dresses. “Here. Any others pop into your head?”
“The red one… one of the latest... 2018.”
“Other room.”

“That red one… you looked amazing.”
She laughs. “The fairy godmother!”
They both laugh.
“Yeah… I’ve seen the memes. But you did look incredible.”
“Thank you.”
“By the way… the party at my house is Friday.”
“And you want me to dress one of those?” she laughs.
“No, no…another time, maybe…”
“Maybe…so, Friday, okay. What time?”
“People start showing up around 5, 6 p.m. But it can go on until breakfast.”
“Oh my God. Really?”
“Well, not anymore. Everyone’s older now. One, two a.m. is already a stretch.”
“Right” She takes a deep breath.
A party, at Marty's house.
There’s something about it, that makes her uncomfortable. But, she doesn't want to tell him what.

 

The Week Goes By
Marty went back home on Tuesday—for two reasons: organizing the party, and lunch with his kids on Wednesday.
He’s nervous. If one of them shows up at the party unannounced and sees her, they’ll know. Instantly. The way he looks at her—there’s no hiding that. He better to be the one to tell them, so he asked them to have lunch with him today.

Meanwhile Rita Wilson calls.
“Rita! Hi!”
“Hi Marty, darling. I’ve got bad news. Tom has something in Paris—we can’t make it to your party. I’m sorry!”
“Oh… really? Damn. I was really counting on you guys.”
Rita picks up on something.
“What’s going on?”
“Meryl’s coming…”
“Ooooh Marty!! That’s some interesting news!”
He smiles, sheepishly.
“Well, yes… and… she doesn’t know many of the people coming.”
“So you were hoping I’d keep her company.”
“Kind of.”
She shouts over the phone:
“Tom! I can’t go to Paris—I have to go to Marty’s!”
“What? No, Rita!”
“Yes! I want to do this. Tom can go alone.”
“I mean… Steve and Anne will be there. Also Steven and Kate…”
“Yeah, but I know Meryl better. And we have fun. It’s settled, Marty. I’m coming! I’m so happy for you! Are you dating? I saw she made the announcement about her separation.”
“We’re… starting. It’s still recent. Two months.”
“Two months already?! Wow. I’m so happy for you, Marty. You deserve this—both of you.”
“Thank you. But nobody knows. We’d like to keep it that way for now.”
“Of course. Take it slow. Bye, Marty! See you Friday!”

Lunch with his daughter and sons.
Marty is nervous. He’s never told his children about another woman. Mostly because there never was one—at least, not seriously. Occasionally, they encouraged him to meet someone. But he never shared anything with them.

Until now.

Lunch is winding down. He’s been stalling. But Katherine sees right through him.
“Dad… when are you going to tell us why we’re really here?”
He’s caught off guard, face flushing red.
“Yeah, Dad. What’s going on?” Henry asks.
“Well… I guess there’s no other way to say it. I met someone.”
“Oh my god, Dad!! I can’t believe it!” Katherine is glowing. The boys are more reserved, but curious.
“Wow, Dad… that’s big news,” Oliver says.
“Tell us everything!” Katherine urges.
“Well… first, I want to say: I’ll always love what mom and I had. That never changes. I will never forget her.”
“Of course we know that, Dad,” Henry reassures.
“But yes… it was unexpected. I met her… and I fell for her. And I was lucky—she fell for me too.”
“Dad!” Katherine is already tearing up. She hugs him.
“Where did you meet her? When?” Henry asks.
“Are you dating already?” Oliver adds.
“Yes.” Marty points at Oliver. “We’ve been together about two months. But… I already knew her.”
“Really? That’s so sweet. What’s she like?”
“She’s… amazing. Funny. Interesting. Gorgeous.”
Henry studies him for a second.
“Dad… are you in love?”
Marty takes a breath.
“Yes. I am. I love her. Are you okay with that?”
“Of course we are, Dad.” Henry hugs him. Oliver follows.
“What’s her name?” Katherine asks.
Marty hesitates, then swallows.
“Meryl… It’s Meryl Streep.”
“Shut UP!” Katherine is stunned.
They’re all shocked.
“Come on, Dad… you’re joking!” Oliver says.
“It sounds like it. But I’m not.”
“You’re working together!” Henry realizes.
“Oh my God! I love her!” Katherine exclaims.
“I know.”
“You’re dating Meryl Streep!” Oliver laughs in disbelief.
“Yes. But it’s all very new. And we want to take it slow. Still… I wanted to tell you because she’s coming to the party on Friday. And you know how one of you sometimes shows up. I didn’t want you to find out any other way.”
“Shit—I have to work Friday!” Katherine sighs.
“We don’t want to intrude,” Henry says. Oliver agrees. “But when are we going to meet her?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see what happens.”
“Dad… I’m so happy for you. Just make sure she treats you right.”
“She's adorable, Kate. I know you're going to love her. Thank you baby.” He hugs her again.
“Oh my God! Meryl Streep!! I can’t wait to meet her!” Kate says.
“We’re all happy for you, Dad.”

Party Friday

Marty is in a frenzy.

Thankfully, he hired caterers who are handling most of it—food, drinks, flowers, chairs. All he really needs to do is tell them where things should go. It’s L.A.—the weather is still good. They can be outside. But just in case, the caterers brought patio heaters. He knows what happens if it gets chilly: all the ladies run inside, and no one wants that.

Everyone’s coming. Steve and Anne, Eugene and his family—including Dan. Rita Wilson, Steven and Kate, Goldie and Kurt, Paul Shaffer, Andrea, Catherine and her husband, Jimmy and his wife. People from SNL, SCTV, old friends.

But his nerves and excitement come from one single guest. Meryl. She's coming.
Not just coming—coming to his house. For the first time. And that’s a biggie.

Meryl’s nerves are a wreck.

She’s going to his house. His family home. The house where he lived with Nancy, raised his kids. She knows his story. All of it.

And she’ll be meeting his friends—not just as a co-star or colleague... but what? What is she to him? What is he to her? She's told herself it's casual, friendly. But the people closest to Marty—they know.

She stands in front of the mirror. What to wear?
She doesn’t want to look like she tried too hard. But she wants to look good—for him.
She settles on the emerald silk jumpsuit. Loose, elegant, deep green. A plunging neckline. Sexy—but not too much.

The party is already going. Music, laughter, hugs all around. Drinks flowing. Marty is playing the gracious host, but his eyes keep darting to the terrace entrance.
Will she text when she arrives? Or just appear?

He remembers something upstairs. Heads to the bedroom. He’s prepared it. He wants her to stay. Just the thought makes him tremble.

It would be the first time he’s had another woman here—since Nancy.
He’s never invited anyone. Not for a movie, not for a drink.

Downstairs still feels like the house he shared with Nancy. Some new furniture, updated curtains, a remodeled kitchen—but mainly the same. Upstairs is different. Lighter, calmer. The bedroom was redone a few years ago. And even this year, he changed the bed again. Bigger and lower. New reading couch. All soft tones.
He checks it one more time. Everything in place. He switches on the bedside lamps. Just in case.

Meryl sits in the back of the SUV. She didn’t want to drive—not tonight, not back. Didn’t want to be early. Didn’t want to be late.

She checks her makeup again. Red lips. Dark eyes.

The car stops.

She steps out and looks up at the house like it’s a dragon to slay. Deep breath. Walks inside. A young guy with a guest list sees her. No need to check. He knows who she is. Her name’s first.

She walks up to the door — it’s open. Her legs are trembling.

From somewhere in the back of the house, laughter spills out, music hums, glasses clink. She hesitates. Maybe she should call him. Announce she’s arrived. But no — she doesn’t want to seem needy. Clinging. Not tonight.
Why is she Meryl Streep, and still so insecure.
Crossing the threshold feels like trespassing. She’s not just entering a house. She’s stepping into his world — his past, his memories, his life. Every footstep echoes louder, like thunder, in her mind than in the quiet of the empty hallway, yet it’s only her heels.
She finds the way to the garden. A few people near the door look up, startled.

“Hi!” she says brightly.
She scans the crowd. Everyone seems familiar, yet she’s so nervous, she recognizes no one.

Then—Marty sees her.

She’s here.

He excuses himself immediately. She looks stunning. That jumpsuit. Those lips.

“Hi,” she says, soft and sweet.

“Hi.” Their eyes lock.

He kisses her cheek, squeezes her arm, leans in to her ear.
“You look so sexy.”

She grins. “Thank you. Take me to someone I know. I can feel eyes on us.”

She’s right. Everyone’s stealing glances. Meryl Streep is here—and they look close.

“There’s Eugene and Deborah. I want you to meet Dan.”
“Oh, great! And give me something to drink!”

The night is a blur of music, laughter, old friends, and new introductions.

Marty is floating. He tries to stay a bit apart from Meryl—just enough to keep things discreet and not get too obvious. Not everyone in the party are close friends.
But he can’t help it, he loves to be near her. She keeps drawing him in.

Drinking let's her be more comfortable and sure of herself, and of course more flirty with him.
She calls him over to chime in on a story she’s telling. Her hand finds his chest when she laughs. He pulls her by her hand to introduce her to someone. He brings her drinks. Checks in. Whispers I love you in her ear when no one’s looking. And her eyes melt, her body melts.

Everyone notices. Everyone whispers.

She meets Dan, who is practically family. Andrea, who is family. Rita’s nearby all night, helping her feel comfortable.

Of course, everyone loves Meryl.
She’s having fun. She’s feeling a bit like, she’s the Lady of the party. You know…

At some point, she excuses herself and wanders inside to find the bathroom.

Inside the dragon again.
The house is empty. Quiet again.

She walks slowly, finds the bathroom. On the way out, she spots the living room. No one’s there.

She steps inside.

It feels... preserved. A little dated. She sees a place with framed photos.

She tries not to look. Fails.

Family photos. So many. Everyone looks happy.

She searches—almost unconsciously—for a photo of just the two of them. There isn’t one. That’s odd. Just one with the whole family. The others are Nancy and the kids, or Marty alone.
Her heart sinks.

She whispers to herself:
“It’s her house.”

Back outside, something’s changed.

She’s quieter now. Still smiling, but more distant. Less flirty. Marty notices.

What happened?

Midnight comes. Most people have left. Meryl feels exposed—like her presence means more now that fewer people are around.

She’s chatting with Kurt and Goldie, casually mentioning that she lives in Pasadena and didn’t bring a car. Marty is close by.

“We can take her home, right, Kurt?” Says Goldie. Kurt nods a yes.
“Stay. I'll drive you.” Marty says, pulling Meryl’s arm gently and whispering on her neck.
She swallows at his words. "Oh...no thank you Kurt... I've already asked for a car...it's probably on its way..."
"Oh come on...cancel it...we'll take you..."
"Come on Kurt...don't try to steal my guests earlier than they planned..." Marty says.

Goldie gets it. He doesn’t want her to leave.
She steps toward him to say goodbye.

“Bye, Marty. Thanks for the party.” Then, softer, “I like her a lot. I’m glad for you both, honey.”

He just smiles.

Meryl stays.
But in her head, she’s repeating it over and over:
She’s staying. Alone. With him. In their house.

It’s close to 1 a.m. A few linger. Paul Shaffer, knowing his friend probably wants to be left alone with Meryl, ushers the last of them out.

Marty is saying goodbye to his friends but then, heads back inside. “Meryl, I’m just grabbing my car keys.”

So... he is going to drive her?
But he’s had wine. A lot.

He returns quickly. The last guests leave.
They step toward the parked car. She’s halfway there when he pulls her gently to him.

“Where are you going?” He kisses her. Deep. Hungry. “I’ve been waiting all night to do this.”

She smiles, leans into him. “You can’t drive me. You’ve had too much. I'll ask for a car."”

“I wasn’t going to. I just didn’t want to make it obvious to everyone. I want you to stay, Meryl.”

Her heart thuds.
She doesn’t answer right away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, reading her instantly.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Let’s go inside.”

Back inside.

He leads her toward the living room.
“Let me get us some wine.”
“You know what—let’s go to the kitchen.”

The kitchen feels safer. Newer. Less memory-haunted.
He opens a bottle, pours two glasses. Watches her.
She’s tense.

“Meryl. Remember what we said? We talk. If something’s wrong, tell me. Are you going to tell me or I have to start guessing?"”
"I know, i know..." She leans on the kitchen island.
Nods, then sighs. Deep.
He steps closer, touches her cheek.
“What is it? Something during the party? Did someone say something?”
“No... everyone was lovely. I had so much fun.”
“Then?”
“I had fun in your home. Your family home. You and your wife’s home. I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like... it’s still her house. Your wife’s house.”

He exhales slowly. So that's what's wrong.

“Meryl, first of all—it’s my house. No one else lives here. Just me. It’s my house.”

“You know what I mean. My marriage ended because I ended it. Yours ended because of a tragedy. If you had one wish... your wife would be here. Not me.”

“Meryl... what’s the point of saying that? This is life. What it gives. What it takes.”

“I know. But sometimes I wonder... what if we met earlier? I wish we had more time. I wish I had left my marriage sooner. But then I think—you weren’t mine to have. I said you were my person. but you weren't...you were hers. Maybe in another life...or maybe you would also be hers....”

He takes her hands.

“Meryl, I’m yours now. And you’re mine. I don’t dwell on fate or timing. I think about now. I think about you.”

He gestures around.

“This is my house. And you’re the first woman I’ve brought here. Since Nancy. No one else. Just you.”

A pause. Then softer:

“And…Nancy was my wife. I loved her. She died. I can’t even refer to her as my wife anymore… I stopped doing that. Because if i keep calling Nancy my wife, i'm still married...and i'm not. I don't have a wife. I have you.”
He pauses thinking on his words.
“I love you now. It’s you I want in my life. If I had one wish—it’s for you to stay with me. Until my last breath.”

She nearly stops breathing.
He doesn't stop surprising her.
He always knows what to say. Always understands her.

“You always say the right thing,” she whispers.
“It’s just how I feel. I didn’t always feel this way. But you changed that. You changed everything.”

His voice drops. “I want you here. In my house. In my bed.”
He kisses her. Slow. Deep. Wanting.
“Do you want to stay?” he murmurs against her skin.
“Yes.”

Chapter 13: his house

They go upstairs quietly, his hand wrapped around hers.
She’s nervous — he can feel it in the slight tension of her grip. He’s nervous too, though his chest hums with anticipation. Every step she takes, every glance around, feels like she’s breathing life into the bones of his house.

“I renovated the bedroom a few years ago,” he says softly as they reach the door. “Everything’s new. Everything.”

She nods. That simple comment lands — grounding her. She knows he said that to give her confidence.
They step inside.
She freezes. Looks around slowly, sensing the space. The nerves keep her still, rooted like something ancient.

Behind her, he looks too — but not at the room. At her. At the meaning of her presence here. Yes, he thinks. Yes, I want this. I want her. For life! She's the woman of my dreams.

He moves in behind her, hands sliding to her waist, gently turning her to face him. He gazes into her eyes, then down at her mouth, as if reading a language he’s longed to relearn.

“I want to make love to you,” he says, firm and clear — not a whisper, not a secret. A declaration for the universe to hear.
She smiles, slow and sure. “Then make love to me, Marty.”

He pulls her to him and kisses her — like it’s the first time. Long. Deep. Full of hunger. Of ache. Of passion.

He missed her. Her mouth. Her taste. Her breath. Missed touching her. Missed fucking her.

His tongue slides against hers with growing force — he’s fucking her mouth and she feels it. She sighs into the kiss, her body melting against his. His hands roam over her curves, grabbing her ass, pulling her into the heat of his need. He loves to touch her ass.

She unbuttons his pants and slips her hand inside. Wraps her fingers around his cock, already thick and hard in her grasp.

He groans into her mouth. God, she loves that sound. She loves his need. Loves how unashamedly he wants her — how his sex drive dances with hers in perfect, wild rhythm.

He unzips her jumpsuit — one swift move — and it falls away like liquid. He kicks his pants off too.

He pauses, taking her in. Black lingerie — her signature. Every time. Every time it drives him mad.

He pulls her against him again, bare skin to bare skin. He wants to feel her skin and wants her to feel how hard he is.
“Do you feel me?” he asks, grinding gently. “Feel how much I want you?”

“I feel you… hard… rubbing on me…”

“On your what?” His voice dips low, teasing, dangerous…looking straight in her eyes.
She meets his eyes, bold. “On my cunt.”
That word. From her lips. He smiles — wicked and reverent — and kisses her again, deeper, messier.

He lays her back on the bed with care and hunger. She unhooks her bra, letting it fall. He stares, grinning. Her beautiful breasts, always undo him.
He drops his shirt, climbs over her, mouth to mouth, hand to breast, massaging her, thumbing her nipples. She's getting so wet.
“God, I love your tits,” he whispers against her skin.
She moans at his words, at the heat rising inside her like fire climbing up a fuse. “I’m getting so wet, Marty…”

He stops to look at her, startled — turned on beyond control. This is the first time she says it like this.
“Yeah? Let me feel it…”

His fingers slide beneath her panties. One touch — barely — and he’s groaning.
“Fuck, Meryl… you’re soaked…”
“Taste me,” she breathes. “Fuck me with your mouth…”

His heart pounds. His cock twitches, aching to burst. He loves hearing her talk like that. Loves how free she is with him.

He peels her panties off. “Open for me.”
She does. Slowly. Completely.

He spreads her with two fingers, mesmerized by the slick glisten of her arousal. He looks at her, then at her eyes.

“Do you like me watching you like this?”
“I like everything you do to me,” she whispers, voice gravelly with desire.

He slides down, buries his face in her.

He wants her sounds to echoe in this bedroom. Wants her screams, her moans...wants to hear his name coming from her mouth, over and over.

First, his tongue — flat and slow, savoring, claiming her once again, as His. Tasting the whole of her.
She starts sighing anticipating everything he’s going to do to her, anticipating the full orgasms she's going to get. God he's so good with his mouth.
She gasps, sighs, moans his name — loud. Loud enough to fill the room. Loud enough to mark the space with her pleasure.
“Marty……….”
He smiles. There she is.
Then deeper, then faster, then focused.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t want to. His thumb finds her clit. She writhes. He grips her hips tighter. Slides two fingers in.

She arches, grabs his hair, curses.
She wants to come.
She wants to scream.
Then she does…She comes hard, shuddering, crying out — his name. He holds her through it, lips and hands never leaving her.

He touches her belly, soothes her. Her hips. The soft triangle of hair. Her thighs. Gentle. Worshipful. Waiting for her to calm down...so he can start again.

Then again, his hands on the inside of her tights, spreading her wider. — his tongue.
“Oh fuck, Marty…”
She knows she's going to come again... the second one is always like that...his tongue goes on her clit and a finger teases her slit, not even sliding in. She comes again. Even stronger this time.
Now the third one, it's also an easy one. But takes her a bit longer. He knows that already. He knows so much about her by now.
Knows she now wants his fingers to tease her first and to fuck her after.
And he knows exactly how to tease, how to push, how to wait.
But just teasing with his fingers, makes him want to lean and kiss her and say things to her.
“I’m going to make you come one more time,” he murmurs against her throat, “and then I’m going to fuck you baby.” His fingers on her cunt, making her roll her eyes with pleasure.
"Do you want my cock inside of you?"
“Yes…” she breathes. “I want you deep inside me…”
" oh baby...I'm going to be so deep..."
"Fuck Marty...you make me want to come just by hearing you talk to me..."
He smiles, sliding fingers in again. “So my fingers aren’t doing anything?”
A sharp gasp escapes her. “Yes… they are… keep going…”
“You’re so soft here, Meryl…” He withdraws his fingers, licks them. “And you taste so fucking good.”

She moans as he slides them back inside. He watches her — hips moving, breasts rising, nipples taut. His free hand finds one, squeezes, licks, teases.

She’s close again. Sighing and moaning, louder and louder.
He feels it. Sees it.
Then — release.

She trembles, gasping, undone.
So good. For both of them. She gets another shock release, he gets to see her knowing it is all him.
He kisses her neck.

“I don’t want your kisses,” she pants. “I want you inside of me.”
He grins.
Still, he lingers, kissing her chest, her shoulder, her mouth. Teasing her.

“Marty…” she growls. “Don’t you hear me?” She's getting a bit annoyed because she wanted him inside, right after she came.

He leans in, voice low. “I want you on all fours. I want to fuck you from behind.”

That's his favorite sex position.
A pause. A heartbeat. Then — she tilts her head back, and smiles. She turns, gets in position. Exactly what she wanted. Exactly what he needs.
Also her favorite position.

Fuck. He can't believe how sexy and erotic she looks.
He spreads her gently. A bit more, to see her better.
Licks her again. Her moans are ragged now.
His tongue again. His tongue in this position.
“Marty… please…”
He parts her with two fingers. God she's so beautiful.
He strokes himself, guides his cock to her slick heat. Enters her slowly. Deeply. Pulling her hips to him. Her ass — god, her ass — he could lose his mind just looking.
He always feels so attracted to her. Everything in her.

He thrusts. Steady. Then faster.
For the first time in his whole life, he wished they had a mirror...to see...them fucking...making love...
“So fucking good, Meryl… You’re so fucking good…”
She's feeling him so deep. It's so intense. So passionate.
She lowers to her forearms, ass high.

“Oh fuck!”
That view. That sound. He’s unraveling.
He thrusts. And thrusts. And thrusts.
She moans, every single time.
“Meryl… fuck… I’m gonna come…”

A few more thrusts — and he does. Hard. Deep. Full. Filling her up.
His hands on her ass. Gasping for air.
They collapse together, panting.
A few moments later.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I couldn’t hold on…”

“Don’t be sorry,” she replies with a wicked smile. “I loved that you came like that.”

“But you didn’t…”
She laughs. “I think I’m okay for tonight.”
He kisses her shoulder. “I’m pulling out.”
They lie side by side, catching breath. He looks at her.
“You kill me,” he says.
“What?”
“With desire. Every time I see you… I want to touch you. Undress you. Take you to bed…”

She grins. Glowing. “I love how much you want me. How you look at me. How you undress me with your eyes… and with your words… ..i love how you fuck me, just by looking at my eyes and my mouth...”
“That’s exactly what I do.”
“Keep doing it. That's what i want."
They kiss.

“Did you like the party?”
“Yes. Loved it. Is it always that loud and chaotic?”
“No… it’s worse. They were trying to behave. For you.”
“What? Shut up!”
“It’s true. And I’m glad they did.”
“Dan was really sweet with me. We talked a lot actually.”
“Oh, Dan? When he said goodbye, he told me he loved Aunt Meryl.”
She blushes. Smiles. “I like him even more now.”
They laugh. Kiss again.
“Are we going to sleep now?”
“Mm-hmm.”

They slide under the covers. Lights off. She curls into him, arm across his chest, his arm around her back.

Neither falls asleep easily. Both thinking on this night.

But she drifts off first.

And Marty? Marty just lies there. Awake. Holding her. Thinking of how this night — this moment — changed everything.

She’s here.

In his house.

In his bed.

In his heart.
More and more, every day.

Morning
He wakes first. Happy. Excited. He moves quietly, just enough to look at her.

The best view he's ever had.

Meryl. In his bed. Her scent still on his skin. Her taste lingering in his mouth. The memory of being inside her, still pulsing through him. Her naked back, her hair a golden halo on his pillow.

It feels right. She feels right.

He slips out to the bathroom, then returns, careful not to wake her, but unable to stop watching her sleep.

Happiness, pure and full.

"Are you watching me?" she murmurs, still half-asleep.

He leans down and kisses her bare back.

"Mmm... that feels good," she purrs. "Your bed is really comfortable. I slept like a baby."

"I'm glad."

She turns and kisses him. “Good morning”
“Good morning, my love.”
“I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Wait. Let me give you something.”
He crosses to the reading sofa and lifts a white silk robe. Clearly a woman's robe.

She hesitates.
“I bought it for you.”
Her face lights up. “You did?”
He helps her into it. It drapes around her perfectly. She kisses him. “Thank you.”

She returns from the bathroom to find the terrace doors open. Marty’s outside, in his robe, watching the ocean.
She walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist.

"Nice view," she whispers.
He turns and smiles. “Good morning, again.”
“Good morning.”
“Want to head downstairs for some party-leftovers breakfast?”
She laughs. “So you're not cooking for me?”
“I could do breakfast… but that’s the limit. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll survive.”

They head to the kitchen.
“When are the caterers picking all this up?” she asks, looking at the leftover trays.
“This afternoon. We’ve got bread, toasts, cereal, eggs…”

The morning light spills into the kitchen. His easy smile. Her robe. The sex.
Everything make her feel so different today, in this house.
She feels really good here. In his space.

“Coffee with milk, and toast for me,” she says. “And then I want the tour… especially that room with all your memorabilia. Awards. Photos.”

“My man cave… that’s not a cave. It’s very bright, actually.”

They eat outside in the garden. Then he takes her through the rest of the house, ending at the room she asked about. He’s glowing, animated as he tells the stories behind each item. She laughs freely. She loves how alive he is—how much life he brings out in her.
His passion for life makes her feel so attracted to him.
She can spend hours listening to him.
She sees he probably took somethings away. Some photos definitely, and probably other things.
“Did you take some photos away, because I was coming?”

He doesn’t dodge. “I changed a few things. Not yesterday. Some months ago. Not just photos, either. Things that didn’t make sense anymore. But yeah, it was because of you.”

He kisses her. “You changed my life.”
She touches his face. “Thank you… for making me feel so good.”
“You’re welcome.” Another kiss.

“I’ll take the dishes,” she offers.

“Let me help. Want to go on a walk after? There are some great paths nearby.”
She laughs.
"In my silk jumpsuit and heels?"
He chuckles. “Right. Maybe you also should bring some things here.”
He tries to sound casual. She picks up on it.
“I will.”
That’s all she says. That’s all he needs.

She moves around the kitchen in the robe he bought for her. It's sexy—wrapped around her like a promise. Nothing underneath. When she bends slightly, it parts just enough to tease a glimpse of her breasts…almost the nipples. When she walks, her long legs flash. Barefoot. Effortless.

Marty watches, entranced.

And then—she does it.

She hops up onto the kitchen island, laughing, chatting like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It drives him wild.

He walks over, stands between her parted legs, hands resting lightly above her knees. She pauses mid-sentence.
There's a way, when he touches her, that she knows instantly, he wants to have sex.

“What do you want?” she asks, breath catching.

“Nothing. Keep talking.”
She continues. Slowly.
Looking at his hands taking the robe from her legs, her thighs. And caressing them.
His thumbs stroke the insides of her thighs.

“Marty…”
“I’m so horny…” he breathes against her belly, kissing through the silk, mouthing her breast, teasing her nipple.
She starts breathing fast.
“You’re always horny,” she whispers.
“You don’t want me to be?”
He spreads her legs. Licks her.
She arches back, gasping. “Fuck… yes. Yes, I want you horny.”
He pulls back slightly, mouth back on her breast. “I can’t fuck you here… it’s too high. Sofa or bed?”
“Bed,” she moans.

They rush upstairs.
They fall into the bed, kissing fiercely. He drops his robe. Hard and ready.
She shrugs hers open. Fully naked. All for him.
They kiss hungrily.
She climbs on top, straddling him, still in her robe, teasing him.
“Wait,” he says. He reaches into the bedside drawer for the lube.
She smiles knowingly.

He warms some on his fingers, rubs it gently over her folds, sliding his middle finger up.
She bends down. Hands on his chest.
“Marty…”
“Let me do it baby.…”

She straightens,
Him…rubbing the lube on her cunt, his finger up again, strokes her, circling her clit.
Her back now arched with pleasure…her cunt opened for him.
His face his dark with pleasure of watching her.

Then applies more to himself.
She grabs his cock, lowers onto him slowly, both of them moaning at the stretch, the heat.

“Oh baby… you feel so good… so tight Meryl...God you're incredible...”

She rides him gently, hips rolling, the robe slipping from her shoulders. Her breasts bounce with every movement. His hands grip her waist, guiding her rhythm, his thrusts matching hers.
"Is it good?" He checks, caressing her back.
"Yes..."
He’s holding her by the hips, thrusting up when she goes up. Watching her body move, arching her back, feeling his cock touching her wall, because he's so deep in her. Sometimes cupping her breasts.
“You’re beautiful,” he groans. “So fucking beautiful.”

She starts moving faster, more intense, taking him deep.
Him hearing her moans. Watching her mouth open with pleasure...the pleasure his cock gives her. Feeling her building up a powerful orgasm, holding her while she feels it, moans and screams, and clenches her cunt around him and collapses on his chest

He gently flips her under him.
Her arms pull him close.
“Marty, I love you. I love you so much… make love to me. Here. In this bedroom. In this house.”
“Oh Meryl…oh my love… that’s all I do.” He kisses her face, her lips, her hair. Holding her.
He slides inside her again. Slow. Deep.
He knows that's how she wants now. Slow. And then she'll want harder.
“Love me, Marty. Love me here.”

“I love you everywhere, Meryl… My Meryl.”
“I’m so yours. Only yours.”

“I love making love to you...I love you...You’re the love of my life,” he whispers.

She hears that…and hugs him tightly, legs wrapped around him, pulling him even deeper.

She's burning with love for him. He’s burning with love for her.
He thinks for a second on what he said. His mind not able to focus.
But he said it from the heart. And the words that come from the heart have to be right.
He kisses her. To seal the words.

He thrusts harder, chasing release, kissing her, whispering love, until he spills inside her again, utterly spent.

Sex in the morning.
There’s nothing better.

Chapter 14: kids all around

Sex in the morning.
There’s nothing better.

She feels glorious. Lit from within. Loved. Desired. Sore—and laughs quietly to herself. She’s going to feel him all day. Inside her. And that thought alone makes her smile.

He’s dressing. She’s already downstairs.
The house no longer intimidates her. It’s just a house. And she’ll be around a lot.
She steps outside to the pool, letting the sunlight warm her skin.
Yet, can't help but to think on what he said earlier.
How it sank in.

He comes downstairs and finds her outside. He loves seeing her here. In his house. With him.
“Ready?” he asks.
"Yes. I was actually thinking about what you said to me," she murmured.
He already knows what she means. Gently, he takes her hand.

"Last night, when you said you sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if we had met earlier..."
She shakes her head, trying to deflect.

"No, no... let me say this," he insists, holding her gaze. "I’ve thought about it too. Of course, the idea has crossed my mind.”

“It’s a silly thought,” she says softly.

“It’s not. I mean, i was never good on questioning the meaning of life and stuff —I’ve always just wanted to live it, feel joy, not overanalyze, be happy. But you got me thinking... and I guess... we had to walk our own roads first. Everything we lived through, had to happen.”

“Oh, Marty... this is way too deep for a conversation without a drink in hand,” she says, turning toward the house.

“Don’t run away,” he says gently, and she stops.

“Maybe we weren’t ready to meet—really meet—before now. Maybe the universe waited to conspire at the right moment. I needed Nancy in my life. And you needed Don. They brought us here...all what we lived with them. And when we finally met... we recognized each other. That we were meant to be together… because we’re different now."

She keeps shaking her head, quietly. He notices the sadness in her eyes.

"You don’t agree?" he asks. “You know... I don’t think you would’ve looked at me twice if we’d met when you were in your twenties.”

She looks at him, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"You’re wrong. I think I would have loved you," she whispers. "We would have connected. We’d have had beautiful babies. And maybe... I would’ve been happier.”

Tears finally spill.

“Is it wrong to dream about what my life might have been, if I’d met you sooner?” Her voice is almost a whisper. “Maybe it is... but how can I not?”
“I wonder if we had met earlier...because I wish we had more time, Marty. I’m 74. I’m old. And at this age... I meet this wonderful person who makes me laugh, who makes me feel alive, who makes me feel love again—wild and furious and passionate love.”

She’s trembling now, just slightly.

“You make me feel this connection—something I can’t even put into words. And it makes me wonder... was it always you, Martin Short? If it was... why only now? How many years do we have left? We could’ve lived so many things together. And that makes me sad.”

Her voice breaks.

“And when you said I was the love of your life... I wished I had loved you sooner.”

It was like the darkness before Spain, fall all over again. —her shadows rising to the surface. This time, he’s there to see it. And now he understands: the weight she carries goes deeper than he ever realized.

“But you’re right about one thing,” she adds, trying to steady herself. “Life happened. It brought us here. Unfortunately, with some tragedies… along the way.”

He looks at her, heart full. He sees the sorrow in her, but still can’t trace the source entirely.

“Meryl… we’ve loved, and we’ve been loved. And now we’re loving again. That’s what matters. We can’t change the past. I don’t want to change the past. I loved my life.”

He leans closer.

“And now, i love you. And this love I feel…I never felt this way.”

And she feels it—his love, deep and certain, like it was made for her.

She remembers the feeling. Doesn't have to question it.

“I love you too,” she says, and kisses him.

 

He’s driving her home so she can change. They have dinner plans tonight.
Little by little, they’re building something solid. Quietly. Carefully.
Their bond stronger each time they have deeper conversations.
Out of the public eye. Just the two of them.

Exactly how it should be.

But now, three things happened almost all at once.

All the episodes were out. What had once been just whispers on set—rumors shared quietly among crew and industry insiders—began to surface more widely. And then, Meryl announced her separation.
Suddenly, that charming onscreen chemistry between her and Marty was being seen in a whole new light.
If she was separated... then maybe that undeniable, fiery connection between them wasn't just acting. Maybe it was real.

And that’s when the interest started. And the rumors followed.

It hadn’t begun with the press or fans. This had come from the inside. From people who had seen things. From those who, in retrospect, realized they had witnessed moments: at a restaurant, over drinks, laughing too loudly, sitting too close. Flirty. Intimate. Someone even claimed to have seen them kiss.

The secret... wasn’t much of a secret anymore.

The press was eager to photograph Meryl after the separation announcement. They got her at Joni Mitchell’s 80th birthday party. She was with her son, Henry.

Inside, she made her way over to greet Joni.
“Hi! Happy birthday, my dear!”
“Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” Joni smiled. They hugged and chatted briefly, until Joni noticed someone approaching.
“Katherine… honey… come here!”
“Hi Joni! Happy birthday!”
“Thank you, my dear.”
Meryl looked on, her expression warm and curious.
“Meryl, do you know who this is?” Meryl shook her head.
“Katherine Short.”
Meryl still didn’t register it.
“Martin Short’s daughter.”
Meryl jolted, visibly surprised, her face flushing red.
“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Hi” Nice to meet you. Can I give you a hug?” Katherine asked, with a bright smile.
Meryl was stunned. “Sure,” she replied, and Katherine wrapped her in a tight embrace. Meryl returned it with equal warmth.

“I work with your father,” Meryl said softly.
Katherine realizes her father didn’t told her he told them about their relationship.
“I know. He says wonderful things about you,” Meryl’s face all red again.
“He does?” Meryl giggled, her cheeks still rosy. “I like him too.”
“And I love your work. All of it.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Katherine reached for Meryl’s hand and gave it a light stroke.
“Hope to see you again,” she said, kissing Meryl on the cheek before walking away.

Meryl stood frozen for a moment. She had just met Marty’s daughter. And she’d been so sweet. Her nerves were a mess.

Next day - She has two things to tell Marty.

One: she’d met Katherine.

Two: the press had photographed her leaving the party and speculated she was still wearing her wedding ring. But she wasn’t—it was just another ring, turned upside down. She got furious reading it. She had promised Marty she wouldn’t wear her wedding band anymore.

She called him.

“Who is this? Who’s calling?” he answered, teasing.
She laughed. “Your biggest nightmare…”
“No… my sex dream…”
“Marty…” she chuckled, loving the banter.
“Hello, my love!”
“Good morning, sexy!”
“Oh, she’s in a good mood today!”
“I’m always in a good mood.”
“I know… just teasing.”
“Actually, I’m not in my best mood.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“I was at Joni’s birthday yesterday. Henry came with me. The press was there. And today, someone sent me a link to an article saying I was wearing my wedding ring. Which I wasn’t!”

“Then why are they saying that?”
“I always wear rings. I had two, but one of them, was turned upside down—it looked like a band, but it wasn’t. I wanted to tell you that.”
“Thank you for thinking of me,” he said, touched.
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“I know.”

“On a happier note… guess who I met yesterday? Joni introduced us.”
“Who?”
“Your daughter. Katherine!”
“Oooh, did you?”
“Yes. She was so lovely. Asked for a hug—gave me the tightest squeeze!”
“Oh, Katherine…” he covered his face with a hand.
“No, she was really sweet. I told her I work with you and she said you say wonderful things about me!"
“Oh God.”
“What? I loved it!”
“I told Katherine and the boys we were dating…”
“You cannot be serious! Marty! She probably thought I was playing dumb, pretending I didn’t know! Why didn't you tell me?!" She sounds pissed.
“I’m sorry. I told them a few days before the party. I was afraid they might show up. Sometimes they do.”
“Yeah, but you should’ve told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry. She’s always loved your work. She was thrilled when I told her.”
She softened. “And the boys?”
“They’re happy too.”
“Well, make sure she knows I didn’t know. And tell her I thought she was really sweet.”
“I will. She’ll be thrilled to hear that.”

December
Holidays & Gossip…oh! And Golden Globes nominations!
As expected, the rumors about their relationship continued to grow… someone even posted on Twitter about an A-lister dating a comedian.
The circle is closing…

Marty was walking down a street in Pacific Palisades when he heard someone call out.
“Hi Marty!”
He turned. It was Louisa—and her siblings.
“Louisa, hi!” They greeted each other with a kiss on the cheek, shocking Grace.
“Wait—you two know each other?” Grace asked shocked.
Marty braced himself. Meryl was going to have a heart attack.
Mamie recognized him, of course, but wasn’t connecting the dots. Henry barely looked up from his phone.
“This is Grace… and Mamie… my sisters,” Louisa said.
They all greeted him, Grace clearly sizing him up.
“…And Henry!” she added.
“Yes, hi, sorry,” he said.
“This is Marty.”
“Martin Short. Of course, I know you. Love your movies,” Henry said as they shook hands.
“I’m guessing you’re all here for the event today?” Marty asked.
“Yes. We’re grabbing lunch at that place over there. Are you meeting Mom for lunch?”
Marty froze. Mamie’s brow furrowed.
He forced a smile. “No, no. Just picking up some books at the store.”
“Okay. Great seeing you.”
“You too. Nice to meet you all.”
As he walked away, he muttered to himself, "Shit. Meryl’s going to kill me."

“You knew him and didn’t tell me?!” Grace yelled at Louisa.
“Mom asked me not to. And I only met him once—when they were in New York!”
“Wait, what are you two talking about?” Mamie asked. “Why’d you ask him if he was meeting Mom? Are they filming again?”
Louisa and Grace exchanged a look.
“No way…” Mamie said.
They both nodded.
“How do you know?”
“Have you seen the show they’re on?” Grace asked.
“I mean...a bit yes...is that why she was so mysterious this summer? Always checking her phone...”
More nods.
“You know him?”
“I met him once. At Mom’s apartment. We had breakfast together…”
“Breakfast?!” Grace and Mamie shrieked.
“Hey why are you all yelling...in the middle of the street?! Jesus!” Henry muttered.
“So… they’re sleeping together?” Mamie asked.
“What do you think?! Of course!”

“Who’s sleeping with who?” Henry asked.
“Mom and Martin Short!” they chorused.
“What?”
“Keep up, Henry,” Grace rolled her eyes. “So? What was he like?”
“Really sweet. With her. And she with him. They were lovely together… he’s hilarious. He really seemed great to me!”
“When is she going to introduce him to all of us? I want to meet him, officially!!!
“I don’t know. Ask Mom.”

Meanwhile, Marty called Meryl.
“Hi,” she says with a sweet voice.
“Hey kid… so listen...I was on my way, here at the Pacific Palisades, when I ran into guess who? just now…”
“Who?”
“Louisa.”
“Louisa who?” Her tone sharpened. “You mean Lou?!”
“Yes. And she wasn’t alone.”
She sat down, head in hands. “Shit. The others were with her?”
“Yep. She called out to me. I hadn’t even noticed her.”
“Of course she did. And?”
“She introduced me to them all.”
“Oh, God. And she said what? That you were…?”
“Nothing. But Grace called her out for knowing me. Pissed. Mamie looked confused. Henry wasn’t paying attention.”
“They’re all here for tonight’s event. Going to lunch together.”
“Yeah, I figured. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Silence.
“You know this wasn’t my fault, right?”
“I know. I just… I hate losing control of the situation.”
“You can’t control everything, Meryl. And I guess it's not something terrible. Or is it?”
Silence again.
“Meryl?”
“It's not. Of course, it's not. I just wanted me to be the one to tell them.”
“Well...you have the opportunity today. If you want.

“I will.”
“Maybe it’s time we do something more official. I don't mean now...But…in a few weeks… lunch, maybe. With your kids. With mine.”
“I know… but it’s too soon. Can we talk about it later?”
“Of course.”
“Will you come over tonight? After the event?”
“Won’t Louisa be there?”
“No. They’re heading back to New York right after. I miss you. I haven’t seen you in what? More than a week!!”
“Then I’ll be there.” His voice sweet.
“I won’t be late. Hopefully.”
“See you later. Love you.”
“Love you too.”

Later, at Mery’ls, everyone is getting ready for the gala.

“So, you really like him?” Mamie asked.
“I really like him.”
“It’s more than that,” Louisa grinned. “You’re in love.”
Meryl gave her the look.
“Are you?” Mamie pressed.
She paused. Then: “Yes. I’m in love with him.”
Louisa and Grace beamed. Mamie stayed quiet for a moment. She really wants her mother to be happy. She knows she's struggled with the marriage with her father. Needed something more.
Then asked:

“You think you found what you were looking for?”
“I wasn’t looking. But yes. I found it.”
Mamie stood and hugged her from behind.
“Thank you,” Meryl whispered.
“I hope he treats you how you deserve.”
“He does, honey.”

Henry lets his sisters do all the questions.
Meryl knows he's a bit like Don. She's looking at him, wondering what he feels about her and Marty.
When she gets the chance, she goes to him and he hugs her tightly.
“What about you, my baby boy?”
“I see you happy. I haven’t seen you happy like this in a long, long time.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Hey. Happy means no tears.”
“He makes me so happy,” she whispered.
“I love him already.”
"When are we going to meet him?" Grace shouts.
"I don't know. I think, we should let all the holidays pass and then we'll see..."

Meryl finishes dressing.
A stunning black backless gown, heels, her hair elegantly pinned up. She looked breathtaking.
Sexy, her backs look fabulous.
Her daughters whistled, teasing her that it was all for someone special.
She laughed it off—but she knew they were right.
He makes her feel sexy than ever..
And she wanted him to see it.
He would—first in the photos on the internet. And later… in person.

Later that night, Marty sat in her living room, waiting for her.
Wine poured, fireplace on, phone in hand.
He scrolled through the red carpet photos.
There she was. Radiant.

Backless dress.
His cock twitched.
He imagined kissing every inch of that back.
Then frowned. Now that she’d announced her separation, guys would definitely be hitting on her.
Dressed like that?
He cursed under his breath.

Two hours later, she walked in.
He stood.
“Hi… you’re here… I’m so glad…”
“You summoned me,” he grinned.
They kissed.
“I did… I love your kisses.”
“Are you tired?”
“These shoes are killing me.” She kicked them off, and slipped off her coat—revealing her bare back.

She passed him slowly. Teasing.
He grabbed her by the waist.
“Where do you think you’re going, walking past me, naked like that…”
She giggled. “What? Naked? I was just getting a glass of wine…”
She tries to free herself and he pulls her again. She smiles, turns to face him and looks at him with a smirk.
“Yes naked...you're all naked to me." He murmured.
“Is that your way of saying you like this dress?”
He ran his hands down her toned backs.
“You look stunning. So fucking sexy.”
He turned her again, kissing down her spine. His hands gripped her ass, kissing through the fabric, then pretending to bite.
She yelped, laughing.
“Tell me… how many men hit on you tonight?”
She burst out laughing. “What?!!”
“With that dress? I’d hit on you the second you walked in the room.”
“You’d hit on me if I wore a garbage bag.”
“True.”
“No one cares. I’m old… and…” she smirked, “unfuckable.”
“Oh… so she wants to be seduced…”
“Always…”

She’s looking at him with that flirt in her eyes—half challenge, half invitation.

“Come here.” He sits on the sofa and pulls her gently onto his lap, into a kiss that’s both urgent and tender.

“What do you want to hear?” he murmurs against her skin. “That your voice alone could make me come?” He kisses her neck, slow and deliberate, his hands gliding over her legs through the sheer fabric of her stockings.
“That I got hard just seeing photos of you in that dress? That to me, you’re the most fuckable woman in the world?”
His hand finds hers and guides it over his cock, just like they had done that night at the wrap party.
“Is that what you want to hear, Meryl?”
“All of that,” she breathes, her voice low and heady.
“Squeeze it, Meryl. Please…”
She does, and he groans deeply, eyes fluttering shut.
“Again… harder…”
She grips him through the fabric, teasing, owning the moment.
“This is what I wanted to do at the party,” she whispers against his ear. “But we got interrupted…”
“God, I’m glad you didn’t,” he chuckles, strained. “I would’ve come in my pants.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m taking them off,” he growls. “Your hand is killing me…”
She grins. “Want to try my mouth?”
He looks at her, breath caught. “Oh baby…Yes. Please.”
He undoes his trousers as she slips off his shoes and slides everything down and away. Then she settles between his legs, hair pinned up, her eyes never leaving his.
He's looking down, anticipating. Wanting her.
Her hand wraps around him—one at the base, the other grabbing his balls. She kisses and licks slowly, deliberately.
Because her hair is up, he can see everything. His cock entering her mouth, her tongue and her lips on him.
He leans back, lost in the sensation, watching her, savoring every second.
God, he wants to thrust in her mouth. She's giving him a mind-blowing blowjob. Now licking the base and then his balls.
He moans, looks at her. He wants to come. But never in her mouth. Either she finishes it with her hand or he needs to get inside of her.

“Take off your panties,” he rasps. “Come here… on top of me.”

She rises, slides her stockings and panties down with practiced ease.

“Wait a second…” she says, disappearing into the bathroom for just a moment.
He swears under his breath, the tension unbearable.

But she returns quickly with the lube.
“I’ll do it” he says. Wanting to touch her.
She straddles him, pulling her dress up as he reaches between them, fingers slick and ready. He touches her gently, drawing slow circles with his thumb…kissing her.

As his fingers find her, she sighs into his mouth—soft, breathy, vulnerable. He grins, eyes half-lidded with desire, and eases a finger inside, feeling the warmth, the softness of her. God, he could just do this all night, fingering her…if he was not in a fever to thrust her.
A little more.
Fuck, she’s already moving with his finger. Her body responding with an urgency that matches his own. He withdraws his hand, the loss brief, and then slides himself into her with a low, helpless moan.

Slowly. Carefully. Wanting to make it last.

She takes the lead, setting the pace, her movements deliberate, her eyes locked on his. There’s no rush—just the quiet, steady build of something deep and grounding. Soft moans fill the room like whispers. Fingers on skin. Breath catching. Words of love spoken in the spaces between thrusts.
When it comes—when it crashes over them—it isn’t loud or furious. It’s quiet. Full. A release that feels more like peace than ecstasy.
And afterward, they remain on the sofa, curled around each other. They drink. They talk. They laugh. They love.

Chapter 15: bye bye 2023

Christmas is coming…but before Christmas, the Golden Globe nominations.
Marty is nominated.
And so is Meryl.
Marty calls Meryl after the nominations come out.

“Congratulations!” he beams through the phone. “You finally got your Golden Globe nomination!”
She laughs, the sound warm and teasing.
“Oh wait… it’s not your first, is it?”
“I’ve got a few more,” she says, trying to sound modest. “But thank you! And congratulations yourself!”
“Thank you. So… I guess we have an awards ceremony. Together.”
“I guess we do,” she grins, and he can hear it through the phone.
“Looking forward to that red carpet,” he says with a mock-sexy tone.
She chuckles. “You just want to show off in your tux.”
“Absolutely!”

She smiles. Then softly, “I’m flying to New York in a couple of days.”
“You are?”
“Yes… I’m spending Christmas Eve there with the kids and their families.”
“Oh. Of course. And Christmas Day?”
“They’ll be with Don.”
“And you?”
“By myself.”
“What?” His voice tightens. “You can’t be alone on Christmas Day!”
“Well… that’s what’s been happening for the last six years. It’s fine, really…”
He’s quiet. The kind of quiet that’s full of protest.
“Why don’t you fly here?” he says. “My kids will be here for lunch, but I could come spend the evening with you…”
“What? Fly during the holidays, on Christmas Day? No way. I’m fine.”
“I hate the thought of you being alone.”
“It’s just… the thing with broken families,” she says, voice softening. “Christmas used to be such a joyful time. It still is, in parts…with all the grandkids. But it’s different.”
He closes his eyes. He hates hearing her like this.
“I’m having my Christmas party on the 23rd,” he says. “I was hoping you’d come.”
“I’m sorry…”
“And New Year’s?”
“I don’t know. If I’ll stay in New York or come back to LA.”

“You have to come. Steve’s throwing a little dinner party. He already told me to bring you.”
“I don’t care about parties, Marty.”
“Not even our party?” he tries, gently.
“I’ll think about it.”
He sighs. “So, I guess I’ll see you only on New Year’s… or next year.”
“Probably, yes.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.” She pauses. “But we’ll talk.”
“Sure.”

Christmas Day.

The house in New York is quiet now. The wrapping paper has been cleaned up. The grandkids’ laughter still echoes faintly in her memory from the day before.

She woke up to a chill in the air and a greyness outside the window.
It’s Christmas.

She pads through the house with coffee in hand. Her children are at Don’s now. It’s part of the arrangement.

She wishes she was there, in their house in Connecticut. She misses the house. Not the life she left. But some corners, some feelings—yes. She misses the way the light hit the kitchen tiles in the morning. The smell of pine by the fireplace. Laughter by the pool in the summer.

She shakes it off.
The last few years, this stretch between December 25th and the end of January feels unbearable.
But now—
Now, there’s him.
There’s Marty, and all the wonder he’s brought back into her life.
She glances at the clock.
It’s still early in LA.
She wants to call.
Wants to hear his voice.
Wants to hear him laugh.

So she waits.

Coffee in hand, blanket on her lap, snow gently beginning to fall.
And with her other hand, she starts typing a message.

“Good morning. Merry Christmas. I miss you already.”

She doesn’t hit send. Not yet.
She just holds the phone in her hand.
And waits for the silence to lift.

He calls her around 10 a.m.
She answers almost immediately.
"Hi... I was just about to call you."
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas. Are you still in bed?" She can hear the sleep in his voice.
"Yeah... I wanted to talk to you. I’ve missed you these past days."
"Me too. Did you have a nice evening?"
"Wonderful. And you?"
"Yeah, we all had fun."
"I wish you were here right now. We could stay in bed until noon, just snuggling."
"That sounds perfect."
She adds "I’ve been thinking... I don’t want to stay here any longer. I’m going to try to catch a flight tomorrow, or the next day."
"Now that’s great news! I’m glad you changed your mind."
"Tell Steve to count me in for dinner."
"I will. Now this is a great way to wake up."
"Tell me more about how much you’re missing me," she says, her voice soft and a little shy.
"Terribly," he groans dramatically, like he’s in real pain.
She laughs, but he hears the change in her tone when she replies.
"Don’t joke around... I really, really miss you, Marty."
He sits up slightly, the playfulness fading, sincerity rushing in.
"It’s not a joke, Meryl. You know how I feel. I want to be around you all the time."

She does know. She just wants to hear it out loud.
"Well... I’ll be there soon. In your arms."
"And I’ll hold you tight... and kiss you until you can’t breathe."
She smiles, heart full.
"Bye."
"See you soon, my love."

New Year’s Eve

Meryl picks up Marty so they can drive together to Steve’s house.
She pulls up to his place — the gate’s already open.
She parks, gets out.
He hears the car and opens the door.
They see each other — and smile.
They’ve missed each other.
They hug tightly and linger. He kisses her cheek as they embrace, and she exhales, grounding herself in the moment.

It had only been three weeks... but with Christmas in the middle, it felt like a lifetime between them.
As if all of this might’ve just been a dream.

"Want to come in for a bit? We’re still early."
"Yes."
Inside, she takes off her coat.
He looks at her: black silk pants, a black sequin boat-neckline top.
Hair in a low ponytail. She looks elegant. She smells incredible. Moves with certainty. He admires her.
"You look beautiful."
She presses her lips together, pleased.
"Thank you."
He’s in a tux, no vest.
She loves the way he looks.
"You look very sexy yourself."
"Thank you."
She pulls something from her purse.
"I got you a present."
He looks surprised.
"Oh... wow. Thank you."
"Well... you might want to see what it is before you thank me. I mean, it’s not really special... or symbolic... you probably won’t even like it," she babbles.
"Meryl... can I open it?"
"Yes. But it’s a dumb gift."
He chuckles, opens it.

It’s a watch…a sports watch. He’s a bit puzzled.

"It’s not a smart watch — it’s not answers calls or show texts. I know you don’t like that. But you can wear it on walks, hikes... it tracks your steps, heart rate... a bunch of stuff I can’t explain. And — if you fall or something — it calls 911."

Marty looks at the watch, amused.
"That’s great... I mean, you know I don’t have a heart condition, right? I’m not Oliver."
She gives him that look.
"You don’t like it. You can return it." Now she sounds annoyed.
"I do like it. I just never thought about using something like this. But it could be useful."
"If you fall, no one knows where you are!"
"I usually take my phone."
"But if something happens..." Her voice trails into worry.
He gets it now.
"Meryl... thank you. I’m going to use it." He takes her arms gently.
She shrugs.
"I worry. You tell me you go on these long walks... this way, you can track the distance... it’s interesting."
"I love your gift."
"No, you don’t! I should’ve gotten you a sweater or a tie!"
“I love that you worry about me.” He kisses her.

Then, he goes to a drawer and pulls something out.
"I got you something too."
She smiles.
"It’s not really a gift... just a little something."
"Thank you." She gives him a soft kiss and opens it.

A book.
My Life with Pablo Neruda by Matilde Urrutia.

Her eyes light up.
"Well, i know him, of course — and I think she was his wife?"
"His third wife, yeah. I found it at the bookstore. Thought of you. I figured you’ve read some Neruda...now, this book was actually written by her. They fell madly in love while he was still married. Years after he died, she published it, telling the story of their life together. He wrote countless poems for her… beautiful poems. He loved her more than anything.
Meryl is taken by his words and by his calm, telling her about it.
"I haven’t read it, though," he adds. "Could be just her complaining that he snored and talked too loud." Brightens the mood.
They laugh.
She loved it.
"I love you. Thank you." She kisses and hugs him.
"And now my gift feels even more shittier!"
They laugh again.
"No, it doesn’t. You worry about me. That’s what people in love do..."

Their eyes meet.

"Ready to leave 2023 behind?" he asks.
"I don’t know... This year gave me such a wonderful gift. How could 2024 be better?"
"You get to keep the gift. No exchanges. No returns."
"Good!"
"I’m taking my car — so you can drink as much as you want!"
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she asks in a flirty mood.
"Absolutely."
He kisses her again.

At Steve’s house, they arrive together. Steve and Anne exchange a glance — Meryl and Marty already look like a couple. Arriving together. His hand rests gently on her waist while they talk. They keep stealing glances.
They sit side by side at dinner. Like always, Marty keeps whispering things in her ear that make her laugh. After dinner, the conversation keeps flowing around the table.

Quietly, under the table, he reaches for her hand — lays it gently in his lap to hold it.
She was mid-sentence when he did it, looks at him, smiles... and keeps talking.
She lets it happen.
They’re not hiding. They’re holding hands.
He loves that she didn’t pull away.

There are a few couples there who aren’t from the industry — friends of Anne’s.
They’re stunned. First to see Meryl Streep. Then to see how close she and Marty are.

They’re drinking.
She more than him.
She gets sexier when she drinks — not because of the alcohol, but because she lets go.
She isn’t being the perfect movie star — just her: funny, warm, animated. Laughing loudly.
She catches him watching her.
Admiring her.
She loves it.

She watches him too — telling stories. His life seems endlessly full. He’s met everyone, and everyone loves him. Not a single soul (apart from that moron) has a negative thing to say.
She loves how passionate he is about life, and how he makes everyone feel included.
Plus, he’s sexy. Confident. In that tux, with a few buttons undone, one arm casually draped over a chair. Gesturing, laughing.
She waits for a pause, leans over, whispers in his ear:

"You’re so sexy..."
He startles.
"What?"
She smiles, bites her bottom lip. Lowers her voice.
"You’re so sexy, Marty."
He looks at her — stunned.
God, he wants to kiss her.
His face flushes, and other guests start to notice the flirting.
He clasps her hand more firmly, fingers entwining with hers, under the table and then pulls it up and kisses it.
Doesn't care who's watching.

Soon everyone moves into the living room.
He pulls her aside, into a quiet corner, and kisses her — once, twice, three times. Small kisses.
She moans softly in each kiss.
He chuckles. She’s already tipsy.
"You’re so sexy, Marty... Are we going to fuck tonight?" she whispers.
"I guess we are..."

She wraps her arms around his neck.
"I’m really into you..."
He’s surprised — but thrilled, to see her all over him.
"Meryl... not that I don’t love what you’re doing, but... we are at a party..."
"Mm-hmm... I don’t care." She kisses him again. A series of small kisses, no tongue — but her desire is clear.
"You do care. You’re just a bit drunk."
He’s thoroughly amused.
"I’m going to get more drunk."
"I know."
A waiter walks by. She lets go of him, rubs her neck, giggles.
"I’m going to kiss all of you when we get home."
"Oh, baby..."
They laugh.

"Hey guys, what are you doing back here?"
Steve catches them, clearly amused by their flushed faces.
"This is my house! Behave!"
"Steve, I love your wine!" Meryl announces.
Steve and Marty share a look.
"Great, great! There’s more outside — it’s almost midnight!"
"Oh God, I lost track of time!" she says, heading toward the door.
"She likes your wine," Marty laughs.
"You lucky bastard," Steve mutters. "You’re getting lucky tonight!"
"I’m always lucky." Steve looks at him surprised.

Outside, the air is warm for December — but it is L.A.
The countdown begins. Champagne. Fireworks. Cheers.

Marty has his arm around Meryl’s waist.
They toast with Steve, Anne, Eugene, Deborah, and others.
Then they turn to each other.

They toast — just the two of them.
Sip.
Kiss.

Nothing hidden.

Some people glance. A few surprised. But it’s just a kiss.
"I love you," he whispers in her ear.
"And I love you... so much, Marty. I’m so glad I found you."
She shivers — goosebumps.
He holds her tightly.

They stay a while longer. More laughter. More drinks. More flirtation.

At one point, while laughing with Eugene and another guest, she places her hands on Marty’s chest — her fingers slip just inside his jacket, brush against his nipple.

He jumps slightly, jolted by the touch.
She bites her lip, amused.
"Meryl..."
"What?"
She faces him, teasing. Eyes drifting to his mouth.
She brushes her finger over her own bottom lip.
"You’re driving me crazy... fuck, you’re sexy..."
She grins. Wicked.
"You love being teased like this, don’t you?" Then leans in, whispers,
"I know you’re already getting hard."
She walks away, smiling.
She has got to be kidding. Teasing and leaving. That’s so her.
He reaches for his glass — and pauses. He’s driving.

She’s on fire tonight.
And he loves it.

When they finally leave, she falls asleep in the car.
He glances at her, peaceful beside him.
He smiles.
He knows he won’t get lucky tonight.
But somehow... that feels even better.
Watching her sleep while he drives them home —
That’s what real couple, real love feels like.

Chapter 16: golden globes

January 7th
Golden Globes Ceremony
What an exciting day.

Meryl is at home getting ready when her phone rings—Marty.

"When am I going to get a photo of what you're wearing?"
"Want a photo? I sent you one... wait one second."
She sends a picture—just a close-up of black sequins.
"Oh come on!"
"That’s all you get!" she teases.
He groans, mock disappointment in his voice, though he’s dying to see her.
"I like black sequins. Is there cleavage involved?" he asks, half-flirting, half-hoping.
"I’m afraid not."
"Damn it!"
"There Could be cleavage at the after…after-party."

"Ah…Even better." He grins.
The last time they were together was at New Year’s Eve.
The morning after had been a blur of headaches for Meryl.

"Are you ready?"
"Almost. You?"
"I got ready in ten minutes," he chuckles.
"It took me a little more than that."
"I’m anxious to see you."
"Are you? That’s sweet."
"You do know they sat us together."

"Oh, Mr. Short... I can hardly wait." She’s flirting again, voice warm, playful.
"Okay. Text me when you leave the house. I’ll see you there."
"I will. Bye."

Half an hour later, she texts him. Leaving now. Kevin’s with me.

Marty arrives first at the Beverly Hilton. He works the red carpet, gives a few interviews, and heads inside, his nerves sharper than usual.

For the first time, Meryl Streep—his Meryl—is going to be seated next to him.
The Meryl Streep he’s secretly dating.
Their table is, of course, front row, center.

On his way to the ballroom, he stops to greet some fellow actors and actresses. Then his phone buzzes. A text. Two photos.
"Didn’t want you to be the last to see it."

He excuses himself and finds a quiet spot to look.

The first photo: her back, taken outside.
The second: her full figure from the front.
She looks like a goddess.

Meryl, in a custom Valentino, black sequin suit and a long skirt with a train.
A white bow-tie blouse.
Perfect clutch.
Elegant jewelry.
Sunglasses.
Impeccable hair and makeup.
Poise, power, allure.
He can't stop looking.

"Perfect. Exquisite. Ravishing," he texts her.

Her heart skips. That’s the reaction she wanted.
Every time now, she dresses for him. For her as well of course, but because he makes her feel sexy again—effortlessly so.

Soon, she arrives.
Fans scream her name. Flashbulbs pop. Fashion reporters are already declaring her a best-dressed contender.

She walks the red carpet, giving a few nods and waves—but she’s thinking about him.
She’s nervous, excited. Butterflies and sequins.

She enters the ballroom.
There's lot of people in the room already, and of course she turns a lot of heads.
He sees her. His heart skips a beat.
He walks to her.
He kisses her hands, then her cheek.
"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," he whispers in her ear.

She closes her eyes and breathes in. She’s blushing.

They take each other in, eyes traveling from head to toe.
People are watching. Whispers ripple through the crowd.
Then Selena arrives, lightening the moment with her easy charm.

Throughout the ceremony, they lean into one another—talking, whispering, laughing.
Their arms touch constantly.
So do their thighs.
And their legs.

They look at each other with a kind of glowing familiarity.
Smiling. Teasing.
They look at each other. Smile at each other. The chemistry is obviously to everyone.
Every camera catches it. Every lens searches for that spark.

They pose together—leaning close, heads touching, her hand on his chest.
The chemistry is electric. Undeniable. Everyone notices.

And the flirting never stops. It’s second nature by now.

At one point, his hand drifts from his lap to her leg, squeezing softly.
The sequins aren’t ideal. He makes a face. She laughs.
"What were you doing?" she whispers.
"Just touching you. I can’t cope with how sexy and elegant you look."
She presses her thigh more firmly against his.
"You’re making me blush."
"You’re so pretty when you’re all blushed."
“You’ll touch me later.”

“Later,” he echoes, lowering his voice and leaning to her ear, “I’m going to devour you. And make you scream of pleasure.”

Heat blooms across her face. She doesn’t dare look at him, afraid of what her expression might betray. Instead, she keeps her gaze fixed on the stage, trying to regain composure. But she knows exactly what he’s doing—he wants to unnerve her.
“This ceremony with you here,” she says, speaking through a controlled smile, “reminds me of the SAGs… the year you made that joke.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Does it?”
“Yes. And how we talked during the break… and after it ended.”
“I remember.” he's looking at the stage.

She leans in, lips barely brushing his ear. Her voice is low, intimate. “That night, I went home. Undressed. Touched myself… imagining your mouth on my cunt. And made myself come... multiple times…”

The room erupts in applause. They clap with the rest, though Marty isn’t hearing a word from the stage. Her words echo in his head, setting his pulse on fire. His cock hardening. He turns to her, stunned. She meets his eyes and smirks.
She touched herself thinking about him...back then in 2022. Fuck. He could have had her then.
Multiples times. She knows exactly what she's saying.
“You look speechless, Short.”
“You need to stop talking,” he growls under his breath. “Or I’ll take you right here.”
She swallows. She knows exactly how much he wants her.
She grins. Happy with what she just did.
He can’t help it.
He grabs her elbow gently, drawing her closer, his voice low and urgent. “I fucking want you so much... i'm going to fuck you so good tonight, Meryl... You’re so irresistible. And I know this is what you want to hear… so there it is.”
She bites her lip, her eyes gleaming.
“That’s exactly what I want.”

Awards
She loses. He fucking loses again!
But they're winning in life. Winning Big!

There's a private party in someone's house, after.
They go there for an hour or so.
Then Marty discreetly signals her. They slip out together.
They're going to his house, because it's closer.
In the SUV, they sit too close not to touch. Her arm brushes his. Their thighs press together.

She reaches for something—deliberately or not—and grazes his arousal. He tenses. He's hard.
He catches her hand and glances at the rearview mirror. The driver isn’t watching. Gently, he places her hand on his cock. She gives a firm squeeze. He exhales sharply, moving in his place, bursting with desire for her… biting his knuckle, eyes fixed out the window.
She pulls her hand away with a soft gasp.
She looks outside then back at him.
He whispers on her ear.
“I’m so turned on by you,” he whispers. “Did you feel it?”

“Don’t talk,” she says, placing two fingers over his lips. “Your voice is making me wet.”
He groans quietly and looks away. The drive feels endless.

Finally, they arrive.

Inside, the house is dim—just a lamp lit near the stairs. She steps out of her heels without a word and heads upstairs.
He follows, tugging at the bow of his tux, loosening the vest. She glances back over her shoulder with a playful smile.

In the bedroom, she takes off the jacket and unzips her skirt. He watches as she lets her hair down and removes her jewelry. Silently, they undress—his jacket, shoes… her blouse, her skirt, her bow untied by his fingers.
Today her lingerie is nude, so it doesn't show beneath her blouse.
Their breaths deepen.
She unbuttons the rest of his shirt and places her hands on his chest. Caressing it slowly.
He's looking at her. At her jaw.
She places her palms on his bare chest, fingers trailing slowly. He gazes at her, captivated.
The moment his shirt hits the floor, he pulls her into a kiss. It’s hungry, desperate. A collision of longing.
She gasps into his mouth. Finally.
The sexual tension of tonight was killing them both.
He backs her to the wall, her legs slightly parted, one of his hands pinning her wrist above her head while the other traces the underside of her breast. His mouth is everywhere — her lips, her jaw, her neck. He sucks hard just beneath her ear and she moans, hips already rolling against him.

He trails kisses downward — licking between the valley of her breasts, sucking the soft skin under her sternum, then lower, onto her stomach.
When he drops to his knees, she gasps. He hooks her panties with his fingers and slides them down her thighs, kissing the inside of one leg, then the other, slowly, teasing her.
And then his mouth is on her — tongue firm, deliberate. She cries out and grabs his hair, grinding into his face.

“Marty—fuck—”High pitched sigh...gasping for air.
He moans against her, savoring every slick stroke. “So wet. So juicy.

When she starts to tremble, he slows, pulling back to kiss her thigh, her stomach, then stands and kisses her mouth again — letting her taste herself.
She pants against his lips, dazed. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He grins. “Not yet.”

He pulls her to the bed. She landing on top of him.
Unhooks her bra, sliding it away with reverence.
Flips her over and his mouth and hands go to her breasts.
"The golden globes!"
She bursts laughing. He smiles with his mouth still on them.
He buries his face in her breasts, tongue circling one nipple, sucking gently, then biting down just enough to make her shudder. Her fingers knot in his hair.
She moans, her thighs falling open beneath him.
Goes to kiss her again. Caressing her breasts.
"Do you know what I want?"
"What do you want Marty?" She asks.
"I want you to do, what you did on the night of the SAG awards."
She almost stops breathing. Looking straight into his eyes.
He kisses her hard.
"What?"
"You told me... now I want to see... "
She continues to look at him. Not knowing what to do.
He groans. "Show me Meryl" kisses her neck " touch yourself like you did that night."
Her eyes fluttering with his words...with his want...with her wetness.
She hesitates.
Then her hand slides down between her thighs. He lays on his side, supporting his body with an elbow
His eyes never leaving her hands.
She parts her legs wider, fingers slipping between her folds, slick and swollen. She starts slow — circling her clit, feeling her wetness. Feeling her entrance with the tip of the index finger.
He's mesmerized looking at her.
He lies beside her, stroking himself in rhythm. Hard and dripping for her.
She continues exploring herself. Now two fingers of her left hand opening herself, and the other hand starting to finger herself.
She starts to moan. He closes his eyes for a moment, absorbing the sight and sound.
“Fuck, Meryl…"Tell me... what were you imagining…"
His voice is low, insistent.
Oh god. She doesn’t want to say anything. Doesn’t want to speak — just feel.
Because in her mind, his mouth is on her cunt again. But this time, it’s not a fantasy. Now she knows exactly what it feels like.

"Tell me, Meryl…" he repeats, voice darker now.
"You had your mouth on me," she whispers, breath catching. "On my cunt."
Even just saying it makes pleasure ripple through her. Her fingers slide over her clit — already swollen and aching.

"And what was I doing?" he asks.
She closes her eyes, arching just slightly. “Oh god… Marty… You were eating me. Licking me. Sucking me…”
He smiles.
She’s touching herself just the way she likes it — clit and fingers working in tandem, her nipples hard, begging to be touched. He reaches out, palms her breasts, circling each nipple with the flat of his hand.

"But we didn’t know each other like that… back then… did we?"

“Nooo,” she pants. “But I wanted you down on me…”
She gasps, her body tightening, and then she comes — just like that — fingers trembling against herself, while he watches, stroking his cock hard.
She’s divine!
He waits, lets her calm, lets her breathe — then shifts between her thighs, kissing them softly.

“I’m gonna pull the second one out of you real quick,” he murmurs, “and then… you're going to have my mouth on your pussy."

He slips one finger inside — just the tip — and that’s all it takes. Her breath hitches. She gasps. And less than a minute later, she’s coming again, loud and unrestrained, legs squeezing his hand, back arched.
God, he loves watching her lose control like this.

Then his mouth is on her — a long, slow lick — and she cries out. His tongue is flat at first, wide and warm, then tight and fast as he flicks her clit. And finally his whole mouth closes over her, sucking her in deep.

She whimpers, fingers tangled in his hair, hips rising to meet his mouth.

"You taste so good," he groans against her. “I love eating you like this — soaked. Fresh from your orgasm.”

But he can’t hold off much longer. He needs to be inside her.
His cock is so hard it almost hurts.
And he knows she wants it too.
His tongue circles her clit while one finger slides in again — he knows how close she is.

She comes hard, crying out his name, and as her body pulses, he moves up and pushes into her in one deep, smooth thrust.

She screams.
"Oh god… oh Marty… fuck… yes."

She’s soaked, slippery, her body welcoming him in. He pulls her closer, grinding in deep, and kisses her with wild, hungry urgency. She moans into his mouth, her hands gripping his arms, then his ass, guiding his thrusts.
Wanting him. Needing him.
His cock sliding in and out of her.
He kisses her jaw, her neck — then stops. Pulls out.

“What are you doing?” she pants, confused. She thinks he wants to change position.
But he doesn’t move.
“Why did you touch yourself that night thinking of me?”
"What? No… put it back in—"
"Answer me." His voice is rough, demanding. He kisses her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.
“Marty… fuck… I want you inside me…”
“I know. But tell me.”
“You held me by the waist… your fingers gripping tight… then you flirted with me—”
He slides in again, deep. Pulling another loud moan of her.
“Oh fuck,”
Slow, teasing thrusts.
“You flirted back… and then what?”
She gasps, her legs locking around him.
He grins. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Fuck me, Marty!" She pleads.
“I am fucking you.” His thrusts deepen, faster now. “And then what, Meryl?”
“I wanted you. I kept thinking about you. About what you’d be like between my legs. I imagined you giving me multiple orgasms,” she breathes. “Over and over…”
He increases the pace. She moans.
“Oh baby…” he groans, hips moving harder now. “That’s all I want. I wanted you that night too.”
He leans down, mouth brushing her ear. “I jerked off thinking about you that night.”
She gasps — surprised, aroused.
She pulls him to her. To kiss him.
God she wants him.
They've been wanting each other for longer that they knew.
“I jerked off so many times… thinking about you, Meryl. Fuck, so many times.”

Her desire spikes at the words.
“What were you imagining…that night?” she whispers.
“That I pulled up that black strapless dress and fucked you right there.” He groans. "Like I'm fucking you right now."

His thrusts pound into her now, deep and fast.
“I want to come with you,” she moans. “Touch me Marty…”
His fingers slide between them, finding her clit. Gentle. Rhythmic.
“Tell me when. I’m barely holding…”
“Shhh… just touch me…”

Her hips twitch. She’s close. So close.

“Marty…” she gasps — a whisper.
Two more thrusts.
He explodes — groaning her name — and feels her come with him, tightening around him, pulling him deeper. He collapses on her, both of them breathless.

“I’m pulling out,” he murmurs.
He rolls over, chest heaving, grinning. She’s glowing, flushed and breathless, laughing softly.
“God… you drive me crazy!” she says.
"I drive you crazy?” He laughs. “You teased me all night. Then said that — on live TV, with a camera right in our faces…”
They burst out laughing.
"God if anyone had any idea of what was going on, at our table?"
She rolls to him to kiss him.
He kisses her back.
"Under the table was something going on, too." She chuckles.
“Less than you wanted,” he teases.

“A lot less.”
They look at each other — eyes full of everything they didn’t say back then.
He holds her chin and kisses her again.
"Miss Shag Awards,” he smirks.
"You stirred things up that night," she grins.
"Fuck... if I had known..."
"How would you know? What would you do?"
"You should’ve hinted something!"

“Oh sure,” she says in a mock-serious voice. “Hello, Mr. Short, Mr. Martin Short… you made me wet with one of your jokes… mind swinging by my house and putting your mouth on my pussy, please?”
He groans. “I would’ve rented a helicopter.”
She laughs, leaning in for another kiss.
"Tell me again," he whispers, pulling her closer by the curve of her ass.

"What?! No," she says, but smirks.
"Please, I want to hear it again."
She looks at his lips. His eyes.

“No…” she does a character voice, Miranda like— but he sees the heat behind her teasing.
“Tell me, Meryl…Streep… what did you do when you got home that night?”
“I got home…undressed...no, actually, I first opened a bottle of wine, white wine...poured a glass… took it to my bedroom…”
He kisses her jaw, groaning.
“Undressed in front of the mirror. I looked at my body…”
“See…You didn’t tell me that,” he growls.
“I was already wet. I knew it.”
“Oh fuck… were you?”
“Since talking with you… when I was leaving.”

He presses his forehead to her chest. Moaning softly.
"Come on... Meryl...you were wet…fuck…”
“So I laid down… slipped off my panties… started touching myself. Thinking of you. Of your mouth.”

His breath catches. Her fingers drift through his hair.
“I’d been watching your mouth, your lips. Imagining them on my cunt. I knew you’d be good at it.”
“Oh baby…How many times did you come?” he whispers against her neck.
“I don’t know…” she says, voice light, teasing.
“You do know. Tell me.”
His fingers already moving again.
One finger tracing one line, from the little piece of hair down to her slit. Opening her a bit, to see if there's a trace of wetness. It didn't seem so, but, when he slides the tip of his finger in, he finds her wet and ready again.
She moans.
"Marty...god...how do you do this?"
"You, are doing this...baby...not me..."
"You are doing this... because my cunt wants you..." she presses her legs, clenching her cunt.
"How many times, Meryl?"
"I don't know...3 at least...what are you going to do to me now?" The urgency!
She doesn't need much. They both know it.
He gently slides two fingers.
They're on their sides. She puts one hand around his neck and another on his chest.
He slips two fingers in gently. They’re on their sides now. She holds his neck, his chest.

“Did you say my name out loud, when you were coming??”
Silence.
He stops touching her.
“Don’t stop… please…don’t stop”
“Did you say my name?” he starts touching her again.
“I did…” she whispers.
He groans — eyes closing — and goes down on her again, licking, kissing, loving every inch of her until she’s trembling and gasping, her body surrendering to him all over again.

Chapter 17: afi luncheon

The Next Morning

She’s stretched out on the sofa in her robe, reading a book. Sunlight filters through the curtains. A quiet morning.

Marty, also in a robe, comes downstairs, his eyes still on his phone. He pauses when he sees her and walks over. She lifts her feet, placing them in his lap with a soft smile.
“Hi,” she says gently.
“Still no energy?”
She shakes her head, arms stretching over her head. “Were you in bed?”
“I was.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
He starts massaging her feet. She sighs in appreciation but catches a flicker of something in his expression.
“What’s going on?” she asks, frowning.
He hesitates. “Well... there’s some news about last night.”
“Last night? What kind of news?”
“About us…”
“What do you mean?”
“People noticed we were... pretty cozy. Seated close. Laughing. Leaning in.”
Her posture stiffens. “What else?”
“Just rumors. Speculation that we might be dating.”
“Shit.” She grabs her phone and starts scrolling.
Marty watches her, more concerned for her reaction than anything on the screen.
“We’re all over the internet!” she blurts.
He exhales, a little defeated. After last night, all he’d wanted was a quiet morning. Maybe lunch somewhere in the Palisades. A movie later. A soft, ordinary day.
But this—this wasn’t that.

“It’s not that bad,” he offers. “Just chatter. Nothing really worrying.”
“They’re calling us a couple!”
“That maybe we are…” he says, quieter than he intended. Aren’t we? he wonders.
She doesn’t answer that. Instead: “Now they’ll start making things up. Turning this into something it’s not. I hate that.”
“It’ll pass,” he says. “Honestly, who cares whether we’re dating or not?”
“I do! I want to keep this—us—private. Just for us.”
“And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”
“A beginning,” she says. “Something fragile. Not ready for headlines.”
“We can’t hide forever.”

“We’re just getting started, Marty. I don’t want to have to walk it back in the press if this doesn’t work. Go page six saying that we’re over!”
He nods, eyes dimming.
Then stands up and goes upstairs.
“Marty…Where are you going?” she asks.
“Forgot something upstairs.”

She watches him leave. “Shit.”
Not what she meant to say—but true.
She’s afraid this thing they have might not survive and she doesn't want to announce another separation.
Not that she’s expecting it to end— She just doesn’t know.

She follows him a few minutes later. He’s lying on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He hears her come in but doesn’t move.
She climbs in beside him, curling into the crook of his body.
“I’m not saying we’re going to end,” she whispers.
His arm wraps around her. “But you’re not saying we won’t.”
“I want to take it slow.”
He doesn’t respond at first. Then: “Tomorrow, I’ll ask my rep to deny it. Say we’re just friends, good friends.”
She places her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”
He searches her face. “Then, don't say things like that! I get that you want to take it slow, not going public...but, don't say, you're going to have to announce a separation!”
“I’m sorry.”
He looks at her.
“I love you too,” he says. “I don’t care about the press. I just want you.”
“I know.”

The Next Day

Marty’s rep tells E!: “They’re just very good friends. Nothing more.”

Online, fans aren’t satisfied. The chemistry at the awards was undeniable. Could be true—but just as likely, they’re lying to protect something real.

Still, if nothing more happens, maybe they really are just very, very good friends.

He calls her.
“You happy now?” he asks.
“Thank you,” she says. “But... please don’t be upset with me.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Are you coming over tomorrow?”
"I guess so…If you want."
"Of course I want. I was thinking of inviting Tracey and Christine for dinner. We talked about it the other day—sort of settled on wednesday."
"Oh. So you want me gone before dinner? Got it."
She hears the sting in his voice.
"No, silly. I meant us, having them over. Together."
His face lights up.
"Oh!”
“What do you think?”
“You know what I think. I’ll love it! Although... I should probably bring armor. You three are going to roast me alive!"
"You bet! Tracey’s been dying for this."
"She’s a menace!"
"She is!" she laughs.

"So I’m officially meeting the girls. I mean i already know them...but, they're your girls... "
"You are. And they’re officially meeting you."
They smile, caught in the moment.

 

Wednesday
Marty has been staying with Meryl since yesterday.
Tonight, Tracey and Christine are coming for dinner.

Marty’s in jeans, a grey sweater with rolled sleeves, and NB blue sneakers.
Meryl watches him move around the kitchen, setting up snacks—cheeses, smoked salmon, toasts, fruit.
He looks effortlessly sexy. Young. She's watching his arms...and his hair. Perfectly combed. Confident. She loves watching him like this.

They’re laughing, teasing, singing as they prep.
She loves that he sings. He loves that she does.
It’s perfect.
Meryl wears white jeans and a pink shirt.

The gate buzzes.
"Here they are!"

She checks the intercom.
"It’s Tracey!"
Excited, she heads to the door.
Tracey parks, gets out, arms open.
"I’m here, bitches!"
"Trace!!! Hiiii!"

They hug tightly. Marty watches, amused.

"You’re first. Christine’s not here yet."
"Well, someone arrived first!" Tracey says with a smirk looking at Marty.
"Marty slept here."
"Oh, rubbing it in my face already. Hi, Marty!"

"Hi Tracey!"
They hug.
"You lucky dog. How are you? Apart from screwing my best friend?"
Meryl bursts out laughing.
"Tracey, stop!"
Marty grins and sees he's in for a wild night.
"I’m great, thanks. And yes, the screwing part is... exceptional."

Meryl elbows him, wraps an arm around his waist. He pulls her close, putting an arm over her shoulders.

"Oh my god! They're cuddling!" Tracey shrieks and Meryl laughs.
"I brought two bottles of wine."
"Thank you—we’ve got plenty, but more is always good!"

The gate buzzes again.
"Christine!"
She arrives with a smile.
"Well hello! You were all here waiting for me?"
She hugs Meryl " Hello darling!" and then Tracey. And then looks at Marty.
"Well hello again!" They hug.
"You’ve seen him before?" Tracey accuses.
"We bumped into him at dinner once!" Christine defends.
"Yeah... let's not talk about that night," Meryl mutters.

"Ladies, shall we go inside." Marty says smoothly, "what can I get you to drink?"

"Wine only. I don’t want a hangover," Tracey says.
"Martini, please," Christine adds.

"Meryl? Martini too?" His voice sweet.
"Yes. But I’ll help." Her voice also sweet.
"Nope. You stay. I’ve got it."

"You have to stop being so damn cute!" Tracey groans.
Meryl gives him a peck before he leaves for the kitchen.
"Does Marty have a single brother?" Christine whispers making Meryl chuckle. "I mean…funny, sweet, and caring…not gonna say sexy…but yes, also sexy…"
"And amazing in bed!" Tracey adds.
Meryl laughs.
"I know, I know…I honestly don’t know how I got this lucky."

Marty returns with drinks.
"Cheers!"

Dinner is filled with laughter.
Marty tells stories, cracks jokes. The women are in stitches.
Meryl loves to see her friends having a great time with him.
And he's always a gentleman.
He refills glasses, clears dishes, kisses Meryl’s shoulder, and neck now and then.
She gives him those looks—warm, radiant, unmistakably in love.

Later, as the wine keeps flowing, and the ice cream is being passed around…Marty and Tracey went to the kitchen again to choose more wine

"You’re in love, aren’t you?" Christine asks.
Meryl just nods.
"He’s amazing, Christine. I love him. I want to be around him all the time."
"And he feels the same?"
"Yes. He loves me. He says it constantly. We both do. Which is also amazing. He says everything to me...unashamedly...everything!"
"Oooh...Marty, Marty...Smart guy," Christine says.
"Very. Emotionally intelligent too. He knows exactly how to handle me... and I’m not always easy."

Marty and Tracey return with more wine.

"Alright, ladies. I’m retiring. You’ve got drinks, snacks—I’ve got earbuds. You’re safe to gossip."

"What?! No!" Christine protests.
"Running away from us?" Tracey teases.
"I survived dinner. No need to press my luck."
He grins.

Meryl hugs him.
"You’re a darling."
They kiss. Tracey and Christine look on.
"I'm going to the bedroom...read, listen to some podcasts..."
They kiss again.
"Ladies, it’s been a pleasure."
He disappears.

Christine and Tracey stare at Meryl.
She beams.
"Fuck, I need a Marty in my life," Tracey sighs dramatically.
Meryl laughs. "Well, this one’s all mine." Meryl says with a smug smile.
"Come on, he’s got to have some flaw. Please tell me he snores like a pig or leaves socks everywhere?"
She shakes her head, still smiling. "Nope. He doesn’t snore. Doesn’t leave a mess. Honestly… I can’t find anything wrong with him."
Tracey groans. "Ugh. That’s sickening."
Meryl grins. "I’m not even looking for flaws. He’s just… perfect. To me."
“I’m not even going to ask when you two are going official,” Christine adds, “because I read that Marty’s rep denied everything. Are you okay with that?”
“Well, he actually did that because of me,” Meryl admits. “I was the one panicking.”
“Why?” Christine asks.
“I just… want to take it slow. No rush. I’m happy where we are.”
“But you two are ok, right? you seem very…” Tracey lowers her voice into a teasing purr, “into each other.”
Meryl chuckles. “We are very, very into each other. Honestly, my sex life now? Better than it’s ever been. I think I’m having more sex now than I did in my twenties.”
Christine downs a glass of wine.
“Jesus, Meryl. How the hell do you get three Oscars and that kind of sex life? I mean, you have it all!!!”
They all burst out laughing.
“You know,” Christine leans in conspiratorially, “I used to know someone who kind of dated him. After his wife passed.”
“Really?” Both Meryl and Tracey perk up.
“Yeah. A friend of a friend. You met her, Meryl!”
“Me???”
“Yup. She’s friends with my Australian friend—remember her? We ran into them at that restaurant a while back. Could have been 7 years ago or something.”
“Oh! The gorgeous one… a bit younger than us, right?”
“Maybe eight years or so.”
"Tell the story!" Tracey asks.
“Anyway, she said they dated for a while and it was good. But... she said he only ever came to her place. Never took her to his house. She didn’t feel like he wanted anything serious.”
Meryl nods slowly. “He told me I was the first woman he brought to his home.”
“Really? Wow.”

“He said he dated a few women, but nothing serious.”
“Did that woman say anything juicy?” Tracey asks eagerly.
“Well… she said they fucked all the time,” Christine says, lowering her voice, making Meryl raise her eyebrows “and that he had major Big Dick Energy—because, well, he actually had a big dick.” She winces. “Sorry, Meryl! I probably shouldn’t be saying that!”
Christine claps a hand over her mouth as Tracey stares wide-eyed. Meryl just starts laughing.
“Meryl,” Tracey says dramatically, “just nod if it’s true.”
Meryl nods. Slowly. With a devilish grin.
They all explode with laughter, raising their glasses in a toast.
“Now I’m never going to look at Marty the same way again,” Tracey giggles.
“I remember her,” Meryl adds with a playful frown. “Big cleavage. She was definitely showing off the goods.”
“Oh my god, you’re jealous!” Christine gasps.
“I am not!” Meryl insists—but she’s still frowning, which only makes them laugh harder.

They stay late, laughing, tipsy, and full of wine. Eventually, they call a car to take them home.
Meryl, equally drunk, stumbles to bed. She smiles when she sees Marty already asleep. He’s wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt and pajama pants.
That’s a first, she thinks with amusement.

Morning

Marty gets up quietly and lets her sleep in. He knows she probably came to bed late and a bit tipsy. He heads to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
Soon after, Meryl’s housekeeper arrives.
“Good morning, Mr. Martin.”

“Marty, please,” he replies. She insists to call him Martin “Meryl’s still asleep—do you mind keeping things quiet? We had a late night.”

“Oh, of course.”

A few hours later

Meryl wakes and pads through the house, looking for him. She finds him outside, already dressed and on the phone. He sees her and comes inside.

“Good morning! It’s freezing out there, isn’t it?”
“Freezing? No, it’s just a little chilly.” He leans in to kiss her. “Hi, good morning, my love. Did you sleep well?”
“I did. Thank you. I was so late getting to bed.”
“I figured. Did you have fun?”
She grins. “So much. And you?”
“Loved it.”
“I thought you’d already left.”
“I was about to. Just waiting for you to wake up.”
“Oh really? I was hoping we could spend a little more time together…”
He holds her gently by the arms. “I wish I could. But I really have to go.”
“We’ve got the AFI thing on Friday. We’ll meet there, right?”
“Of course. Though we probably have to behave better this time,” she teases.
“Hard to behave when I’m next to you.”
He kisses her neck before he leaves.

Friday, January 12th — AFI Luncheon

Just five days after the Golden Globes — and after Marty’s rep had publicly denied the dating rumors — they’re back in the spotlight.

As usual, they arrive separately. Marty’s already posing for photos with the OMITB group when Meryl shows up.
He walks over to greet her, but she cheekily puts a hand to his face and says, “No pictures.”
People gasp, then laugh. It’s obviously a joke.

She pushes him away with a grin and goes to hug Steve, who jokingly asks if he's getting a wedding invitation. Then he turns to the press and says he got the wedding invitation.

Laughter all around.
They pose for photos together. Marty complains, half-joking, that he should be standing next to Meryl.

When the four of them take photos, Meryl and Marty are giggling together again. The chemistry is undeniable—so much so that the press and fans keep speculating: what exactly is going on between them?
They move into the main room where lunch will be served, passing through a crowd of people gathered in lively conversation. As they make their way, they stop here and there to greet others. Always close. Always just slightly too close.

At one point, as a group gathers for a photo, Meryl subtly backs into Marty, her body brushing against him—slow, deliberate. Her backside pressing into his crotch. He nearly jumps, surprised. Was it an accident?
Then she does it again.
This time he doesn’t flinch. He stands still, feeling the press of her curves against his now hardening cock.
Fuck. She’s teasing him.
His first instinct is to slide his hand to her hip, maybe lower to her ass, but he knows better. Not here. Not now.
“What are you doing?” he mutters beneath his breath as they move away from the group.
“What do you mean?” she replies, all innocence, not meeting his eyes.
He just smiles. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Later, seated together once again, they're laughing, whispering, making each other giggle. The intimacy between them isn’t just visible—it’s undeniable. Palpable.
He’d been worried she might retreat. That maybe she’d keep her distance, avoid attention, dodge the cameras.

But she hadn’t.
And now he knew—he hadn’t needed to worry at all.

Marty leans toward her ear. “Am I behaving properly?”
“So far… yes.”
“If this is how you want me, I’ll keep my hands on the table. Look, I’m even pushing my chair back,” he teases.
She gives him the look.
“Don’t play puppy with me. You know we’ve been close.”
"Yeah… especially back there, when you were really close to my crotch."
"Really?" she says, feigning surprise. "I didn’t notice."
"Oh, I think the second time you rubbed up on me, you definitely noticed."
She tries to hold back a smile, but it breaks through—a sly smirk.
And then, just for a second, her hand slips under the table and rests lightly on his thigh.
"You know how close I like you," she murmurs.
“Hmm… not sure I do.”
She looks at his face and he senses it, so turns to look at her eyes.
“You look sexy in this suit.” He says.
She blushes and turns back, avoiding his eyes.
“See?” she mutters under her breath. “This is the problem. You say things like that, and I get all worked up.”

He grins. “Do you want to stay at my house today. Have dinner. Watch a movie...
She looks at him—he’s using that voice.
“Dinner and a movie… I could.”
That’s all he needs. It’s a yes.

After the AFI, they drive to his home.

They arrive at Marty’s house in separate cars. It’s cold, and he turns on the heat.
She heads upstairs.
“Where are you going?” he calls out.
“To change. I’m not staying in this suit all day. Or these shoes. I want something warm and cozy.”
He watches her go, then follows, loosening his tie.

By the time he reaches the bedroom, she’s taken off her jacket and heels. He takes his off too.

She hears him behind her but doesn’t turn. She was hoping he’d follow.

He wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips to her neck.
“Want something warm and cozy?” he murmurs, sliding her bra straps down and kissing her skin.
She leans into him. “You are warm. That feels really nice.”
“Does it?” he murmurs between kisses. “I can be very warm... and very nice.”
He unbuttons her pants, easing them down.
She turns to face him, kisses him deeply, and slips her hand into his trousers. He’s already hardening.
She takes off her bra and climbs into bed.
“You’re cold,” he teases.
He strips off the rest—shirt, pants, socks, briefs—and joins her under the covers.
They kiss. Slowly. Deeply.
“Do you want to make love to me?” she whispers.
"So much... it's been too long."
She laughs. "It's barely been a week."
"Way too long."

He’s already settled between her legs, moving slowly. His hands explore her breasts—fondling, squeezing, teasing her nipples with the tips of his fingers.
“God, I love your tits... so much,” he groans against her neck before moving down to kiss them.
He’s hard, pressing his cock against her inner thighs, grinding slowly.
Then his hand slides down between her legs.
“I forgot you still got your panties on,” he mutters.
“I was wondering when you’d notice.”
His fingers slip under the fabric, finding her soaked.
“I’m going to fix that. Right now.”

BUZZ. The gate. Then the doorbell. Then his phone buzzing from the app.
He stops.
They look at each other, surprised and wondering.
“I don’t fucking care. I’m not expecting anyone.”
He resumes kissing her. His hand is back between her thighs.
BUZZ. Again.
“Marty…”
“Fuck!”
He groans, gets up, and checks the phone. He walks to the window, peeks out through the curtain and sees a car waiting. Steve?
"What the hell...it's Steve...he's in his car..."
Meryl sits up, pulling the sheet over her chest, confused.
He checks the app. Steve’s waving at the camera.
“Steve?” he says through the intercom.
“I'm here, buddy!”
“I can see that. Mind telling me why?”
“We had a thing today!”
Marty squints, confused.
He glances at Meryl. She shrugs, smirking, then gestures to let him in.
Marty does—muttering curses under his breath.
Checks his appointments.
“We have a thing next Friday,” he grumbles.
Meryl laughs.
"It's not funny."
He glares at her, pulling on a robe. “I have to go downstairs, open the door for Steve, not kill him... and come back.”
He kisses her quickly. “Sorry.”
“We’ll catch up later,” she smiles.

Downstairs
Marty opens the door in his robe.
“Hey!” Steve says, a little too cheerfully. “You were just about to shower?”
“Something like that.”
Steve steps in, glancing around.
“We had something today, right? Going over new material for the show?”
“Nope. Next Friday. Today was the AFIs.”
Steve checks his phone. “Oh crap. You’re right. I had Friday in my head and just... went with it.”
Marty stares at him.
“Well, I’m here now. Take your bath later!” Steve shrugs, oblivious.
Marty rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go change.”

Later

Marty and Steve are downstairs, going through a few joke drafts. Meryl walks in, cozy in an oversized light gray knit sweater, black leggings, and Uggs.
“Hi, Steve.”
He looks up, startled. “Oh—hey! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I’m making tea. Want some?”
“Yes, please. Thanks.”
“Marty?”
“Thank you, yes.
She disappears into the kitchen.

Suddenly, Steve connects the dots. Marty in a robe. Meryl changed clothes.
“Oh shit…” he says under his breath.
Marty glares.
“Want me to leave?”
“Well... not now.”
“Damn. You guys were—"
“About to, yes.”
“I’m so sorry, man.”
“You should be.”
“So... you two are serious then? She's staying here?”
“Sometimes. We take turns. A few days here, a few days at hers.”
Steve nods slowly. “I've never seen a woman here. Like, ever. Is she your girlfriend?”
“I don’t know... We’re not labeling it. She wants to take things slow.”
“Slow? She’s got clothes here.”
“We both do.”
“Sounds pretty serious.”
“It is. To me, at least.”
Meryl returns with a tray: mugs, steam rising, and a slice of cake.
“I found cake!”
Steve grins. “Oh good.”

Notes:

I will not be updating next week. Sorry.
Hope to be back june 16th.

Really hope you are enjoying it! Thanks for all the feedback!

Chapter 18: pasadena dinner

Evening

After dinner, they curled up to watch a movie.
They spent twenty minutes choosing—just like the rest of the world.
And then, once it started, that quiet, blissful joy returned: the simple happiness of watching a film beside the person you love.
The credits roll.
“It’s still early. Want to watch an episode of Hacks?” He's teasing her, because of the Jean thing.
She raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me in a bad mood?”
“No.”
He gently pulls her legs so she reclines on the couch, then climbs on top of her.
“Hello again,” she says, stroking his hair and studying his lips.
“Where were we?”
“Right here.” She pulls him into a kiss.
They start slowly. No tongue—just teasing, soft kisses. Then her lips part, and his tongue finds hers.
The gentle kisses turn into steamy ones.
First the hands on her waist, then slipping beneath her sweater, finding her bare skin. Then lower, cupping her ass through her leggings.
The heat builds quickly.
His fingers glide up, beneath the sweater again, clumsily shifting her bra until he can touch her nipples. She chuckles.
“Let’s lose the sweater, shall we?”
He helps her out of it, kissing her chest as she unhooks her bra.
“Better?” she asks.
“Much, much better.”
He continues kissing her, his hands on her breasts, making her nipples go hard. She moans, eyes half-lidded.
“You’re making me wet,” she whispers.
“Oh, Meryl... baby...”
“I love how you say my name,” she murmurs, her voice husky. “It curls on your tongue, different from anyone else…”
“I love to say your name…Meryl... my love.”
She's feeling his cock hard against her tight.
Her hands push up his sweater. He pulls it off so she can run her hands over his chest, kiss his nipples, make him tremble.
Then he slides her leggings and panties down in one swift motion.
“Marty!”
She’s suddenly naked on the sofa. Her golden hair spread out like a halo on the pillow.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “You turn me on so fucking much.”
She squirms slightly, shy under his gaze.
He climbs over her, kisses her hungrily. His hand caresses her body, igniting fire across her skin.
Their mouths meet again. Long, hungry kisses. Hands wandering. Bodies twitching with need.
“Wanna go upstairs?” she gasps.
“No.” He’s pulling off his pants, briefs.
“I can’t wait. Let’s have a quickie. Do you like quickies, Meryl?” His mouth is all over her neck and collarbone. Breathing faster. Urgent need.
She chuckles, her voice low and teasing. “I love all kinds of sex. And I love how much you want me.”
“I just want to put it inside of you Meryl. I just want to be inside you.”
She smiles and pulls him in, legs opening to welcome him.
They’re kissing—deep, wet, greedy—while he rubs his cock on her pussy, teasing, making her burn for more.
She whimpers.
“Get inside me, Marty… I want you so bad.”
He slides a hand between them and pushes hard into her.
Both moan—loud, needy—consumed by the raw heat between them.
He stays still for a second, overwhelmed by how good it feels, trying not to come right away.
But he can’t hold back for long.

He starts to thrust, slow at first, then faster, deeper. He’s so fucking horny for her, desperate, possessed by the need to come.
He tries to hold back, tries to pace himself—but the urge takes over.
He comes hard inside her, deep and hot, groaning into her neck as he spills everything.
His breath is wild. He collapses on top of her, chest heaving.

She holds him, smiling, fingers tracing lazy circles on his back as he comes down.
"Sorry," he mutters against her skin. "I just couldn’t hold it anymore."
She kisses his shoulder, doesn’t say anything. Just keeps holding him.
"I have to get up..."
He pulls out gently, stands, and leans down to kiss her.
"I’ll make it up to you when we go upstairs."
She smiles. She gets up too, naked and calm, picking up clothes from the floor and grabbing her glass of wine.
Then she heads upstairs, barefoot and glowing, leaving him standing there, completely stunned by her, still in awe of everything.

He follows.

After the AFI, the rumors don’t stop.

Her hand on his face was a clear tell.
A tell that they were more than friends. That they were very, very close. That they had to be dating.
It was chaotic, it was fun—and the world knew what it meant when two co-workers flirt like that, stay that close, act that familiar.
Something had to be going on!
Is it just sex? Or possibly the beginning of a relationship.
The fans talked.
The press speculated.
And Marty’s denials, only made it worse.
If anything, it made people believe it more.

But Meryl and Marty kept doing what they’d been doing. Living their lives. Quietly. Together.
But a lot careful now.
The public outings are planned.
For now, they stopped going to buzzy restaurants. Avoided anywhere that drew attention.
Pasadena had its private little gems. Marty knew low-key spots in the Palisades too—places that knew him and left him alone.

But mostly, they stayed in. They were spending three, four days a week together now.
More and more time. More and more at ease at each other's place. More and more sure of their relationship.
By the end of January, Marty went to Bill Maher’s podcast. They’d known each other for a while—not friends, but not strangers.
Bill, of course, didn’t hold back.
Halfway through, he threw it out there casually:
“I don’t know if it’s because you’re a power couple with Meryl Streep...”
Marty laughed. “We’re not a couple.”
Bill blinked, surprised. “Really?”
He kept poking and the soon he had the chance to…
“You must keep Meryl in stitches...”
Marty dodged, grinned, deflected again.
He knew Bill. He’d come prepared. He always was, lately.
When the interview ended, Marty lingered. Didn't want to look like he was bolting.
“So... you’re not dating Meryl?”
“Come on, Bill. Again?”
“You should be. She’s not going to be single for long.” Marty drinks his rum and Bill kept going.
“For guys in our age range, especially the ones looking for industry clout—she’s the dream. And she looks damn good.”
Marty bit his tongue.
"Yeah. I'm sure. But I don't know if she's looking...for a new person to be with" He feels like answering this way he's not really lying.
“Come on. The way she dresses—she doesn’t want a companion. She wants to be fucked.”
Marty swallowed it. Hard. Didn’t like hearing Bill talk about her like that. Not that it was disrespectful—it was just typical guy shit. But still.
He forced a smile. “Well Bill...I gotta go...I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Great having you, man. Thanks.”

The rumors didn’t go away. They were everywhere.
Even DeuxMoi had something—someone claiming Meryl and Marty were “the real deal.”
Even with Marty denying it twice...once through his rep and another on Maher's podcast.
People don't buy it, and keep believing there's something going on.

Now it was the eve of the Grammys. And Marty was staying at Meryl’s.
Meryl decided to formally introduce Marty to her kids. Grace and Mamie were already here for the Grammys, Mark included. And she asked Henry and his wife to come...and Louisa. Grandkids included.

This was the step.
Forget the press. Forget the public.
This wasn’t a date night. This was real.

And both of them were nervous as hell.

Meryl, especially, was on edge. Her temper short. Marty could see it—every clipped answer, every sigh. He knew it was nerves.
But underneath it all, he was happy. Tremendously happy to be taking this step with her.
She’d hired help—just a dinner, sure, but she wanted to be fully present. Wanted to make sure Marty was never left alone, never hanging.

She knew her girls.
She knew how they could be.

A babysitter would take care of the younger grandkids.
Marty kept out of the way, tried to give her space. Stayed in the office room reading, letting her run the show.
When the house finally quieted down, he stepped out.
She was setting the table. Calmer now.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
She let him. Leaned back against him. Some of that tension melting.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.
She turned, hand on his face.
“You think so?”
“I do. They already know me.” He grinned. She gave him the look. “Hey, I think that…They’ll see you’re happy. That’s what matters. Are you happy?”
“So happy.” She kissed him softly. “I love that you’re always calm, always positive. I really need that.”
“I’m nervous too,” he said low.
“I know. But you don’t go crazy like I do.”
“Want my help?”

“Yes. Check the drinks? You already picked the wine, but just make sure it’s chilled. Red’s at the right temp. Ice, mixers—everything.”

“So, you’re saying I’m in charge of booze?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a great message for the kids—‘Uncle Marty’s got the liquor, kids!’”
She froze.
“Uncle Marty?”
“You know...” He laughed and went to the kitchen.

The gate buzzed.
Meryl stiffened. Marty turned back.
“What? It’s too early!”
His calm cracked for a second. God, please let it be Louisa.
Meryl checked the gate camera. No car.
Whoever it was had the code and buzzed only to let them know, they were coming.

“I think they all have the code...” she murmured.
Marty comes back to Meryl who is now going to the door.
A car rolled in.
“It’s Lou.”
They both exhaled.
Meryl opened the door just as Lou got out.
Hugs.
“You’re early,” Meryl scolded.
“I know. But better me than Mamie, right?”
Meryl smiled.

“Hi, Marty.” Lou hugged him too. “You nervous? You should be.” She says with a smirk.
“Well, I am now,” Marty laughed.
“Louisa, don’t start. I’m already on edge. Don’t push it.”
“I was kidding!”
Lou and Marty exchanged glances.
“I’m going to check the drinks,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
“Can I help?” Louisa asks.
He turned back, surprised—and pleased.
“Sure.”
They disappeared into the kitchen together, leaving Meryl to finish the table—heart pounding, but full of hope.

In the Kitchen

Marty and Louisa are checking drinks when the gate buzzes again.
Now, it's the real deal.
Louisa glances at the clock. “That’s Mamie, for sure. She’s always a bit early—even with the kids.”
Marty stiffens slightly. Nerves.
Lou notices. “You’ll be alright. She might look like she bites, but she softens. I’m rooting for you.”
“Thanks.”
They head to the entrance.

Two kids run straight into Louisa’s arms. “Hi, guys!” she laughs, hugging them.
Meryl’s already embracing Mamie near the door.
When they pull apart, Mamie spots Lou—and then Marty.
She wraps an arm around her mother’s waist and says nothing at first. There’s a beat of tension.
Meryl breaks it.
“Honey... this is Marty.”

Marty steps forward and she offers him a hand.
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
Mamie shakes it, eyes sharp but neutral. “Hi. We’ve met before... I just didn’t know you and Mom were... a thing.”
“Yeah... we had...”
Silence.
Then Meryl places a hand gently on Marty’s chest, a subtle cue—especially for Mamie.
“So... drinks all set?”
“Yes. Lou helped. And there’s juice for the kids. All ready.” He places his hand over hers, steady.

Moments later, the gate buzzes again.
Henry and his wife arrive—no kids this time. Then Grace and Mark pull up, all four entering together in a loud, cheerful blur.
Mamie stands with her daughter by the door. Marty stays toward the back.
Mark spots him first and approaches.
“Hi... I’m Mark. Grace’s husband.”
“Nice to meet you,” Marty says, shaking his hand.
Grace glances over. Meryl walks to Marty and rests both hands on his shoulders.
“This is Marty,” she says to the room. “I wanted everyone here tonight so you could meet him. Officially. I know some of you met him already—by chance.”
Grace steps forward and kisses him on the cheek. So does Henry’s wife.
Henry is last. Marty can’t help but think how much he looks like Don.
“Hello again,” Henry says, smiling. “Sorry... the other day, I was completely clueless.”
“Oh, of course,” Marty replies. They shake hands warmly.

Lou claps her hands lightly. “Alright—what does everyone want to drink? Me and Marty are in charge!” She puts her hands on Marty's shoulders.
Meryl beams. She loves what Lou is doing.
Everyone calls out orders, and Marty and Lou head back to the kitchen.

As they walk, she places a hand on his back.
“I got you.”
Marty glances over, grateful. “Thanks. I think that went well.”
“Now we bring out the wine...” she smirks. “Get ready for chaos.”
Marty raises his brows.

The Dinner

Dinner goes surprisingly well.
Lou and Grace are clearly on Team Marty. Mamie’s more guarded—watching. Henry’s observing everything.

What no one can miss, though, is how happy Meryl is. The way they look at each other.
This gets to Mamie.
The way her mother watches Marty when he talks—eyes soft, full of something unmistakable.
Love.
And Marty is such a gentleman. Funny, everybody expected. But then, they expected loud. And he isn't. He's grounded. Gentle. Warm.

“You know,” Mark says at one point, “I have to say it—I love your work, sir. Everything you do.”
“Please,” Marty smiles, “don’t call me sir. It’s Marty. And thank you.”
“Mark’s obsessed,” Grace adds. “Since he saw the old SNL clips, he’s been binging.”
“You’ve been watching SNL?”
“Yeah,” Mark replies. “Lorne Michaels asked me to produce the 50th anniversary concert, so I’m watching everything I can.”
“Really? Oh yeah—I had dinner with Lorne a few months ago. He said he was looking for a hotshot producer. So... it’s you.”
Mark grins. “Apparently. It’s a huge honor... but a huge task. I’m feeling the pressure.”
“You’ll crush it,” Marty says. “And you’ve got time.”
“There’s a celebration?” Henry asks.
“Yes. Fifty years of SNL. There’ll be a concert—the one Mark’s producing—and a special episode with a ton of returning cast. Big event.”
“You know...” Grace turns to Mamie. “Mamie used to love you when she was a kid.”
Mamie shoots her a death glare.
“She watched Father of the Bride like a hundred times,” Henry laughs, remembering. “She’d imitate Franck constantly!”
“Oh my god,” Meryl gasps, covering her mouth. “The wedding planner!”
Mamie shifts, clearly uncomfortable.
“She’d babble nonstop in that accent,” Henry says. “Drove us all nuts.”

Mamie sighs. “You know…even now, when I’m buying something navy or black, I still hear Franck in my head—‘Armani doesn’t make navy blue suits.’”
Marty bursts into laughter. Meryl isn’t getting.
“It really doesn’t!” he says, slipping into Franck’s voice.
Mamie can’t help it—she smiles.
Grace and Louisa exchange glances, quietly pleased.
Meryl frowns. “What are you two even talking about?”
“Forget it mom…too hard to explain!” Mamie says.
Meryl stands and begins clearing plates. Marty immediately gets up to help.
Both leaving to the kitchen.

At the table, the kids exchange glances.
“I’m Marty’s team,” Louisa says.
“And you hide it so well,” Mamie quips.
“I’m with him too,” Grace adds.
“I waited to hear my wife’s take,” Mark chimes in. “But yeah... he’s great.”
“I see Mom really happy,” Henry says. “And I like how he is with her. I think he’s in love with her.”
“They both are, silly,” Henry’s wife says.
“We just met him two hours ago—” Mamie starts.
“But you like him too,” Grace cuts in gently. “I can tell.”

Mamie’s about to respond when they hear voices coming back from the kitchen.

Marty enters—one of Mamie’s kids clinging to his leg like a koala.
He drags his foot as he walks.

“Oh... there’s one more on Marty’s team,” Grace whispers.
Mamie watches.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
The kid giggles.
“What? Oh—I hadn’t noticed. A wild koala’s latched on to me!”
The kid runs off, laughing.
Meryl laughs too, shaking her head.

Later
The dinner is a full success.
Meryl is beyond happy. Her children have met Marty—and they liked him.
Even Mamie.
When it’s time to leave, she kisses Marty on the cheek and offers a small hug.
Then she hugs her mother tightly and whispers in her ear:
“I like him.”
Meryl hugs her back, even tighter.
“Thank you.”

Marty was already in bed, reading, when Meryl appeared at the door, wearing silk pajamas. She slipped inside quietly, nestling close against him. He slid an arm around her and gently set his book aside before reaching over to switch off the lamp. The room dimmed, the only light spilling in from outside, casting a soft glow.
Her eyes searched his face, questioning.
“I should be the one wanting to hear things,” he whispered.
“Tell me… what do you think? How did it go?” she asks.
“Well… I think it went very well. But you’re their mother—you tell me.” He kissed her hair.
Meryl exhaled deeply, her head resting on his chest. Smiling.
"Excuse me... I'm waiting..."
“They liked you. All of them.” She murmurs.
“All?” he asked, eyes wide.
She nodded. “Hum-hum. Of course you already have fans…Lou, definitely. Grace too. Mark really respects your work, and admires you.”
“And Henry?”
“Henry’s a sweet boy—quiet, reserved, but he likes you. And Mamie…”
Meryl’s smile faltered playfully.
“Uh-oh.”
“She’s a little harder to read. Likes to keep people at bay until she decides.”
“Hummm”
“But…” Meryl laughed softly “Before she left, she told me she liked you.”
Marty’s breath caught. “Really?” She nods “ Wow… that’s a big win. Right?”
“Hum-hum.”
He pulled her closer, kissing her temple.

"You know that the day after tomorrow I'm flying to New York, right?" She says.
"For the Sophie's choice special screening."
"Yes."
"40 years...how can that even be possible..."
She exhales.
"I'm 40 years older..." Marty hears a bit of sadness.
"40 years sexier." He kisses her while pulling her to him and sliding his hand to her bottom.
"I can always count on you, to make me feel that way."
"You can...but you are...I'm just saying so."
Her fingers slide down between them under the soft fabric of his pajamas. She felt the steady hardening of him beneath her touch, and began to stroke lightly, savoring the warmth. Feeling the length...Feeling the largeness.

“Mmm… that hand,” he murmured.
"Do you like my hand?" She squeezes him gently.
He jerked with a low moan, lips parting against hers. “Yes… so much…”
Her hand traced the length, slipping him free from the confines of his pajama pants, loving the firmness and warmth of him.
“I love to touch you,” she said, her voice breathy. “To know I’m doing this to you…”
“Getting me hard just by breathing?” he teased, voice thick.
She giggled, her touch steady and sure.
“Yes. I love that you're mine. Are you mine Marty??”
She asks while squeezing again and getting a loud groan with a "Oooooh" out of him, the sound vibrating between them. “All yours.”
She grins.
Their breathing quickened. His hand slid beneath her pajamas, tracing the bare curve of her breast, cupping the fullness gently, fingertips searching until they found her nipples, hardening beneath his touch. She shivered, a slow, delicious pant.
“You said you’d never sleep with me clothed” she murmured.
He grinned against her skin. “I’m sorry…I’m about to fix that.”
With practiced ease, they shed their pajamas until only skin met skin, warm and electric. She pressed into him, feeling his weight, his heat.
“I love your body,” she whispered. “Your skin on mine.”
“There's nothing I love more than to be naked with you.” he breathed into her neck.
“And I love your weight on me… come on top.”
He does. Eyes locked on his as he guided her.
“Open for me,” he whispered.
She obeyed, spreading wide, the heat between them thick and intoxicating. His cock brushed her inner thigh, sending a thrill coursing through both of them.
“This feels so good,” he murmured between kisses. “God, Meryl, the way you move…”
She smiled against his lips. “You’re making me wet.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Are you attracted to me?” She chuckled.
“What do you think?”
“I don't know...Tell me…” he says while rubbing himself on her
His hands moved over her skin, one hand sliding down her leg, pulling her closer, lips trailing from her neck to her breasts. She moaned softly, the world shrinking to just this moment.
“I’m so attracted to you,” she said, voice low and rough. “Your energy, your want… makes me so damn horny.”
“Oh, baby…”

“I love that you’re mine. I love seeing you want me. I like thinking about us…making love…”

He thrust inside her then, slow and deep. Her words making him want her so bad.
She arched back, breathless, skin alive with his touch.
“You’re so deliciously tight.”
“You’re so deliciously large.”
“Meryl…” he whispered, setting a steady pace. “You’re fucking perfect.”
She grinned, lost in him.
God she just loves this. He turns her on so much. Moves the right way. Says the right things. Fucks her just right!
“Come on top.” He asks.
Before she moves he turns the light on.
She moved, straddling him as he rolled onto his back, sliding in again. Her breasts bounced with each motion.
"Did you turn on the light so you could see my tits bouncing?" She’s cupping them and moving already.
"Yes...and your face...while i fuck you and make you come."
"I'm on top...I'm fucking you Marty."
His hands glide up her belly, reaching for her breasts—but she stops him, a teasing smile on her lips.
“No,” she whispers, holding them herself, fingers splayed to frame her nipples just for him.
“Fuck, Meryl… you are so beautiful.”
One of his hands slips to her ass, gripping it firmly, while the other caresses her mound—two fingers tracing downward, spreading her just enough to take in the view of her glistening folds.
“Marty…” she breathes, bending forward, hands braced on the bed, breasts swaying free beneath her. Then she rises again, her body moving over him, her breasts bouncing with each thrust.
His thumbs are pressed into her hipbones and fingers digging into her ass, he guides her rhythm, helping her move harder, deeper.
Then he reaches up, cupping her breasts eagerly, fingers kneading the soft weight as he arches into her.
“God, I love your tits, Meryl… and your nipples… I love sucking on them,” he groans, pinching them gently, eliciting a gasp from her.
She moans, quickening her pace, grinding into him, her pleasure mounting.
“Oh God… I’m going to come… Marty…”
Her head falls back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut as she shudders around him, clenching tight, moaning loud and raw.
He watches her, completely transfixed—awed by her beauty, her power, the way she surrenders to pleasure.
The woman who belonged to him.
When she collapsed onto his chest, breath ragged, he stroked her hair, waiting for her to calm.
Then he flipped her over, his hands sure and gentle, sliding inside her once more.
No words.
She wraps her arms around him, pulling him to her.
“I love you so much, Marty,” she whispered, voice thick with need.
He kissed her softly, thrusting deep, slow, but so deep.
“Do you like how deep I am?” he breathed into her ear already knowing the answer.
Thrusts.
She pants. He grins.
"Yes...oh Marty, yes...keep going..."
He smiled against her skin.
“I was going to go down on you,” he said, voice husky. “But you feel so good like this.”
"Don't go...I want you inside of me."
"Do you?"
She breathed, grabbing his face.
“Marty… I love you… but shut up and fuck me!” She kisses him.
He grinned and obeyed.
Increases the pace. Steady.
Then harder and faster until he comes hard.
"Fuck! God Meryl...you're so good! Oh fuck!"

Chapter 19: grammys

The next day was the Grammys.

“Marty… stop… fuck… you’re gonna make me come—late—fuck…”
His face is buried between her legs, and it’s been there for a while. She’s already come three times.

Twenty minutes earlier, she was getting ready. Marty lay on the bed, glasses on, reading.

But she wanted his eyes on her.
She was in nothing but her lingerie, standing by the mirror, checking her reflection—and his. He hadn’t looked up. She twisted her lips in annoyance, squinting slightly.
She was planning to wear white. An all-white suit. The lingerie was simple: nude, barely there.
“I don’t know…If the jacket dips a little, the bra’s going to start showing,” she murmured, adjusting her breasts inside the cups.
He looks up one time and continues to read. He’d promised not to disturb her.
She looks at him on the mirror.
He's not looking.
She walked over to the closet and came back with another bra. This one was nude too, but lace, with more cleavage.

She stripped off the first one.
“Maybe I should go without a bra,” she said casually, squeezing her breasts together, watching herself again.
He glanced up, briefly. Exhaled. Then shook his head and went back to his book.
“Meryl… if you want me to fuck you, just come over here and I’ll do it.”
She froze, lips parting in mock offense. His tone was flat, uninterested—even as he didn’t look up again.
“You know,” she said, eyes narrowing, “I’m a little shocked by your smug tone.”
“You told me not to interrupt you. In any way.”
His eyes never left the page.
She glared at him through the mirror. “I didn’t tell you to act bored while I’m standing here in my lingerie.”
Now he closed the book.
Set the glasses on the nightstand.
She raised a brow when he stood and casually ran a hand through his hair.
Uh-oh. She knew that look.
“Marty…” she warned, pointing at him like he was misbehaving, her palm up in a stop gesture.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate, then pulled her into his arms—firmly, but gently.
She let out a surprised laugh. “Stop it! Marty—no!”
He laid her back on the bed. She tried to sit up, still laughing, but he was already sliding her panties down.
“Nooo… I’m going to be late…”
“Shhh.” His voice was calm.
His mouth hovered near her face, and she shrieked, throwing her hands up to protect her makeup.
“I already did my face!”
“I know,” he murmured.
He kissed down her body, slow and teasing, his mouth hot on her thighs. Her pulse kicked up—she knew what was coming.

He parted her legs, pressing soft kisses everywhere but where she wanted him most. Teasing. Toying.
“Marty…” she moaned, squirming under him. “I need to get ready…”
“I am getting you ready,” he said against her skin.
Then his tongue found her—slow, then deeper. His fingers joining, filling her, coaxing another climax from her body like it was his favorite game.

Meryl arrived late to the Grammy Awards. The ceremony was already underway, and the host was mid-monologue— talking about her being seated at her table.

She rushed to her table, apologizing to the host who was thrilled to see her arriving.
She was glowing. Marty had made her come four times before she even left the house.
"Where were you?" Grace hissed, leaning in. Mamie gave her the same look.
“Sorry—traffic was hellish,” Meryl whispered back, catching her breath.
Grace rolled her eyes.

And just like that, Meryl Streep once again stole the Grammys. Her entrance. Her outfit. That undeniable glow. She joked with her son in law, charmed the crowd, and made the headlines—again.

A few days later, she flew to New York for a special screening of Sophie’s Choice, marking the film’s 40th anniversary.

The next morning, her phone rang. It was 9:30 AM in New York.
"Marty?" she answered, still in bed. "You're up early. Do you have to work today?"
"Hi. Good morning. No. I just… wanted to talk to you."
"Is something wrong?"
"No, no, nothing’s wrong. I have a proposal."
"A proposal?" Her voice perked up with curiosity.
"Yes. A getaway."
"A getaway?"
"You and me. Nine days. Just us."
"What?!" She sat up, startled—flustered, surprised… maybe even excited.
"You heard me. What do you think?" he asked, trying not to sound too eager. He knew she wouldn’t say yes right away.
"Nine days?! Where? I mean—where is this coming from? I don’t know..."
She started pacing. Going away with him? Like… a couple?
"It’s coming from me wanting to spend time with you. Away from the cities. Away from our country. Just the two of us. Nothing to worry about. Besides, we’re starting to film again soon—we should have a break before that.”
“Like a vacation?”
“Like whatever you want to call it.”
“Where?”
“Look…I know beaches aren’t exactly your thing,” he began gently, “but this place— is very exclusive. Very private. A hidden paradise. Private villas, private pool, five-minute walk to a private beach. Barely anyone around. Warm water. Warm air.”
She bit her lower lip, already imagining it.
“I have very pale skin.”
“I’m aware.”
“I get sunburned easily.”
“There’s shade. And high SPF sunscreen.”
“I have the SAGs on the 24th.”
“You’ll be back in plenty of time.”
“This is all so sudden!”
“Okay. I tried,” he said softly. She heard the breath he let out—tinged with disappointment.
“Wait—when would we leave?”
“In three days. Not counting today.”
“What? Forget it.”
“Why?”
“You think I can pack for a nine-day trip in two days?”
“You’ll be back in LA in just a few hours. That gives you two full days.”
“I have to figure out what to wear for summer. In some… paradise location…”
“I’ve seen your closet. You’ll survive. But hey—no pressure. It’s fine.”
Silence.
He waited.
Then—quietly: “I want to go.”
“Hm?”
“You’re crazy, Marty. But yes. I want to go.”
He smiled wide, even though she couldn’t see it. “Everything’s ready. Private jet. Just bring swimsuits. Bikinis—”
She laughed. “Bikinis? I don’t wear bikinis. Even swimsuits… I’m afraid you’ll be too horny around me.”
He chuckled. “You know… dresses, maybe?”
She was grinning now. A vacation with Marty. That actually sounded… thrilling.

They hung up soon after. But Marty couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said—about him being too horny around her.
Was she joking? Teasing? Or… hinting at something? Maybe he’d been too much. Maybe he touched her too often. He wasn’t sure anymore. He just wanted this trip to be perfect. A dream. For both of them.

Travel Day

They're in the back of an SUV, hand in hand, both wearing sunglasses. Having flown in by private jet from LA, they’re now en route to the resort. The windows are down slightly. Warm air. Exotic scents. Their fingers are loosely laced, resting between them.

She glances at him, smiling softly. He leans over and kisses her cheek.
One year ago, she couldn’t have imagined this—on a romantic getaway with a man who adores her, in a dreamlike place that doesn’t feel real.

They arrive.
A staff member is already waiting for them at the entrance, greeting them with chilled drinks before whisking them away in a golf cart toward their villa.
The path is quiet. They see no one. They share amused glances.
As if reading their minds, the driver says, “We only have fifteen villas. No suites, no apartments. Each one is completely private. Of course, you may see other guests around the beach or the restaurant, but your space is entirely yours.”
They reach the villa.

Two bedrooms. A vast living space with panoramic sea views, floor-to-ceiling windows, a private pool with a sun terrace. A full kitchen. Two bathrooms. Seclusion and elegance wrapped in sunlight.

“Tonight, you’re welcome to dine at our restaurant, or here. We can cook on-site or deliver dinner ready to serve.”
Meryl looks at Marty, then gestures with a finger to indicate they’ll stay in.
“We’ll dine here,” Marty confirms. “We’ll order.”
“Of course, sir. And if there’s anything you need, anything at all, just call. We want your stay to be perfect.”
Their bags arrive shortly after.
“Would you like help unpacking?”
Meryl shakes her head politely. “No need, thank you.”

The staff member continues, “There’s a path from your terrace down to the beach—resort property, completely private. About halfway down the beach, a path intersects and leads around the perimeter, away from the villas. At the far end, there’s a coded gate that leads to a nearby village.”
“Excellent. Thank you,” Marty says.

Once alone, they explore the villa like curious children. The master suite overlooks the sea, its windows wide open to the world. Outside, the breeze carries the scent of salt and flowers. The terrace holds a large sunbed by the pool.
“Marty... this is incredible. Where did you even find this?”

“Actually, Rita…Wilson called me. She and Tom had a reservation but couldn’t make it. She knew I was planning to invite you somewhere, so she thought it would be perfect for us. They’ve been here a few times—she says it’s the only place they’ve ever felt truly private. Usually there’s a two-year wait.”

“Two years?! But Marty, this must cost a fortune. You must let me pay half.”
He looks genuinely offended. “Meryl. Please. I’m inviting you. Let’s not even go there.”
She smiles. “Thank you. God, I’m tired… aren’t you?”
“A bit, yeah. Let’s check the menu for dinner. I assume we want breakfast here too?” She nods. “We’ll eat early.”
“I’ll unpack. And maybe later, we could go down to the beach.”

Dusk

The sun is low, casting the sky in warm oranges and pale pinks. They walk down the private path to the beach, hand in hand. No one in sight.
A young couple lingers on sunbeds in the distance, but the beach is quiet.
They slip off their shoes to walk near the shore. The water is warm.
“Oh, I love it,” Meryl says, delighted.
They stroll slowly, their fingers intertwined. Later, they dine on their terrace, and go to bed early, exhausted from the day.

Morning

Marty wakes before sunrise. The villa is quiet, and Meryl is still asleep. He steps out onto the terrace, watching the sky brighten over the sea.
He calls reception to have breakfast brought in.
Soon there’s a soft knock. The food arrives just as Meryl stirs. She notices he’s not in bed, smells coffee.
They went to bed really early and talked about waking early and go to the beach, avoiding the high temperatures and sun.
She gets up and goes meet him with her silk nightgown on.
She finds him outside, setting the table.
“Good morning,” he says.
He turns and smiles.
“Hi… good morning. You weren’t in bed.”
“I know…I’m sorry.” They kiss. “Hungry?”
“Starving. Wow… they sent so much food.”
“Sit down.” He pulls out her chair. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He pours her a cup.
“So what’s the plan today?”
“Well,” he begins, “we talked about going to the beach after breakfast.” She nods. “And I booked us massages. Ninety minutes. Separate rooms.”
Her face lights up. “Ninety minutes? Marty… I love massages. Thank you.”
“Then lunch. Maybe some quiet time here. We could try the pool. Or take a walk.”
“Sounds amazing.”

Late Morning
They head to the beach. Meryl in a flowing blue kaftan, oversized hat, sunglasses. Marty in swim trunks and a tee.

The beach is empty again.
They choose two loungers far from the entrance. She slips off the kaftan, revealing a deep turquoise swimsuit. Low neckline. Elegant and sensual. Her curves perfectly framed.

Marty stares. She looks stunning.
She applies sunscreen to her legs and arms, then lowers the straps of her suit to get her chest.
“Need help… with your back?”
“Please.”
He removes his t-shirt. She eyes him—fit, healthy, just enough softness to feel real.
He kneels behind her, rubbing sunscreen gently into her shoulders, neck, upper back. Massaging lightly.
She makes a soft, satisfied sound.
“Could you also do my chest?”
She says it playfully, a mischievous glint in her voice he can’t see.
“Sure…”

He continues, more slowly. His hands move from shoulders downward, just brushing the top of her breasts. The straps are low. He sees more than usual.
He wants him to keep going down… there's no one around.
She wants his hands on her breasts.
But he thinks on her comment about him being always horny and around her, and…he stops.
“I think you’re protected enough.”
He stands up.
She’s surprised. And—did he not even compliment the swimsuit?

“Want me to do your back?” she asks.
“Sure. This is a very ‘couple’ thing, isn’t it? Some people might get married just for sunscreen privileges.”

She laughs. “Come here.”
He sits in front of her. She opens her legs, wrapping them around him. He gently caresses them.
She kisses his back in little places before applying the lotion.
“I really love your body,” she whispers.
He smiles, loving her comment.

After, they lay on their lounges, reading quietly. The temperature is just right. Still no one around.
An hour or so goes on…
“I’m still amazed—how can we be alone on this beach?” she murmurs.
“Yeah. Want to try the water?”
She hesitates, then nods.
They wade in. The water is warm, glassy. She dives, surfacing like a goddess. Sunlight sparkles in her wet hair.
Her air wet, the sun on her face. This amazing beach. Them, all alone in the ocean.
“Oh my god, the water is amazing!”
She floats, dives again, swims like a child in joy.
Just happy. So happy. All because of him.
He chuckles and then dives too.
"So good" He says.
She reaches for him, kisses him. Legs around his waist, arms around his neck.
The kiss is deep. Tongue. Desire. Connection.
Her hand on his neck and the other on his back.
This kiss in the water, in this paradise. Perfect.
“I don’t remember the last time I did this,” she says breathlessly.
“Gone to the beach?”
“Swam in the ocean. Kissed someone in the ocean. Like this. I don’t know… forty years ago?”
“Let’s not waste any more time then.”
They kiss again. Her body against his. Her breasts pressing into him.
He grows hard. He starts to lower her, not wanting her to notice.
He breaks the kiss and pulls away.
She blinks.
What is this? Why is he pulling away?
“Is everything okay? Are you… enjoying this?”
“Yes,” he says quickly, and then dives under.
She watches him swim away.
What was that? That didn’t feel like him.
She walks out of the water, dries off. A couple approaches. Polite, unrecognizing.
“Good morning.” The man says.
“Good morning,” she replies, laying back down.
Marty joins her shortly, kissing her arm before settling into his lounger.
“We’ve got company.”
“He said good morning. But i don't think he realized who i was.
“They’re far.”
“Yeah.”
They stay another hour.
“We’ve got massages soon. Want to head up? Shower, change?”
“Sure.”

After changing, they head to the spa. Each is greeted by a female masseuse. The massage lasts 90 minutes, with time afterward to rest in silence and enjoy a cup of tea.
Meryl leaves first. From a distance, she sees Marty talking with the woman who gave him the massage. They’re giggling. Then the woman walks away, and Marty watches her as she leaves.
Wait. Was he checking her out?
Meryl’s heart stutters, a strange twist in her stomach—disappointment. She has never seen him look at another woman like that. Then she thinks back to the way he acted on the beach earlier. Is he losing interest?

He notices her and walks over, smiling.
“Hi!” she says, and he greets her with a light kiss on the cheek.
“Hi. How was your massage?”
“Wonderful. Yours?”
“Oh... amazing. That woman’s hands—my god. I could’ve gone on forever.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly irritated, but tries not to show it. She slips on her sunglasses.
“Good.”
“I’m starving. That massage really opened up my appetite. I think I’ll order pasta. Are we eating in?” He reaches to hold her hand, but she pulls it away subtly, pretending to adjust her shades, then walks ahead of him.
“Yes.”

They eat lunch inside. Meryl is quiet. Marty talks a little, trying to fill the silence.
She keeps wondering—maybe she misread everything. Why would he bring her here if he were losing interest? Maybe she’s just overthinking.
“Meryl?” he says, pulling her from her thoughts. “Is everything okay? You’re not enjoying your stay?”
“I’m sorry… yes, I am. I was just… thinking.” She yawns. “I’m sleepy. We got up early. And the massage…”
“Do you want to lie down a bit? It’s very hot out. We could nap, and later maybe go to the pool or the beach. I was thinking we could try the restaurant tonight.”
“Yes.” She yawns again.
They head to the bedroom. She lies down on the bed, and he joins her. She turns to face him. He turns to her too and brushes a hand gently across her cheek.
“You’re so beautiful.”
She smiles. Moves closer.
“Kiss me.”
He does. Slowly, savoring her lips, then her tongue. He knows what happens as soon as he feels her tongue—his body responds. He tries to hide his arousal, shifting his hips slightly away from her. But he keeps kissing her, hands softly caressing her arms, though they ache to reach for more. Her tongue is teasing, inviting—God, he wants her.

But she said she was tired. So he slows the kiss, ending it with a few soft pecks, then pulls back.
Again, she notices. Again, she wonders. So not him. So not them.

“I’m going to make a call,” he says, and leaves the room.

He hopes she’s feeling comfortable. It’s the first time they’ve spent so many uninterrupted days together. Normally it’s three, four days max. He wants to give her space—but he hates it. He wants to make love to her. He wants her. That moment in the water earlier—it felt so right.

Shit.

Back in the room, Meryl lies in bed, thoughts swirling. Marty’s flirtation with the masseuse. His sudden restraint. Could the fire really be fading? Maybe he brought her here to reignite it. She’s so deep into this relationship now she can’t bear the thought of it ending. This—this is exactly why she never wanted to go public.

Later that evening, they’re finishing getting ready for dinner.

Marty is waiting for her in beige chinos and a crisp white linen shirt.
Meryl emerges in a long navy blue kaftan with shimmering gold accents. A deep, dramatic neckline. Her hair is pinned up, and she smells of salt and flowers. Her sun-kissed skin glows.

“Wow... you look beautiful,” he says.
He rises, places his hands gently on her waist, and kisses her. But he feels the tension in her body. Sensing her hesitation, he lets go and pulls away.

They walk to the restaurant holding hands—his grip firm. She finds comfort in the strength of it. At least there’s that.
They’re seated at an ocean-view table. She glides through the restaurant gracefully. The young couple from the beach is buried in their phones. One couple glances briefly, uninterested. A third pair, however, exchange hushed words and sideways glances—recognition flickering on their faces. They whisper about Marty and Meryl being together. But they do nothing and resume their dinner.

Marty pulls out Meryl’s chair and places a gentle kiss on her neck.
“You smell wonderful.”
She touches the spot he kissed and gazes at him. He’s smiling, looking at her with that familiar expression—full of love.
“Marty…” she pauses, “Let’s get drunk tonight.”
He chuckles. “Oh, baby… sure.” Though there’s something in her tone that makes him hesitate.

They’re back to laughing, talking non-stop, flirting shamelessly—no hands, not in public. But his eyes linger on her cleavage, and she sees it. He’s definitely thinking about her body. They’re having fun again.
She laughs loud enough to turn heads. She covers her mouth with her hands.
“Well, so much for being incognito!” Marty jokes.
She orders another bottle of wine. He eyes her with amusement and a bit of concern.
“You weren’t kidding about getting drunk.”
“We’re on vacation. We’re not driving.”
“Sure. I’m all in.”
“That’s exactly where I want you—all in.”
“Meryl…” he starts to respond, but the waiter arrives with the wine. She bites her lower lip while it’s poured. Marty tastes it, nods. Her glass is filled, then his.
“What shall we toast to?” she asks.
“To the freckles that appear on your skin when you catch the sun.”
Her eyes widen with surprise, then she smiles, bashful.
“You like my freckles?”
“I may have to count them… all of them.”
She draws in a slow breath. There he is. The Marty she loves. Flirty. Playful. Wanting her.
She gazes at him, curious.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks
“You. I’m thinking about you.” She sips.
“Me? What about me?”

They’re interrupted by dessert—one arrives in flames. Heads turn again.

She laughs loudly at Marty’s face, flushed with embarrassment. It was his dessert.
“We’re putting on quite the show!” he teases.

They finish dessert, the wine, the talking, the laughing. She tries to order a third bottle, but he gently refuses.
“We’ll drink at the villa, if you want.”
She’s already tipsy. He wants to leave before it escalates.
They laugh all the way back. At one point, she stops and kisses him—hungry, wanting.
He wraps an arm around her waist.
“Marty.”
“Hmm?”
“Is the villa still far?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m feeling tired.”
Now that she’s walking, the alcohol really hits her.
He laughs. “It’s not far.”
“Good.”
Back at the villa, she groans, “I don’t think I want to drink more.”
“Yeah, probably for the best. Let’s get to bed.”
He helps her undress, slips her into her nightgown, tucks her in, kisses her shoulders.
“Thank you, Marty.”
She’s asleep in seconds.
He smiles, undresses, and slides in beside her. Scrolls his phone a bit, then turns off the light.

Chapter 20: francesca

Next day, noon.

Meryl wakes up, surprised by how bright the room is. Marty isn’t in bed. Again.
She checks her phone.
Midday. Oh no.
Then she remembers—drinks, laughter, the restaurant, coming back… and passing out.
Damn it.
They were flirting so much. She wanted to make love. Was so sure he did too. And then she blew it.
She gets up and looks around. No sign of him inside.
Then she spots him. Outside, in the pool, sunglasses on.
She steps out. She's honestly feeling a bit ashamed.
He sees her.
“Good morning.”
He smiles, still in the water. “Hi… though the morning part is long gone.”
“I’m sorry!”
He climbs out, wet and glistening, looking impossibly sexy.
“For what?”
“Well… let’s see: getting drunk, falling asleep, and waking up at noon.”
He kisses her.
“You’re on vacation. Exactly what you should be doing. Relax.”
He caresses her arms, then walks past her into the house.
“I’ll order breakfast for you. Maybe a second one for myself!”
God, she thinks. He’s been up for hours, and still… he’s being this sweet.
“Thank you. I’m going to shower.”

After finishing their meal, they head to the main building of the resort. Meryl had noticed a boutique with clothes earlier, and Marty wants to ask about the available activities.
Meryl enters the shop. It's empty.
The place only carries swimsuits, bikinis, flowing maxi dresses—everything beach-oriented. She decides to buy a new dress. A young shop assistant helps her choose.
Afterward, Meryl walks toward the main entrance. From a distance, she spots Marty talking to the woman who gave him the massage. She halts.
They're laughing. He's fully engaged, attentive. The woman, all smiles.
Meryl watches for a moment. Then the woman leaves, and Marty watches her walk away.
Jealousy flares. But more than that—it’s that strange feeling again.
Last night was good. Or so she thinks. Well, except for passing out drunk.
Marty is walking toward her now.
“Shopping?” he asks.
“Yes. I bought a new dress.”
“Oh? To wear here?”
“Yes. Was that the woman who gave you the massage?”

“Yeah. Look, in the reception they mentioned they offer a nearby wildlife tour with a private guide.”
Did he just change the subject?
“Hmm. That could be interesting.” Her voice strange.
“We can decide later. Want to ask them to bring us a salad for lunch? Maybe relax by the pool or on the terrace?”
She nods, looking uninterested.
Now Marty is really starting to wonder if this trip was a mistake. Too many days in a place like this. Maybe she’s bored. With the location. With him.
They return to the villa and have a light lunch on the terrace.
Meryl stays in the shade, reading. Marty reads, too.
Later, they get ready for dinner, once again choosing the restaurant.

Marty waits for her, listening to a podcast.
Meryl appears wearing a long, deep green silk wrap dress with a palm leaf print—the new one. A plunging neckline. The silk clings to her curves…gluing to her breasts, floating as she walks. Each step reveals her leg, way up her thigh... really up...

She bought it for him.
Her hair is tied in a low ponytail. She smells like salt and citrus and something soft. Her skin very lightly tanned, gold bracelets circling her wrist.

Marty looks up at her. Her expression is unreadable. She looks like a goddess.
He stands.
“That’s the new dress?”
He can tell she's not wearing a bra.
“Mmhmm,” she replies, fiddling with her bracelets, avoiding his gaze.
He reaches out and takes her wrist. She finally looks at him.
“You look incredibly sexy.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles.
She’s not sure if she's surprised or not to hear desire in his voice.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, open at the collar. He smells good—familiar and intimate.
“Shall we?” she asks.
He gestures for her to lead the way.

As she enters the restaurant, heads turn again. The dress flows around her like water. Marty walks just behind.
They're shown to the same table—the best one. With a view, and some privacy.

He orders wine. She orders water.
He looks at her.
“No wine?”
“After yesterday? I’d better not.”
“That’s a shame. I like you a little tipsy.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“And passed out in bed?”
“You didn’t pass out. You were tired. You fell asleep.”
“Well, I drank too much. That’s not how I like my nights to end.”
“I didn’t expect it to end that way either,” he says, chuckling softly. Then, gentler: “Still, I always want you to do what you want.”
She watches him. But then she notices the massage therapist, now serving another table.
“Isn’t that your masseuse?”
He glances back.
“Yeah. She said she worked in the restaurant too.”
“She did?” Meryl’s voice tightens.
“Yeah. Works 18 hours a day. She’s Canadian.”
“How do you know so much about her?”
He exhales.
“I don’t know. I guess I felt awkward having a woman massage me for 90 minutes. I talked to ease the situation. It’s dumb, I know—it’s their job. But I noticed her accent, and we got talking. She knew who I was, but never said anything. Told me she hasn’t been home in three years. Her teenage son’s in Canada, staying with her parents. I mean, not a cheerful story."
Meryl feels her stomach twist. All this time she’d assumed the worst. But he was just being... kind.
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah... but she said she’s going back after the summer.”
Meryl exhales.
“You know what? I think I will have a glass of wine.”
He’s surprised.
“Nice call.” He pours.
The chilled white wine feels perfect. Refreshing, comforting. Warms her up almost instantly.

Dinner flows easily, but not like the night before. Not flirty. Not electric. Just fine.
But “fine” has never been what they are.
And maybe, Meryl thinks, “fine” is what they’ve become.

Marty, on the other hand, is trying to figure out what went wrong—and how to fix it. He wishes she’d drink more, loosen up a little. But then again, last night didn’t go as planned either.
He’s starting to fear that by the end of this trip, things between them will cool off… rather than ignite, like he intended.

With the end of the dinner, they walk back to the villa making small talk—something neither of them is good at.
They’re good at witty, truthful, funny conversations.
This? This isn’t them.

Back inside, Marty hesitates. Meryl walks out to the terrace.
The night is warm, with a dry breeze that breaks the heat just enough.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asks.
“A walk?”
“Yes. Those wooden walkways they mentioned. They’re lit the whole way.”
She considers.
More small talk?
“Sure.”
They head down the path from their terrace to the beach and find the boardwalk.
It's long. In wood and with small lights at the bottom.
The breeze whispers around them. Warm air, stirred just enough.
They walk in silence.

A couple passes by in the opposite direction, offering a quiet “Good evening.” Just silhouettes. The lights only illuminate the path, not faces.
They return the greeting.
Marty takes her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.
She exhales.
She loves his touch. Misses it.
They walk quietly for a while, then reach a small wooden gate.
“This must be the edge of the property. Look, here’s the code.” He types it in.
“Should we go back?”
“We could… or we could keep going. I think the path leads to a small village.”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
He snaps a photo of the gate code.
The boardwalk curves closer to the ocean now. They hear more voices—another family passing. Again, just shapes, no faces.
They greet them in the local language.
Marty responds in the local language too. Meryl giggles.
“Oh my God! No one can see us. I love this.”
He pulls her closer, an arm around her waist.
She leans into him, craving his nearness, aching for a kiss.
But he doesn’t. And that makes her sad.

Marty breathes her in—her scent, her skin, the warmth of her against him. He was going to kiss her. But something stopped him.
They walk on a little longer, then return.
Back through the gate.
The breeze picks up slightly. Her dress flows around her legs, lifting it up a little. She pushes it down.
“That reminds me of a scene from a movie,” he says.
“What?”
“The wind in your dress.”
She laughs. “A movie scene?”
They stop.
“Yes,” he says, voice lower. “One of the most erotic scenes I’ve ever watched.”
“Oh, then I probably haven’t seen it.” She smiles.
She leans against the wooden railing. He leans across from her, diagonal.
“Francesca,” he says, voice husky, “opening her dress to feel the wind on her body on a hot summer night…”
Ohhhh!
She swallows.
She can barely see his face, but she hears it—the want in his voice. Her heartbeat quickens.
Silence.
Complete silence in that whole darkness.
“You mean like this?” she whispers.
She turns to the side and unwraps her dress, letting it fall open to the breeze.
Green silk floating.

Marty's heart stops. It’s her, but it’s also that scene, brought to life.
He feels like he's in a parallel universe.
When he first saw it on screen, he had wished it wasn’t a body double. He had wanted the raw, real beauty... a frontal view of her.
Of course, she would never do that.

And now… here she is.
Her eyes are closed, head tilted back just slightly, skin kissed by moonlight.
She hears him approaching slowly, reverently — until he's right in front of her.
He stands there, looking at her body. Her bare breasts. Her beautiful body.
He gets close and she opens her eyes. Their gaze meets.

His hands find her breasts, and then his mouth follows.
She gasps, shivering as he kisses her — slow, deep, reverent — across her chest, her belly.
Feeling her, with his hands and with his lips, her skin, her warmth.
Goes up still kissing her.
“You just unlocked a whole new level of arousal in this universe,” he murmurs against her neck.

He pulls the dress gently from her hands, closing it to shield her from the night — but presses his body to hers, kissing her jaw, her shoulder, gripping her ass with both hands.
She doesn’t move. She just lets him. Breathes him in.
But then…
“Do you want Meryl Streep the actress... or me... just Meryl?”
He stops. Looks at her.
“What?”
She closes the dress, wrapping it again.

“Maybe you had a crush on the actress. Maybe now you’re... losing interest on me...because I’m not my characters, or the star Meryl Streep...”
“What?!”
He blinks, stunned. “I'm losing interest on you?!...and I want the actress??”
She looks down, then away.
He cups her arms.
“Meryl... where is this coming from? Why are you saying and thinking those things? I want you. You. The woman I got to know, laugh with, fall in love with.”
She rests her forehead against his chest.
“But we’re here, on this romantic trip, and you’ve barely touched me...you’ve pulled away numerous times…we just don’t seem ourselves! You hardly even kissed me.”
He starts to laugh — breathless and warm.
“Marty! It’s not funny.”

“You told me — on the phone — not to be too horny around you!”
Her head jerks up. “I said what?!”
“You said you didn’t want to feel pawed at the whole time. So I’ve been trying to control myself — I couldn’t even kiss you too long without... you know...”
Her eyes widen. “I was joking, Marty.”
He exhales, grinning now. “And you thought I wasn’t interested anymore? That I just wanted the movie version of you?”
He wraps his arms around her. Lowers his voice.
“Are you out of your mind?”
His hands slide to her ass, pulling her against him.
“Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to make love to you?”
She clings to him.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I was trying to behave! And I thought you were bored with me.”
“I love how horny I make you. You know that.”
“Do you?” he asks, kissing her neck, his hand slipping beneath the dress to caress her breasts.
“Yes.”
He groans. “I got hard the second I saw the slit in that dress — all the way up...”
His hand slides from her thigh to between her legs, cupping it.
She laughs, exasperated. “"I can't believe we spent three days annoyed at something we both wanted. How stupid was that!"
He grabs her hand, interlacing his fingers, and kisses it. “Let's go back to the villa.” He says with a sexy voice.

Back at the villa, the lights are low.
Meryl lets her dress fall as she walks toward the bedroom.
Marty follows, the image of her still vivid in his mind.
When he reaches the bedroom, she’s already lying naked on the bed — moonlight and pool light casting soft shadows across her skin.
He undresses slowly, watching her.
“Did you bring the lube?” she asks.

“I did. But we won’t need it tonight.”
He climbs into bed and starts kissing her.
“I’m going to get you wet myself.”

She exhales.
The second he says this she feels a pulse between her legs. God she loves the effect he has on her.
“You’re already making me wet,” she whispers.
“It’s only going to get better.”
Their mouths meet, slow and hungry. He strokes her hair, kisses her cheeks, whispers between breaths:
“I love you. I will never lose interest. Don’t ever think that again. I want all of you. Every part.”
"I want you too. I want you to want me...to say you want me…”She rubs her body against him, her voice low and wanting.” Show me you want me, Marty.”
He takes her hand and guides it to his cock — hard, aching.
“I want you so hard, Meryl!... Do you, want me?”
“So much.”
She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him deeper.
His lips trail down to her breasts. He sucks gently on her nipples, hardening them — making her gasp.
He goes up again to kiss her mouth and her neck. But his hand goes down to touch her where she wants him the most.
She feels his fingers parting her slick folds.
Gasps and lets out an "Ahhhh"
His fingers circle on her.
“See, I knew you would be this wet...and it's so good....”
“I love your fingers on me...”
He watches her face as his hand cups her cunt and his middle finger slides in, his thumb caressing her.
Her eyes flutter shut. Her back arches.
She moans softly with her eyes closed.
His mouth kissing her cheeks, her neck, her lips, her hair.
Just watching her. Just nurturing her with pleasure.
He licks his lips, craving more.
She swallows as he gently slides in and out, touching her just right.
Then he pulls away — just for a moment — to taste her on his fingers.
She moans in protest.
"I just want to taste you" He says on her ear, voice husky. “I couldn’t wait,”
She opens her eyes about time to see him lick his fingers.
Then he's back between her legs, touching her again — circling her clit, slow and deliberate.
His fingers tracing a path from her clit to her hole.
She's so wet and so close.
Her body quakes. She grips the sheets. Eyes closed.
He watching her.
“You’re close, baby. I can feel it.” He whispers.
"Ooooh"
"Oh yes...that's it... don't hold back Meryl..."
She gasps, back arching, thighs trembling — and then, with a cry of his name, she comes.
"Ooh Marty...oooh...Marty...oh god..."
"Oh baby...so good..."
She screams.
But he doesn’t stop. He feels her pulsating. All opened for him.
He touches her again — slow, teasing — coaxing another orgasm from her within seconds. She lets out a sharp, involuntary moan, clutching at his chest as the pleasure hits again like a wave.
Then she breathes into his ear:
“Get on top of me. Come inside me.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
His cock waiting. Dripping.
He rubs his cock through her slick folds, then slides inside — deep and slow.
He groans. “Fuck, Meryl...”
How he waited for this.
He stops for a second to control himself — savoring it — buried in her heat.
Closes his eyes.
He's touching her so deep he feels he's about to come.
She says nothing. She knows what he's doing.
Then he starts a pace. A slow steady pace.

She touches his arms, whispers, “I love your weight on me... your strength.”
He kisses her.
He’s moving — slow at first, then deeper. The rhythm building.
She wraps her legs around him, hands moving down his back to grip his ass, pulling him closer. Stretching her arm to feel him entering her, feeling his cock with her fingers.
He groans, loud and raw.
“Fuck... Meryl, you’re gonna make me come...”
He thrusts harder, faster, and comes deep inside her — his whole body tensing, trembling with release.

Later, they're lying together, naked, breathless, grinning.
Looking at each other. Talking. Laughing.
Him, caressing her arms and her breasts.
She teases him by covering her chest.
“Don’t do that,” he laughs, uncovering her, planting soft kisses on them.
“These are made to be seen.”
“Oh really? Should I just walk around topless now?”
“Only around me.”
She laughs. “Yes, sir.”
Then pulls him into a kiss.
“I don’t want to go anywhere tomorrow,” she says, cupping his face.
“I want to wake up, make love, eat breakfast…”
He grins. “Wait — go back. Wake up and what?”
“Make love, Marty.”
He kisses her again, deeper now.
“Hummm… That's what I thought I heard.”
“You know how much we love morning sex. And we’ve been skipping it lately.”
“The lady wants sex…” he grins, eyes sparkling. “Then the lady shall have it. And what about breakfast in bed?”
“No… breakfast outside. Let’s catch some sun, enjoy the pool… that magnificent bed we have out there. I want to stay here all day… just enjoying you.”
“Sounds perfect. And you’re not going to get bored?”
“I never get bored around you. You make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Not sure if that’s a compliment…”
She smiles. “It’s a huge compliment.”
“I’ll take it, then.”
They kiss. She yawns into it.
“Oh, so my kisses bore you?”
She slaps his arm. “Shut up.”
He kisses her hair.
“Let’s sleep.”
“Mmhmm.”
She curls into him, her hand resting on his chest.

Chapter 21: let the games begin

Morning

She wakes up first, sunlight spilling over the bed—they forgot to close the curtains.
Marty’s still fast asleep.
She slips on a robe, goes to the bathroom, then to the living room.
She’s brimming with energy. Everything between her and Marty has settled, and it lifts her mood.
She lounges on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, letting him sleep a bit longer.
Then she picks up her book.

A while later, she hears the bathroom flush.
She sets the book aside, waiting for him to appear.
He doesn’t. Strange—did he go back to sleep?

“Come back to bed right now, Miss Streep! Promises have been broken!” he shouts from the bedroom.

She laughs.
Gets up, grinning, and walks to the bedroom.
He’s lying on his stomach, arms spread, completely naked.
She leans against the doorframe, smiling mischievously, admiring his body.

“What are you talking about?”
He lifts his head, eyes locking on hers.
“There you are. Come here.”
She walks to his side, and he grabs her robe belt, pulling her onto the bed.
“Good morning, Miss Streep.”
He kisses her and starts opening her robe.
“Good morning.”
She shrugs off the robe.
She gets in and he spoons her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling the sheets over them. She closes her eyes.
“Why’d you leave the bed?”
“You were sleeping.”
“Yeah…I was feeling tired.”
“Feeling better now?”
“Oh… much better.”

He starts kissing her neck, one hand resting just above her pubis, pulling her closer.
“What did you say last night?”
“I said a lot of things.” she teases.
“About this morning…”

His penis rubbing on her ass, already twitching and becoming hard.
“That I wanted to eat breakfast outside?”
He thrusts lightly, teasing her, so she can feel him hard. One hand slides up to cup her breast, fingers finding her nipple.
“Meryl,” he murmurs, voice rough.
“That I wanted to make love.”
“That’s it…”
He kisses her shoulder, his hand roaming to her hip and ass—he loves her hips.
“Do you want to make love, Meryl?” he asks on her neck, already moving against her. “Hum? Do you? Because i do...”
She closes her eyes, already feeling the desire taking control.
“Yes… but you’ll have to grab something first. Sorry.”
He reaches behind and pulls out the lube.
“I’ve got it, baby.”
She chuckles.

He squeezes a generous amount onto his hand, then slides it between them, gently fingering her. Teasing her for a while.
Her breathing quickens. She begins to moan, softly, low in her throat.
She loves when he fingers her. She loves everything he does to her.
One hand is inside her, slow and skilled, while the other caresses the curve of her ass, firm but reverent.
Then she feels the cool slickness as he smooths lube over himself, taking his time. He slides in gently, savoring the moment — pulling back, then easing in again, repeating it, slow and deep. It’s not just the act — it’s the sensation of entering her, of being welcomed in again and again.
Every motion feels deliberate, devoted.
She’s so tight around him, and he groans low in his throat every time she clenches deliberately — just to drive him wild.
“God, Marty… you fuck me so well,” she breathes, voice thick with need.
“Oh, Meryl… I love hearing you say that. It’s all I want—to fuck you good, give you all the pleasure I can.”
His rhythm is steady. Controlled.
They're silent now. Both feeling an orgasm building up. Slowly.
She whimpers and moans. He listens—he lives for those sounds.
He wishes he could record them. Replay them whenever he wants — those sounds she makes when his cock is buried deep inside her, driving her close to the edge.
Her ass grinds against him, slick and slippery with lube. He cups her cheeks, fingers sliding between them, feeling the heat and wetness.

“Marty.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I’m gonna come...” she whispers, breath ragged, trembling.
Then a scream—his name torn from her lips.
He presses his forehead to the back of her neck, low and rough.
“So good...”
He thrusts harder now, groaning, hips slamming into hers.
Eyes shut.
In his head: her voice. Her moans. His name on her mouth.
Thrusting until he reaches his orgasm. This time, her name between fucks! and gods!
He comes, deep inside her, gripping her hips.

He stays there, still inside, softening slowly.
No words between them.
Just cum.

“I’m pulling out,” he whispers, kissing her neck.
But he doesn’t move from the position they’re in.
Their breathing is in sync.
One hand resting on her thigh.
She exhales.

“Say it,” he nudges.
She grins.
“I love morning sex.”
He smiles too.

They both love it—those slow, sensual mornings when there’s time. It charges them. Makes everything lighter. Positive!
He pulls her closer. She closes her eyes again.
“Loved last night. Loved this morning,” he whispers.
She turns to face him.
“We’re so fucking good together.”
He chuckles. “Yes, we are.”
“And now,” she cups his face, “I’m so fucking hungry.”
He laughs.
“Me too. I’ll handle it right away.” He grabs the phone to call room service.
She gets up.
“The sheets are a mess.”
“Well, you said you didn’t want to leave the villa today. When should housekeeping come?”
“While we eat breakfast on the terrace. Sometime this morning.”
She heads to the bathroom.
“I’m taking a quick shower!”

They have breakfast outside.
The housekeeper comes by to tidy up the place. They catch some sun, then hit the pool together, flirting in the water.
Marty holds her up…she wraps her legs around him.
They kiss…wet kisses…flirty kisses.
“You are so sexy” she says running a hand on his face and on his wet hair.
“You are”
They kiss again.
Laughing. Being them.
Enjoying the best day of their vacation.

For lunch, they grab a fresh salad.
When the heat peaks, they retreat indoors, to the cool bedroom, air conditioning humming softly. Marty pulls up some videos on YouTube—old clips of him on Jiminy Glick, SCTV, SNL. She laughs so hard her tummy aches.

Afterward, they read for a while, eventually drifting into a nap.

Dinner, just like she wanted, is served at the villa. They eat outside again, torches flickering to keep the bugs away. She changes into another flowing long kaftan—white with gold trim, front loops loosely fastened, just enough to keep her lingerie hidden. The fabric catches the breeze beautifully.
He’s changed too, like the gentleman he is—beige chinos, white shirt with the collar casually open, revealing a hint of his sun-kissed chest.
They share a lovely dinner, the energy between them warm and easy.
Her laughs, loud in the darkness of the jungle outside. His low chuckles.
Them.
Meryl & Marty.

After clearing the dishes, Marty steps outside, hands in pockets, gazing at the star-filled sky. She returns carrying their glasses and a chilled bottle of white wine—they’ve already finished one.
He turns as she announces with a mischievous smile, “It’s game night!”
“What?” He grins, amused.
“We’re playing a game!”
“Oh-oh.”
“Come here.” She heads to the outdoor bed, pulling back the curtains and climbing on top.
He drags himself there.
"Why do I feel this isn’t going to go in my favor…"
"Come on. It will be fun!"
He follows, sliding off his shoes and lying opposite her.
“So, what’s the game?”
“Truth or drink!”
“What?”
“Like truth or dare, questions… but without dares. If you don’t want to answer, you drink.”
“Ah, I knew it. Just give me the bottle—I’ll down it right now!”
“Come on, Marty!”
He sighs.
“So, we're doing questions...what kind of questions? Trivia??”
She gives him a look. “No! Things we want to know about each other.”
“Again... I feel an agenda…so I’m starting with a drink.”
“You don’t want to tell me things about you?”
“A guy can never win. Of course I want my love. Who starts?”
“I do!”
“Of course you do.” He gestures for her to begin.
She makes a face like she’s gearing up.
“Shoot!”
“Do you watch porn?”
He stares.
“Hit me!” He holds up his empty glass.
“What? You’re not going to answer the very first question?!”
“Meryl, please… I’m almost 75 years old… I know better. Pour me.”
She frowns.
“Isn’t that the point? If you don’t answer, you drink.” He protests.
“Yes, but I want to know things about you,” she pouts.
“If I watch porn is a relevant information?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m screwed anyway… I… have watched porn… like all men in the world.”
“Recently?”
“Is that a second question?”
“Not exactly, more of a theme.”
“Oh…I see…a theme. No, not recently. I mean… sometimes someone sends a video or something.”
“What did you like about it? Why did you watch?”
She sips her wine, probing. He’s a bit embarrassed.
“Why do you want to know?”
She leans in, flirting, playing with his shirt buttons.
“Because I want to know.”
“I...I...watched it, because I liked it...,” he laughs.
“To jerk off?”
“That too.”
“What did you like to watch… big boobs?”
“I knew you were angling at something.”
“Answer it!”
He downs a drink.
“Nope. I’m drinking!”
“Coward!”
“What? I answered all the other questions!”
“Then answer this one: do you like big boobs?”
“You got that idea once and never let it go.”
“It wasn’t once. Plus Christine knows someone you dated with huge boobs and I know for sure that’s true, because I saw her once.”
“What???! You saw her?” she nods.
“Now answer!”
He groans.
“I liked…to watch” he twitches, searching for the right words “all kinds of boobs,” She squints “but if they’re big… maybe I liked them more.”
“I knew it! You like them big!”
She pretends to be annoyed but might actually be a little.
“Oh my God! You can’t be serious!”
He sets down his glass, gently grabbing her arms, pulling her close.
“Were you disappointed with my boobs?”
He laughs. “I kind of knew how big they were. I mean, those necklines you wear leave little to the imagination.”
She slaps his arm. “Are you calling me a slut now?”
“Please… I love your necklines.”
“But you would like them bigger…”
She looks away, searching for reassurance.
He smiles knowingly. “You know I love your tits. How I crave them.” His eyes lock with hers. “I’ve told you I imagined them so many times.” His voice low.
Now his mouth is on her ear and his hand on her breast.
“I used to look at your chest on set, think about them, then jerk off at home. That’s why I stopped watching porn… I had you to think of.” He kisses her neck.

She breathes deeply—exactly what she wanted to hear: him jerking off with her in mind.
“Happy?” he asks, sipping his wine.
He knows she is.
She bites her lower lip. “Satisfied.”
She drinks her wine.

“Now you.”
“Making questions? I don’t know…”
“You don’t have anything to ask?”
“Well… let’s see,” he smirks, “were you surprised at the size of my penis?”
She twists her lips, blushing.
Picks up her glass again and… drinks!
“Don’t you dare!”
“I knew you’d ask that!”
“What? Why?” He chuckles.
“You know why… you’re all smug about it!” he grins.
“Just answer, Meryl.”
She inhales. “I was surprised. Yes.”
“Is it the height? Or the name ‘short’ that made you think I was small?”
“I don’t know… I didn’t think you were small, not at all.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“I’ve watched you… those pelvic moves you like, the costumes on your show with Steve… you seem so sure of yourself. I don’t think a man with a small penis would act like that or talk so freely about sex.”
“I could be pretending…”
“Not you. You own your weaknesses. I knew you had to be good.”
“But not this good!” She laughs, hiding her face.
“That dinner where you put my hand over the bulge in your pants… I wasn’t sure then, but I was surprised. And later at my apartment… well, then I knew for sure.”
“And you like that, don’t you?”
“Well,” she smiles, teasing, “it’s very fulfilling.”
They laugh.

“Next question, Miss Streep!”
“So, you had a crush on me?”
He nods.
“Yes. 100% true. I did have a crush… I still do!”
They laugh.
“Since forever. Nancy knew. She thought you were wonderful. She didn’t like that I drooled over you.”
“You drooled over me?!”
“Of course! You were gorgeous. Sexy. Mesmerizing to watch.”
She blushes, touched.
“Even with my nose?” She makes a grand gesture.
“Especially your nose and cheekbones. Your face— is something else.”
He looks at her with bright eyes.
“But of course, never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be here with you. You were unreachable. The twists and turns that brought us here… it’s unreal.”
“I know. I think about that too. Remember when we sat together at Diane Keaton’s event?”
“How could I forget?”

“It was so fun. I knew you were fun. But more than that… you had something captivating. I got to know you a little better that day.”

“No… I remember thinking how fun YOU were. Took me completely by surprise. The greatest of all time… also, so God damn funny! You have it all.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true. Your range is out of this world. When you came to film Only Murders… I couldn’t believe it. You were acting, singing, dancing—you were perfect. No other word.”
“You know what made me start falling for you?” She asks…her face serious.
“Tell me.” He leans closer.
“I mean… I have to be honest. I know what people think of my work. People treat me with deference.”
“Because you’re Hollywood royalty.”
She laughs.
“But you didn’t.”
“Are you saying I disrespected you?” He chuckles.
“No…but I saw you watching me, observing me.”
“Of course. I made sure you knew.”
She smiles.
“But then… you were always teasing, annoying me, poking me.”
“Poking your spirit.”
“Exactly!” She nods and bites her lower lip “I fucking loved that! I loved that you didn’t treat me like a goddess.”
“But I did think you were one.”
“I know. And I knew exactly what you were doing… and I fell for it.”
They kiss.
“And I fall for you...” he says softly “Every day.”
“Although I don’t have big boobs!” she replies with a smirk.
They burst out laughing.
He gently cups her face, his voice tender.
“Your boobs come with your voice... and your face... and your moves... your words, your brain, your aura. You’re like Eve... but not made for this world.”
“Marty...” She’s feeling overwhelmed by his words.
“Shhh... it’s true. I love you, Mary Louise Streep. You intrigue me. There’s so much inside you… I love you.”
She wraps her arms around him and holds him tightly.
“I love you so much.”

“See? This questions game... we end up saying things we normally wouldn’t.”
“True. Can I ask you something?” he asks.
“Oooh, sounds serious.” She takes another sip.
“You’re already drinking?!”
“No!” she laughs. “Fire!”
He pauses, growing more thoughtful.
“How was it, after forty years of marriage, to be with a different man?” He hesitates. “Well, I’m assuming there was no one else...”
“And you assume well.”
She pauses. He sees her gathering her thoughts.

“It was... I don’t know...” she shakes her head slowly. “So many things at once. Strange. Exhilarating. Frightening. Liberating. When we were just flirting, I didn’t even think much about it. Only at that infamous dinner...”
“When you touched me.”
“Oddly, not even then. We were still fooling around... surrounded by people. When we kissed—when I felt your tongue in my mouth—then I realized: this is the first man after Don. And the day you came to my apartment... I was feeling everything. I wanted it so badly, but at the same time... I was terrified.”
“You were trembling.”
“I know! But, in my defense... I was also trembling because I was so excited it was finally happening. But yes, being naked in front of a man in my 70s, after 40 years with the same person—it was scary.”
She pauses
“Fortunately, I was also so fucking aroused... I just wanted to get fucked.”
She laughs, trying to ease the heat in the moment.
“You were soaked... your panties were wet,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against her kaftan, unfastening the few buttons still closed.
“I know... but, come on. After ten years of no one touching me...”
“How can that be?!” he exclaims.
She shrugs.
He opens the dress and sees she’s wearing a nude lace bra. The sight of her nipples beneath it drives him wild.
He looks at her nipples and then at her eyes – mumbling an almost inaudible “gorgeous…”
His hand just feeling the curve of her breast.
“And you sliding a hand down to feel me... and finding me like that...”
“Oh God, don’t remind me...” he groans. “I couldn’t believe it. I was nervous as hell... going to Meryl Streep’s apartment—” they both laugh. “To have sex. To touch you. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. Then I feel you that wet for me... I almost fainted.” She laughs again” It was so fucking good.”
“And then we went to the bedroom... and reality hit hard!”
“Literally!” They both laugh again.
“Being naked... you naked...”
“You touching me...your hand around my dick, taking it out from my briefs. I was afraid of coming in your hand…” he says with a rough voice.
“That was strange. And so hot.”
He’s playing with her nipples now, and she lets him. Her kaftan open, his touch welcome.
She takes a deep breath.
“Do you like that?” he asks, looking into her eyes.
She nods, “Mm-hmm.”
“I want to take your bra off,” he whispers in her ear, his voice heavy with desire.
She sighs, breath quickening.
“What’s stopping you?”
She slides the kaftan down her shoulders. He unhooks her bra, freeing her beautiful breasts.
She reclines against the big pillows on the bed. He lies beside her, one elbow propping him up, the other holding a glass. His mouth finds her nipples.

“One last question...”
He looks up.
“Another one? Now?”
“Last one.”
He stands and starts removing his pants and shirt.
“Sex.” She says.
“About to happen.” She laughs.
“Yes... but...”
He lies back down, now in only his briefs.
“But... is there something missing?”
“Missing?”
“Yeah... something you want, that we haven’t done. Or some fantasy... I don’t know...” She’s clearly shy now, hiding her face.
He chuckles, pulling her close.
“I don’t know... I think we already do the things we like. And when something new happens, it just comes naturally. I’m not missing anything. Are you?”
“No... I think it’s like you said.”
They start kissing again.
“But... isn’t there something you’ve done before that you’d like to do with me?” she asks between kisses.
He pauses, suddenly remembering.
“Do you remember that morning at your house, after we argued? You had just come back from Spain...”
She nods.
“You were in the kitchen, bent over the counter, wearing just that silk robe... I just…” He stops.
“You wanted to fuck me from behind on the kitchen island?” she asks in a low, husky voice.
“Well... yeah. That would’ve been nice.”
He’s kissing her breasts again, planting soft kisses.
“So we’ve got plans for when we go back home,” she grins.
His hands are on her breasts, squeezing them, pulling them together.
“Or maybe... come on your tits.” His voice is hoarse, thick with lust.
Her expression shifts—desire flashing through her.
He kisses her, murmuring against her mouth:
“I want to come on your tits, Meryl. My cum... all over them.”
“Then put your cock in my mouth.”
Fuck. She kills him with lust.
He removes his briefs. He’s been hard since he started touching her.
She lies back. He kneels beside her head, offering himself to her.
She looks up at him, grabs his cock, and licks the head—never breaking eye contact.
He tilts his head back, eyes closed.
“Oh my God...”
Then she wraps her mouth around him, slowly but hungrily. One hand grips his base, stroking him.
He moans deeply.
“Fuck, Meryl...”
His breath hitches as watches her tongue, her lips, her hand. She takes him in fully.
“God, you’re so good at this...”
She gently massages his balls. His eyes close again.
“Marty... look at me.”
He opens his eyes.
Her tongue licks him from base to tip, circling the head before sliding down again.
He’s on the edge.
“Meryl... fuck... I’m going to come...”
She stops.
He grabs his cock and comes all over her breasts, groaning, breathless.

After a moment, he calms down a bit and sees her smiling softly
He smiles back.
He kisses her deeply, then rests his forehead on hers.
“I’m gonna grab something to clean you up.”
“Thanks.”
He gets up, puts on his briefs, and walks inside to grab a towel. When he returns, he gently cleans her chest, then lays down next to her again.
She turns to him and kisses him.
“I’m sorry... now it just feels weird... I shouldn’t have said…or done that.” He looks genuinely embarrassed.
“What? No... don’t say that. You wanted it. It was very erotic. Raw.”
He kisses her again.
“You are very erotic. You make me want things with you.”
She smiles, lustful.
“I love your sex drive.”
She gets up, dresses quickly.
“Let’s go inside. I want to wash up before it gets sticky. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
“Oh, and bring the wine!” she calls, already walking inside.
He shakes his head, smiling.

God, she drives him mad.
He picks up the bottle. It’s almost empty and warm.
He grabs the last one from the fridge, two new glasses, and heads to the bedroom—humming a tune.

Chapter 22: the Streep effect

In the bedroom
He closes the curtains, turns on the dim side lights around the bedframe, opens the new bottle, and pours two glasses. Then he slips off his briefs and climbs into bed.

She enters—naked, easy, unbothered.
“So what I’ve learned about you tonight is: you watch porn, prefer big boobs, had a crush on me, settled for small ones... and like coming on them.”
She enters the bed, under the cool sheets.
He laughs and hands her a glass.
“Hmmm... a bit reductive…but quite accurate…”
She takes a sip and puts the glass down.
“We talked about falling for… but when did you start feeling attracted to me? Real attraction…desire…”
“Now he has questions!”
He laughs, pulls her into an embrace. She nestles against his chest.

“Pretty early on. I mean, I was already curious about you. But time passed and I had let it go. Then we met and hit it off immediately. So much laughing. So easy.”

“It was so fun. I miss those days.” She looks up.
“So fun. I miss it too—the beginning of things. It’s thrilling.”
He hugs her tighter.
“Then I started looking forward to seeing you every day. I really wanted to be there—at work, wherever—just to be with you. And when I saw you...”
She lifts her head.
“And then?”
She rests her chin on his chest, eyes searching his.
"Then you started looking at me like..." she hesitates, "like you wanted to undress me. And I realized—I wanted that. I wanted that look. I wanted it to actually happen."

He laughs.
"I didn’t look at you like I wanted to undress you."
"Oh yes, you did."
"Okay... maybe I did."
"Remember that time we hid backstage as a joke?"
He groans.
"God. I was this close to kissing you that day."
"I know." She grins.
"We thought we’d be hiding for a minute. Ended up half an hour, no one even looking for us."
"Whispering on our ears. Giggling."
"You brushing your tits against my arm— several times!"
"I did not!"
"You did. More than once. And you know it."
She laughs, covering her face with a hand.
"The first time, I froze."
"Why didn’t you do anything?" she asks softly.
"So you admit it."
He grins while she hides her face in his chest.
"We were backstage. Anyone could’ve walked in. And I wasn’t sure if it was just me imagining the flirting...although the tits brushing was a tell!"
"You even put your hands on my waist... I really thought you were going to kiss me. Honestly, I thought we were going to fuck right there. I was already figuring out where we could. "
He looks at her, stunned.
"What???!!!! You thought about fucking there?"
"Yeah...after a while, I figured nobody was going to find us!”
"Oh, come on...don't say that!" He groans, burying his face in his hands.
She laughs.
"I mean, I wanted to kiss you," he admits, "but I kept thinking—this is Meryl Streep. She's not going to go for that. Not here. She might call HR on me!"
She bursts out laughing.
"And I was thinking—good thing I wore a skirt... you could’ve just pulled it up..."
"Stop it!" he pleads, still hiding his face. "I don’t want to hear this!"
She laughs even harder.
"I was so into you. The way you'd clench your jaw when you looked at me... your mouth... your eyes..." She leans into his ear, whispering, "...the way you adjust your cock in your pants."
He stares at her, stunned.
"What?"
She smiles, mischievous, biting her lip.
"You know... always to the right…"
He pulls her for a kiss.
"You were looking down there?"
"I was looking everywhere." Her voice drops into a sexy tone, raising one eyebrow...looking at his lips.
He exhales.
"You’re so fucking sexy."
They kiss deeply.

"Do you think the crew noticed anything? That we were into each other?" she asks.
"What do you think?"
"We should tell John. Before we start shooting."
"That we’re dating?"
"Yeah. Better it come from us. Avoid awkward situations. Steve and Selena already know. John should too."
" Ok...if you think so. Maybe we could grab dinner when we returned to LA?"
"That's an excellent idea.."
"And on set, what do we do?”
"Same as before—except now I don’t have to guess if you’re into me."
He smiles. "I used to look at you and think: ‘God, I’d love to kiss those lips.’"
"And I’d think, ‘God, I wish he would kiss me.’" She says stroking his hair.
They kiss again, slow and wet.
"I would really like to undress her… every piece of clothes... have her on my bed... all opened for me..."
She lies back, slowly opening her legs beneath him.
He moves over her, kissing her.
"How did I get so lucky?"
"You must be a really great guy."
Her hands run down his back, gripping his ass, pulling him toward her.
"Fuck me, Marty." She whispers.
He groans.
"Meryl... as much as I want to... with all the wine, and after earlier... I don’t think I can. I’m sorry."
He kisses her mouth, her collarbone, her breasts.
"But what I can do is..."
He begins to kiss her stomach…going down.
"No," she says, stopping him, guiding him back up.
"You don’t want to?" he kisses her.
"I always want to. But...” her voice is soft as silk “I want to touch you. Just to see if..."
"Meryl... I told you, I don’t think—"
She silenced him with a kiss, then slid to her side, her hand slipping down.
"I know what you told me."
She ran the palm of her hand over his soft cock and she caresses gently, slowly, not rushing anything. Grabbing his balls.
“Meryl…” he murmured, his voice thick with tension. “I love your hands. I love how you touch me… but it’s not going to work.”
In response, her tongue slipped into his mouth — soft, warm, coaxing — just as she gave his balls the faintest squeeze. He twitched.

She didn’t stop. Her touch remained unhurried, almost casual, like she wasn’t even trying — and that made it even more maddening. Her kisses, though, were anything but casual. Her mouth moved with purpose, tongue teasing his, making him dizzy with need.
Then came her body. She pressed her breasts to his chest, brushing them against him, slow and soft, driving him mad with every pass.
She paused, lifting her hand — but only to shift, wrapping one leg around his waist. Her hips began to move against him in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding herself on him, letting him feel her heat.

"Are you wet?" he asks.
"Maybe."
"Fuck, I know you are. Let me taste you—" he begs.
"No."
"Come on Meryl."
But she lets his fingers slip between her legs. He parts her a little with the tip of his fingers and finds her all wet.
"Oh God..." he groans as he feels how wet she is, closing his eyes feeling his stomach burn.
She takes his hand away.
"Meryl...let me taste you...please, honey...”
"No."
Her hand drifted down again, fingers wrapping around him…feeling him begin to swell, just slightly — and smiled.
He felt it too.
“Oh fuck…” he breathed, uncertain if it was just a flicker of arousal… or the beginning of something more.
“I’m going to make you hard as a rock, Marty,” she whispered, voice thick with promise.
Just those words — the certainty in her tone — sent another pulse of blood rushing to him. He stiffened a little more.
Then she lowered on him.
He leaned back into the pillows, eyes on her, hungry and unsure — still afraid he wasn’t ready. But then she did it — she let her breasts brush against his cock, deliberately slow.
The soft slide of her skin, the warm fullness of her chest, and then—
One of her nipples grazed the head of his cock.
His breath caught.
The image — the feeling — was electric.
He stiffened fully in seconds.
"Oh god... Meryl..."
He closes his eyes but opens them the next second not wanting to miss anything.
She knows exactly what to do. She knows exactly what he likes.
She knows exactly how his body reacts to her.
And she loves the power she has over him.

She grips him and takes him in her mouth—hot, slow, hungry.
“Fuck…” He gasps. Closes his eyes, his hips lifting instinctively, as if he's thrusting her mouth.
She sucks, swirls, teases.
He can't believe how hard he is. He can't believe she did it. He would never bet on it.
He remembers of how wet she is.
"Meryl."
She stops.
He grabs her, flips her beneath him, his hand sliding between her legs—wet, swollen, eager.
He rubs her slick over his cock, groaning.
She watches him, wide-eyed, lips parted. Rolls her eyes and bites her fingers thinking how sexy....how sexual...he his.
He kneels between her legs, grabs her thighs, and spreads them wide. Lines up.
Slides in, deep.
She gasps. Almost cries out..
As if he'd hurt her.
But he hadn’t. He had just went so deep, he'd surprised her.
He holds still
Then he moves—slow and steady—before sitting up and pulling her with him.
She wraps around him, moaning as he thrusts.
His hands gripped her firmly — one at her hips, the other cradling the small of her back, holding her steady, close.
He pulled her into a kiss as he thrust deep inside her.
She moaned into his mouth, the sound raw and breathless.
Each movement sent him deeper, her body rising and falling with his rhythm.
He was so deep inside her — she felt stretched, filled, completely taken.
Words escaped her.
She could only breathe, moan, feel.
Her breasts are at his eye level—he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.
They're perfectly synced. Lost in the rhythm. Her hands on his back.
Her face nestled against his neck, her mouth parted, releasing soft sighs and moans with every deep thrust.
Her hair spilled around them like a silken curtain, brushing his skin with each movement.
His hands gripped her ass, firm and possessive, guiding her rhythm as he pulled her against him again and again.

“Fuck… I still can’t believe you got me this hard… You’re unbelievable…” he murmured, breath hot against her ear.
She didn’t answer with words—she didn’t need to.
Every moan, every trembling breath, every press of her body against his spoke louder than anything she could say.
"Marty..." she breathes. Her voice weak and low.

She arches, body shaking. Opens her mouth and moans louder while she comes
He holds her, guiding her through it.
He lays her down again, slides back in. She’s soaked, throbbing from her climax.
He can't help it—he needs to taste her.
He takes his cock out again.
"Marty...what are you doing?"
She finishes the question and feels his mouth on her.
She arches her body up.
"Marty, what are you—oh—oh my god! oh please... Marty...oh God!"
His mouth is on her, relentless. Drinking all her juices and making her come again.
"Oh, baby... come for me..."

She writhes, moaning, coming again.
She's wet, she’s swollen, she’s delicious to watch.
When she falls back, breathless, he climbs over her.

Slides in again. Deep. Fast. Hard.
He wants to come. He's on the verge of it happening.
His whole body flush with heat, sweat, desire.
Finally he comes.
Exhausted.
His heart racing. His breath furious.
Lets his weight fall on her.

She holds him close, feeling his heartbeat slow against her chest, his breath gradually returning to normal.
"I'm pulling out," he whispers, carefully easing away and lying on his back. He closes his eyes for a moment before turning to look at her. A mischievous grin spreads across her face.
"Oh my God… what have you done to me?"
She leans in for a kiss.
"I just wanted to touch you… feel what I can do to you."
"I can't believe how good you are. Always. I mean, I'm in my 70s—pulling that off? I wasn't expecting it. I usually need more time."
She grins.
"It's the Streep effect."
They laugh.
"It sure is." He pulls her close, and she rests her head on his chest.
"I'm exhausted."
"Let's go to sleep."

The next few days pass in blissful relaxation. Then they return to L.A.

A couple of nights later, they meet John Hoffman for dinner. Giorgio Baldi is their choice—an A-lister hotspot crawling with paparazzi. They arrive separately, as they're staying in their own homes.
Marty and John are already at the table when Meryl walks in.
"Hi John!" she greets, hugging him.
"Hi Marty." She pauses, unsure of what to do. He smiles and brushes a finger across her cheek. She caresses his arm in return.
John looks surprised but very happy at this exchange.
Heads turn instantly at the sight of Meryl—then quickly shift to Marty. But despite the glances, the trio enjoys relative privacy.

Dinner is joyful, filled with stories, jokes, and updates on the upcoming shoot. They talk about guest stars, filming locations, and behind-the-scenes memories.
John, however, senses a change. The chemistry between Meryl and Marty has always been obvious, but tonight… something's different.
Palpable. He’s not surprised, but he doesn’t ask.
No one dares question Meryl Streep. She’s royalty—Hollywood royalty.
"John," Marty begins with a soft smile, "there’s something Meryl and I wanted to tell you before filming starts."
John looks between them. Meryl is grinning.
"Meryl and I…" Marty turns to her with that unmistakable look—love, plain and powerful. "We’re together."
John’s eyes widen.
"You guys! Congratulations!"
"Thank you," Meryl says warmly.
"Honestly, I couldn’t be happier. Since day one, your chemistry was off the charts. We couldn’t believe what we were seeing unfold. I’m so glad you took the leap."
"Oh John," she replies, "I really think we should thank you. You brought me in, gave me this incredible role—Loretta. And the way the story goes, it's almost…" she glances at Marty, "like our story. It’s kind of amazing."
"You know, Meryl… something happened that night on the ferry. I don’t believe in fate, but... magic happened. You two have the universe conspiring in your favor."

They look at each other.
"That was my cosmos," he says.
They all laugh.
"The cosmos, the bridge, the Sinatra duet… that beautiful February night. It was a rom-com. A real one." John adds.
"I know! I felt it. Like I was in the middle of a love story—except it was real." Meryl’s eyes are glowing.
"It really was magical.”
“But are you going public with this?"
Marty lets her answer.
"Not just yet. It’s fresh. We want to live it peacefully."

Peaceful isn't exactly how the night ends.
Someone tipped off the paparazzi, who are now swarming outside the restaurant. A waiter gives them a quiet heads-up before they leave.
As they step outside, flashes erupt.
They stay for a few moments talking with a couple and then Marty says they’re leaving
John upfront, then Meryl with Marty just behind her, gently placing an arm around her like a protective shield. Cameras click nonstop.
Before she gets into her car, Marty says, "Bye, kid."
"Bye. Love you," she replies—casual, or maybe not. John was close to Marty. Was for both of them, of course.

They both drive off in separate cars.
Meryl calls Marty a few moments later.
"Hey."
"Why the sudden obsession with us? I don’t get it."
"You’re the greatest actress of all time, baby. Single now…"
"But people care more about the young ones, the new stars—like Selena. Not old people like us."
"You’re not old. You’re alluring. You always will be. Sure you don’t want to spend the night?"
"No, I want to be home. And I’ve got the SAGs coming up. Still can’t believe you weren’t nominated! And I’m presenting Best Comedy Actor… ugh."
"Just imagine if you had to hand the award to me?"
"Hmm… I’d like that."
"You’d hate that! You’d get all flustered."
"That’s true. You know I’m presenting with the girls."
"From Prada."
"Yeah."
"Have you finished reading the script?"
"Not yet."
"What’s keeping you?"
She pauses, takes a breath.
"I don’t like doing sequels."
“Well, you do whatever you want to…if you don’t want to do it…”
“Everyone in the world keeps pressing me… they really want Miranda back…”
“Hummmm…I like Miranda too…”
She chuckles.
“I know…but you can get her whenever you want…”
“Oh baby…” he chuckles too.
“Send me a text when you get home.”
“I will. Love you!”
“Love you too…my love…”
She smiles.

Chapter 23: the quiet before the storm

Soon after the SAG Awards, the shooting for Only Murders in the Building picks up again.

This season, Meryl’s only in three episodes. Originally, Loretta was meant to exit after Season 3. But then the off-screen romance happened, and the writers leaned in.

They’re filming in LA now, since that’s where the story is set for part of this season. They start shooting one afternoon, and the next day there’s an FYC event with a Q&A panel — both of them will be there.

They’ve been apart since that dinner with John and their little vacation. Those days together only made them stronger as a couple.

She misses him — but not in a desperate, lonely way. It’s just that now he’s part of her life. Part of her. When he’s not there, she’s not whole. The house feels too big. The day feels incomplete. Of course, it’s by choice — hers, or his. They don’t live together.
Will they ever?
She would have said no immediately once. But now? Her no comes slower. Like with the divorce.

When she first separated from Don, they agreed there was no need for divorce — no lawyers, no fuss. But lately, it keeps popping up in her mind. She hates carrying his name still. Mrs. Gummer. Every time she pulls out her ID or passport, it feels wrong.
She could get divorced.
It’s complicated.
Let's not thing about it...for now.

Marty is part of her now.
She wakes up, makes her breakfast, and thinks of him. Imagines him shuffling in, hair a mess, wearing nothing but briefs, a soft T-shirt, and those fluffy slippers he likes. Coming up behind her. Kissing her neck. Mumbling that she smells nice.

She smiles into her coffee cup.
It’s not just imagination — it’s memory. It’s her life now, when he’s there.

Then come the laughs. The music — she sings, he sings.
Also the comfortable silences. Their glances at each other. Their talks without words.

She lets out a breath, full of him. She just wants to be around him.
It surprises her. She’s never been that woman — the clingy one, the I-need-you-around one. She always valued her freedom, her independence. She’d retreat, carve out time alone. Of course there was time for her husband — plenty of it. Well, maybe not plenty. Enough.

But with Marty? She wants him close.
Wants to work with him, share rooms and jokes and late-night lines.
Feel his energy.
She wants to watch him in action, see him talk to other people, soak up every piece of him — his old shows, his stories, his past lives.
She doesn’t even care about new projects right now. She’s been handed this new life, and she wants to savor every bite.

At parties, premieres, or panels – professional or private — they’re always side by side. Why?
Because it’s more fun that way.
And because she can. She’s Meryl Streep — she can do what she damn well wants.

And now, tonight, she misses him. Misses his presence — and his touch. That vacation unlocked something.
So intimate.
Arousing.
It made her ache for him all over again. She loves it — being 74 and horny as hell for him. It makes her feel powerful. Young. Sexy. Undeniably alive.

He calls her the night before the event.
“Hey, kid.”
She smiles. She loves that nickname. She doesn’t have one for him. Marty is perfect as it is.
“You didn’t call yesterday,” she teases. “Didn’t say a bloody word.”
“I want you to miss me.”
She chuckles, shaking her head.
He’s terrible!
She knows he probably went out to dinner with friends, got drunk, came home late. Slept all morning.
“Oh, that’s what you call it, huh?”
“You know I’m always the one who calls you. You never do.”

He’s right — and she knows it. He did go out last night, but he didn’t forget about her. The whole dinner, he kept glancing at his phone, hoping she’d text first.
He needed her to do it.
He misses her. Badly. Her smile, her voice, her warmth. Her sweetness.
Her attention. Her full attention.
She’s different since that vacation — more his. More part of him.
But still, he wants her to give him more.

“I did miss you,” she says, dropping her voice a little, pulling him in.
“You did?” He’s immediately hooked.
“Yes. I was just thinking… how I miss you. How I like when we’re together. I woke up this morning, and I wanted you here.”
“I love hearing that. I miss you too. It’s been a week. Tomorrow we’ve got the panel — want to stay at my place after?”
Silence.
Why isn't she answering? Doesn't want to?
“Meryl? Do you?”
“I don’t know.” She lets it hang.
He frowns. He doesn’t get that she’s teasing.
“You don’t want to see me?”
“We are seeing each other. At the event.”
“I’m not talking about that kind of seeing. And you know it.”
“Hmm. Maybe you don’t miss me enough yet. Maybe we should stay apart one more week.”
“Don’t you dare. You know I want to be with you.”
“Marty?”
“Yeah?”
“I really love you,” she says, voice catching a little. “And I miss you.”
“Me too. After that week together… it’s been hard to be away from you.”
“I feel the same. I miss… everything.”
“Me glued to you all the time too?”
“That too. You can’t imagine how aroused I’ve been all week.”
He lets out a low groan, head thrown back. Christ.
“Meryl… you kill me when you say those things.”
She grins, all wicked sweetness.
“Don’t want to hear it?”
“I want to hear every word. It just… it still amazes me that I make you feel that way.”
“You make me feel everything, Martin Short!”
“Did you touch yourself?” His voice is rough now, lower, hand already drifting down.
Takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the answer.
“Once. But I want to save it all for you.”
“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, already hard.
“Did you?” she asks.
“Of course I did. Even now I’m—” he exhales— “hard.”
Heat pools in her belly. Her thighs squeeze together.
“Wait for tomorrow.”
He’s stroking himself when she says it.
"Are you touching yourself right now?" She asks with a husky voice.
"Yes."
She closes her eyes and bites her finger. She loves that.
"Stop."
He stops, eyes fluttering shut.
“Meryl… I’d do anything you want. Anything. But if you want me to stop, I have to end this call too. You’re too much.”
She laughs, low and sultry.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”

They hang up. She’s stretched out on the couch, her body still humming. The ache thrums under her skin.
God she loves the way he makes her feel.
She could have kept going — they both could have. Phone sex, right then and there.

This love — this need — at this point in her life, is something she never knew she needed.
But God, she needed it all along.

The next day is the day of the Q&A panel.
She decides she wants to surprise Marty at his house before heading to Paramount Studios. It’s across the city, but it’s worth it—she wants to see him.

She arrives, punches in the code but rings the bell anyway.
Inside, he’s ready but passing the time scrolling on his phone. He checks the app and sees Meryl’s car pull up. She’s already stepping out.
He stands, surprised, and opens the door.
“Meryl?”
“Hi. I just wanted to see you before the event.”
He’s elated she came by. The second she reaches him, he pulls her into a tight hug.
She closes her eyes, sinking into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck.
“Feels so good,” he murmurs. He looks at her, beaming.
“I love this, but you came all this way when Paramount is halfway there!”
They step inside.
“I know. I just really wanted to see you. I just wanted…” she shrugs, smiling.
They sink onto the sofa. She hugs him again. He’s so surprised but thrilled by her sweetness.
“I missed you too. You’re still coming to stay, right?”
“Yes.”
She cups his face.
“I love you, Marty.”
She says it fully, her heart pounding, butterflies dancing in her belly—like this love is consuming her whole.
“Meryl… god, I love the way you say it. I love you too—more every day. More and more and more.”
He kisses her, hungry, tender, pulling her close.
Feeling her body.
Wanting her.
His hands wander to her blouse, undoing a few buttons. He slips his hand inside, caressing her breast through the silk of her bra.
“Marty, we can’t…” She says it with her eyes closed, breathless.
“I know. Just a bit, honey… just to feel you…”
He squeezes gently, desire burning through him.
“Oh god,” he breathes. “So good.”
She’s panting, clinging to him as he kisses her again—slowly, lingering. Caressing, squeezing, feeling her nipple…his fingers tugging the silk aside to touch her bare skin.
A soft moan escapes her.
“You have to stop. You’re driving me crazy.” She says between sighs. Breathlessly.
“Humm...I know...just a little bit more...we have time.”
His hand on her is already making her wet and she knows they have to stop and leave.

She's completely lost for him.
She doesn't remember ever feeling like this.
She doesn't care about anything, but him.
Martin Short.

They're kissing. Always kissing.
His hand slides from her breast down to her hip, then around to her bottom, squeezing, pulling her closer. The soft fabric of her pants only makes it easier.
Then his hand slip between them, cupping and grazing where she’s already aching for him.
She gasps.
“Noooo… Marty, no. Stop.”
She breaks the kiss.
"You have to stop."
She smiles and caresses his face, trying to steady her breath.
“I know, I know.” He grins, shameless. “But this is what I want when we come back home.” His hand teases her again between her thighs.
She gasps, laughs, and stands, hair tousled, cheeks flushed. She buttons her blouse, exhaling a giddy laugh.
He watches her, completely undone by how sexy she looks right now.
“You’re incorrigible!” she scolds.
She’s looking at him noticing the obvious bulge in his pants.
“You’re looking here?” he teases, caressing and squeezing himself through the fabric. Hard.
She spins around.
“Marty!!!”
He chuckles, delighted by how flustered she is. He gets up, wraps his arms around her from behind, and kisses the back of her head.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. I’m kidding. We have to leave.”
She turns to face him, raising an eyebrow.
“I love your way with me… your sexual energy. I love all of it.”
He grins. “Hummm…My goddess…”
They kiss, softly but deeply.
“I’m so in love with you, Marty.”
“No more than I am with you.”
They smile at each other, flushed and giddy.
“So, we should go. Separate cars, of course. You drive ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. Bye.”

They arrive at the FYC event moments apart. She greets everyone—smiling, laughing.
Selena hasn’t seen them since the AFI luncheon and is already wondering what’s going on between them. Her curiosity is answered when Marty arrives and Meryl bites her lower lip, blushing like a schoolgirl.
Marty greets everyone, beaming, cracking jokes. He feels on top of the world.
When he reaches Meryl, he just grins and says loudly, “Hi!”
She rolls her eyes, turns away with a soft, “Hi, Marty,” but can’t help looking back.
She loves that green suit on him—the pants tighter than usual.
God, she’s craving him. Her cheeks warm, a giggle escaping. She’s certain the whole world can see how in love she is with him.
John greets them both with a knowing grin.
“Hi, guys!”
“Hi, Johnny!”
Steve watches them, discreetly smug. He always tries to shield his friend from gossip, but today they’re giving off that lovers’ energy like never before.
Selena comes over, filming them greeting fans. Marty maneuvers himself to stand right next to Meryl.
When Selena stops recording, Meryl bumps into him. He grips her arms firmly—his way of saying you’re mine.
“Stop,” she whispers, but he just smiles, their eyes locking with that unmistakable look.
“They’re so cute together. They seem really in love,” Selena whispers to Steve.
“Yeah. They’re in that phase—only eyes for each other.”
“Oh my god, that’s the best. Like me and Benny. It’s a bubble—just you and the other person.”

At the photoshoot, they deliberately pose apart, trying to throw people off—but that, too, is a tell. Meryl even clings to Steve’s arm to keep a distance. They should know better—everyone can read the truth on their faces.

Inside the packed theater, they take their seats on stage. Meryl and Marty end up with Selena between them. Jane Lynch is moderating.
Marty can’t resist teasing Meryl, always catching her eye, making her laugh. She loves it—loves the way he flirts with her in front of everyone.

When someone asks Marty about working with her, his voice changes—softer, warmer.
His voice changes every time he talks about her or mentions her.
Today, with her so close, it's hard to even stay put.
He talks about his first day driving to set, how nervous he was.
Meryl watches him, her body humming. Thinking about how much she loves him. She wants him. Wants him so much.
How sexy he is. How sexy his voice is.
Her foot swings restlessly, her lips part slightly, teeth grazing her finger. It’s all there, plain to see.
Steve swoops in, saving Marty from saying too much, but Marty can’t help himself— at the first chance he teases her again. She bends over laughing.
He watches her, proud—he loves how easily he makes her laugh. When she lifts her head, their eyes lock. Everything they want to say is there.

The entire Q&A crackles with that electric energy.
When Marty jokes about her asking for glycerin to tear up, she doubles over again. “Oh god,” This time hiding her face, pretending to fix her shoe.
He watches her, waiting to catch her gaze—I want you, his eyes say.
She knows what he wants.
Selena shakes her head, “Welcome to my life every day.”
Meryl grins, “I know, I know.”
She knows.
She knows damn well. And she loves it.
But she can’t keep meeting his eyes.
She’s missed him for days.
The love she feels for him hums under her skin, stronger now, almost too much to bear.
She’s been on edge for days — aroused, restless.
The way he talked to her last night, the way he teased her earlier before the event — it’s all still there, thrumming through her veins.
The flirting, the glances.
She knows her face is giving everything away — every feeling, every ache. She’s wearing her need for him like a second skin.
She tries to control it, tries to hold herself together — but she knows he sees it all.

He knows it. He loves it. He’s testing how close he can push her to the edge. He wants her undone for him.

When it’s over, John stays talking with Meryl about her next scenes. Marty joins them, antsy to leave. He takes her hand, squeezing—you’re mine to take. His fingers brush a signal only she sees—time to go.
She wraps up the chat quickly. They slip away together down the corridor.
When they’re alone, he slips his hand over her bottom, squeezing.
She bats him away. “Calm down. You’ll get what you want soon enough.”
“Only what I want?” He stops, pins her gently against the wall, hands on her waist, lips inches from hers.
She glances at his mouth, then back at his eyes. “No.”
He leans in, kissing her neck, stealing a taste of her lips—then footsteps echo. They break apart, giggling, breathless, pretending innocence.
He grabs her hand, presses a kiss to her knuckles.
They walk out together.

They go separately to Marty’s house.
Meryl leaves first, slipping away while he’s still chatting with a few people.
When he pulls into the driveway later and sees her car already parked there, a warm thrill runs through him. He loves this feeling: coming home, his home, to her waiting inside.

He unlocks the door.
“I’m home, baby!” he calls out.
She’s in the living room — jacket off, barefoot in her socks, a glass of red wine in hand.
“Hi. I opened a bottle. Hope you don’t mind,” she says, her smile lazy and soft.
“Excellent idea,” he grins. He shrugs off his jacket.
Pours a glass and seats on the sofa at the opposite end.
Legs crossed. One arm draped over the back. Watching her.
She’s resting her head on her hand, long blonde hair falling down.

They sip in silence.
It’s the quiet before the storm.

Chapter 24: at the fire pit

He finishes his glass first, sets it down, and rises. He reaches her.
She looks up at him, her gaze lingering, warming him from the inside out. She drains the last of her wine.

He offers his hand.
“Let’s go upstairs.” His voice is low, dark honey.
She slips her fingers into his.

At the stairs, he gestures for her to go first. A gentleman.
She starts up the steps.
“Stop staring at my ass,” she tosses over her shoulder.
“Never.”

In the bedroom, they fall onto the bed side by side, facing each other. He pulls her into a tight hug.
“Finally,” she whispers.

His nose buries in her neck. He breathes her in — her hair, her skin. She closes her eyes.
“You smell so damn good. Did you change your lotion?”
A sly smile. “Maybe.”
“Did you use it everywhere?”
She bites her lip. “Mm-hmm.”
“Let me check.”

He unbuttons her blouse, revealing the white bra beneath. He presses his nose between her breasts and inhales, groaning.
“Wonderful,” he murmurs. His mouth trails kisses across her chest, then back up to her lips. Her fingers dig into his hair.

They kiss slow, deep — his tongue teasing, brushing her lips, tugging her lower lip between his teeth.
Fully clothed, he shifts between her legs, rolling his hips, a subtle, hungry thrust.

His mouth drifts to her jaw, then lower, finding that spot beneath her ear that makes her shiver.
“Did you touch yourself last night after we talked?” he murmurs.
She shakes her head, breathless. “No. We said we’d wait.”
“Good. Because I can’t wait to eat your cunt.”

Heat explodes in her belly.
“Does it make you wet? Hearing that, Meryl?”
“You know it does. You know all of me.”
He smiles against her skin. He does.
"Do you like that I know how you work. How to arouse you?"
His voice alone, apart for making her wet, makes her hips lift, seeking more.
She wants more than words.
“Yes… yes, Marty.” Her back arches, begging for his hands, his mouth, more.
He lifts up, opens her blouse fully, slips it off her shoulders. The white bra gleams against her flushed skin.
His hands slide behind her —
“It’s in the front,” she breathes.
“Oh, I like that.”

He pops the clasp and bends down on the middle of her breasts, finding them bare now.
His mouth claiming one breast, his hand kneading the other. He licks, kisses, groans against her skin.
“I love your tits so much,” he growls, squeezing them together.
“I know you do…Tell me again,” she pants.
He squeezes them together again, looking into her eyes.
“I love your tits, Meryl.” She closes her eyes, head falling back. She’s getting more wet.
“I love them…the shape, the softness, the size of your nipples and how they feel on my tongue… god…”

He kisses her hungrily. She’s already moving beneath him, restless with need.
He knows she already must be sublime down there.
Just waiting for him.
He sits up, unbuttoning her pants and taking them off.
“Take your shirt off too,” she whispers.
He strips quickly, then shoves his pants down to his briefs.
“Those too.”
He laughs low, obeys — and then he’s back over her, warm skin on warm skin, her hands sliding over his chest.

His mouth trails down her body — lips on her throat, her collarbone, her breasts again, her stomach. He hooks his fingers in her panties and drags them down her legs, slow, deliberate, eyes locked to hers.
He tosses them aside. Her legs stay pressed together — shy, wanting. He caresses her thighs, kisses her knees, then nudges her open. Slowly.

She shivers — she knows how she must look: wet, swollen, aching for him. Completely aroused.
His hand cups her heat, palm broad and warm, fingers barely brushing. Playing with the piece of hair.
But so gently, she barely feels him at first.
She moans at the faint touch — the tease of it makes her hips lift off the bed.
He knows how aroused she must be by the way she's moving her body without him barely touching her.
His fingertip slides along her seam, parts her, finds the slickness waiting for him. His eyes flutter shut at the feel of her.
“Jesus Christ… how are you already this wet?”
She gasps when his finger slips inside.
“Hum? Meryl… how are you so wet for me?”

He doesn't wait for the answer she wasn't going to give him — lowers himself between her thighs, mouth on her in one deep, hungry stroke.

No mercy, no slow buildup — just his tongue, his lips, devouring her. The lewd sound of him tasting her fills the room. He moans into her heat like he’s starving, like this is his favorite meal and he’ll never get enough.

She cries out, back arching. Her fingers twist in the sheets.
The vibrations of his groan against her clit push her straight over the edge — her orgasm crashes through her in a sharp, stunning wave.

But he doesn’t stop. He pins her hips with strong hands, mouth relentless, tongue and lips pulling her higher. Another climax breaks — stacked right over the first. She’s trembling, breathless, lost.

When he finally eases, he kisses her inner thighs, her hips, her stomach — slow, reverent. He moves up her body, leaving a trail of heat. Her eyes are closed, her chest heaving.

He kisses her collarbone, her throat, then her mouth — she tastes herself on his tongue and moans into the kiss, arms sliding around his back, pulling him down, closer, closer still.

His cock is hard — thick, pulsing — pressed against her slickness.
“Fuck me,” she whispers against his mouth. “I need it. I need it so much.”
“Yes, I’m going to fuck you… that’s all I want, my love,” he murmurs, lining himself up.
He pushes in slowly. Deep. Letting her feel every inch.
She gasps — not from surprise, but from the way he fills her so perfectly. Like he was made to be inside her.
She wraps her legs around him, locking him in, hips rolling up to meet his. The slick, wet sound of their bodies fills the room.
“You’re soaked, Meryl,” he whispers. “You came so hard, baby…”
Her hands claw at his back, lips at his shoulder.
He fucks her slow at first — deep and steady — his thrusts perfectly timed to make her moan. But then her nails drag down his spine and he growls, hips snapping harder.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he pants. “You’re fucking ruining me.”
“You feel so good inside me,” she moans. “You stretch me just right…”
Fuck. Just hearing her say that… He could have come just with those words.

He kisses her deeply — messy, raw, tongues tangling.
Then pulls back to look at her, gaze dark and full of lust.
Grips her waist.

“Turn over.”

She freezes for a heartbeat, breath catching.
“Marty…” Her voice drips with need.

“Now.”

His voice is low, rough — that edge she craves.

She does as he says, turning over, bracing on her elbows and knees, ass up, hair tumbling over one shoulder.
He kneels behind her, running his hands slowly down her back, over her hips, squeezing her ass in both hands.

“You don’t know what you do to me like this,” he murmurs, kissing the small of her back.
“I think I do,” she whispers.

He spreads her gently, watching her glistening, still wet and swollen from everything they’ve already done.
He feels dizzy just looking at her.
All his. Meryl, all His.

Then he slides the head of his cock along her folds. Slow. Teasing.
She pushes her hips back — greedy for him.
“Patience” he growls.
He grips her hips, steadying her — then slides in. All the way.
She gasps — completely filled — arching, hands gripping the sheets.
“Oh my god…”

He pulls out halfway… and slams back in.
Hard.
She cries out.
Again. And again. A rhythm that builds — deep, intense, merciless.
The sound of skin on skin, her moans, his low groans filling the room.

“I wanted you like this again for so long…” he groans.
“Today, you drove me fucking crazy… the way you moved… the way you looked at me. Biting your fingers, Meryl… I just wanted to get you home and make love.”

“You like it like this, Meryl?” he growls.
“Yes, Marty… yes…”

He slides a hand down her front, between her thighs, finding her clit — rubbing tight, precise circles while he fucks her from behind.
“You want to come for me, Meryl? While I’m buried inside you?”

“God, yes — please don’t stop—”
“I’m not stopping. You’re gonna come for me. One more. I want you screaming baby.”
“I’m close — fuck — I’m so close—”
She whimpers — her whole body shaking — then it hits her.

A wave that crushes through her, violent and sweet.
She screams — raw, desperate — comes again, hard. Her whole body trembling, legs shaking as her orgasm takes over.
She falls forward, face against the pillow,

He doesn’t stop, follows her down, hips still moving, buried deep.
He’s close — too close.

“Meryl — I’m coming—”
“Do it. Come inside me,” she gasps.

He growls, curses, slams into her one last time and comes hard, pulsing deep inside her, hips jerking against her ass, breath ragged.

When he finally stills, he collapses over her, both of them drenched in sweat and heat.

They don’t speak — just lie there, still joined, still trembling.

Eventually, he pulls out with a groan, rolls onto his back, dragging her with him.
They lie still for a moment, catching their breath.
Then she exhales hard. Looks at him and laughs.
“Oh my god,” he pants. “One of these days, I’m going to have a heart attack. God, that was good.”
She grins. “So good.” She pushes up.
“Where are you going?”
“Water. I need water!”

She goes downstairs, leaving him there, grinning wide, blissed out.
He closes his eyes, heart pounding, something more waiting on his tongue.

She comes back with a glass, passes it to him, then slips back into bed, curling against his chest, eyes closing in that warm, soft silence.
Just feeling happy and satisfied.

“Meryl.”
“Hmm?”
“I want you to know my kids.”
Her eyes open — her heart kicks hard in her chest.
Silence.
“Meryl… you’re doing that thing again.”
“What?”
“Not talking.”
She swallows. “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“No. I’ve met your kids. I’m being pressured. Especially by Katherine.”
She takes a deep breath.
She lifts her head, looks at him, anxiety stirring.
“I don’t know…”
“Why?”
She takes another deep breath, shrugs, shaking her head and looks away.
“Is this about Nancy?”
“Yes.” Her voice barely there.
“They want to meet you. And I want it to happen before we go to New York.”
“But that’s… that’s only a few days from now!”
“I know. I was thinking this week, while you’re here.”
“What? No, no. This is their mother’s home—”
“Meryl, we’ve talked about this. This is My home. I thought we settled that.”

She sits up. “But I’m thinking about your kids. How they’ll feel.”
“I know. And I’m telling you — it’s okay. They know you stay here. They know you sleep here. It's fine with them. And they want to meet you.”

He pulls her closer. “I really want this,” he says softly.
“I know.” She lays her head on his chest. “Okay.”
His grin is wide, relief flooding him. He hugs her tighter. She smiles, heart racing but warm with his happiness.

 

The next day, they wake up early. Marty heads to the studio to film while Meryl stays in, her scenes not starting until late — dusk settling by the time she arrives on set.

She greets the crew — everyone happy to see her. She scans the room, finds Marty laughing with Steve, Selena, and Eugene.
Eugene spots her first. “Hey, look who it is!”
“Hi,” she says, kissing him on the cheek, aware of Marty’s eyes on them — his oldest friend, and his… his Meryl.
He smiles.
She kisses Selena and Steve too, then looks at Marty. Everyone watches.

“Don’t kiss him. He’s spoiled already!” Steve calls out, teasing as always. Helping the situation.
“Very spoiled,” she fires back.
“I wouldn’t say very—” Marty starts, but she arches a brow, giving him a look — remember last night?
He smirks, catches it.
“Guys — hello — we’re here!” Selena says, snapping them all back. They laugh.
“I should go. Have to prepare myself” Meryl says.
She leaves, brushing a hand on Marty’s arm.

The scene is set at a mansion in the Hollywood Hills.
A party glows around them.

Hair and makeup done, she steps out in a long black dress — shoulder bare, blonde hair cascading. She looks like a goddess.
“Wow, Meryl… you look super hot!” Selena says.
She feels it too — sexy, powerful. Selena’s words make her smile. “Thank you!”

Marty watches. He wants to say more, but bites it back. Back in season three, he’d say it without a second thought — now he tries to hold back, not wanting to smother her.
But him being exactly himself is what got them here. He doesn’t want to change that.
“You look beautiful,” he says simply.

She smiles, a flush rising. She knew he’d love this dress — the moment she saw that shoulder bare in wardrobe, she knew.

“Thank you.”

The first scene — Oliver talking to Mabel when Loretta appears — a vision. They’ve been apart five days, him losing his mind for her.

Much like real life, sometimes.

They shoot, but keep breaking — laughing, teasing. The crew watches — the question on everyone’s lips: are they or aren’t they? Some swear yes, others say they’re just friends. Some can’t believe Meryl would date a guy like Martin.

But you don’t need to be a genius to read their body language — not since day one.

She’s laughing again at work — and that feels so good. While someone fixes her makeup, she glances at Marty. He catches her eyes, grins.

Next, they have a great scene…
The fire pit — sparks on camera, and off...mostly off.

They sit there, waiting while the crew works around them — adjusting lights, setting cameras in place.

They’re just there. Looking at each other.
Smirking.
She suddenly laughs.

“What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
He leans in, his voice low.
“You look so sexy in this dress. That shoulder is driving me crazy.”
“This shoulder?” She pulls the dress a bit lower, teasing him.
“Yes. Can we take this dress home?”
She laughs.
“You want the dress or the shoulder?”
“Hmm… the shoulder.”
He leans in and kisses her bare skin, quick but hungry. A crew member catches it.
“Marty!” she scolds, half-serious, but loving it.

John steps in, ready to coach them through the scene. They settle, focus.

They run the lines — Oliver, torn about Loretta staying in LA and asking him to maybe come and be with her.

“I just feel like I’m watching you take off and fly away,” he says. “I just… I hope I can keep up with you.”

She gives him this soft, impossibly tender smile.
“Oh, I’m so in love with you.” She pauses. “Oliver.”

It’s not in the script. Marty’s heart stops for a beat — he’s heard those words from her countless times, but never like this. Not surrounded by crew and lights. She said it like she meant it for him.
He says his next line, voice low.
Then he pauses too.

“But I love you too.”
It’s not Oliver talking. It’s him. Meryl knows it — she knows that look in his eyes.

And John — well, John knows everything.

When the take ends, John wants another pass but wants to keep their unscripted confessions. He shakes his head, amazed this is happening on his set.

They step away. She looks at him.
“Marty… we got a little carried away.”

He’s still got that look — soft, open, so full of love.
She blushes.
“I know. It felt right. And, like Oliver, I really hope I can keep up with you… and that you never grow tired of me…”
She looks at him, eyes shining.
“I’m so in love with you.” She says it again — this time for him alone.

John calls them back. They’re oblivious.
“Guys!”
They giggle like kids.
“One more time. Not the whole thing,” John says.
“Sure.”

Chapter 25: green eyed monster

Two days later, it’s the day.

Lunch with Marty’s daughter and sons.

Meryl wakes up before dawn. She’s a wreck. She sits in the kitchen with coffee, already spiraling — the food, the wine, what to wear, how not to look like she’s moved in and taken over. This feels like a terrible idea.

Marty shuffles in, hair wild, half asleep.
“Meryl… it’s not even seven. What are you doing up?”

“I’ve been up for an hour!”
“My point.”
She groans.
“Marty, I don’t know… maybe this is a mistake.”
He rolls his eyes — here they go again. He walks over, takes her arms gently.
“Meryl. It’s not a mistake. My kids want to meet the woman I’m dating. They’re excited for me. Plus — you’re Meryl Streep. It doesn’t get better than this.”
She softens a little.
“I have to go home.”
“Do what?”
“Get something else to wear.”
“What’s wrong with the clothes you have here?”
He immediately regrets it — rookie mistake. She glares. He says nothing else.
“I’m going to change, quick.”
She storms upstairs.

He mutters after her, half to himself:
“Going to get dressed… drive an hour… change clothes… drive an hour back…”
“Marty! I can hear you!”

Upstairs, she throws open the closet. By now, she’s stocked it well — enough outfits for any situation…any emergency.
She sighs. Sees a few things she likes.
Closes it again.

She comes back down — still in her robe. He’s surprised.
She sits beside him, tense.
“Maybe I have something here I can wear.”
He smiles, wraps an arm around her waist, kisses her cheek.
“It’s going to be fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Wonderful.”
She breathes out, leaning into him. He always knows how to calm her.

A few hours later, it’s almost time. The house is ready. So is he — or as ready as he can be. He sits in the living room, listening to music, waiting. He knows better than to bother her unless she calls for him.
He’s nervous too. He’s never introduced anyone to his kids before — not like this.

They knew he dated. They were glad he did.
They never asked anything. They worried about him being alone. Katherine especially. She always saw the loneliness behind the jokes and the charm. So, when they saw him with that look — the giddy teenager grin, they knew, someone was in his life.
Was this one going to be different?
They realized fast, it was different. Even the boys noticed. He was beyond happy. Always smiling. With hope and excitement in his eyes. Plus, sneaking around to answer some calls. Smiling at his phone while texting.
Not paying attention to conversations because his head was somewhere else.
They've never seen him like this.
So, when he summoned them to that lunch before the party at his house, they knew it was about her.

When he told them who she was, the shock was real. Meryl Streep!
How could this be.

She comes downstairs at last – second choice of outfit — black pants, a silk white blouse, simple and perfect.
He can tell she’s wound tight — jaw clenched, lips pressed, twisting rings on her fingers, hair, anything she can reach.

“You look wonderful.”

She smiles.
“Thank you.”

“Come sit.” He pats the sofa. She points at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m not getting near you until tomorrow!”
He laughs.
“What?”
“Yeah — keep a safe distance. I’m warning you!”
“Safe for who?”
She spins away, scanning the table one more time. He sneaks up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist.
She jumps.
“Marty! What did I just say?!”
He laughs, holds her tighter. She turns in his arms.
“You’re hopeless!”
“Totally hopeless. For you.”
She smiles — and kisses him.

There’s a buzz from the gate.
“Oh, fuck,” she says under her breath.
“Here we go!” Marty grins, opening the gate and heading for the front door.

Meryl freezes in the middle of the living room.
It’s the boys — Oliver and Henry — arriving together, both looking a little nervous too. Marty beams when he sees them.
“Boys!”
“Hey, Dad!”
They hug him tightly before stepping inside.

They walk into the living room and see Meryl.
“Well, no point introducing you — you know who she is!” Marty chuckles. “And this is Oliver, and this is Henry.”

Meryl smiles, managing the softest, “Hi.”
Both Oliver and Henry lean in to kiss her cheek.
“Hi, very nice to meet you.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“I gotta admit… up until now, we still half-thought Dad might be joking — and maybe it was another Meryl!” Oliver says.
She laughs nervously. “Yeah… no… it’s me.”
Marty steps closer, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. She freezes again, slowly inching away from his touch. Sensing it, he slides an arm around her waist instead — she turns red instantly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met another Meryl,” Marty says.
“Me neither,” Henry agrees.
“Where’s Kate?”
“Stuck in traffic — she texted.”
“So we get to meet Meryl first — she’s going to lose it,” Oliver laughs.
“Actually, I’ve met her,” Meryl says.
“Really?” Henry raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah — at Joni Mitchell’s birthday party. Joni introduced us.”
“I didn’t know that!” Oliver says, glancing at Marty.
“Yeah… I didn’t mention it,” Marty shrugs.
“And because your father didn’t tell me he’d already told you we were—” She pauses, searching for the right word.
“—dating,” Marty finishes for her.

The boys catch the slight hesitation and exchange knowing glances.
“Right,” she nods. “I didn’t say a word to your sister. Apart from hello, maybe!”
“But I told Katherine it was my fault,” Marty says, whispering to his sons, “and I got scolded badly at home.”
“Well, of course you did!” Oliver laughs.

“You know what we could do?” Henry suggests. “If it’s okay with you, Meryl — can we take a photo together and send it to Kate?”
“Sure!” Meryl laughs.
“Oh, you’re just trying to start chaos,” Marty teases.

They snap a photo — Meryl in the middle, the Short brothers hugging her close, all smiles.
Henry sends it.
“She saw it already,” he says, checking his phone. “She just sent a GIF of someone fainting on the floor.” They all burst out laughing.

“Alright, don’t send anything else — she might have an accident or something,” Marty says.
“So, who wants a drink? Should I open a bottle of wine?”
“I’ll have wine,” Henry says.
“Yeah, me too,” Oliver adds.
“Meryl, wine?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, I’ll grab it.”
“I’ll help—”
“No, no. Stay here,” Marty brushes her arm gently as he passes.

She feels her nerves spike again — now she’s alone with his sons.
“Meryl, I won’t gush about how much I love your movies and your work — but I do,” Henry says, making her smile. “Mostly though… it’s been a very long time since we’ve seen our dad this happy.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” she says softly.

“And I just want to say — I know I speak for all of us — we’re so happy for you both. We want Dad happy. Always.”
Tears well up in her eyes.
“Thank you… really. That means so much to me. I have to admit I was so nervous about today… well, I still am…”
“Oh, please don’t be,” Oliver says. “We’re just thrilled he finally found someone who makes him this happy.”

Marty comes back in, spotting them mid-heart-to-heart.
“What’s going on here?” he asks with a smile.
Meryl turns, wiping away a tear. Marty pulls her into a quick hug.
“Marty… no…” she whispers.
“I leave for a minute…” he teases.
“Dad, we were just telling Meryl how happy we are for you both.”
“Thank you, son,” Marty says, voice warm with pride.

The doorbell rings again.
“Oh, that’s Katherine.”

Marty opens the gate and the front door. Katherine walks in, beaming.
“Hi, baby!” She huggs him quickly. “Dad, I love you, but today is all about—” She spots Meryl and lights up. “Meryl! Hiiiii!”

She pulls Meryl into a big hug. Meryl hugs her back, finding the gesture so sweet.
“Hi again! That night — when we first met — I didn’t know who you were, and when Joni told me… well, I figured you didn’t know anything about me and your father.”
“I know,” Katherine laughs. “He told me. It’s okay. I loved meeting you that night. But mostly… I love that you’re my dad’s girlfriend!”
Meryl’s taken aback — girlfriend. Is that what she is? Marty’s girlfriend. She chuckles at the word.

The lunch goes on for hours — talking, laughing, everyone delighted to finally be together. Meryl relaxes, letting herself enjoy being around Marty’s kids — even allowing him to stay close, caressing her arm, slipping an arm around her, kissing her neck. Small, tender touches that show his kids just how in love he is.

When they’re finally alone, Marty can’t stop smiling — his whole face glows with happiness, contentment, fulfillment.
He pulls Meryl into a hug, grinning at her. She smiles back, just happy to see him like this.
“That went well, right?” she asks.
“Better than well. They loved you. You could charm anyone.”
“Do you really think so?” she asks, needing the reassurance.
“I’m 100% sure.”
“But do you think they liked meeting me, or that we’re together?”
“Both, of course.”

She lets out a deep breath. “It must be weird for them — me being here.”
“Meryl, they just want me to be happy. They knew I dated other women — I started seeing other women again maybe two years after Nancy passed. But I never introduced anyone to them. I told you — I never brought another woman into this house. The difference is: this is real, it’s serious. And they see that.”
“So… we’re serious.”
He laughs softly. “Of course. We’re the real thing.”
She gazes at him, a little awed. “Do you ever stop and think how much your life has changed in just over a year?”
“Every day. Every single day I think about how lucky I am to have you in my life. I thank fate for that call you made to Steve.”
“I only made that call because you made that joke!”
“I made that joke to get your attention.”
“Well, you got my full attention.” She wraps her arms around his neck. “Remind me why you wanted it, to get my attention?”
He studies her eyes, then her mouth. “I’ve wanted your attention for years. You were always so intriguing. And so fucking sexy… but you were married.”
“Hmmm… not anymore.”
“Not anymore.”
They kiss.

A few days later, they head to New York.

Marty has lots of filming there. She’ll be filming too, but not just yet.

They both love New York — the place where their relationship really began. It’s easier to relax there, without paparazzi waiting outside every restaurant.

They decide to go out on Saturday night — a Broadway play and dinner after. They arrive at the Hudson Theatre early enough to grab a drink in the VIP lounge.

They sit side by side on a plush sofa, sipping their drinks, talking, giggling. Normally, no one would pay much attention — especially in such a private area. But with all the online rumors and half-baked denials, someone snaps a photo of them looking cozy.

They watch the play, then Marty suggests they go backstage to meet the actors. She hesitates for a moment — but she knows he wants to, and she knows he wants to be seen with her, out in the world, no more hiding. After all, they’ve been together for months now.

They go backstage.
The actors are thrilled to have them there—some of them even surprised, because, well... it seems they really are a couple.
Videos are made: Marty chatting with everyone, singing, totally in his element.
She’s more aware, a bit self-conscious. She talks with the actors, laughs at their jokes—but if it were up to her, maybe she wouldn’t have come backstage at all.

But she loves him.
She loves seeing him happy, loves that she can give him that.
And yes, he’s clearly over the moon that everyone is seeing her with him.
They take photos with the cast. Make videos.
All of this is bound to end up on social media.

She just exhales when, on Monday, she sees the headline: After denying they were a couple, they go out to dinner—and now to a play.
Yeah. She shakes her head. Of course no one will buy their denial now!

Marty comes home from the studio. He’s staying at her apartment.
“I’m home.”
She grins. She loves when he arrives. The house fills with magic again.
“Hi.”
They kiss.
“Did someone tell you about that Disney-Hulu thing?” he asks.
“Yes, this morning. But it’s a private party, right?”
“Yeah. They invited me, Steve, Selena... I wasn’t sure about you.”
“It seems like it’s for the big-shot producers, CEOs, people talking about new projects... I didn’t get all of it.”
“It’s a chance for people to get to know each other, like you said, big shot producers and top ranked executives—and in your case, for them to get to know you.”
They laugh.
“Well, I said I’d go.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“It’s a dinner, right?”
“Yeah... next week.”

Disney Event

They go together. Because it’s relatively small, there’s no paparazzi outside.
It’s only for the most successful shows and series of the moment, big stars, producers, executives.
Meryl and Marty aren’t seated together, which annoys them both, but the organizers want people to mingle.
Her table is in the middle of the room. John Hoffman and Steve are there too, plus the Disney and Hulu CEOs, Elisabeth Moss, Jamie Lee Curtis, and some investors and producers.

Meryl is seated between Bob Iger and someone she doesn’t know. One thing she does know: he looks strikingly like Robert Redford—only younger. Close to her age, she thinks.
He was already seated when she arrived. He stood and pulled out her chair.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
“Hi, Bob.”
“Hello, Meryl. Do you know David?”
“No.”
“I’m David Reaye—just a very boring producer,” he says, offering his hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Meryl, David’s been nagging me to meet you,” Bob teases.
“Oh?”
“Well, there’s always projects for an actor like you.”
“Not at my age!”
“Come on, at 50, you must have offers lined up at your door.”
“Oh, you shameless flirt—David, come on!” Bob scolds, half-laughing.
“No, no—let him,” Meryl laughs too.
“Sorry. I’ve been out of the game far too long!”
They all laugh.

Most of the dinner, Meryl talks with David. Besides being handsome, he’s genuinely interesting—he’s lived abroad, dedicates time to humanitarian projects, mostly continuing his late wife’s work.
All of it draws Meryl in.
God, he really does look like Redford. Beautiful smile. Charming. Flirty. And…

Steve’s phone buzzes.
“Who the fuck is that guy?” Steve chuckles.
Marty’s table isn’t close, but from where he sits, he can see her. She’s been talking with that guy all night. Laughing, leaning in.
“He’s a producer. Big shot, I guess. Looks exactly like Robert Redford. Relax... they’re just talking.”

Steve’s been watching them, of course. Yes, they’re just talking—but she’s clearly enjoying the attention, and Steve’s noticed the guy touching her arm a few times.
He’s not telling Marty that part.
Marty checks his phone. Robert Redford? What the hell? Is Steve joking?

“What’s his name?”
“David Reaye.”

Marty googles him.
Shit. He does look like him. Seventy-five. Widower for four years. Producer. NGO board member.
Wikipedia might as well add actively looking for a new wife.
He tosses his phone on the table. Looks again at her.
The guy is leaning in, whispering something that makes her throw her head back laughing.
Marty downs his drink. His dinner is lousy—pretending to enjoy it while staring at her table.

When dinner ends, some people stay seated. Others get up to mingle.
The moment Marty frees himself from a conversation, he gets up.
Looks at her table and spots her going to the bar—with him.
What the hell.

He steadies himself. Licks his lips. Heads to her table anyway. Steve is still there—she’ll be back.

“Hi!” Marty says to the group.
They greet him warmly. Steve stands up.
“Calm down,” Steve mutters.
“I am calm.”
Steve snorts. “Sure you are.”
“I’m just interested to know what the fuck he’s saying to make her laugh all night.”
He’s pissed. Steve gets it—jealous, and slightly drunk. Not a great mix.
“Hey. They’re just talking,” Steve tries to soothe him, pulling him aside so the table can’t hear.
Instead of coming back, Meryl and David stay at the bar. Marty is fuming.

They are just talking—sure. But David is flirting. She knows it.
Now he’s telling her about NGO projects helping women—exactly her kind of thing.
“You should join!”
“Well, it sounds very interesting.”
“I’ve got an even better idea. Have dinner with me this week, we’ll talk more about it.”
Dinner? She hesitates.
“Sure,” she says, not entirely sure.
“Friday?”
“I’ll have to check my schedule.” She brushes her hair back. Feeling a bit flustered.
“Give me your number, we’ll talk.”
She’s uncomfortable giving it—but he’s a friend of Bob’s, and this isn’t the place for a deep talk. She gives him her number.

They get back to their table and she sees Marty talking to Steve. She smiles.
He doesn't smile back.
She reaches them.
“Hi, how was your dinner?” she asks when she returns.
“Not remotely as interesting as yours,” he says, sarcasm dripping.
She glances at Steve, who looks away.
“Excuse me?”
“You and fake Redford were having a blast. I could hear you laughing from across the room.”
His tone cuts her. She understands jealousy. But the tone—that’s what she can’t stand.

“Marty, don’t,” she says firmly.
Steve nudges his arm, trying to calm him. He’s too wound up.
“Let’s talk over there,” she says, nodding to a quieter corner.
He follows.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“You were flirting all night with that guy. That’s what’s wrong.”
“Flirting? Have you lost your mind?”
“Come on, Meryl. You weren’t just talking—not all the time.”
Maybe she was, a bit. But she’s not admitting it. Not when he’s talking like this.

“You’re being ridiculous. Can’t I talk to another man without you thinking it’s flirting?”
“You can. Go ahead—talk all you want. Stay up ‘til dawn if you want.”
Her lips press into a thin line.
“He was telling me about his NGO work. We even agreed to have dinner to discuss it.”
A heat wave rises through him.
“I’m sorry—what? Dinner?”
“Yes. So we can talk in a more private setting.”
“He invited you to dinner and you said yes?”
She hesitates. “Yes.”
“He’s hitting on you, Meryl. Flirting. Invites you to dinner. And you’re fine with it?”
She rolls her eyes. “I can have dinner with whoever I want.”
“Don’t go. I’m asking you— tell him you can’t go.”
“I said I’d have to check my schedule to confirm Friday or not...”
“And how will you check—did you exchange numbers?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head.
“He asks you out. Asks for your number. You blissfully say yes and I’m suppose to like this shit?!”
He just nods, jaw tight. Walks away, leaving her standing there.

Back at the table, David sits down.
“David, were you with Meryl at the bar?” Bob whispers.
“Yeah. Just needed to talk away from the crowd.”
“Man... I don’t know if she’s not with Martin Short. He just came here, and now both of them are gone. I saw you flirting.”
“Didn’t they deny it? Said they’re just friends?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know...”
“Well, I asked her out and she said yes. Gave me her number. So... I guess she’s open.”
“Really? Well, okay then—oh, she’s coming.”
“I just came to say goodbye. I’m leaving.”
“Already? That’s a pity. But hey—Friday?”
“Sure. I’m almost certain I can.”
“Great!”
“Bye, Bob. Bye everyone!”

Steve watches her leave, worried. Marty is gone too—vanished without a word.
He went straight to his apartment. Didn’t say goodbye to anyone.

Meryl gets home. Tosses her purse and jacket on the table by the door.
“Fuck!” she yells.
She paces by the living room windows, staring at the city lights.
Checks her phone—nothing.
It’s nearly midnight. Maybe he went to a bar with friends. Just to avoid her for an hour or so.
She changes into pajamas, finishes her routine, returns to the living room. Checks her phone—still nothing.

She sits on the sofa, turns on the TV. Puts on the news—he likes the news.
Falls asleep there.

It’s after 3 a.m. when she wakes. Startled. Checks her phone: no calls, no texts.
Where the hell is he.
She types: When are you coming home?

Seconds later: I’ve been home for hours.

She presses her lips together. Types, stops, erases it. Tosses the phone aside.
She knows she wasn’t entirely innocent at dinner—but this is absurd. She’s not interested. Neither is David, really. It’s just dinner. Work dinner.

She goes to bed.

They don’t speak for the next two days.

Chapter 26: the slit

Friday comes.

Dinner with David.

He made reservations.
She puts on an all-black suit, high heels, lets her hair down.

At the restaurant, he’s already there. Smiles, kisses her cheek, pulls out her chair.
The table is round—cozy.
They order drinks before deciding what to eat. He’s a wonderful storyteller.
But her energy is off. She didn’t even want to come tonight, but felt she had to. He notices she’s different from the other night—tries harder, cracks jokes, gets a few reluctant laughs. The martinis help.

The dinner drifts—still no real talk about the NGO work.
Then, mid-sentence, he puts his hand on her leg. Leaves it there. Lifts it to gesture, puts it back.
Meryl freezes. Her mind blanks.
Marty was right.
Heat crawls through her body—uncomfortable.
She shifts, pretends to reach for something across the table to move her legs away. Waits for him to finish speaking.

“David... I feel like I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I came tonight because I was genuinely interested in your work with women’s organizations. That’s all. I’m in a relationship. A happy one. I’m not looking.”

He goes quiet for a moment.
“Well, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I confess—I did want to get to know you better.”
“And maybe I gave the wrong impression.”
“He’s a lucky man.”
She smiles softly. “Thank you.”

They finish dinner on perfectly polite terms.

Meryl goes home.

The last text she got from Martin was the day of the Disney event, earlier this week.
And now she’s flying back to LA again.
The iHeartRadio Music Awards. She’s presenting Cher.

It’s ridiculous they haven’t talked.
She knows he was jealous. She hated his tone.
But now, of course, she knows he was right.
She remembers him asking her not to go to that dinner.
She takes a breath.
Starts typing.
“You were right.”
Simple.

A few minutes later:
“Did you go to the dinner?”
Shit.
“Yes. Because I honestly didn’t think it was wrong.”
She hopes he’ll text right back.
He doesn’t.
Thirty minutes later:

“I asked you not to…”
She doesn’t reply.
He doesn’t say anything else.

He hates that she went.
He doesn’t want to control her — far from it.
But he knew exactly what that dinner was. How could she not?
Yes, he was jealous. Madly.
The guy was exactly the kind women notice — tall, silver-blond, blue eyes, in shape, charming, smooth.
Perfect, on paper.

Marty had asked her not to go. She could have at least thought about why.
And now she texts “You were right” like that makes it better.
He’s furious — and of course he’s wondering what happened. Did the guy kiss her? Try to?
Furious!
And keeping their relationship quiet just makes it easier for men like that to test the waters. It’s natural. But this? This was mishandled.

He misses her. He does. But right now he’s hurt, and he needs reassurance.
She’s not giving him that.

Sunday, she’s back in LA.
Monday.

Still nothing from Marty.
She’s annoyed. She misses him.
She wants to hear his voice.
She paces her closet, flipping through dresses.
Then she sees the one. And she knows.

At the Dolby Theatre, her publicist hovers backstage.
Meryl is in a long white silk dress — plunging neckline, a flash of bra here and there, a slit that demands attention.
High attention! When she walks, she sometimes has to hold it closed. Sky-high heels.

She’s slaying it. And she knows it.
This is just to show Marty how good she looks. And the World.
Seventy-four and better than ever.

She steps on stage. Showing skin…her legs…her collarbone.
Shining and glowing… sexier then ever.
The audience loses it.

Backstage, she’s mingling with Cher and the usual crowd. Photographers hover.
“Hey, stranger.” She turns — it’s David.
She didn’t expect that.
Cher eyes him head to toe.
“Oh — hi!”
She greets him with a cheek kiss. Feels her cheeks warm.
“No boyfriend again?”
She flinches. Cher’s eyebrows jump.
“No.”
“See... that's a pity. See you..”
He’s gone, waving.
Cher turns. “Okay — two questions: Who is that hunk, and why are you brushing him off? And what boyfriend?”
“That’s three questions,” she teases. “He’s just some producer I met a few days ago.”
“He seems to want to continue to meet you.”
“Yeah, well — but I’m not interested. I told him that already.”
“What? Why? The boyfriend?”
She rolls her eyes.
“You didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend!” Cher gasps.
“Shhh…” She laughs. “Keep it quiet.”
“So it’s true! Good for you, girlfriend. How old is this mystery man?”
“My age. Sorry to disappoint.” She laughs.
“Oh, please — if you’re dressing like that… he must be keeping you busy!” Cher cackles and winks.
“Well… I can’t complain.” She smirks.
“Uuuuh…Who is he — do I know him?”
She leans in and whispers Marty’s name in Cher’s ear.
“Seriously?! Oh my god! So where is he?”
“We’re keeping it quiet.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I am. Very sure.” She sighs. “We’re actually… not talking right now.”
“Uh-oh. Why?”
“Because of that guy earlier.”
“What happened?”
“He may have flirted, then wanted dinner, I said yes… even though Marty asked me not to.”
Cher whistles. “So why did you go if you’re not interested…as you say?”
She shakes her head. “Because I’m stupid.” Then softly and whispering: “I love Marty.”
“Oh, honey.” Cher hugs her. “That's so you! Why love them and you can just screw them! So much easier.”
They laugh.

Meanwhile, Marty knows exactly where she is tonight.
Dolby Theatre…just half an hour from him.
Yes, he flew to LA on Saturday.
He’s been refreshing news sites for photos. Over and over.
The show was over.

And there it was.

Fuck! What was she wearing?
She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed and wrapped herself in silk — in the best possible way.
All he could see was leg — up to there — and that plunging neckline, then more leg again when she moved.
She was even holding the slit closed, as if she knew she was one move away from showing the world everything.
He was still pissed with her, but his cock twitched all the same.
Craving her.
God, she looked unreal.

Then he saw a backstage shot — Cher beside her.
He zoomed in.
What the fuck?
There, in the background — him. That fucking producer. Standing just behind her.
Marty’s heart dropped.
What the fuck was he doing there?
He felt sick. Actually sick.
Tosses the phone.
This could not be happening.

Meryl got home.
Big house. Quiet. Too quiet.
Still nothing from him.
She’d felt powerful when she was getting ready — now, all that energy had drained out.
She caught her reflection — the dress, the slit. Legs for days.
So sexy.
But for what? For whom?
She left the dress on. Left the heels on. Opened a bottle of red, stepped outside into the cold night.
One glass, then another. Pacing the garden. Trying to shake it off — this loneliness, this sadness.

She recalled him saying once it was always him texting first. And he was right.
That’s why she’d waited. And expected he would say something.
She sighed and checked her phone for the hundredth time.

And then — there it was. A message. From him.
Her stomach flipped. She opened it.
A photo. Backstage. Her. David blurred in the background.
Fuck.

His text - “Second date?”

“Fuck!” she hissed, out loud this time.
This is not happening! Now she's nervous.
Can't let him think she met him again, not dressed like this.
She called him immediately.
He picked up on the first ring.

“Meryl.” His voice — flat, hard.
“I didn’t go out with him tonight! It was nothing — he just showed up backstage. I was with Cher, he popped in—”
“You just went out with him once, then.”
She took a breath.
“You say it like it was a date. It wasn’t. I told you — I was interested to hear about his work.”
“You were…interested.”
“In the work! Marty, stop. You know I love you.”
“Then why the text — You were right? What the fuck happened?”
Silence.
“Did he kiss you?”
“No!”
“Then what?”
She closed her eyes…anticipating his reaction... “He put his hand on my leg.”

Marty’s jaw clenched. He closed his eyes too — rage boiling up.
“Marty—”
Nothing.
“Marty, I’m sorry.”
“I fucking asked you not to go.”
“I know, I know… but it was just a dinner.”
“For god’s sake, Meryl — the man flirted with you all night. How do you not see that? Or maybe you did see it. Maybe you liked it. Is that why you want to keep us private?”
“Don’t say that. You know that’s not true. I know you’re angry — I just… I didn’t want to feel like you were telling me what to do. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck, Meryl…” He dragged a hand through his hair. She heard his breath catch.
“I miss you so much.” She says.
Silence.
“Marty?”
“Yes.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. And that dress tonight — you wore it just to mess with my head, didn’t you?”
She bit her lip. Smirked. “Mmm-hmm.”
He laughed, humorless, low.
“I wish you could take it off.”
His voice dropped. “Really?”
“Yes.” Her voice his low and full of want.

Then — headlights. A car coming.
“What the — ?”
“I guess you got your wish.”
She dropped the phone on the patio chair, ran across the stones.
He was getting out of the car.
She ran to him, threw herself into his arms.
He caught her. Held her so tight it almost hurt.

Her eyes stayed closed, her face buried in his neck.
He kissed her hair, his hands locked around her back.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered. “When did you fly in?”
“Saturday.”
She pulled back, touching his face. “Because you knew I’d be here.”
“Of course.”

She kissed him — once, twice, a third time.
Then she tugged his hand, pulling him inside.
Inside, he ran both hands through his hair, looking at her — the slit, the silk, the heels still on.
“This is what I’ve been losing my mind over all night.”
“Why’d you really come?” she teased.
“To talk. To see you. I figured you’d be home — unless you were out with your new friend.”
She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Stop. I don’t want to hear that. I only want you. Only you. I don’t give a fuck about any other man in the world.”
His hands locked around her waist, rough, possessive.
“Where did he touch you?” His eyes drilled into hers.
She squirmed. “Marty—”
“Tell me. Exactly. I want to know everything. Where did he put his hands?”
“One hand. On my thigh. While we were talking.”
He slipped a hand between them, under the slit, fingers sliding up her bare thigh until he found the softest skin. He pressed his palm there.
“Like this?” His voice was darker now. “Were you wearing a skirt?”
“No — a suit. And it wasn’t like this. He just put it there while talking. Then lift it and put it back again... letting there.”
“Like you were his.”
“Like he wanted something more.”
“And what did you do?”
“I moved. Then told him I was in a happy relationship. That I wasn’t looking.”
“And him?”
“He was a gentleman. Apologized and was very polite.”
“Sure he was.” Marty’s fingers flexed on her skin.
"Marty! It’s true. He admitted he wanted something different but apologized...and that was it."
“And then, he sees you tonight… wearing this dress,” he murmurs against her neck, kissing her there, his breath hot. “Practically showing your cunt.”
“What?” She shoves at his chest, but he holds her fast by the waist.
“I was not.”
“The second I saw you in this,” he growls, his hands sliding down to her thighs, “you were naked to me. Walking around, giving everyone a glimpse of these legs…” He traces his fingers up, slipping them between her thighs, brushing her where he knows she’s softest. “Holding the dress closed — just enough, so you didn’t show too much…I just went wild.”
His hand presses higher, making her shiver.
“And then I saw him there — near you, looking at you in this dress — and I lost my fucking mind.

She grabbed his face. “Marty — this dress? This was for you. I knew you’d see it.”
“You wanted to break me.”
“Yes.” She was breathless now. “To remind you what you’re missing.”

He crushed her mouth under his. His hands gripped her ass, pulled her against him — so she felt every inch of what she did to him.
Without a word, he started walking her backwards — down the glass corridor toward her bedroom.

“Where are we going?” she teased between kisses.
“To fuck.”
The heat on her lower belly.
The want in his voice.
The way she knows — and he knows — they’re in for a glorious fuck. Because every time they’re apart for a week or so, all that desire builds up between them until they’re burning for each other.
He stopped. “Walk for me. In that dress.”
She raised her eyebrows — but turned. Walked ahead of him, hips rolling, silk slipping side to side. Not bothering to hold the slit now. Letting him see more. Wanting him to.
He waits, watching her walk the length of the glass corridor. — eyes locked on every sway, every flash of thigh, curve of breast.
He wants to see her coming—though not that kind of coming… not yet.
He wants to watch her move toward him, see how her legs reveal themselves with every step, how her breasts shift under the silk.
She tilts her head back and laughs when he gestures for her to come closer.
Here she comes — slow, teasing. Biting her lower lip.
Moving on purpose. Slow.
Not holding the dress closed—if anything, letting it open more.
She wants him to see her.
She wants to be naked for him.
He makes her feel that fearless. That wanted.

By the end of this improvised catwalk, she’s in his arms. His heat.
The fabric is so thin he feels every inch of her beneath it.
The body he knows by heart—her curves, her bones, her freckles, the tiny scars only he kisses.
By the time she reached him, he was done waiting and they head to the bedroom.

Inside — no lights. Moonlight was enough.
Hands everywhere — silk falling. Her skin. His mouth.
They undress each other.
Kiss each other, with such intensity, such desire, that fucking could just be it.

But it's not.
It's his mouth on her cunt.
Her wetness. His tongue. God his tongue!
Making her moan loud.
It's his cock, entering her slowly but deep.
His hands gripping her. Firm. Always dominant. Like she likes with him.
It's thrust after thrust after thrust.
Until she screams and he falls on her chest. Sweaty and breathless.
Later — quiet. That perfect hush after everything.
The silence after fulfilling sex.
He lay on his back, her head on his shoulder
She, on her stomach…her fingers tracing circles on his chest.
His hand roamed down her back, over her ass, slow and lazy. Gently brushing trough her crack.
He could feel her breath slow against him.
The moonlight spilled over them — her bare skin, the outline of her smile as she drifted off.
He stared at her for a long time. He loves her body. She’s so perfect.
The only thing he’d wanted, finally back where she belonged.
With him.

Next day
It’s hot for April, even in LA.

They woke up, had breakfast, and now they’re stretched out on the sunbeds by the pool.
She did a few laps — he watched her the whole time, loving the way she cut through the water, sleek and easy.
Now they’re just soaking in the sun and each other’s quiet company.

She gets up, standing in front of him in her damp swimsuit.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she says, but her tone — and the way her eyes linger on him — makes it a promise more than a statement.
He watches her — her wet skin glistening in the sun, droplets sliding down her thighs
He’s lying back in his trunks and sunglasses, chest bare, arms strong and loose.
And sees her watching him.
Then he lifts his sunglasses to watch her walk away, takes in every sway of her hips, every little curve hidden under that thin stretch of fabric.

He tries to focus on his book again. Turns a page. Doesn’t read a word.
A few minutes later he tosses it aside.
“Fuck it!”

He gets up, heads inside.

Chapter 27: shower

He can hear the shower running as he reaches the bedroom — a steady rush behind the fogged glass of the big stone shower.
Her silhouette is blurred but tempting — a ghost of skin and curves behind the steam.

He makes just enough noise so she knows he’s there — he doesn’t want to startle her.
She hears him but doesn’t turn. She knew he wouldn’t stay away for long.

He watches the water pour over her — hair slicked down her back, rivulets streaming down her waist, her ass, her thighs.
He drops his trunks and steps inside.

She turns to face him — water clinging to her breasts, her stomach, droplets catching on her nipples.
She doesn’t say a word — just turns again, grinning, showing him her back, her ass, the way the water slides down every inch of her skin.

He steps closer, his hands gliding over her hips, pulling her back into him.
She shivers when his palms slide down, cupping her ass, squeezing her closer so she can feel how hard he already is for her.
She arches, pressing back against him, a quiet moan slipping past her lips.

He spins her around, pins her gently to the warm stone, kissing her — deep, hungry, wet.
His hands brace beside her head, claiming her mouth, her throat, every shiver she gives him.

The water makes their skin slick, every touch hotter than the sun outside.

Her hand finds him, wraps around his length, stroking him slow and sure. Her thumb teases the tip, gathering a low groan from his chest.
He thrusts lightly into her palm, forehead pressed to hers.
“You get hard so fast,” she teases, breathless, a wicked grin on her lips.
“Only for you.”
He throws his head back, groaning as her hand works him — slow at first, then squeezing harder, claiming every inch.
A raw sound rips from his throat when she tightens her grip.
She loves how solid he feels in her palm, loves how easily she can make him lose himself.
His hands slide up to her breasts, fingers digging in, thumbs brushing over her hard nipples, sending a shiver through her.
The water streams over them, hot and steady, making everything feel more urgent, more intense, more erotic.

“God…” he growls against her ear. “I don’t remember the last time I fucked in the shower.”
She laughs, breathless. “More than forty years ago…”
“I’m not sure it’s safe,” he chuckles, only for her to squeeze him again, rougher — he swears, hips jerking.
“Fuck! Jesus.”
“It’s safe.”
He looks at her, eyes dark with want. “Do you want to?”
The water hits only on his back now, warm and relentless.
She leans her head against the slick stone wall, arching her back, offering herself — breasts flushed from the hot water, nipples dark and stiff.
He shakes his head.
He just wants to come.
He traps her there with his arms on either side of her head, water dripping from his hair and chin.
His breath is ragged, words low and hoarse. “I just want to come inside you, Meryl. Right here or on the bed, I don’t care. Just say it.”
His voice alone makes her dizzy with heat. Her thighs tremble.
“Do you want to do it here?” he asks again, voice rough with need.
“Yes.How?”

He nods at the stone bench built into the back wall.
“You can sit on me… or you bend over.” He grabs her ass, pulls her hips flush to his cock. “What do you want?”

By now, he knows her well enough to know the answer before she gives it.
She just leans back against the wall, looking up at him with parted lips — no words, just her eyes.
He knows.

He turns her around, mouth on her neck, kissing down her spine.
His palms press to the stone on either side of her shoulders, trapping her again, his chest flush to her slick back. Her breasts pressed to the wall.
She’s burning for him — for this, in the shower.
His hands grip her hips, guiding her to bend just enough.

The water should help — but too much makes the slide rough, friction instead of glide.
So he pushes in slowly, carefully not to hurt her — inch by inch — feeling her heat swallow him deeper.
He groans when he feels just how wet she is inside — hot, slick, perfect.
“Am I hurting you?” His voice breaks at the edges.
“No… but go slow. Please.”
He does. He listens. He pushes deeper, waits, then rocks in again until he’s all the way in, buried to the hilt.

He starts to move — slow at first, then harder as she relaxes around him. He groans louder, the slap of wet skin echoing off the tile and stone.
They’re completely lost in it now, the rush of heat, the water pouring over them, her body slick and clinging to his.
God, it’s so good. So raw. So alive.
He can’t remember the last time he did something like this—not in a shower, not in a pool, not even the ocean. It’s usually safe, private, controlled. This is reckless and hot and perfect.
He finds a rhythm, driving into her, feeling her body open for him.
He thrusts deeper, harder, a groan tearing from his throat. He’s on the edge, right there with her.
A few more deep, hungry strokes—then he pulls out, breath ragged, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
The position strains them both, his thighs burning with the angle.
He gestures to the bench and sits, pulling her with him to straddle his lap — but she’s shaking her head, breathless laughter spilling past her lips.
“Sorry—” she giggles — “I want to go to the bed.”
He barks out a laugh, forehead to hers.
“I was thinking the same thing. But we’re drenched!”
She grins wickedly. “I don’t fucking care.”

They stumble to the bed, dripping wet, soaking the sheets the moment they fall into them.
They’re laughing, breathless, tangled together, water beading on skin and pooling where their bodies meet, whispering words of love and want.

In the middle of a giggle she feels him slide inside — no warning, no tease. She gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He sets a rhythm immediately — not slow, not gentle, not this time. His hips snap into hers, wet skin slapping wet skin.
Her hands slide down his back, over the ridges of muscle, to his ass — grabbing him, pulling him in harder, deeper.
They don’t say much — they don’t need to.
They both know this won’t last long. The shower fucked with his control — now he’s hungry, greedy, pounding into her like he can’t get close enough.
She loves it. Loves the rough edge to him, the way he growls her name into her neck, the way his breath stutters when she tightens around him just right.
She loves making him lose it — his mind, his control, his body. All for her. All hers.
“Meryl.”
“Hmmm?”
“I want you to come. Tell me…”

She knows exactly what he’s asking — where she is, how close — but she’s not there yet.
Her silence is all the answer he needs. He pulls out of her slowly, the absence of him making her shiver, then slides a finger inside instead — gentle, careful, coaxing.

His mouth moves to her nipple, sucking softly, then the other, tongue flicking over the tight peak.
She arches into him, her breath catching. She loves how he never forgets her — how he always makes sure she falls apart, too.

His lips travel to her neck, his stubble grazing her skin as he nestles close, breath hot in her ear.
His thumb finds her clit, circling with just enough pressure to make her hips twitch.
“Do you like my finger inside you?” he murmurs, voice deep, hungry.
“Yes…” she gasps, turning her face to his, kissing him messily, desperately.

“I love feeling how soft you are inside,” he growls against her mouth. He curls his finger, stroking her walls, his thumb never stopping its lazy circles.
“Marty…” she whimpers, hips rolling to meet his hand.
“Oh baby… here we go…”

He pulls his fingers free and slides back inside her with a slow, deep thrust — his hand stays between them, thumb pressing down just right.
She clutches at his shoulders, moaning into his mouth as he moves inside her — gentle but firm, pushing her closer, closer.
When he feels her start to tremble, the telltale clench around him, he picks up the pace — harder, deeper, his breath ragged against her neck.
He loves this part, when they fall over together — her body fluttering around him, drawing his own release right out of him, raw and unstoppable.

She comes with a cry, back arching, nails digging into his skin.
The sight, the sound — it wrecks him. He spills inside her with a groan, holding her tight as wave after wave crashes through them both.
He loves that they can do it. Come almost at the same time.
It's so intense.
A wave of love engulfs him. Watching her coming.

After, she lies breathless beneath him, flushed and glowing, hair damp against the pillow. She looks up at him, smiling that soft smile that makes his chest ache.
“What?” she whispers.

He strokes her face, pushes damp hair from her forehead.
“I love you so much, Meryl.”

She wraps her arms around him, eyes shining.
“I love you too. You’re so good to me.”

They kiss, slow and sweet.
Eventually he pulls back, chuckling, looking down at the ruined sheets.
“We have to get up. These sheets are drenched… in everything.”

She laughs, pushes at his chest playfully, and slips out from under him.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she teases over her shoulder.
He groans, reaching for her. “Oh baby…”
She glances back, grin wicked. “Want to join me? Just a real shower this time.”
He snorts, shaking his head as he watches her sway away.
“With us? It’s never just anything… is it?”

 

During April they’re in New York since the shooting of Only Murders in the Building is still going on.

Although Meryl isn’t filming, she wants to be in the city anyway — because it means she’s near him.
They’re not living together, but they’re spending nearly every moment they can by each other’s side.

In between the long days on set, they try to have a normal life. Quiet dinners in little restaurants here and there — the kind of places where, thankfully, nobody bothers them or snaps a photo for social media. Meals with friends, glasses of wine, laughter.
She spends time with her family when they’re apart, and he flies to LA once or twice too, just to be with his family for a day or two.
She was also in LA, for an event honoring Nicole Kidman, then came straight back to New York the next morning. Marty followed her a day later.

On the last day of April, something is off.
Marty wakes up not feeling quite like himself.
He’d gotten a late flight back to New York the night before and came straight to Meryl’s place, but by then she was already asleep.

She’s not in bed now. He can hear her voice somewhere in the apartment, talking on the phone.
He drags himself up, goes to the bathroom, then wanders into the kitchen.
When she sees him, she immediately hangs up.

“Good morning! Hi, I missed you!” She beams, wraps her arms around him.
“Hi, baby.”
But his voice doesn’t sound right, and she pulls back a little to look at him.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
“No, no, everything’s fine. I missed you too. You were so cute in that jumpsuit yesterday — I loved the picture you sent me.”
He hugs her again but she’s already heard it — that something in his voice that’s not quite normal.

“What do you want for breakfast? I’ll make it for you.”
“I’m really not hungry. Maybe later.”
He drifts to the living room, leaving her standing there, worry flickering across her face.
“Are you feeling sick?”
“No, just… maybe a little tired.”
“Then go back to bed. Stay a bit longer.”
“No, no, I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. I have to get to the studio.”

She presses her lips together but doesn’t argue.

He hopes the shower will make him feel better — but it doesn’t.
When he steps out, he feels a wave of dizziness. He steadies himself with a hand on the wall until it passes.
He goes to the bedroom, sits down slowly on the bed to get dressed. When he tries to stand, it washes over him again — dizzy. He sits back down, blinking, waiting for it to clear.

Meryl comes in while he’s sitting there. She’s talking about something — he can hear her voice but not her words. He’s just trying to focus, hoping the spinning stops.

“Marty… I’m talking to you…”
“What? Sorry… I wasn’t listening.”

She goes quiet. He can feel her eyes on him.
“Marty… what’s wrong?”
There’s worry in her voice now, unmistakable. He doesn’t want to make her worry more — so he doesn’t tell her about the dizziness.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired.”
He stands up, tries to act normal.
He feels a bit better.

“I have to go.”
“How about breakfast?”
“I’m still not hungry. I’ll eat something there.”
She reaches up, touches his face softly.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
He smiles, takes her hand and kisses it.
“Sure.”
Then he leaves for the studio.

A couple of hours later, Meryl’s phone rings. It’s Steve.
The second she hears his voice she knows something’s wrong.
“Steve, hi — what happened?”
“Meryl, hi, listen…” His tone — she can hear it — something happened to Marty.
“Please tell me what happened to him.” Her voice cracks. Her heart is pounding.
“Calm down — he fainted. He was taken to the hospital. I’m on my way there now.”
“Oh my god — I knew something was wrong this morning. Was he conscious when they took him?”
She’s already grabbing her purse, her keys, shoving her feet into shoes, grabbing a jacket.
“Yes. Shaken, but yes. I wasn’t with him when it happened.”
“I’m leaving now. I’ll call you in a minute, Steve — I need to get a car.”

She gets to the hospital breathless, her heart hammering in her chest. She feels desperate.
Someone meets her at the entrance and takes her straight to his floor. Steve and a doctor are standing outside Marty’s room when she arrives.

“Meryl, hi,” Steve says softly. “This is Dr. Stevens.”
“Hi,” she manages.
“I was just about to explain…” The doctor hesitates for a moment.
“About Marty,” Steve adds quickly.
“He came in conscious, but then he tried to get up — said he was fine — and he lost consciousness again for a few moments.”
“Oh my god…” She covers her mouth. She’s trembling.
“But we really don’t think it’s anything serious. His blood pressure was very low and he said he’d been on a late flight and hadn’t eaten. Slept little and poorly. So we think it was probably just a drop in blood pressure. His EKG looks good. We’re still waiting for blood test results and we’d like to run a few more tests, just to be safe.”

But Meryl isn’t listening anymore — she can only hear the roaring of her own heart. She goes pale, her vision starts to blacken. She drops her things to the floor.
Steve and the doctor both reach out, catching her before she collapses completely.

“I don’t feel so well,” she murmurs.
“Okay, okay — sit down.” The doctor yells for a chair and “Can someone bring a glass of water with sugar? Or juice?”

She’s still shaking. Steve kneels beside her, frozen.
Someone brings her a glass — she drinks, her hands trembling.
“Put your head down. Breathe.” The doctor’s voice is calm but firm. “Let’s give her some space.”

A few minutes pass. Her heartbeat slowly begins to steady. She catches her breath. Steve squeezes her hand gently.
“Meryl… are you feeling better?”
She nods a little.
The doctor crouches in front of her too.
“Better?”
“Yes… I’m sorry…”
“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s perfectly understandable. But try to relax. Your husband is going to be fine — we just want to be thorough, make sure there’s nothing at all to worry about. And — you can go in and see him… when you’re ready.” The doctor smiles a little, trying to reassure her.

He stands.
“He’ll spend the night here for observation. I haven’t told him yet — he was already flustered about being here.”
“Oh, don’t worry… we’ll break the news,” Steve says.
“Good. If you need anything, just ask for me.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Meryl says softly.
“You’re welcome.” He gives her a kind wink before stepping away.

Meryl takes a deep breath and gets up, Steve helping.
“Are you alright?” Steve asks.
“Yes, yes. I want to go see him.”
“Ok.”

They open Marty’s hospital room door.
He sees them and groans dramatically.
“Come on, Steve, you called Meryl? Meryl, I’m fine — I’m leaving in a few minutes.”

The moment she sees him, Meryl’s eyes well up. Tears spill over before she can stop them.
“Meryl, honey, no… I’m fine…” he says softly. He tries to smile but she can’t find her voice.
“Marty,” Steve cuts in, “Meryl’s just a bit nervous. And you, my friend, are spending the night here. They want to run a few more tests.”
“What? Oh, come on… Meryl, come here.”
She wipes her tears, shaking her head as she steps closer.
“I’m sorry… I’m just nervous. I knew something was wrong this morning! Why did you tell me you were fine?”
She reaches his bed. Marty, sitting up, takes her gently by the arms.
“I didn’t want you to worry. I was just tired… felt a little dizzy—”
“Dizzy? Marty, you should have told me.”
“Come on, man!” Steve cuts in. “You should’ve stayed home! You can’t mess around with your health like that.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
Marty brushes away the last of her tears with his thumb.

“What happened outside just now? I heard yelling… chairs… did someone else faint like me?” He tries to lighten the mood with a chuckle.
Steve gives him a look and nods toward Meryl. She rolls her eyes at Marty.
“Oh, baby. Are you okay?” he teases her. “Was this just a trick to spend the night in my bedroom?”
She swats his arm.
“It’s not funny!”
“Ow! Hey!”
“Okay, kids — I’m leaving you two,” Steve says, chuckling. “Meryl, if you need anything, call me. Marty, do everything she says.”
“Bye, Steve. Thank you.”
“Thank you, buddy,” Marty says.

When Steve leaves, Marty reaches for her.
“Hey, come here.”
She climbs onto the bed, curling against him, resting her head on his chest.
“You scared me,” she whispers.
“I know. I’m sorry… this is exactly why I didn’t tell you anything.”

She lifts her head, eyes sharp. “What? We’re in a relationship — you have to tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t get to keep things from me!”
“Of course, of course. I just didn’t want you worrying for no reason.”
“I want to worry. I already worry! Sometimes you push yourself too hard for no reason.”
“I feel fine.”
“No. You don’t. You fainted today — twice!”
“I know. I’ll slow down. I promise.”
“You better. And I’ll make sure of it.”
She lays her head back on his chest. She stays all day, keeping him company while he’s in and out for tests, only going home for the night.

Chapter 28: the devil wears prada

The next morning

Meryl is already at the hospital with Marty. Test results are in. Dr. Stevens is there with them.

“Mr. Short, all your tests came back normal — EKG, blood work, everything. Just a few minor things we’re not worried about. We believe it was just a sudden drop in blood pressure. However, you did say you were tired. So those slight anomalies are probably from exhaustion. I strongly recommend you take the rest of the week off. Rest. Slow down. These drops can be risky at your age.”
“Right, but I’m fine, so it’s just a suggestion,” Marty says lightly.
Meryl rolls her eyes.
The doctor gets more serious.
“Your body is telling you something,” the doctor warns. “Listen to it. Take a few days off, rest, and no physical activities of ANY kind for at least two weeks. Give your body time to bounce back.” He glances pointedly at Meryl.

“Thank you, Dr. Stevens,” she says sweetly.
“Yeah — thank you, doc.”

When the doctor leaves, Marty, already dressed, swings his legs over the bed.
“Finally. Let’s get out of here.”

“There’s a car waiting downstairs at the underground parking.”
“Perfect. Thank you for everything, Meryl.”
She smiles. “Just behave and do what the doctor said. I’m calling John — you’re not filming this week.”
“Fine.”

Back home, Steve and Anne drop by to check on him. John stops by later too.

That night.

Meryl’s in silk pajamas, rubbing lotion into her arms. Marty’s in bed, scrolling on his phone. She slips under the covers and he immediately pulls her close, kissing her temple.
“How are you feeling?” she murmurs.
“Amazing. Honestly, Meryl, I don’t think I can stand lying around all week.”
“Don’t start.”
“Okay, okay. Just for you.”
“Good. And follow the doctor’s orders.”
“Recommendations, technically.”
“Same thing.”
“But… if you really want me to feel good…” His hands slip under her top as he kisses her neck, sliding lower.
"What are you doing?"
He doesn't answer, continues to kiss her neck, fondling her and moving to be on top of her, his hand sliding down, inside her pajama pants.
"Marty...stop..." she turns under him and sits up.
“What? You’re not in the mood?” he asks innocently.
She chuckles.
“Did you not hear the doctor? No physical activity.”
“I’m not jogging, Meryl!”
“No physical activity — of any kind.”
He stares at her, aghast.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m fine!”
“Nope. Not going to happen! Not going to happen for a long time!
“A long….What do you mean?”
“I’m flying to LA next week for a few days. And then, I’m going to France…to Cannes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
"I am serious". She laughs.
"Come on Meryl. I had a low blood pressure episode!"
She pats his cheek sweetly. “Good night, Marty.” She turns off her lamp.
He stares at her. Then turns off his lamp too, mumbling curses under his breath.

The following week.

Marty goes back to work and his apartment — after spending the whole week with Meryl, their longest stretch together outside a vacation.
On Tuesday, they have dinner at Steve and Anne’s. These dinners are a regular thing — Steve, Anne, Tom, Rita, Steven, and Kate.

Marty picks Meryl up downstairs, as always. She comes down in a dark floral dress. They kiss hello.

“You look beautiful. And you smell incredible,” he murmurs.
“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself,” she says, smoothing his hair.
They get in the car.
“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” he asks.
“Three. But I don’t want to get home too late tonight.”
“Just tell me when you want to leave, and we’ll leave.”

At Steve’s place:
“Hi, you two. Last ones in!” Steve calls as they walk in.
“We’re not late, are we?” Meryl asks.
“No, no. Everyone else is just early.”

Inside, everyone greets them warmly. In these small circles, everyone knows by now they’re together.
“There’s my favorite couple!” Rita exclaims, hugging them both.
“Hi! You’re so sweet,” Meryl says.
“I love seeing you together — you’re perfect!” Rita gushes.
“Rita, you’re embarrassing them!” Tom teases.
“I feel like Rita thinks we’re a rom-com,” Marty jokes.
“You are! A real one!” Rita beams.
“Experience helps,” Meryl says laughing.
“See? Meryl gets it!” Rita laughs.
“Did you love that place you and Marty went?” Tom asks Meryl.
“Spectacular. Truly amazing.”
“Right? We love it too — we already booked another stay.”
“Loved it. The villa, the beach, the staff, the food…”
“…the wine,” Marty mutters under his breath, making a funny face.
“Marty!” Meryl swats him in the arm. “But yes, the wine too.” They all laugh.
“And wasn’t it incredibly romantic?” Rita teases.
“Speaking of wine… maybe my wife should stop drinking…” Tom jokes.
“It was romantic,” Meryl says shyly. “We had lots of—”
“Sex!” Marty blurts.
“Marty!!! I was going to say fun!”
“Oh. Sorry. I thought we were at the phase where couples finish each other’s sentences.”

Everyone cracks up.
They have a wonderful time there.
The dinner is warm and easy — arms around each other, quick kisses, soft words whispered on each other ears. A quiet, real happiness.

When Meryl gives him a small signal, Marty nods. They say their goodbyes and slip out — together, as always.

In the car
“You’ll drop me off first, right?” she asks.
“I was kind of thinking of staying with you tonight,” he says, brushing his lips against her neck. “Since you’re leaving tomorrow and we won’t see each other for at least two weeks.”
“Oh.” She smiles, a little surprised, but pleased. “Okay. Sure. Of course you can stay.”
He kisses the soft skin under her ear. “You want me to stay?”
She glances at the rearview mirror to check if the driver is watching, then turns back to him, grinning. “Of course I do. Don’t be silly.” She threads her fingers through his and squeezes.

They get home, go through their quiet nighttime routine. She moves around the bedroom, gathering last things for her trip, while he waits for her in bed.

When she finally slides under the covers, he’s on her instantly — arms wrapping around her, mouth pressing against hers.
“I’m going to miss you,” he murmurs, brushing her hair back.
“Me too.” She strokes his jaw, feeling the faint stubble graze her palm.

His lips find hers again — warm, slow, insistent. His tongue slips past her parted lips, tasting her, making her melt the way he always does.

She loves his kisses. Wet, sensual, full of want.
God, how she’s missed this. Since his health scare she’s kept her distance, stubbornly sticking to the doctor’s orders.
But his hands have other plans.

His fingers slip under her pajama top, finding her bare breasts, teasing her nipples to tight peaks.
She lets him and lets out a breathy sigh into his mouth.
She missed this — him. The heat, the closeness, the hunger that always lives just under their skin.

He pushes the buttons of her top open, eyes dark as they drop to her chest. His voice roughens. “I love your tits, Meryl… fuck, they get me so hard…”

His mouth closes over her nipple, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make her moan. Her head tips back, a flush blooming across her chest.

She feels him — hard and throbbing against her thigh, and she knows exactly where this is going if she lets him. And God, she wants to let him. But she can’t — not yet.
He grinds against her, one hand sliding lower, under her waistband, fingers parting her folds — she’s soaked, and he groans against her breast.

“Marty…” she breathes, barely able to find her voice.
“Mm?”
“Let’s stop.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
He knows she doesn't either. She's wet...he has a finger inside her and she's moving with his hand.
She gasps, hips rolling with his hand. One more minute and she’ll lose the will to stop this.
“Marty… stop.”
He freezes, lifts his head to look at her, disbelief in his eyes as she gently pulls his hand away.
“What? What’s wrong?”
She's all red, flushed and breathless.
“No physical activities, remember?” She tries to close her top, fighting a smile.
He flops onto his back with a groan. “You have got to be kidding me. Come on, Meryl!”

He rolls back to her, kisses her neck, that one perfect spot that always undoes her.
“Come on, baby… I was about to make you come. That’s hardly a workout.”
She laughs softly, but pushes him away when his mouth trails lower.
“But then you’ll want to fuck me, and I won’t have the strength to stop you.”
He kisses her, playful and desperate at once. “Then you come on top.”

She shakes her head, giggling when he nuzzles her neck again. “No. I want you healthy — no more scares. We’ll pick this back up when I’m back from Cannes.”
He catches her hand and brings it to the hard length straining his briefs. “Feel how much I want you.”
She laughs, “You always want me like this.”
“And isn’t that good?” He grins, guiding her hand to grip him. She does — just once — watching his eyes flutter shut, his hips jerk into her palm.
She feels herself dripping. But she can't tell him.
“It is good,” she whispers, kissing him slow and deep, squeezing him hard through the fabric, making him groan into her neck.
She pulls back, her lips brushing his. “So good.”
He’s throbbing under her hand, chest rising and falling fast.
She wants him inside her. She's pulsing for him.
She leans close, her voice low. “I know what we can do."
Marty grins.
"You asked me once... now, I want to see you touch yourself...like you do, when you think of me."
He's looking at her eyes and mouth.
This wasn't really what he was expecting her to say. Not at all.
He clears his throat.
"You want to see me? Touching myself?"

“Hum-hum,” heat flickering in her eyes. “Back when we were filming season three. You said you’d touch yourself thinking of me… I want to see it, Marty. Now.”
She shifts closer, curls her fingers in his hair, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me how you did it. Tell me what you thought about. Tell me everything…And show me.”

He exhales, a shaky laugh. “I… didn’t need much. One time… you were wearing a blouse…It slipped open and I saw your bra — black lace. Almost saw your nipple. I started sweating. I wanted to warn you, but I didn't want to indicate I was looking there."
"As if i didn't know you looked"
"I know that now! And I... I couldn't wait to come to my apartment and think of that sight...and touch myself."
"So you saw a boob..."
"Half of it...for a few seconds...but so worth it" kisses her " and I used to imagine I was I bed with you. Touching you. Inside of you."
"What did you want the most?" She asks with a lust voice.
"Fuck...being inside of you...like I want now..."
She flutters her eyes.
"Touch yourself." She asks.
He grins, kisses her shoulder. He shifts onto his back, pushing down his briefs. She helps him, her fingers brushing the hot, heavy length of him – she loves to look at his dick — but then she lets go.
This is his show.

His hand wraps around himself, touching his balls, stroking slow, base to tip. He groans softly, eyes fluttering closed.
She's lying on her side. Her elbow on her pillow. Her face next to his.
"Are you going to think of me?"
Plays with his hair.
"I always think of you."
She watches every movement, heat pooling low in her belly.
"Tell me...what's on your mind?" Her voice low.
He opens his eyes to look at her.
"Your tits first...always them… driving me crazy hard...and then…" He closes his eyes again, his voice roughens, breath catching as his hand moves faster. "I just want to push my cock deep inside of you, Meryl… feeling you squeeze me so fucking tight…”
She takes a deep breath.
She wants his words. To be real.
Not today.
She wants to touch herself.
No. She wants him to touch her.
She wants him to thrust into her.
His hand up and down.
He’s so hard — thick veins, the head flushed dark and slick.
Dripping. Like her.
She wants him inside her so badly it aches.
The sounds he's starting to make.
She feels she could come only by watching him. Only by wanting him.
Only by still feeling his finger inside of her.

His breathing stutters — a low groan leaves his throat. He’s close. She can see it in the tension of his thighs, the way his abs clench.

“Fuck— Meryl—”

His release hits him hard, spilling over his hand and stomach, his body arching off the bed as he moans her name.
She lays back, her own breath ragged, thighs pressed tight. She’s wet and throbbing and so close herself.
Before she can say a word, he’s turning to her, eyes still dark with hunger. He tugs her pajama pants down, ignoring her half-hearted protest.
“What are you doing?”
His fingers slip between her legs, and he finds her soaked. He groans, stunned. “You’re dripping… did you come already?”
She shakes her head, barely a whisper: “No…”
Oh god...you're close aren't you?"
"Yes." The words almost don’t leave her mouth.
He feels like she's the most precious tiny piece of crystal.
Knows the moment he touches her, she's going to scream.
His index finger goes directly to the fully engorged bulb, touching her ever so gently.
She gasps — the touch so good, too much. One stroke, two — she shatters, her cry loud in the dark room.

He doesn’t stop —his palm pressed to her heat as he pushes her higher again.
Feeling her his.
Easing his fingers in and out. Gently tapping her clit. Making her come a second time.
Her sweet moans. His name on her mouth.
"Meryl, fuck...I love to see you come...do you want to come again baby?"
She can only nod, breathless.
"Yes...I'm going to make you come again." his voice rough in her ear.
He goes down on her. Knowing she can't protest.
The first hot press of his tongue makes her hips buck off the bed and screams his name.
Oh, this one is going to be quick too, he thinks.
Licks her folds gently. Kissing them. Saying how beautiful she is. How good she tastes.
Sucks on her slit, gently pushing his tongue in. Then a finger inside and the tongue on her clit, circling.
One more minute of this and she comes.
He goes back up to see her face coming. His finger still brushing on her.
The waves of shock going through her.
He smiles as he sees her coming down, catching her breath. Opening her eyes.
Coming back to reality.

When he pulls back, her eyes flutter open, her breathing ragged, and she laughs weakly, voice hoarse.

“Fuck… you’re good with your mouth.”

Cannes

She arrives in Cannes ready to slay.
Posing for the swarm of photographers, she’s chosen a sharp white suit, metallic high heels, a perfectly French straw hat, and Prada sunglasses.
A vision—classic, sexy, elegant, chic!
And she knows it.

She holds her pose for the press—strong, confident, radiant.
Smiling.
The cameras go wild.
She feels amazing: nearly seventy-five, yet powerful, beautiful, undeniably desirable.
She knows the look, the pose, the sunglasses—Prada sunglasses—will be everywhere.
And she knows exactly whose phone her photo will be on when he wakes up.

In New York, Marty wakes up to find a text from her.
“Good morning, my love.”
He smiles, stretching, letting the warmth of her words wash over him.
God, he misses her.
They hadn’t talked yesterday—she’d been flying—just a quick text to say she’d landed safely.

He scrolls through his phone. Not long before he finds her.
Damn, she looks incredible. This could be twenty years ago.
The suit. The shades. That pose. All the poses!
He googles her in Cannes—more photos. Each one better than the last.
Just incredible!
… and hard to believe she’s His.

He texts back:
“Why do I feel like every time you’re away, you dress in a way that makes me want to take your clothes off and…”

He chuckles, gets up, heads for a shower. Workday for him—while she's spreading charm in Cannes.

When he checks his phone again:
“And?”

He smirks. Types:
“And fuck you, baby.”

Somewhere surrounded by people, she smiles at her phone.
“You make me want to dress like this. You make me feel so sexy, Marty.”
“Only because you are… you’re so sexy, Meryl. I love you.”
“I love you too. Call me later—I can’t talk right now.”

He sighs. He feels so damn lucky.

Chapter 29: L.A. in small doses

Later that evening, Meryl steps onto the red carpet of the Palais des Festivals.

This time she’s in white again—a long Dior gown. She’s a vision—a Greek goddess draped in silk and grace.
Inside the theater, her phone buzzes. It’s Marty.

She has to hear his voice.

“Hi!”
“Hi, baby.”
“I really needed to hear you. I can’t talk long—I’m already inside.”
“Really?”
“Yes, look…”

She flips her camera, showing him the grand, glittering theater around her.
Turns it back to herself, smiling.

“Wow… impressive.”

“Marty, I’ll call you later, okay? I miss you.”
“I miss you too… I’ll be waiting.”
“Bye—love you.”

She ends the call with an apology to the people around her.

A tearful Juliette Binoche hands Meryl the Honorary Palme d’Or.
In return, Meryl’s speech is wonderful and warm.
Saying that watching the ceremony’s retrospective clips of her career was…

"Like looking out the window of a bullet train, watching my youth fly into my middle age, right onto where I am standing on this stage tonight.”
She fights the tears, then smiles:
At another point adds "My mother, who was usually right about everything, said to me: ‘Meryl, my darling, you’ll see. It all goes so fast. So fast.’ And it has, and it does."
Then ending with a joke to clear the air, by saying unlike her speech, that is long.

She is emotional. She feels emotional.

Later, in her hotel room, the moment the door closes, the smile fades.
She sets down the award, slips off her shoes.
She needs him. His voice. His warmth.
She calls. No answer. Damn.

She walks to the window—staring at the dark, endless ocean.
It all goes so fast. So fast.
A tear slides down her cheek.

Only yesterday she was young and in love with him, with John. And now she's here.
So fast.
How would her life have been if John wasn't ill.
A light sob.
Tears still rolling down.
She was so in love with him.
His death brake her in half.
Changed her. Forever.
She became a different woman after that.
She lets out another small sob.

Then came Don. To heal her. To love her when she needed more.
Sweet Don.
She loved him. Of course, she loved him.
Everything happened so fast after John's death.
So fast.

She loved Don.
But also she knew the kind of love that puts you on your knees.
The love that makes you feel whole and empowered.
And what she had with Don, wasn't it.
She knew.
He knew.
So fast.

Her youth.
Her middle age.
It started to crumble down.
So fast.

And now, she met him and feels it again.
That love.
That puts you on your knees and makes you feel empowered.
But time cannot be stopped.
It will go fast.
Ridiculously fast.
How many years will she have with him...

Why has life done this with her?

By now he has seen her speech. He heard everything.
Made him think of that night, that first night in his house. When they talked about having found their love so late in their lives.
He's grateful for this but yes, he would like to have found her earlier.
He doesn't like to think about how earlier. Because of Nancy.
But much earlier.
Meryl gives him something that he never had.
Something he didn't knew existed, until now.
When he heard Meryl speaking today about the passing of time, he remembered one of these nights he dreamt about them.

They were younger. Much younger
It was blurry.
She was pregnant. A big belly. He was feeling the baby moving. They were so happy.
That was it.
He didn't tell her about the dream.
Not wanting to upset her.
Not wanting to think of it.
But of course, he wishes he had more time with her. More life with her.
What if they had met before everything.
What if...

He picks up his phone.
Damn. There's a call from her that he missed.
He had it on mute while on set and forgot to change.
Calls her. It's already very late there.

“Hi Marty.”
“Hi… I’m sorry. My phone was on mute.”
“It’s fine.”
But he can tell—something’s off. Has she been crying?
“Meryl? Are you alright?”
“Yes… yes.” Her voice catches.
“I heard your speech.”
She wipes at the fresh tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes.
“You did?”
“Yes. It was beautiful.”
Silence stretches between them.
“Meryl?”
“I just needed to hear your voice,” she whispers, afraid that if she speaks louder she’ll cry again.
“I’m here now.”
A small, trembling laugh. “Mm-hmm.”
“I mean it. I’m here now… in your life.”
She smiles. God, how she loves that he always gets her.
“I love you so much, Marty.”
“I love you too.”
She sighs, letting the words settle deep in her chest.

“So… did you like my suit?” changing the tone and the feeling.
“Liked? Baby, you were smoking hot.”
She laughs softly.
“You think so?” She’s fishing. He knows it. He loves it.
“And I bet your ass looked incredible in those pants,” he growls, his voice dropping low, warm, hungry.
“The jacket covered that area.”
“But I know my way around that area. I know that ass looked good.”
She giggles.
“And the dress I’m wearing now?”
“So elegant… my gorgeous Meryl. And sexy… and you held it at your chest— were you afraid it might slip open?”
“Of course I was.”
“Mmm.”
She laughs again. “What?”
“Nothing… I’m just picturing my hand right there… sliding down that neckline.”
Her breath catches—her fingers drift to where the fabric parts, tracing lightly over her collarbone, then lower, feeling the top of her breast.
“Would you like my hand there?” he asks, his voice dark velvet. “Meryl?”
He’s on the sofa now, jeans unbuttoned, zipper down, already half-hard at the thought of her.
“Your hands… your mouth,” she murmurs. Her hand slips under the cup of her bra. She paces the room, restless, turned on.
“What are you doing right now?”
She pulls her hand away, rubs the back of her neck like a guilty schoolgirl.
“Why?”
“Undress for me. Get in bed—with me,” he says, voice dropping to a low, sinful rasp.
“Marty…” She laughs, a little breathless.
“Come on…”
God, she wants to. She puts him on speaker, sets the phone on the nightstand. The zipper slides, the dress slides off her shoulders.
“Are you doing it?”
“Yes.”
He hears the soft rustle, imagines the creamy skin beneath. He slides his pants off too, freeing himself, hard and ready.
She hangs the dress in the closet, slips off her bra. Climbs into bed, soft light spilling from the lamp. Then she hooks her thumbs in her panties, slides them down, tosses them aside. She turns off the speaker, brings the phone to her ear again.
“Back.”
“Are you naked?”
“I’m naked.”
“No panties?”
“No panties,” she purrs.
He lets out a low groan, tips his head back, eyes closing.
“Touch your tits for me—slow, like I do. Feel them for me.”

Oh, she loves the way his hands know her breasts—how he always starts slow and gentle, his fingers exploring the shape, tracing the soft curves.
Then he moves to her nipples, circling the areola, teasing those tiny bumps until the nipple stiffens under his touch.
He pinches it just enough, rolling it between his fingers, coaxing that sharp spark of pleasure.
Then comes the squeeze—his whole hand claiming her, warm and firm, possessive but tender, like he knows exactly how she wants to be held.
Soft, warm, full in his palm.
She’s touching herself now the same way—slow at first, then firmer—just how he does it, just how she loves it.
A gasp slips out.
“Feels good?” His voice is rough now, his eyes closed, his hand inside his briefs, stroking himself slow and steady.
Her on his mind.
He hears her breathing.
“Yes… I wish it was your hand, not mine…”
“God, me too. I love your tits, Meryl. Love how soft they are in my hands.”
He knows she likes to hear it.
She moans, arching into her own touch.
“Marty… are you touching yourself?”
“Of course I am. I'm craving for you Meryl.”
She covers her eyes with her arm. She loves to hear that.
She bites her lip, a soft laugh of want escaping.
“Do you have the lights on?”
“Just the nightstand.”
“Turn them off.”
She reaches out, flicks it off. The room goes warm and dark.
“I want to make you come. I want to hear you come,” he murmurs.
“I don’t make much noise when I do it alone…”
“It’s okay.”
“I want to come, I wish you were by my side… I miss you so much… make me come, Marty. Tell me what you’d do.”
“I’m kissing you… then my hand is there, on that wet, beautiful pussy. Are you wet for me, Meryl?”
“Mm-hmm…”
Her hand’s already there, gliding over her folds, slick and hot. She imagines his fingers—bigger, stronger—working her open.

She loves to touch herself...
But he makes her feel different things.
His voice makes her belly ache in burn.
His touch on her skin, even before touching her there, makes her swollen.
His kisses makes her more wet than she's ever been.

She dips a finger in, then out, circles her clit, her hips rolling. Then inside again.

He pushes his briefs down, wraps his fist around his cock, strokes it slow, imagining her in that bed—open, wanting.
“Where are my fingers now, Meryl?”
“Inside me… oh, fuck, Marty, I want you inside me. Not my fingers, not your fingers—you.”
He groans, tightening his grip.
“God, me too… I’d fuck you so deep, baby… so good. Are you close?”
“Yes… so close…” She’s panting, her hips lifting off the mattress as she pushes her fingers deeper.
“Are you hard?”
“So hard, Meryl. I’ve been hard since you first walked onto the set that day… fuck…”
She lets out a soft, desperate sound—she’s almost there, so close she’s shaking.
“Marty…”
He closes his eyes, hears her moan—loud, raw, just for him to hear.
The phone slips from her fingers as her climax crashes over her, her body arching off the bed.
He strokes himself faster, picturing her—hair spread out on the pillow, thighs slick, spent for him. He groans, low and rough, coming hard, his name on her lips still echoing in his ears.

May 16th
She flies back to New York.

It’s an early flight, and she gets home around 2 p.m.
Marty’s working today. He told her he’d stop by his apartment to change before coming over.
Feeling worn out, she takes the chance to rest, slipping into bed for a nap.

A few hours later, Marty arrives at her place. He uses his key and steps quietly inside.
“Meryl?” he calls. No answer.
Is she out?
He wanders through the apartment, then finds her sprawled on top of the bed, fully dressed, fast asleep.
He smiles, heart softening. God, he missed her.
He closes the bedroom door gently and lets her rest.

When she finally wakes, sunlight has shifted.
She checks the time—can’t believe she slept this long.
No calls. No messages.
She pads out to the living room... and there he is. Seated on the sofa, glasses on, reading.

She leans against the wall, watching him for a moment, quietly.
So handsome. So hers.
She smiles, feeling lucky.

“Hey, handsome,” she says.
His face lights up as he sets the book aside.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
She comes to him, sitting by his side, and kisses him—tender, a soft welcome home.

She licks her lips, stretches, then rests her head on his lap.
“I see someone’s full of energy,” he teases.
“I’m really not,” she murmurs.
“Rough flight?”
“Not really. I actually got some sleep.”
He runs his fingers through her hair.
“I missed you.”
She turns and nuzzles into him.
“Me too. Feels so good to be home... I just wish you didn’t have to work tomorrow.”
He smirks. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“We could go out. Have dinner. Get drunk. You know—us things.”
He laughs. “You can barely keep your eyes open, and you want to go out drinking?”
“I mean it.” She lifts her head to look at him. “I missed our little dinners.”
He strokes her hair again. “Then let’s do it. Let’s get drunk.”
“No—you have to get up early.”
“I don’t,” he grins. “I don’t work tomorrow.”
She sits upright, eyes widening.
“You don’t?”
He shakes his head, amused.
“You’re staying over? All day?”
“All day.”
She throws her arms around him, kissing his face.
“I didn’t know that!”
He holds her tight, deepening the kiss.
“I’m going to get dressed—where should we go? Somewhere we can still get a table…” she hurries up.
“We could go to the place I made reservations at tonight,” he says, calm.
She pauses. “Marty!” Her smile grows wide. “You always read my mind.”
“In this case, I anticipated.”
She laughs, blowing him a kiss as she disappears to get ready.

They arrive at the restaurant.

As they walk to their table, heads turn.
Meryl Streep and Martin Short. Together—again.

The place is full of industry faces, so no one’s snapping photos. Just discreet glances and polite waves from a few familiar tables.

Their table is tucked into a private corner with sweeping views of the city.
A small round table, they sit close, side by side, just as they always do.

He’s in a dark suit, black shirt, no tie.
She’s in an emerald blouse and ankle-length black skirt—elegant and effortless.
They order martinis.

“You know it’s been over a year since the last season wrap party?” she says.
“Oh yeah... we wrapped early last year. Wow. A year.”
“A year since that first kiss…”
She presses her lips together, then gently bites the lower one.
“That was a good kiss,” he murmurs. “Though—was it really our first?”
She narrows her eyes. “Of course it was! How can you not remember?”
“Oh i remember,” he grins. “i remember every little detail of that delicious, sexy kiss".”
They’re sitting close, mouths almost brushing.

“We were so hungry for each other,” she says softly. “The way you grabbed my waist and pulled me in...”
He smiles, leaning on her neck.
“For me… It was your tongue in my mouth... those little moans you make…that make me insanely horny for you.”
He kisses her neck gently.

She chuckles, nudging him back.
“We’re in public, remember?”

“But… was that really our first kiss?” he asks again.
“Well—aside from all the on-set kisses.”
“What about when we were in your dressing room, rehearsing the kisses by the piano, at the play party scene.?”
She bursts into laughter. “Oh God, that doesn’t count!”
“Doesn’t it?”
“We were running lines!”
“Running lines... Really? How many times did we kiss?”
She laughs again.
“Fifty?”
“My lips were dry by the end of it.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not then… certainly not now.”
“We kissed so many times… in so many ways.”
“But no tongue…”
“Hmmm… maybe just a hint.”
Their faces are very close now.
“A hint… a brush…”
“I asked what you were doing, and you pretended you had no idea what I meant.”
He chuckles.
“You asked when you knew. We both did it—and we both knew exactly what we were doing.”

 

Flashback.
Her dressing room.
They’re going through scenes.

They land on the moment by the piano—Loretta and Oliver.
He’s meant to say: “I like L.A... in small doses.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she asks suddenly.
He pauses. They usually skip the actual kissing in rehearsal.
But she’s not joking. She’s looking at him. Waiting.

So he does.
“I like L.A... in small doses…”
He kisses her between the lines. Once. Again. Then again.

She licks her lips after.
Is she trying to drive him insane? He looks at her tongue brushing her own lips.

“Should I kiss you back more?” she asks.
He blinks. “What?”
There's a question where "yes" will always be the answer.
“I mean... it might look like Loretta’s just being kissed. Shouldn’t she be... kissing him?”
She bites her lip.

“Well… yeah. She wants it just as much. So yes.” He says.
“I like L.A... in small doses…”
He's kissing her and she's kissing back. Their kisses making noise.

He can't help but feeling his desire for her building.
She wishes he would just kiss her hard.

“I think this is better, don’t you?” she asks.
“Much better.”
“But—someone sees us and says, ‘get a room.’ Could it be... because there’s tongue in that last kiss?”
Jesus, Meryl.
“Tongue?”
She shrugs. “Maybe not...” she whispers.

They’re inches apart now. Breathing each other in.
“I like LA… in small doses…”

She keeps kissing him back—wet, slow, noisy.
He can’t help himself—slightly brushing his tongue on her lips

She shivers. This is it, she thinks. He’s going to kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, her breath quick and shallow.
“What?” he murmurs, eyes locked on her mouth—parted, glistening.
She shakes her head slowly.
“And maybe…” he begins, voice low, teasing, “you should put a hand on my chest… or something.”
“On your chest?”
“Or… wherever you think feels better.”
“Where I’ll feel better?” she echoes, a slow grin forming. “Okay.”

"I like LA...in small doses..."
Their kisses are more intense now.
The kiss lingers longer. She places her hand on his thigh— he swallows.
But she shifts it to his chest, flat-palmed.
He leans in for the last kiss.
Her lips part slightly. His tongue brushes his own lips, almost instinctively.

Bang!
“Five minutes!” someone calls from the hallway, knocking on the door.
They jolt, startled.
“Fuck!” she hisses, rolling her eyes. Pissed at the most wrong time ever, for someone to knock.
She looks at him. Wanting something.
He stands, flustered, brushing his thumb on her chin and then along her jaw.
“See you in five,” he murmurs before stepping out.
She stares at the door.
“Shit.”

Back at the restaurant.

"I fucking wanted your tongue in my mouth."
She leans into his ear, her hand on his chest.
"Like I want it now."

A waiter approaches with their dinner.
She lets go of Marty, composed again.

They wait until the waiter leaves.

"We have the worst timing," she whispers, grinning.
They laugh.

Marty slips his hand beneath the table, then under her skirt, caressing the smooth skin of her thigh.
"Marty!" she hisses, half-reprimanding, half-aroused.

"What were you saying again?"
"That I want your tongue in my mouth."

He leans in and kisses her, tongue gliding in slowly—tasting her, savoring her. She welcomes it, pulls him closer.

When they part, breathless:
"Any other place you want my tongue?" he murmurs.

Perfect timing. The wine arrives. Again.

They both glance up at the waiter—silent, professional, and utterly inconvenient.
He pours their glasses and disappears.

"Shall we toast?" she asks, steadying herself.
"Of course. To what?"
"To kisses that feel like fucking."

He licks his lips. The way she said fucking... he’ll remember that.

They toast. Drink.

"And to the way you talk," he says, low, "and make me want to undress you, right here."

She laughs—because she knows exactly how she sounds.

They toast again. And drink again.

By the end of dinner, they’re finishing their wine slowly.
Marty has his arm around her, fingers stroking her hair while they talk.

"So… food, excellent. Wine, excellent..."
"And the company?"
"The best part of the evening."
"Thank you."
She kisses him gently.

"Do you want dessert?" he asks.
"Yes."
"I’ll ask for the menu again."
"Don’t bother... they don’t have what I want."

She sips her wine, eyes locked on his.
He’s still holding his glass, watching her.

"You’re the most irresistible woman in the world... you know that, right?"
"Just because I was thinking of tiramisù from another place?"

His hand slides fast beneath her skirt—right to the top of her inner thigh. He lingers there, caressing.
She gasps, nearly jumps from the sudden intensity.
"Is that what you meant by dessert? Tiramisù?"
"No," she whispers, scanning the room.
"No one’s watching. Then what did you mean, Meryl?"

She’s wearing stockings.
He draws a line over her center with his thumb—slowly.
She shivers, eyes closed briefly.
"You. I meant you."
"And how do you want your dessert?"
"Hard, Marty..." She drains her wine. "Your hand is driving me crazy."
"Hard…" he grins. "Well, it’s already getting there."

He pulls his hand away, finishes his wine.
"Let’s pay and go."

They do. Get up. A few heads turn—recognition.
Meryl Streep and Martin Short, hand in hand.
No photos. Not at a place like this.
Their car is waiting.

Chapter 30: i'm getting sex, tonight. i'm tellin' ya

At Meryl’s place.

They toss their coats aside.
Each drops onto an opposite end of the couch, lounging lazily.
Elbows propped, heads resting on their hands, eyes locked.
Flirting in silence.

“Take off your stockings,” he says—voice rough, commanding.
“They’re just in the way.”

“Excuse me?!” she laughs, head thrown back.
“You’re smug as hell lately.”

He holds it.
“Take them off.”
That voice again. She burns under it.

She lifts her hips, peels them down slowly—his gaze never leaving her, holding the same position on the sofa.
“Take off the skirt too.”

She slips it off and tosses it onto a nearby chair.
Her blouse is long enough to skim over her panties.

She curls back into the couch, legs tucked.

He exhales, taking in the sight.
They sit in silence. Just absorbing each other. Letting the tension hum and their thoughts run wild.

Then—without a word—she gets up and walks to the bedroom.

He drops his head back for a beat.
Fuck she’s hot.
Then stands, removes his jacket, and follows.

In the bedroom.

She’s already turned on the soft light from the nightstands.
Opened the bed.
Opened her blouse but kept it on and lay on the pillows.
Waiting.
He enters the bedroom and sees her.
Blouse opened. Her breasts popping out of her silk black bra.
Her panties.
Her bare legs.

He undresses slowly, looking at her.
She looking at him.
His shirt. His pants.
Then his briefs.
Take them out.
Showing her how hard he is already.

“Oh!” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear it.
She looks down and grins, pressing her lips.
He smiles too, seeing her reaction.
Blushing, wanting. A hint of embarrassment.
So much, of desire.
She looks at him again.
His cock bobbing slightly as he walks to the bed.

Her pulse quickens.

“You’re going to make a lot of “Oh’s” tonight!” he says with a lusty voice.
He takes her legs and gently pulls her down the bed.
She gasps and giggles.
Her hair fans across the pillow. Her blouse fully opened.

She crosses her legs, teasing him.
He kisses her knees, her thighs.
Then uncrosses her legs—opens her gently.
He climbs over her, mouth on the middle of her breasts, pressing them together.
Then to her lips. He kisses her—slow and deep—grinding into her softly.

“You smell delicious… you feel amazing…” he says between kisses and lingering squeezes.
“Mmm, I love your kisses… and your hands…” she says.

He groans, squeezing her more, fingertips circling her nipples through the silk.
She slides a hand between them and grabs his cock, squeezing him hard.
He jolts.
“Fuck… Meryl!”
“I like to squeeze too,” she murmurs, keeping her grip tight.
His mouth falls open, eyes shut, overwhelmed by the intensity she’s stirring inside him.
“Oh god… Meryl… you’re driving me insane…”
She strokes him slowly, then reaches for his balls, cupping them with wicked precision.
He swallows hard.

Then, without a word, she shifts from beneath him—pushing him back onto the bed and straddling him.
Takes off her blouse and tosses it on the floor. Her hands roam his chest, fingers teasing his nipples, drawing gentle gasps from him.
He moves with her touch, helpless under her control.
“Meryl…” he breathes, his hands gripping her hips.
“What?” she teases.

She reaches behind to unclasp her bra, holding the cups in place as the straps slip down her arms.
“Oh baby… show them to me.”

She smiles, holding the moment just long enough to make him ache.
He loves to watch her naked, on top of him.
Then she lets the bra fall, baring her breasts to his hungry eyes.
His lips part, mesmerized by the sight he craves.
She leans down, brushing her breasts against his chest as she kisses him—deep, urgent, full of need.
He moans into her mouth, feeling her heat, her breasts against his chest, his cock rubbing against her panties, and her tongue exploring his mouth.
His hands grab her ass, squeezing and kneading, loving the softness, the perfect curve.
Then, he tugs her panties to the side, needing to feel her. Her warm, wet, and soft pussy.

“Of course you are…” he mutters.
“I am what?” she asks, teasing.
He thrusts his hips upward, still gripping her ass, pulling her close.
“Wet,” he whispers, and she laughs, low and wicked.

She rises again, cupping her breasts in her hands.
“I need to take my panties off.”
“I’ll help,” he offers.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband, starts to slide them down.
She gets up on the bed, giggling as he steadies her legs.
Panties fall, one foot, then the other.

“Sit on my face,” he says, chest heaving, eyes ablaze.
His voice—hoarse, hungry.
She freezes, lips parted, heart racing.
She hadn’t done this in so long.
Not with Don.

He offers a hand. The other still holds her leg.
“Sit on my face, Meryl... I want to eat you.”

Her legs tremble.
She’s already wetter.
She takes his hand, lowers one knee near his head, then the other.
He grins in anticipation, grips her ass, and pulls her down to his mouth.

The second his tongue finds her, her eyes close, hands gripping the headboard.
Then his lips, his mouth, his tongue…
“Oh my god…oh my god… Marty… oh GOD!”

He hums into her, licking deep, drinking her in.
His tongue devours her, his mouth sucking her clit.
Breathlessness.
Her moans grow wild, loud, desperate.
He's also humming loud.
He glances up—her breasts bouncing, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a moan.
Fuck, what a vision.

She’s close. She feels it building.
“Marty… god… Marty, I’m gonna come…”
“Come, baby. Come hard.”

And she does. Loud. Shaking. Screaming his name.
He holds her steady, tongue relentless until she collapses, breathless.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” she pants.
“I ate all of you.”

She shifts her legs, lowers herself, bends to kiss him.
“Can you taste how delicious you are?” he asks.
“You need to shut up, Marty.”

They kiss, deep and slow. She straddles him again.
His hands fly to her thighs, then her hips, eyes locked on her soaked pussy.
She grabs his cock, hard and slick, and slides him inside.

“Oh baby…”
His head thrown back, hips rising to meet her. Thrusting into her. Wanting her badly.
“Down, boy,” she grins, leans into his ear.
“I’m the one fucking you, Marty—not the other way around.”
He meets her eyes.
“Then fuck me, Meryl.”

They're both grinning.
This dance of words they love to do.

She rises again, riding him slow, hands on his chest, hips rolling.
He’s deep inside her, and every motion sends sparks through them both.
His hands wander—her waist, her breasts, her belly.
Touching every inch of her he can.
Feeling her weight on him.
The way she moves.
The way she breathes.

She starts to move faster. The heat building.
“Fuck, Meryl… God, you’re so good…”
“Yeah? You like that?”
She clenches around him, making him jolt with pleasure.
He gasps. “Jesus… Meryl…”

Her breasts bounce with each thrust, his hands finding them, pinching her nipples gently.
Her face twisted in bliss. Pure lust.
She moves harder, faster. Chasing the release.

He grabs her ass, helping her ride him.
They move as one—perfect rhythm, perfect pace.
She moans louder, head back.
Arching her back.
Exposing her cunt and him inside of her.

“Oh fuck!” he cries.
Watching her with his cock buried deep inside—he nearly comes.

“God, I love this,” she growls, voice hoarse.
She grabs his hands on her ass.
“You close, baby? I’m holding on by a thread.”
“I’m close,” she gasps.

“Want me to touch you?”
She shakes her head, breathless.
“No. Just hold me like that.”

He grips her tighter.
His thumbs on her hips, fingers digging into her ass, guiding her.
As soon as she starts to scream, he lets go—
Coming hard.

They collapse into each other.
Sweaty. Shaking. Gasping.

She’s leaning back on his thighs, chest heaving. Then drops onto his chest.
He wraps her in his arms, holding her tight.
No words. Just the thud of their hearts.
The shared breath.
The long exhale.
Then, a sweet moan.

She grabs his mouth and kisses him.
“I’m moving out,” she murmurs.
He groans, helping her shift.
She feels his cum dripping down her thighs—
And oddly, she loves that feeling.
His cum on her. In her.

She presses her legs together, then rolls to his side.
He rolls too, facing her.
She flutters her lashes, bites her lip.
Grins.

“You’re just… too much!” she laughs, shaking her head.
She kisses him again.
“No—YOU are,” he pulls her closer. “you are gorgeous, sexy…i don't get enough of you...You drive me fucking insane.”
He kisses her neck.

She breathes deep.
“God, I love having sex with you.”
“Come on top of me again.”

He pulls her up and she giggles.
Straddles him.

“No. I want your full weight. Just lay on me.”
She does.
His hands cup her ass and she chuckles.

“I love your smile,” he whispers.
She makes a heart-melting face, touches his cheek, strokes his hair.
“I’m so in love with you, Marty.”
“I’m in love with you more.”
She laughs shaking her head.

“It’s true,” he says, suddenly serious. “I love you more. And I just hope you never get tired of me… of my goofiness…and…”
She covers his mouth with her full hand.

“I love you. I love everything about you. I love your energy. I love how goofy, funny, kind, bright and lovely you are. You have everything I desire.

They kiss.
She rests her head on his shoulder.
“I feel so good in your arms. Naked… with you. I love to feel your body.”
He holds her tighter.
“Me too.” He caresses the side of her breast “But I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Yes, you do. I want to hear it every time—especially because I’m getting older. So if you still want to say it… I want to hear it.” She laughs.

He grins.
“You know I’m obsessed with you.”
“I love your obsession.”
She locks eyes with him.

“I hope you feel my obsession too,” she says, low.
“I didn’t know you were.”
“Oh shut up. You know you drive me crazy. What you say to me...the way you flirt. Your mouth on me. You have me at your feet, Martin Short..”
“Oh baby…”
He rolls her over and kisses her.

Next morning

They wake later than usual. Drift to the bathroom. Return to bed.
She talks about Cannes, he tells her about his week.
Talk about shooting tomorrow at the Arconia.

It’s a lazy morning—sunlight pouring in, golden across the white sheets, making her hair glow.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.
“Mmm-hmm.” He’s spooning her from behind.

“It’s late. We could go for brunch or straight to lunch.”
But he’s already kissing her neck.
She knows that kiss—she knows already what he wants to eat - Her.
“Marty… we’ll be back. I’m really hungry,” she giggles.
She can feel him hard against her.
It’s happening.

“You always say how much you love morning sex…”
“I do.”
“Then let’s make love, baby.”

He’s rubbing against her, hand on her ass, gentle and wanting.
He reaches for lube, slicks his fingers, and slowly preps her from behind.
Soft, careful, deep.
Making her open for him. Gently.
Sliding a finger in to lubricate her more.

“Do you want me inside you, Meryl?”
“Yes.”

She pushes back against him. Wanting him like he wants her.
“Oh god, I love when you do that,” he groans.
“When I do what?” she teases.
“You know…” kisses her neck and her shoulder " when you rub yourself on me...this perfect ass of yours."
He whispers against her neck, “You drive me insane, Meryl...I want you all the time."”

He gently pushes his cock inside letting a loud moan.
Her mouth opens but doesn't make a sound.
Pulls out and in again, deeper this time.
This time she moans and buries her face in the pillow.
“God, I love how you fuck me.”
“You do?”
He finds a rhythm.
One hand on her breast. The other gripping her hip.

“"I think I put too much lube...It's so slippery." he says.
“It’s sooo good…”

“You like it like this, don’t you?” His voice rough.
He thrusts faster.
“Yes, Marty… I love you like this… you.” She says between sweet sounds.
"I'm giving it all to you...just you...fuck I want you so much...I like to fuck you so much"
Fast. Hard.
He’s losing control.

“Are you close?” he asks.
“Not yet.”
“Oh baby… I want you to come.”
He's breathless.
“It’s okay. You do it.”

He thrusts really hard, then pulls out and goes down on her.
She arches—almost upright.

“Fuuuuck… Marty…fu” she screams.
He devours her.
His mouth, his tongue everywhere. His hands on both her bottom cheeks. Holding her firm.
She comes quickly—loud, breathless.

As soon as her body trembles with release, he flips her to her side, slides in again.
He wanted to finish in the same position.
Only a few thrusts, and he lets go.
Keeps thrusting until he doesn't have any more strength in him.
Both breathless. Both spent.
Both in that joyful place after an orgasm.

He holds her.
Her hands wrap around his arms.
Eyes closed.
Calming down.
Breathing in, happiness.
Silence.

“I love that even in bed, you’re a gentleman.”
She breaks the silence, feeling his cock soft and sliding out.
“What? Is that a compliment?”
“Of course. You always make sure I come.”

He chuckles, kisses the back neck.
“Watching you come… feeling it, hearing you—it’s incredible.”
“Mmm…”

“But I hope that's where the gentleman in me stops. In bed, I mean…”
She turns to look at him.
“You know damn well how savage you are...how sexy...how lustful...you are.”
She smirks. “And you’re right… I don’t want a gentleman in bed…”
“Oh baby.”
They kiss deeply.
“Who do you want in your bed?”
“Just you, Marty. In my bed. In my life.”

Chapter 31: never doubt I love

They sat across from each other over a late lunch.

“So... we’ll be married soon,” he said casually, spinning the cap of his water bottle between his fingers.
“What?” Her eyes widened.
“Loretta and Oliver,” he clarified, grinning.
“Oh…” She chuckled, a soft exhale of relief escaping her lips.

He watched her closely, noting the shift.
So that’s a conversation they clearly aren’t meant to have.
But would he want to have it?

“Have you written your vows?” she asked, snapping him back from his thoughts.
“Not yet,” he laughed. “Those kids are really in love—to take that leap at their age.”
“Does marriage have an age?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No... I guess I’m just being...i don’t know.” he trailed off.

Would she ever talk about marriage? Would he?

“I haven’t seen your dress,” he said instead. “What’s it like?”
“You’ll see. Not before the day.”

They sat in comfortable silence, each caught in their own thoughts.
He wished she weren’t married.
She wished she weren’t married.
But neither said it aloud.

“It’s going to be fun.” He says
“Yeah.”
“We haven’t shot anything since the proposal scene.”
“My proposal,” she smiled. “Loretta is such a modern woman—proposing to Oliver.”
“Modern? I don’t think most kids today even want to get married.”
“Hummm… well, He couldn’t do it… so she did.”
“He almost did.”
“Almost is nothing.”

Was that a hint?
If he asked, they both knew they couldn't. So, is she trying to say something or really not...

“You liked that she took charge, huh?” he asked.
“Me? I don't know. We’re talking about Loretta and Oliver. I would want to be asked. I wouldn’t do it myself.”

That line stayed with him, and it would for a long time.
She would like to be asked.
He would like to ask her.
But he just…can’t.

“The proposal scene was so lovely,” she added. “And fun, with your improv at the end.”
He smiles.
“I love making you laugh,” he said. “You fell on the bed laughing.”
“And you fell right on top of me.”
“Whenever I get the chance,” he teased.
They both laughed, the air lighter again.
"It's a lovely day today...hope it sticks for tomorrow."
"We'll have a wonderful wedding. I'll be going first...you just are going around noon?"
"Earlier. Actually around 10 or a bit earlier."
"I have to be there by 8."
"The bride always arrives after."
They smile.

By late afternoon, they were back home. They had wandered through a bookstore, grabbed cocktails from a bar. Their mood was flirtatious, unhurried.

He sank into the sofa, scrolling lazily through his emails, glasses perched on his nose. She walked up behind him and draped her arms around his neck. He smiled and rested a hand on hers.
Then, with deliberate softness, she unfastened one of the buttons on his shirt, slipping her fingers inside to trace the lines of his chest. He tilted his head back to look at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, a knowing smile on his lips.
“Nothing,” she said innocently, “just being sweet with my man.”
“Oh, baby.” He kissed her other hand.
But she didn’t stop. Her fingers wandered, teasing around his nipples, his skin warming beneath her touch.
He's not seeing anything on his phone anymore
Another button came undone. Her hand trailed down his torso, slow and exploratory.
Gently grabbing the extra skin there. Returning to his chest and nipples.
The phone slipped from his hand.

“Meryl…” his voice grew deeper, more ragged.
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to get me hard.” His voice already lustful.
“Am I?”
Her hand slid lower, dipping beneath the waistband of his pants. The warmth of her palm met the curl of hair below his navel just before feeling his dick. Already hardening.

“Oh,” she said softly, amused. “You were right.”
He looks at her again. "You want to do it again?"

She withdrew her hand and walked away. No words. Just a glance over her shoulder as she headed to the bedroom.

He didn’t hesitate. Rose from the sofa and followed.

By the time he stepped into the room, she was slipping off her earrings, barefoot, pants already gone. She turned as he entered.
He hugs her from behind, circling her waist, pulling her into a kiss, deep and eager.

They undo each other's shirts, hands moving in rhythm.

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs slightly parted, in nothing but her lingerie.
Waiting for him.
He stood before her, taking his pants, desire pooling in the pit of his stomach, getting harder knowing he's probably going to get a blowjob.

She reaches for the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down
His dick in front of her face.
He swallows, anticipating her warm mouth on him.
Her hand wrapped around him—firm, sure. She looked up. Then, slowly, takes him into her mouth.

His eyes closed. His breath caught.
Every part of him focused on the sensation of her—warm and wet.
Fuck.
He can never get enough of this.
She blowing him is always out of this world.

One hand on his hip, the other around his shaft.
Sucking, licking, with a slow, maddening rhythm.
He gently held her hair, needing to see it—feel it—watching himself disappear into her mouth again and again. As if in slow motion.
She humming against him
“Oh fuck…Jesus, Meryl…fuck…” he whispered, voice cracking with pleasure.
His eyes are closed but his mouth is open.
The pleasure he's getting from her is almost too much.
She grabs his ass making him look down her.

Slowly thrusting her mouth. Still holding her hair.
Dripping in her mouth.
He just wants to come.
Holds it.
Wants to be inside her mouth longer. To feel her lips, her tongue.
Then, suddenly, she releases him with a soft pop.
He looked down, breathless, undone. Offers her a hand.

She takes his hand, him helping her to her feet.
Their mouths meet—urgent, hungry.
She tasted like him.
The thought that her mouth tastes of him, smells of him, just sends him.
She was his. All His.

He unclasped her bra, never breaking the kiss, feeling her breasts press to his chest—her breath quickening against his lips.
Slowly, he lays her down, flipping her over. His lips trace a line down her spine until he’s at her waist. With one swift movement, he slips off her panties.

He grips the cheeks of her ass, kissing them, lightly biting.
“God, I love this gorgeous ass.”
She laughs, squirming beneath him.
He chuckles, squeezing her slowly, massaging her, nuzzling his face into her.
“Mmmm,” she hums, savoring the slow, teasing touches.

Then he spreads her legs, lifts her just slightly, and buries his face between her thighs, licking her pussy from behind.

She grabs the pillow beneath her.
God!
This way again.
The first time he did it like this, she nearly came on the spot.

She opens her mouth, but no words come.
Just breath. Just moans.
She wants to tell him how good it feels.
She wants to tell him to don’t stop. Wants to beg for it. But she’s too far gone.

His tongue slips inside her.
Her moans climb, higher, rawer.
His sounds are low and guttural, vibrating into her.
She’s close—so close.

“Marty…” she breathes—not as a warning.
She likes to say his name just before the shock wave hits her, because it's all for him.
She comes for him. Because of him.
He grips her harder, holding her in place as she shatters into climax, her body arching, trembling against his mouth.
He wants to keep doing it.
Eating her like this...until she comes again

When her moans slow, he slips a finger inside her—and she lets out the loudest cry he’s ever heard from her. It nearly makes him come right there.
He shuts his eyes, his whole body burning. She’s sooo wet.
He’s fingering her slowly, and with his free hand, he strokes himself—just enough to ground the ache. He doesn’t want to come. Not yet. But he needs to feel that pressure.
He keeps going, determined to draw another orgasm from her.
He can't wait to push is cock inside her but wants her to come again before he does it.

He loves this power he has over her.
He knows how to make her come every single time. He can do it endlessly.
He knows her rhythm. Her body. Her mind. He knows how to pull her apart—again and again.
Of course, this only works, because of the mutual attraction.

She starts to climb again—building, cresting—and then she’s gone, her body clenching around nothing… coming again with all her strength.

He slides into her.
And stays still.
Letting her feel it.
Letting have her own her orgasm with him deep inside her.

Feeling him already inside, she just wants to be fucked. Like this. In this position.
She doesn’t need to say a word. She grinds her ass against him, her hips pushing back in invitation.
He lays over her, following her lead, and begins to thrust.

He grabs her left hand. She grips his tightly.
His other hand steadies her by the hip.
She loves how big he is, so she could feel him this good in this position.
His size is perfect for her.

“Is it good?” he breathes. “Are you liking it?” He asks without stopping thrusting.
“Yes,” she gasps. Her fingers tighten around his hand. “I can’t talk.”

He smiles. He doesn’t need her words.
The grip of her hand tells him everything.
Her all body says everything.
She loves it.
And he thrusts deeper, the desire for her growing with the confirmation that she's enjoying it.
“You’re so wet... so fucking wet,” he growls.

He rises slightly. Can't hold anymore.
He's going to come.
Wants to see her ass while doing it. Wants to come on top of her ass.
A few more thrusts.
Then he pulls out and spills across her ass, moaning her name.

She smiles beneath him.
She loves that her body does things to him. Makes him lose control

“I’m sorry,” he pants, nearly dizzy.
“For what?”
“I came on your ass.”
“I can feel it.”
“Yeah… I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop myself.”
She turns to face him.
“Don’t feel sorry.”

She pulls him down to her, still breathless.

“I just had this… urge.”
“To come on my ass?”
“I fucking love your ass, Meryl.”

She moves on top of him and kisses him, slow and deep.
“Your mouth on me today,” she whispers, lips grazing his. “The way you fucked me, Marty…Short”
She swallows. “You kill me with how much I want you.”
He shakes his head in disbelief.
“You make me want everything with you. You’re so fuckable Meryl… so damn sexy and irresistible.”
“I guess we’re very turned on by each other.”
They kiss slowly.

The next morning.
Only Murders filming at the Belnord.

Marty’s been on set for a couple of hours—rehearsing and filming scenes with Steve and Selena.
Meryl arrives already in Loretta’s wig but still wearing her own clothes: black pants and a loose white shirt, coffee in hand.

Selena is the first to spot her.
“Hi, Meryl!”
“Hi, sweetie!”
Selena glances at her outfit. “Hey, I love your look. Very… boyfriend-style.”
Meryl blushes. “Boyfriend?”
“Yeah, like a masculine cut. That shirt—super sexy, honestly.”
Meryl laughs. “Oh, yes. Boyfriend style.”

Then she sees Marty across the lot, talking to Steve.
“Let me say hi to the boys,” she says, strolling over.
“Hi, boys!”
Steve smiles. “Hey, Meryl!”

Marty turns—and freezes for a second. Something about her hits him hard.
“You look…” he stumbles, “very surprising in that outfit.”
“You like it?” she teases.

Steve rolls his eyes, getting that they're back in business and walks away.

Marty leans in, eyes flicking down.
“Is that… is that my shirt?”
She lifts the collar innocently. “This?”
He laughs. “Yeah. Looks very familiar.”
She looks extremely hot.
“Just a shirt that was in a closet at my apartment…”
“Perhaps in my closet?”
She squints.
“Now that you mention it… maybe.”
He leans closer, voice low.

“What do you want with this? You know you look dangerously fuckable in it, Meryl.”
She smiles wickedly. “Speaking of that…” she whispers on his ear “do you know how sore I am from the last two days?”
His breath catches.
Fuck.
She did not just say that...wearing his shirt.

She whispering on his ear. “So sore it feels like I still have you inside me. That’s why I wanted your shirt. It smells like you. Fits like you.”
She's looking at his lips.
He grips the back of his neck. “Fuck, Meryl. Please don’t do this. You’re already giving me a hard-on and it’s not even ten. I can't fuck you here.”

She laughs—loud, delighted.
“So you like my look?”
“I love it. I just—” he gestures helplessly, like grabbing her face—“I need to kiss you.”

“I have to go to my trailer to change. Do you want to come? You get one kiss,” she warns. “One. That’s it.”

They walk toward her trailer.
There’s people on the street taking pics and recording.
So they start chatting about random things to cover up all the tension.
She's about to burst laughing with the goofy things he's saying just to cover it.

“So… gonna run lines, in my trailer?” she asks, mock-casual.
“Sure.”
They reach her trailer. The door shuts.
They burst out laughing—until he pulls her into a deep kiss.
She slips off his jacket.
"Hummmm" She hums while kissing.
He slides his hands under her—his—shirt.
Makes her giggle.
“God, you really should wear my shirts more often. So sexy… and such easy access.”

His hands cup her breasts.
“Just a kiss, remember?” she laughs, breathless.
“I remember…and I remember you telling me you were sore…”
He moves one hand between her legs.
“And then you say that. Making me mad.”
“I still feel you inside me,” she teases. “After all that fucking…”
He groans. “Meryl. You’ve got to stop with that voice.”
His eyes flick toward the couch.
She catches it. “Don’t even think about it! It's not going to happen! I really have to change. Someone’s going to knock any second now.”
But he pulls her in again, their bodies pressed close. He kisses her one more time, slow and hard.
“Let’s get married then.”
She pauses—eyes searching his—and then nods.
“Let’s get married.”
“I want to see you in that shirt again at home. It’s our wedding night, after all.”

She nods again, lips pressed together, smiling.
“We still have that little scene left—me arriving at the Arconia before the wedding.”
“I know.”

He kisses her one last time. She lets her arms fall from his neck.
He opens the door to leave.
“Marty.”
He turns.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”

They shoot the quick scene of Meryl arriving at the Arconia.
Then she returns to her trailer to change into her wedding look.

The Belnord—Arconia—is dressed for a wedding shoot.
Like a real wedding.
White chairs lined in elegant rows. Flowers cascading everywhere. A delicate pergola adorned in blossoms awaits the couple. And yes, even the cake is real.
John Hoffman is officiating.
Charles and Mabel are walking Oliver down the aisle. Will and Dickie are walking Loretta.

In her trailer, Loretta—Meryl—sits in silence. Her hair and makeup are done. The dress is on. She told everyone she needed a moment to go through her lines.
But the truth is, she just wanted to look at herself in the mirror, alone.

She’s done weddings on screen before. The last time a very long time ago and wasn't expecting it to happen again.
But she never felt like this.
This strange weight in her chest.
This flutter in her stomach.
Not while being in love—with the man she’s marrying.

She studies herself. The dress is beautiful. Something she could see herself wearing in real life. Maybe she’d tone down the cleavage—but then again, Marty would definitely love it. If this were real...

She presses her lips together and exhales. Her head is full. Her heart, fuller.
It’s time. Time to step out of the trailer and marry Marty.
Oliver.

At the Arconia Patio
Marty is already in costume, standing in the courtyard, chatting with Steve, Selena, John, and a few other cast members. Then she appears. The bride. And as soon as she steps into view, heads begin to turn.

John is the first to meet her. “Meryl... you’re a dream.”
“So beautiful,” Selena adds.
Marty forgets to breathe. Is this real?
Is Meryl Streep—his Meryl—wearing a wedding dress, walking toward him to marry?
Well, not him.
Not Meryl. Loretta.

Her dress. The flowers in her hair. That impossible smile. He’s paralyzed.
She reaches him, blushing. She knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

“You’re beautiful, Meryl.” He says it loud enough for others to hear. Then, softer, just for her: “You just took my breath away... You’re a vision.”

They begin filming.
Walking down the aisle—done a few times.
Oliver waiting, nervously, for Loretta—check.
And then it’s time: the ceremony.
Their marks are set. Crew buzzes around adjusting light and sound. It’s all very technical, very professional.
John giving some directions.
Full of crew, actors and so many people around them.
People in the building, filming.

It's also them, there.
They're in silence.
Dressed this way and with all that is going on between them, it's hard not to start to believe this story too.
It's impossible not to think this could also be them in real life.
Because there they are. In costume. In character. But more than anything—themselves.
Because all of Oliver and Loretta's love story, has so much of their own.

Their eyes are talking. But not them. They understand each other.

The scene begins. The vows.
She says her lines first.
Then Marty. He holds a small folded paper, pretending it’s part of the scene. What Meryl doesn’t know is that John let him pick his own words. And he chose Shakespeare:

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.”

Her smile falters into something soft and real. That was not scripted. That was for her.

Then, the rings.
Something shifts.

Marty is no longer Oliver. Meryl is no longer Loretta. Especially not Marty. The way he’s looking at her—it’s not acting.
“Be my wife. Be my friend. Be my lover,” he says, sliding the ring onto her finger.
And then her turn.
She's trembling inside because of the words she has to say, putting his ring on.
The way he looks at her is not helping. He knows.
Her voice catches, just a little.
“Be my man. Be my husband. Be my friend. Be my lover.”

Anyone still unsure of what was between them only had to look at Marty’s face.
They're married.
Then, the kiss. Just lips on lips. But pressed hard. Dozens of crew members all around.
But still, he instinctively grabs her waist. Naturally. Possessively.

They walk down the aisle together. She leans on him. Her hand slides into his, and he lifts it to his lips. Kisses it.
Past the flowers. Out of the scene.
Just before they reach the edge of set, he stops. His hands are on her waist again. This time, not as Oliver. As Marty.

But Steve and Selena are trailing behind them, so they separate.
They forgot her bouquet. They have to do it all again.

Later, the reception scene. The dancing. The lines are playful, but under it all, the look in their eyes betrays something else entirely.

“You have to stop,” she says during a break. They’re still on the dance floor.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
She says it between smiles and blushes.
She loves it.
“I can’t help it,” he whispers. “You look like a fairy. A nymph. And you’re my bride.”
She bites down a smile. His words feel like spells.
“I’m saying my lines and you keep looking at my lips.”

“I’m so in love with you, Meryl. I can’t hide it. I don’t want to hide it.”
She throws her arms around him. Just for a few seconds. Because she can’t hear that and not respond.
His eyes close, taking it in.
“Oh, really good acting jobs, guys!!” Jackie says, passing by.

They both laugh, giggling like teenagers.
“Oh God,” Meryl mutters. She looks at him, serious now. “You know I wouldn’t act like this for anyone in the world... but I can’t hold it together around you, Marty Short.”
“I know, Mrs. Putnam.”
“Durkin-Putnam.”
He takes a deep breath.

They're called back to shoot again.

When filming wraps for the wedding scene, they leave the Belnord together.
Cars are lined up on the street waiting for them—but so are fans, phones in hand, filming and calling their names.

Marty had planned to ride with Meryl, but someone from production quickly redirected him to a different car. With cameras watching, he didn’t protest—just nodded and followed the instructions.

They exchanged a glance—just a quick one—but it said everything.
Then they were off to their trailers to change. Marty still had scenes to shoot with Steve and Selena. Meryl, on the other hand, was done for the day.

They’re married.

Chapter 32: you're such a tease

By the end of the day, Marty gets home.

She’s seated by the window, reading.
“Hi,” she says, voice soft.
“Hi, baby.”
He kisses her hand.
“You sound tired.”
“A little bit, yes.”

He sinks into the big sofa. She gets up and joins him.
“I’m glad we’re almost wrapping it up. You need to rest.”
“Oh, I just need a hot shower. And an early night.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“Honestly? Not really hungry. Maybe just some tea. A sandwich. Or fruit.”
“We have to be there early tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll take that shower now and change.”

He disappears down the hallway.
As the water runs, he leans into the tile and lets the heat draw out his weariness. After Meryl left that afternoon, he’d begun to feel it—tomorrow might be her last day on OMITB.
The end of something unexpected, and maybe once-in-a-lifetime. The scenes they’d been filming would soon fade into memory. The fictional marriage that felt a little too real.

They go to bed early.

“We didn’t even get a proper wedding night,” he says.
She laughs. “I think a lot of couples don’t. Most are either too tired, or too drunk.”
“I’d rather be too drunk.”
She chuckles.
“Same.”

They lie facing each other in the quiet.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?”
“A little. Feels… oddly real.”
“Yeah.”
“It’ll wash out in the morning.”
“I know. But today, I was your bride.”
“The most beautiful one.” He pauses, then grins. “But, let’s not forget how the morning started. You in my shirt.”
“Oh right—your shirt.”
“And how sexy you looked.”
“I absolutely loved your face when you saw it.”
He chuckles.
“I want to see you like that again. Around the house. Just the shirt.”
“To tumble the place down?”

He pulls her closer, her body flush against his. She feels the growing tension between them.
"Hum-hum" He kisses her. His hands on her bottom, keeping the grip but fondling her.
“Marty,” she says, teasing, “you just said you needed sleep.”
“We are in bed early.”
He takes her hand and places it on him, so she can feel how hard he is.
“But you do these things to me.”

Her faces changes. The thrill of knowing she still has this power, even at 74, she can make a man hard like that.
Her man of course.
Her hand slides over him, slow and deliberate.
“God, you’re already so hard,” she murmurs.
“I love your hand,” he whispers.

She leans in, brushing her lips against his ear.
“I’m going to make you come like this.”

The sheets shift as she makes him more comfortable, pulling his briefs down.
Lays down next to him again.
She strokes him, watching his face. Kisses him.
“I love seeing you like this,” she says. “You’re so sexy.”
He groans softly.
“Oh fuck, Meryl... you’re the sexy one here.”
Her hand up and down.
He closes his eyes just feeling her.
She grips a little harder, teasing him just to hear him louder. She loves the control.
Leans on his ear.
“I love your cock,” she says, voice sultry. “Inside of me… in my mouth… in my hand.”
“Oh god…Meryl... do it faster.”
She obeys, bringing him to the edge—until he comes, breathless, completely hers.

Later, after they clean up.
Back in bed, they lie still, close.
“Not exactly the wedding night I imagined,” he says with a smirk. “A hand job.”
“Consider yourself lucky.”
“Oh, I am lucky.”
They smile.

She hesitates, then begins.
“Hey… listen. I have a quick thing in Paris mid-next month. A couple of days—recording with an orchestra. I was thinking…” She pauses, watching his reaction. “Maybe you could meet me there afterward. We could stay a few days in Paris… or go somewhere in France.”

She waits. Hope flickers on her face.

He presses his lips together, surprised.
“You don’t like the idea?” she asks, worried.
“No—no. I love the idea. It’s just… I was going to ask you to come to Canada with me. To the lake house. June is perfect there.”

Her heart stirs. Canada. His home country. She wasn’t expecting that.
She loves it.
“I would love to go with you,” she says, lips curling into a grin.

His joy is immediate.
“Maybe I could meet you in Paris, and then we fly straight to Canada?”

She beams. He thinks she’s never looked more beautiful. Making him love her more.
She really looks cute.
“That sounds perfect,” she says.
He pulls her close so she can lie on his chest.

“Are you going to show me your little world up there?”
“I’m going to bore you to death with every inch of it…places…stories.”
“I’ll love every single thing.”

The following day is Meryl’s last on this season.

They're filming at the entrance of the Arconia.
In the script, Loretta is leaving for New Zealand—a neat solution the production found to keep her storyline open-ended. Mostly because Meryl hasn’t committed to returning.
She’s only here for him.
She hasn’t been in movies lately. She doesn’t want to.
She just wants to be near him. Work with him.
He makes her happy—happier than she’s been in a long time.

She’ll be back. She already gave Kevin the green light for the negotiations.
But it’s pretty simple: she wants to be here. No matter what.
Awards, roles, the industry—they don’t matter now.

Just to grab and live this opportunity life gave her.
She’s Meryl Streep. She can do whatever the hell she wants!
And what she wants is him.

It doesn’t bother her if it’s a supporting role.
He’s her leading man.
He gives her something no one else ever did.
She knows exactly how rare, how precious this is.
She’s going to take it all.

They’re on their marks.
Waiting for the call.
Whispering, low enough so no one else can hear.

Roy approaches with a theatrical throat-clear.
He fusses with her hair.
She giggles.
“Oh Roy... we don’t keep secrets from you.”
“I wish you would,” he mutters. “The energy between you two these days is enough to make a grown man blush.”
They laugh.
“You’re a big boy, Roy,” Marty teases.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Roy’s been with me so long,” Meryl adds, “he was the first to know. All the tea.”
“Tea spilling EVERYWHERE almost from day one,” Roy says, grinning.

"Were we that obvious?" Marty asks.
"Well, I know Meryl pretty well...so I knew right way she was different...you...I didn't knew but" Roy laughs "you fell for her right on the first day."
Meryl’s eyes sparkle. She loves hearing Roy saying this.
“I just sat back and watched,” Roy shrugs. “It was like a Nancy Meyers movie.”
They all laugh.
“I’ll leave you kids to it.”

In this last scene, neither of them bothers hiding anymore.

They deliver their lines. But under Loretta’s coat, Marty’s hand strokes the small of her back. Her hands linger on his chest, his face, his coat.
Leans on him.
She's playing it like she’s Meryl, not Loretta. And he’s just Marty.
He kisses her neck, her temple—none of it scripted.
Then the kiss.
They're looking at their mouths like they want to fuck right there.
Their chemistry? Blazing.

“Where have you been?”

She even does a little dance of joy, after one of the shots.
So Meryl in love.
They reset for another take.

When it’s done, she leans into him and whispers,
“Where have you been all my life?”
“I’m here now,” he murmurs. “And I’m not leaving.”

 

Back at the apartment.

Marty's on the sofa, energized, making plans for June.
He’s researching restaurants, talking to his assistant, booking a private jet to take them from Paris to the tiny airport near Lake Rosseau.
He’s even reading french wine reviews. Maybe they can go to a vineyard.

Across the room, Meryl sits in her favorite reading chair by the window, watching him.
He’s like a kid. Happy. Glowing.
She can’t stop smiling.

She’s finishing the new Devil Wears Prada script.
She’s decided to do it.
Told Marty.
Gave Kevin the go.

She hasn't told almost anything to Marty about it.
She’s in the mood to tease.

“Oh! …Okay…” she says aloud.
He glances at her over his glasses.
She’s eyeing the page with a surprised expression, fingers grazing her neck—a tell.
“Oh what?” he asks.
She looks at him. “Hmmm?”
“You said ‘oh!’ and now you’re all weird. Oh what?”
“Oh…no...it’s nothing,” she says with an airy shrug.
“Hmm.”
He returns to his phone, suspicious. Every few seconds, he glances back.
She’s now smirking, biting her finger.
“What is it? What’s so interesting there?”
“Well...remember I said she’s got a new husband?”
“Yes.”
“Younger.”
“I remember.”
She hesitates. Playing with a necklace.
“They have a... an intimate scene.”
He starts clenching his jaw.
“You and your new husband?” he says slowly. “When you say intimate...how intimate?”

“They have sex.”

He exhales sharply, already cursing in his mind.

The thing with she going back to films is that, suddenly, watching Meryl Streep in love scenes, is no longer the same.
Now it’s his Meryl.

He removes his glasses and tosses his phone onto the couch.
His planning mood is instantly dead.
He looks at her.
She's still reading and smirking.
“They have sex?” he asks, voice strained. “Can you elaborate?”
She’s still looking at the script, trying hard not to laugh.
“Well... he’s on the sofa with his phone. She straddles him—”
He groans, closes his eyes and then just rolls them.
“She takes off her blouse... just in lingerie.”
“You have GOT to be kidding me.”
She finally looks at him.
“What? Nothing wrong so far.”
“What?!”
“He fondles her breasts—okay, that part I’ll probably ask Kevin to change.”

“Yes. They have to change the WHOLE THING.”
"Hummm."
“There’s more?!”
“French kissing. Her hand on his... penis.”
Marty bolts upright.
“What kind of script is this?! Why the hell are they sending this to you?!”
He’s pissed.
She dares to push it a little bit more.
“Well, I told them I was opened to explore a bit more, the intimate scenes. Being a bit more explicit. "
His whole body tenses.
“You did what?! Explicit?!”
He’s pacing now, muttering to himself. Red with frustration.
But if he says he doesn't want her to do it, she will be furious.
She can barely contain her laughter.
“I mean, think about it! A sex scene with a 75-year-old woman? That’s very empowering.”
His head is spinning.
“Meryl, please tell me you’re joking.” He spins around. “I get that's a very empowering thing. But why does it have to be you?"
“Because of who I am. Because it matters more coming from me.”
He shakes his head.
“I hate this. I can’t even think right now.”
He storms out.
She laughs.
“Marty! No—come back!”
“No. I don’t want to keep having this conversation.”
“I’m teasing you!”
He stops. Slowly returns.
“What?”
She looks innocent. “I was joking. There’s no sex scene.”
He stares. Speechless.
“You really are the devil that wears Prada,” he says, pointing at her.
Still a bit pissed but starting to break.
“I was sitting here, minding my own business,” he mutters, “and you drop that on me... are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
She’s laughing now, fully.
“I’m sorry,” she giggles, “I really am.”
“You’re not sorry!”
He sinks back into the sofa, annoyed but cracking a smile. Puts on the glasses.
She gets up, walks to him, straddles his lap, and takes off his glasses.
“No, no... get out of here!” he protests—weakly.
“You look so sweet. All jealous and angry.”
She’s still laughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is funny.”

Her arms slide around his neck. She looks into his eyes.
He tries to stay grumpy, but she’s irresistible.
“You’re devilish,” he mutters.
She kisses him. He gives in.
When they part, he says, “Now get out of here.”
She slides off and returns to her chair.
“And behave.”
She laughs again, eyes twinkling.

June

Meryl arrives in Paris for the premiere Rufus Wainwright's "Dream Requiem".
She’s narrating the piece.

Marty arrives two days later.
It’s the middle of the afternoon when he checks into their hotel.
He’s arranged everything—dinner at an exclusive restaurant, flowers in the room, a driver for the night. All of it. For her.

At the reception, he gives his name.
The concierge types, checks, and looks up with a smile.
So, this must be the husband, he thinks.
"Ah, yes. Your wife left a reservation for you, sir.”

Marty blinks.
My what?

“Oh?” he asks, casual but thrown. “What reservation was that?”

“A massage at the spa club. Half an hour from now sir, but if you like you can do it another time.”
He nods slowly.
“No. It’s fine. Thank you.”

He heads toward the elevator, the word echoing in his head.
Wife.
The concierge, a young man probably doesn’t even know who he is.
And of course, has no idea if she's married or whatever.
Of course he's going to assume that.
But still—his wife.

Later that evening, Meryl is in the car heading back to the hotel. She calls him.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hi, handsome.”
He smiles.
"You're on your way?"
"Yes. I'll get there in 10 minutes or so."
"Great. Just give me a call when you get here and i'll meet you in the car."
"Okay. See you soon."

As promised, she calls.
He meets her at the car, and his face lights up the second he sees her.
“Hi!” she beams.
“Hi. You look wonderful.” She smiles.
She’s wearing black ruffled trousers and a tailored black blazer over a top.

They kiss, deeply and unreserved, not caring that the driver might be watching.
He's thrilled at the way she just kissed him.
She leans into him. He kisses her hand and holds it on his lap for the ride.

The restaurant is intimate and dimly lit.
They’re led to their table. Meryl takes off her blazer, and Marty’s breath catches.

Her blouse—black, sheer, held together with criss-crossing silk bands—covers her but shows just enough.
No bra. The low curve of her breasts is completely visible.
For a moment, he thinks it’s a wardrobe malfunction.
He starts gesturing that she's showing but soon realizes, by her face and pose, that there's nothing wrong with her top.
She sits and meets his gaze.

“Please tell me you didn’t take your jacket off during the event,” he says.
“Why?” she teases.
“Because your... exquisite boobs are showing.”
She smirks. “Are they?”
“Fuck, Meryl… what are you wearing?” His eyes are locked on her chest. “I can’t stop looking.”
“Then don’t.”
He exhales. “I seriously need a drink.”
“Order one for me too.”
She’s smiling looking at him, holding her chin.
He looks again—lingering this time.
“God, you are so sexy.”
“I feel sexy,” she says, lips curling.

“Of course you feel. You wore it like that today?
“Of course not. Just for dinner.”
“I mean, I’ve seen you in low cuts. I love them. But this… this is…” he shakes his head “ I don’t even have words…this is on another level. It’s very, very sexy… Meryl.”
“Do you like it?”
“I fucking love it!”

They order drinks.
Dinner flows—laughter, shared stories, flirting between long looks and quiet touches.
They talk about their upcoming trip—two days in Paris or countryside, then Canada.

Afterward, the driver takes them for a night drive through the city.
They can't really just stroll along, because the city is full of tourists.
The Eiffel Tower is glowing. They stop, briefly, to take it in.
They go out for a moment.
Kissing with the tower on their back.
She steps into him, pulling his hands beneath her blazer, guiding them to the soft lines of her top.
He caresses the curve of her breast.
“You drive me mad,” he whispers.

“I love you like this,” she murmurs.
They kiss again—deeply, with nothing held back.

Back at the hotel, they pause by reception.
“Let’s just confirm the pickup time for tomorrow,” he says.
“Good idea.”
The same receptionist is still on duty.
Marty asks to confirm if everything is alright.
“Yes, sir. We have a car scheduled to pick up you and your wife at 9 a.m.”

Meryl freezes.
Marty feels the shift instantly.
Immediately he thinks Meryl is going to hate this and makes an upset face.
Meryl sees it.

“Thank you,” he says calmly.

They walk toward the elevator. Silence thick between them.
In the lift, she’s looking at the floor.
Marty scrambles to keep the moment light.
“9 is a good time,” he offers.
“Yes.”
“Not too early. We’ll have time for breakfast.”
“Hum-hum.”

Shit, he thinks. She’s upset.
He knows she hates small talk. So why is he doing this?

They reach the suite.
“It’s cold in here,” she says, still in her blazer.
“I left the A/C on. Sorry.”
She doesn’t take off her blazer.
“Are you keeping it on because it’s that cold?” he asks, brushing his hands down her arms.
“Yes. And I brought nothing but silk nightgowns. Should’ve packed pajamas.”
“It’ll warm up soon.”
“I’m going to change.”
She grabs her robe and a pale slip of a nightgown, disappearing into the bathroom.

He sits, replaying the moment at reception.
The look on her face.
That single word—wife—had changed everything.

Inside, Meryl is staring at her reflection.
Cursing what happened that is ruining the rest of their night.

She’d frozen when she heard it: your wife.
It hit her hard and fast, and she had no time to deal with her feelings.
Because deep down, she loved hearing it.

Just someone, casually referring to her as Marty’s wife.
As if it were natural.
As if it were true.
She wanted it to be true.
A married couple in Paris, on a romantic getaway.
But it’s not.
Not really.

She emerges from the bathroom in her nightgown, slips into bed, still cold. Picks up a book.

He hears her and comes to the bedroom.
“You’re already tucked in?” he says gently.
“Yes. Can you turn off the big lamp?”
“Sure.”
He pauses.
“Are you okay? Are we okay?”
She answers too quickly.
“Of course we’re okay. Why wouldn’t we be okay?” Her voice is a little too high. “We had a lovely dinner.”
“…Okay.”

He changes into a T-shirt and pajama pants, then gets into bed beside her.
She puts the book she was reading down and rests her head on her pillow.
Her back turned to him. “Want me to turn off the lights?”
“Yes, please.”
He leans over, kisses her cheek.
“Goodnight. I love you, Meryl.”
“Love you too.”

She doesn’t move.
Just pulls the blankets a little tighter around herself.
He turns off the lights.
Darkness falls, and silence settles between them.

Chapter 33: secret

It’s completely dark in the room.

They lie with their backs to each other. A wide, silent gap between them.
Both awake.
Both just breathing.
Thinking.

He, wondering if maybe she didn’t really want him here. Because if he hadn’t come, the man at reception wouldn’t have made that assumption.
She, replaying what the man at the reception said.
“Your wife.”
They both heard it.
She had already heard the doctor at the hospital referring to him as her husband. She didn’t told him, of course.
Now this.
In Europe, of course, people don’t necessarily know who she’s married to. There’s a man in her hotel suite. They assume he’s her husband. Which makes her—his wife.

His wife.
He said nothing.
She saw his face when the words were said.
But she saw it close. Tighten. Like something hit a nerve.
He said nothing.

He’s remembering the way she looked when she first saw him. Lit up. That kiss. Her blouse—half sheer, completely fearless—at dinner.
Flirting, laughing, planning.
And then—cold.
Silent.
After that comment.
She must have hated it.

Then, in the darkness, she breaks the silence.
“Marty…”
He’s surprised to hear her voice.
“Yes?”
“What… what did he say?”
“What?” He sits up in bed, heart suddenly in his throat.
Silence.
She’s not going to repeat it.
What did he say?
Oh.
He clenches his jaw. Still unsure where this is going.
Moves closer. Her back is still turned to him.

“That you were…” he hesitates, then softly says, “my wife.”
It’s his voice now – my wife.
Silence.
Then—
“Say it again.” Her voice is a whisper, barely audible, almost shy.
Now he understands.
He slides his arm around her waist, pulling her gently against him.
“That you were my wife.”
Her heart races.
She loves it. She loves hearing it.

He loves saying it.
When the words leave his mouth, something ignites. In a good way.
He hadn’t realized what saying it would feel like.

She turns toward him, her body warm, the soft fabric of her nightgown brushing his skin.
“I thought you were upset,” he says. “That he said that. And you wished i wasn't here with you.”

She reaches for his face and whispers in his ear.
“I loved hearing it.”
Her breath on his ear, her voice—he can feel himself reacting instantly.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, so low and softly he can barely hear.
It feels she's ashamed of saying it. And she is.
But needs it.
“You are…” he whispers, voice lower now, “my wife.”

The moment these words come out of his mouth again, this way, he hardens.
He's exhilarated by this.
And can't help but feel deeply aroused.
Calling her his wife in the middle of the darkness.
“Again,” she breathes, trembling.
Now he senses she's aroused too.
“That you were my wife.”

She exhales sharply. The sound is unmistakable—desire.
He takes his dick out from the opening of his pajama pants. She gasps as he pulls her nightgown up. Urgently.
No underwear.
In the darkness, under the covers, he roughly pushes his cock deep inside of her while saying "You're my wife...Meryl...you're my wife"
She moans, both from the stretch of him inside her, and from his words.
He kisses her. Finally, he kisses her.
“Make love to me.” She says.

“I am making love to you,” he groans. “I make love to you every time. I love you so much, so much…”
She wraps herself around him.
He thrusts slow.
He wants this to last all night.
He wants this to last all his life.
He wants to say it again.
He wants to say it, because he wants to hear it. And wants her to hear it.
He thrusts. She moans.
Fuck.
This is taking him into another dimension.

Slowly thrusting her and kissing.
Just that.
“I love making love to you,” he says, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. Holding firm.
He wants her to feel his firmness and his seriousness.
“I love making love to you, Meryl” whispers “You’re my wife… I love you Meryl.”

She searches for his mouth in the dark, overwhelmed.
She's feeling it with every inch of her body.
Feeling this love from her gut.
Grips his hand tighter.
Moans into his neck.
“I love you, Marty.”

“Say it too Meryl,” he whispers. “Please. I need to hear it…”

She was just thinking that.
If she’s his wife, then he’s her husband.

“You’re my husband now, Marty… you’re my husband…”

His pace quickens. Her words take him over the edge—emotionally, physically.
A wave crashes through him—love, joy, need.
Thrilling. Exciting.
“God, Meryl… if you say it again, I’ll come instantly…”

“Then touch me,” she whispers, “because I want to come with you.”

His hand goes between them, to touch her clit. Gently, like the lovemaking they're doing.
Feeling its shape, form. Like if it was the first time he was touching her.
She’s close.
She grabs his face and whispers, voice barely a breath:

“You’re my husband, Marty… and I love you.”

She’s already coming.
Her voice breaks on the last syllable, a whimper in the dark.
He loses it.
They both explode—together.

After, silence.
A different kind.
Vulnerable. Still. Honest.
What was said in whispers between love, was now difficult.
He strokes her face barely seeing her.

“We can be whatever we want to be,” he says. “To each other.”
“Hmm-hum.”
“No paper. No ring. Doesn’t matter.”
Another murmur.
She’s not saying much.

He turns on the light beside the bed.
“What are you doing?” she says, shielding her face.
He pulls her hands away gently, kisses them, then her forehead. Her eyes are shut.
He kisses her again. Until she lets herself kiss back.
“You’re my wife.”
She closes her eyes. Breathes deep.

“I’m not,” she whispers. “But… when that man said it—I wished it were true. I wished it were simple. And I wanted to hear it from you…”
She swallows.
“And I didn’t know how badly I wanted to say it. Until I did.” He says.
“I loved hearing it,” she whispers.

“I loved hearing you say it,” he says. “Some couples—plenty of them—consider themselves married, and aren't really...on paper...and treat each other like husband and wife."
“Oh, so you have a lot of European friends now?” she teases, cracking a smile.
"Look at Kurt and Goldie...they've been together for 40 years...not married, on paper...but are husband and wife..."
She exhales.
“It’s our secret.”
“What secret?”
“We got married tonight.” he whispers on her hear.

She groans and buries her face in the pillow. “I am married…Fuck! When we separated, we agreed not to divorce… I never saw this coming.”
“You can change your mind.”
“I know, but… it’s messy. I’d have to talk to him…so, I am married. To him.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I may not say it,” she murmurs, “but it’s true.”
“You’re my wife now. That’s our truth. We’re a couple. What we decide matters.”
She looks at him, touches his face.
"It's between us. It's what we decide we want to be." He continues.
Silence.
“It’s between us, you’re right.” She finally says.

He turns the light off again.
Pulls her into him from behind.
She wraps her arms around his.
They stay quiet.
In this new world of them.
Just them.
They've got something just them. For no one to learn about.

 

She wakes before the alarm.
Quietly gets up. Goes into the living room. Closing the doors that separate the bedroom.

Too much happened.
Her mind is spinning.

She’s in Paris. With Marty. On a romantic trip. Going to Canada after.
The happiness she's feeling can't be put into words.
Yet, last night, two words, first froze her and then put her on fire.
My wife.
Him calling her, my wife.
She shivers, just remembering his voice saying it.
At the same time, she asked him several times to say it.
She feels embarrassed now. Already dreading seeing his face.

The alarm goes off.
She hears him turn it off. Then the bathroom door. Then the sliding doors open.

“Hi… good morning! You’re up early!”
She looks at him, then down. “Yeah.”
He walks up, hugs her, kisses her neck. She giggles but doesn’t meet his eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
She slips from his arms, walks back into the bedroom.
He frowns. Follows.
“Meryl?”
“Hmm?”

Unlike her, he wants to look at her—and wants her to look at him.
He's happy to be here, still riding the high of last night.
He doesn’t want to analyze it, just carry it with them into the day.

"Come on...what's wrong?"
He stops her. Takes her hand.
Pulls her gently onto the bed with him.
“I want to look at you,” he says softly.
She takes a deep breath.
“Is it about last night?” he asks.
She nods, just barely.
“Are you sorry?”
She shakes her head.
“No.”
He smiles.
“Then what?”
She buries her face in his chest.
“I’m… I’m just a little embarrassed I asked you to say it. Maybe you didn’t really want to and—”

He kisses her hair.
Lifts her chin.
“I loved everything about last night,” he says. “I loved calling you my wife.”
She closes her eyes.
“Don’t do that,” he whispers. “Look at me.”
She opens them.
His hand strokes her cheek.
“You are my wife. And I love you.”
Her lips twitch. A small smile forming.
“And you are…” she pauses.
He waits.
“You’re my husband, Martin Short.”

For the next two days, they explore small villages around Paris, trying to avoid the tourist crowds.
They taste local food and wine, laugh easily, flirt shamelessly, and soak in a rare freedom—from paparazzi, from time.
They go mostly unnoticed, and they’re loving every second of it.

Then, they board a private jet to Canada.
At the airport, a car is waiting to take them to Marty’s cottage.
He’s over the moon to have her there—with him, in Canada, in his space.
She’s quietly thrilled, eager to step into his world.
In the back seat, they hold hands. On the way, he points things out—places, memories, little stories.

Then they arrive.
As the driver unloads their bags and Marty unlocks the door, she pauses on the front step, just looking.

Once again, she’s at a place that once belonged to him and Nancy.

But this time, she feels different.
More sure of herself. More grounded.
Over the past months, they’ve been building something—slowly but steadily.
They’ve taken steps: meeting friends and family, working together again, sharing time and space, having the hard conversations.

And loving each other.
Madly.
More every day.

And then Paris.
They’ll always have Paris.

The driver took the bags upstairs and left.
Marty comes out, looking for her.
He knows this is a big moment. For her. For him. For them.
He can barely contain his excitement.

“Hey,” he calls gently, “are you coming?”
She smiles. “Yes.”
They step inside.
The interior is exactly what you'd expect from a lakeside cottage: hardwood floors, cozy fireplaces, oversized windows, stillness.
Comfortable sofas, soft lighting, the faint scent of cedar.

He watches her take it all in, then steps behind her and kisses her back, wrapping his arms around her.
“It’s wonderful,” she says softly.
“It’s looked like this forever. I haven’t changed much... new sofas a few years ago, a new TV, new bed upstairs.”
He smirks, hinting at the upgrade.
She laughs at the implication.

“I know you want me here.”
“So much.” He kisses her again. “Come see outside before I show you upstairs.”
They walk out to the back of the house.
It sits right on the edge of the lake.
“Oh… it’s incredible.”

“Right? That’s our little dock—we can dive from there. I can set up some loungers for you if you want. There are chairs too.”
“The view is... breathtaking.”
“We can do everything out here. You can go skinny dipping and no one would ever see.”
She laughs.
“Is that something you usually do?”
“Not regularly... but I have. Plenty of times.”
“Okay then.”

She looks around—soaking it in.
The lake, the trees, the mountains in the distance. It reminds her of her old house in Connecticut, but bigger. Wilder.
More majestic.
“There’s also the boathouse, over there. I’ll show you later.”
“Okay. This is amazing, Marty.”
She’s clearly delighted. Glowing.
He drinks in the sight of her like sunlight.

“Let’s go back in.”
He drapes his arm around her shoulders; she slips hers around his waist.

Back inside, Marty gives her a quick tour, then brings her upstairs.

Their bedroom is large, with a massive bed, big windows, and views that seem to stretch forever.
She walks slowly around the room, taking it in.
“Is everything okay?”
He approaches, kissing her shoulder.
“Yes. Perfect. I love your house.”
“I really want you to feel at home. If you need anything, anything at all, just say it.”

She smiles. “Thanks. I was just wondering… is there a restaurant nearby? And maybe a market? We’ll probably need a few things.”
He chuckles.
“All taken care of. Fridge is full. Wine, mixers, meals. And yes—great restaurants nearby. Actually, I made us a reservation for tonight, if you’re not too tired.”
“I’m not. I can’t wait to see all the places you love.”
“I can’t wait to show you.”
He kisses her softly.
“I think I’ll take a shower before changing—okay?”
“Baby, make yourself at home. Do whatever you want.”

She showers, then changes into something cozy and warm—it’s definitely going to be chilly tonight.
Coming downstairs, she says, “Ready.”

He stands and grabs two windproof parkas.
“What’s that?”
“One for you, one for me.”
“Are we going trekking or going to dinner?”
“You’ll see.”

They step outside, and Marty heads down a path toward the lake.
“Wait, we’re not driving? The restaurant’s that close?”
He grins and takes her hand.
She’s puzzled—but amused, and curious.

They walk a little farther, and soon, she sees another building.
“So this is... the boathouse.”
“And the car’s in the boathouse?” she teases.
“Nope. The boats are.”
He opens the door. Inside: two motorboats, canoes, paddle boards—everything for lake life.
He steps into one of the boats.
“What are you doing?” she laughs.
He holds out a hand to help her in.
“We’re going by boat.”
“Seriously? To the restaurant?”
“Yup.”
She steps in. He starts the motor.
“Hold on.”

They move slowly at first, easing out onto the water.
Then, in the open lake, he speeds up.
She laughs as the wind whips through her hair.

The sun is beginning to set, and the sky is a canvas of orange and pink.
She exhales, clings to his arm, and he wraps it around her.

“This is so beautiful.”
“The restaurant’s in Rosseau—it’s close. Want a little trip around first?”
“Yes.”

She’s loving it. He looks at her and kisses her.
His heart is pounding.
He’s here, with her, on the lake, at sunset—heading to dinner at one of his favorite places.
It’s a dream.
He gives her a small tour: the lighthouse, the falls, the far edge of the lake. Then to Rosseau.
Her hair is wind-tossed as they dock and head into the restaurant.

Marty steps up to the host stand.

“I have a reservation.”
“Marty!” The owner spots him and practically shouts with joy.
The two men hug.
“You’re here!”
“We arrived today.”
He keeps a hand on Meryl’s back.
“This is Meryl.”
She offers a soft, polite smile. “Hi.”
The man hugs her without hesitation, surprising her.
“I think I know her name, Marty! So nice to meet you—finally. I’ve been asking him when he was going to bring you here.”
“Really?” she glances at Marty.
“Yes! We’re like family.”
“We’ve known each other for—what, forty years?”
“Something like that. Your table’s ready—right by the window. Would you like a drink first? Wine?”
They look at each other.
“Maybe wine,” she says.
“Perfect. I’ll grab the list.”

The dinner is wonderful.
They laugh endlessly, with Marty sharing stories from his time in Canada.
During the meal, two couples stop by to greet him—old Canadian friends, both surprised to see Meryl there.
“Everyone seems so nice… so genuine,” she says.
“They are. Canadians!”
She chuckles. “I love Canadians.”
“I know.” He kisses her.
“This place is amazing.”
“You should see it in July and August—packed, loud, everyone greeting each other, changing tables to chat.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It is.”
He wants to say for her to come by then. Holds it in him.
She licks her lips. “I’m loving being here. Thank you for inviting me.”
“I want you by my side, Meryl. Always.”
She smiles.

After dinner, they return home by boat.
“I’m really glad for the coat now!” she says, pulling it tighter.
“Yeah, nights are still cold in June. Are you okay?”
“I’m good.”

Back at the house, they go upstairs. She’s feeling warm from the wine, drowsy.
She changes into a nightgown, wishing she'd packed warmer pajamas, and slips into bed.

Marty is still in the bathroom.
He can’t believe how happy he is.
He wants to make love tonight, but he also wants to give her space.
She needs to find her rhythm here too.
He remembers her unease at the other house and doesn’t want a repeat.
He wants it to be her initiative.

When he comes back into the room, she’s already asleep.
He smiles, climbs into bed beside her, kisses her temple.
Watches her for a moment.
Then turns off the light and falls asleep.

Chapter 34: O Canada!

Next day

Meryl wakes up.
For a moment, she forgets where she is.
Wood ceilings. A huge bed. Panoramic windows.

Marty isn’t in bed.
She stretches.
It feels like she slept forever.
Puts on a robe, heads to the bathroom, then downstairs.

The smell of coffee hits her.
There’s some noise from the kitchen.

“Good morning. What’s all this?”
He’s cooking breakfast. Fresh bread, orange juice, coffee, and scrambled eggs.
“Morning! How’d you sleep?”
They kiss.
“Wonderfully. Fresh bread… where did you get it?”
“I went to the village. There’s a bakery.”
“By boat?” she asks, already tearing into a piece.
“No, took the jeep.”
“Oh my God, I love this bread!”
She spreads butter on another slice.
"Right? They're italians. In peak summer there's a huge line."
“Hummm…so good! I could move to Italy and live off bread and pasta.”
He laughs. “Just bread and pasta?”
“Yes! Though I’d be huge in no time. But God, I love Italian food. Risotto, fresh fish... We should go to Italy—not in summer, but late September or October.”
He smiles. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”
She smiles back. “So… you have a jeep?”
“I do. No roof.”
“Oh!” she smirks. “How adventurous!”
“Prepare yourself for wild rides.”
She laughs.
“Right now, I’m preparing for the amazing breakfast my man made.”
He grins. “That could be an adventure too.”
They both laugh.

During the day, Marty shows her beautiful nearby spots. They have lunch in another small village.
She’s loving everything.
How relaxed he is—shorts, T-shirt, an open shirt, blue sunglasses.
Driving the jeep.
She watches his tanned, strong arms on the wheel.
In New York, there are always drivers.
In LA, she usually drives herself.
But here, she doesn’t know her way around.
He’s driving.
The boat. The jeep.
Like some kind of rugged action man.
She grins at the thought.

Another perfect day.

That evening, they stay in. Quiet.
They’re both tired.
She loved the day—
The mountains, the lakes, the little antique shop where she bought something for her New York apartment.
The restaurants, the wine shop.
The boat ride the night before.

But part of her can’t help thinking:
He’s done all this before—with Nancy.
What a glorious life they must have lived.
He's so romantic, so funny, so into things. Passionate. The way he tells stories and shows things.
They must have taken hundred boat trips. Traveled everywhere. Went to the same restaurants. Same stores.
Made love in that house.
She takes a deep breath.
Pushes the thoughts away.
She’s so happy with him. Living in the moment.
He brings out the best in her.

When they go to bed, they cuddle. Soft kisses.
He spoons her as she closes her eyes, wrapped in happiness.
She smells so good.
That lotion she puts on after showering.
That smooths her skin.
The silk nightgown.
His hand slowly moves from her hip to her belly, then back.
He fights the urge to pull her to him.
He’s half-hard, aching to be closer.
There’s a small distance between them and she can't feel him.
To her belly again.
She likes his touches.
She’s tired and already feels sleep coming.
He's tired too.
But he wants to touch her.
His hand slides up to her breast.
He exhales sharply the moment he feels the round shape and then the nipples.
Fondles her softly, gently.
Brushing his fingertips on her nipples through the fabric.
Still, she doesn’t move.
He knows: if she wanted more, she’d press against him.
She’d sigh.
She doesn’t.
She's just enjoying those small touches and feels it rocking her to sleep.
He's also tired.
But it's more difficult for him to fall asleep because he's half hard.
Then he starts listening to her heavy breathing.
He slides a hand between them.
He needs to adjust. He grips his dick.
Hard.
Thinking of getting up to relieve himself.
But he’s tired.
And wants to stay close to her.
Hell. It will go away.
Eventually, he falls asleep.

Next morning.
She wakes alone—again.

This bed. So comfortable.
The air in Canada makes her sleep like a rock.
She stretches.
She’s in a mood. Sex mood.
She wishes he hadn’t gotten up.
His hands last night… they’re her first thought.

But her mind had wandered after dinner.
That bothered her.

She heads downstairs.

He’s cooking breakfast again.
“God, I love seeing you in the kitchen.”
He chuckles. “Good morning.”
She walks over and kisses him—deeply.
Tongue teasing, breath stealing.
He’s stunned. Breathless.
Fuck. This kiss.
She pulls back.
“Oh! There’s that devil bread again!”

He grins.
He knows that kiss.
She’s in the mood.
She’s settling in. Finding her place.
He doesn’t push.
But everything in her behavior is different.
She’s wearing just the nightgown.
No robe.
He can see her breasts bounce, her nipples through the fabric.
She’s sexy as hell.

But he waits.
Breathes deeply.
“Hungry?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Want to eat outside?”
“Sure. But I need to change.”
“It’s going to be hot today.”
“Okay. I’ll be quick.”

Upstairs, she slips out of the nightgown.
Puts on a swimsuit and a white shirt dress that ends above her knees.
Ties her hair in a bun. Grabs sunglasses.

When she comes out barefoot, he sees her.
The dress slightly sheer in the sun.
“Nice call on the swimsuit,” he says.
“You already brought everything out?”
“Yep. I was thinking we stay in today. Swim in the lake.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They spend the day at home.
Resting. Reading. Listening to music.
Laughing. Swimming.

By the end of the day, they’re outside in chairs, facing each other.
Her feet rest on his lap.
“Want another beer?” he asks.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He grabs two from the cooler, opens it, and hands her one.
They clink bottles, drink.
The sun is low on the horizon.
He massages her feet with one hand.
She breathes in deeply, exhales slowly.
Relaxed. Happy.

She slips one foot into the right leg of his swim trunks.
He jolts, chuckling.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
She strokes his leg with her foot, teasing her way higher—but can’t quite reach.
"Meryl..."
He knows exactly what she’s trying.
He’s already hardening. Just the idea that she wants him again.
She bites her lower lip, playfully.
Then presses her foot against the center of his trunks.
He groans.
His hand wraps around her foot as she presses into him.

She feels the bulge—his thick cock and full balls. He’s always heavy down there.
And getting harder by the second.
"Let’s go inside. I want to make love," she says.
She stands, barefoot, beer in hand, and walks the path to the house.
He downs his own drink, gets up, and follows.

Inside, he looks for her.
He hears a creak above—floorboards shifting.
Heads upstairs.
The bedroom’s empty.
"Meryl?"
"In a minute."

He strips off his swim trunks and t-shirt.
When she walks in, she places her hands gently on his bare back.
He turns to kiss her.
They move to the bed.
She makes him sit up against the headboard, then straddles him.
He helps her pull her dress off—now she’s fully naked on his lap.

His hands rise to cup her breasts.
“I wanted to make love this morning,” she murmurs, “but you weren’t in bed.”
His hands are still on her breasts. Cupping them. Gently squeezing.
“You could’ve called me. Or told me when you came down.”
“We’re here now.”

His eyes drop to her chest.
“I’ve been dying to suck your tits these past two days,” he groans.
His mouth closes around a nipple.
She throws her head back as his tongue swirls and sucks.
His hands hold her steady.
“Oh god… Marty…”
Full mouth on a nipple, suckling.
He hums like he’s tasting something sweet.
“So good… your tits are delicious…”
“I love how obsessed you are with them.”
“I’m obsessed with all of you.”
She pulls his face up to kiss him.
“Make me come.”
He shifts her down onto the bed, grinding his cock between her thighs.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, lips against her neck, hands squeezing her breasts.
“You know what I want…” she breathes. “Your mouth.”
“Where, Meryl? Tell me where you want my mouth.”
She lifts her hips, grinding her wet heat against his hard cock.
“You know where... here.”
“Where, Meryl?” he teases, brushing her lips with his, licking like he would her folds.
“My cunt. Lick it, Marty. I want your mouth on my cunt... so bad.”
He grins. She feels it before she sees it.
She opens her eyes and meets his. Kisses him.
“I love how you talk to me,” she whispers.
But he’s already moving down her body.

“Your cunt... your pussy... your sumptuous pussy…”
He does what he does best.
Slow.
So slow she almost can’t feel him.
Almost.
But he’s there. Teasing. Tracing. Breathing.
Her thighs quiver. Her lips tremble.
She aches for more.
And yet... she wants exactly this.
That unbearable slowness.
Like he’s savoring her the way someone savors a melting spoonful of ice cream—languid, indulgent, greedy but patient.
It’s driving her wild.
Mad with need, mad with pleasure.
So slow.
The way he takes his time—how each movement promises more but never rushes.
The orgasm begins to bloom, slow and deep.
So slow it almost slips away…
And then returns, hotter, heavier.

Then he kisses her inner thighs. Lets his fingers glide through her slick folds.
Dipping in, circling, feeling how wet she is.
Just the tip of his thick fingers.
The thick fingers she likes to feel inside.
Just teasing.
Just enough to make her gasp.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she cries, her voice shaking.
Then she moans—loud and wild—as her orgasm takes over.
He mounts her, sliding in while she’s still trembling.
Thrusting slow. Deep.
Slow until she calms down.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groans, letting his body fall on top of her, whispering into her ear. “You’re so tight, Meryl… it drives me mad.”

She shifts beneath him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, clinging to him.
“Marty… you’re making me come again…”
He thrusts, slowly.
“I know, baby… let it out. I want to hear you. Loud.”
She comes again.
Not loud like he wanted—but strong.
Moaning softly in his ear, but when she climaxes, it’s too intense to even make a sound.
She grips him hard, trembling.

He holds her close, kisses her neck.
Then starts pounding—harder, deeper.
Fully buried inside her.

Her legs wrap around him.
Slippery.
She keeps repeating how much she loves him fucking her.
Her hand slides between them to feel him entering her.

“Meryl… fuck… you kill me when you do that.”
She tightens around him.
He moans, loud and broken.
“Oh, Meryl… God… I love your hand down there. Stop it or I’m going to come.”
“Don’t come,” she pleads. “Fuck me more.”
He stops thrusting.
Eyes closed.
If he moves, he’ll lose control.

She’s still too. She knows that he's trying to control himself.
He opens his eyes.
“You can’t talk.”
She laughs.
“I can’t talk?”

He covers her mouth.
“What did I say? You can’t talk. If you want me to keep going… you can’t say a word.” His voice is hoarse, breathless.

She bites her lip. Teasing.
“Don’t do that either! Fuck, Meryl! You’re driving me mad.”
He pulls out.
“Get on top.”
She giggles.
Straddles him—but doesn’t slide him in yet.
Bends down and kisses him.
“Now can I talk?”
“You’re too sexy,” he mutters.

He lifts her ass with one hand, guides himself into her with the other.
She moans into his mouth—but keeps kissing him, hungrily.
Then she pulls back and straightens.
He watches her as she rocks slowly on him.

His eyes flick to her pussy.
He parts her, looks at her, then down again.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispers.
He looks back up.
“You’re beautiful, Meryl… your cunt is beautiful. I love both of you.”
She laughs, breathless.
He licks his fingers and touches her.
“Oh God, Marty…”
Her head falls back, moving on him, slow. Up and down.
Her breasts rise and fall with each thrust.

His hands grip her hips.
She’s mesmerizing.
She knows that look in his own eyes—worship.

She blushes. Smiles.
Her hair falls forward as she looks down.
He cups her face, smiling back.
He shifts upright, leaning against the headboard, keeping her close, still inside.
She presses her chest to his, arms around his neck.
He rocks her gently, his hands on her bottom.
They kiss—long, deep.

“I love you so much, Marty… I love making love to you.”
“I love you too. You drive me mad with desire. For your body. For your sounds.”
“I love making you mad… getting you hard.”
“Oh, Meryl… I get hard just hearing your voice.”
He thrusts up hard.
She responds, increasing their rhythm. Him helping her.

“God, I feel you so deep in me,” she whispers.
His eyes flutter, starting to lose control again
“You’re touching me… inside, Marty.”
She leans in, whispers in his ear, voice rough and firm:
“I love how big you are. I love your big cock, Martin Short.”
Her voice rough and firm. Meant for him to come.
“Jesus, Meryl…”
He reaches between them to touch her, circling her clit.
She’s close—but he’s already losing control.
She takes over, touching herself.

He starts to come—just as she does.
She arches, trembling.
He holds her as she shakes in release.
Her eyes closed, mouth open.
Her hand still between her legs.

He slides down in the bed, breath ragged.
She leans on him, both catching their breath.
Sweaty. Sticky.
They laugh.

“Hello, Canada,” she says softly.
He chuckles.
“That was a nice homecoming.”
“Fuck, we’re good at this.”
“So good.”
“They should give us awards.”
He laughs.
“Who are ‘they’?”
“The Shag Awards people.”
They both burst out laughing.

“Oh, those guys!”
“You said I would’ve won!”
“I saw your potential.”
“That’s what you saw? Potential?”
“I also saw you naked… well, in my head.”

She kisses him.
“I saw you naked too.”
“Fuck… don’t remind me.”
“Why did you make that joke with me? I just realized—I never asked.”
He hesitates.
“I was provoking you.”
“Back then? Why?”
He exhales.
"Rita told me you were separated. I wanted to get a reaction from you."
"Why?"
“I don’t know… I guess I... I wanted you.”
She stares at him.
He looks away, clearly embarrassed.
She places a hand on his chest.
“You wanted me.”
Not a question. A realization.
“And you made a move. I like that about you.”

He meets her gaze.
She kisses him again.

“The moment you stepped on that stage with Selena… I thought you looked very handsome that night.”
“You did not.”
“I did. Your hair was perfect. You’re always sexy in a tux. And that smirk when you looked at me… not to mention the conversation afterward.”
“Are you serious, or just trying to make me feel good?”
“Come on, Marty. You made the joke. I took the bait. I went up to talk to you. If I wasn’t the tiniest bit interested, why would I bother? How many jokes have I heard comedians do about me. You gave me the perfect opportunity.”
“You were interested?”
She's pressing her lips, curling a smirk.
“I felt attracted to you at the Diane Keaton event. We talked all night. You were flirting already.”
“God, you looked cute in that suit. The tie, the hat… and you were funny. I was so turned on by you. But you were married.”
“I was. And still, I was attracted to you.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.” She nods.
“Of course, It was just a thing that night… but it lingered with me for days.”
He caresses her cheek.
“I thought about you so many times, after that night.”
He kisses her.

“I think that was when I knew I had to do something about my marriage. If I could feel that kind of attraction… I couldn’t stay where I was.”

Silence.

“At the SAG night… when you touched yourself thinking about me… did you do it again?”
She leans into his ear.
“So many times.”

He grabs her ass.
“You’re so fucking irresistible.”
“It was irresistible not to. I kept thinking about our talk. The way you grabbed my waist. I wished you’d pull me close. I dreamt of your touch.”
“Oh, baby… if I had known, Meryl…”
“But then it cooled off. It had to. Otherwise, I would’ve gone mad!” She laughs.

“But then I called Steve… my turn to threw out a bait…”
She looks proud.
He looks surprised.
“Steve called me and said, ‘You won’t believe this—your girlfriend just called me!’”
“What?!”
“Because I kept telling him you should be in the project. I was frantic!”

She takes a breath.
“And here we are. In Canada. In your house.”
“Starving!”
She laughs.
“Oh, you poor thing.”
“We missed our reservation. I have to call and make something up.”
“I’ll cook for you.”
“Oh? She’s showing off her talents.”
“You need to see more talents from me today?”

He pulls her close.
“You bring me to my knees just by breathing.”
“You’ll be my sous chef.”
“Please. That reminds me of that TV show!”
She laughs again, curling into him.

Then gets up.
She slips her shirt dress back on.
“Please, Meryl… put a bra on baby,” he groans.
She laughs. “Nope.”
“Fuck. I’m going to be hard the whole meal—prepping and eating.”
“Wonderful.”

She walks out of the bedroom.
“Wait… no panties either?”
“Come along, Marty!”
He throws on a pair of briefs and a t-shirt and follows her down.

She cooks them spaghetti all’Amatriciana, pops open a bottle of red, and they eat at the counter.
“Mmm, baby, this is so good.”
“It would be even better if we had guanciale and pecorino,” she replies in her best Italian accent.
“Now you’re just showing off.”
She chuckles.
“I told you. I love Italian food. If you want me happy, feed me something like this.”
“The wine’s Italian.”
“And delicious. We brought another bottle, right?”
“We did. I guess we’ll have to go back to that shop—maybe buy the cheese and the…”
“Guanciale.”
She rolls the word with a perfect accent.
“Say it again,” he murmurs, sliding a hand along her thigh.
“Guanciale.”
“Oh baby… we have to go to Italy.”
They kiss.
“I want to make love with you in Italy,” she whispers.
“Will you speak with me in Italian while we doing it?”
“No. You’d come subito. I want you to last longer.”
“Fair point. I would!” he laughs.
They kiss.
They finish the second bottle late at night and head to bed straight to sleep.
Both a bit drunk and drowsy.

Chapter 35: birthday girl

The next morning

Meryl wakes up alone again.
“Damn it.”
She heads downstairs—he’s already in the kitchen, making breakfast.
“You’re not in bed again!”
“Good morning,” he says, leaning in to kiss her.
“Marty… I love that bread. But I really wanted morning sex. So—can you come back upstairs?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What?” She stares.
“Tomorrow I’ll stay in bed.”
“Come on.”
She walks to him, arms around his neck, the strap of her nightgown falling. She kisses him.
“Oh no,” he says, gently removing her hands.
“Oh no?! What do you mean, oh no!”
“We have plans.”
“Better plans than making love with me?”
He cups her chin.
“Nothing’s better than that. But today… I have something special in mind.”
"Well...you have my attention. Curious to know what's so special for you to refuse me."
She playfully pouts, grabs a slice of bread.
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll just want this bread instead of sex.”
He laughs.

After breakfast, they hop in the jeep.

“So where are we going today? What’s this secret plan?”
“You’ll see. You brought your swimsuit, right?”
“Yes, but I have no intention of wearing it in public.”
“Why not? You’ve got an amazing body.”
She smirks. “Thanks, honey. But I don’t want swimsuit pics of me going viral.”
“Fair.”
“Is it far?”
“Thirty minutes or so. If I remember the way…”
“You don’t know the way? Want me to put it in Google Maps?”
“It’s not on there.”
She eyes him. “Where the hell are you taking me?!”

He turns off the road, down a dusty, narrow path.
“Marty, are you sure we’re on the right path?”
“Hope so.”
"Marty!"
He laughs.
"We are, don't worry."
Eventually, they reach a gate with a weathered plaque: “Private Property.”
He stops the car and gets out, scanning the area.
“What are you doing? This is private property!” she hisses.
“Ah… here it is.”
He finds a latch, unlocks the gate with the hidden key he just found, and gets back in.
“We’re going in? Do you own this?”
“Nope.”
“Oh my god. Are we trespassing?”
“Relax.”

He drives through, stops again, gets out to close the gate behind them, and returns to the driver's seat.
“Can you please explain? Does the owner even know we’re here?”
“Nope.”
“Marty, are you crazy? Do you want to be arrested?”
“No one’s getting arrested.”
“What even is this place? And how much longer are we driving?”
“A few more minutes. Then we walk.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

Eventually, he parks the jeep. They’re surrounded by forest.
A narrow path cuts through the trees.

He opens the trunk, pulls out a small cooler and a backpack.
She eyes them warily.
“What’s all that? Wait—please don’t tell me we’re camping. I hate camping.”
“Noted. No camping. Can you grab the blankets and beach towels?”
She exhales. “Fine.”

He leads the way. She follows, brows furrowed, lips pursed.

The trail winds gently downhill until they reach a clearing, with a sandy patch by a quiet river.

“This is it,” he says.
She looks around. The river glistens, framed by trees. Soft grass. Sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“Oh. Okay. It’s… beautiful.”
Not what she expected.

They lay the blankets on the grass near the sandy beach, setting the cooler and backpack down.
“Bring the towel,” Marty says.
“I’m not going in,” she replies, crossing her arms. “The water’s probably freezing. Besides, I’m still waiting for the cops to show up.”
He chuckles. “The owner is my cousin. Bring the towel.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes.”
He starts walking toward a spot by the river—a natural pool edged with smooth rocks.
He strips off his shirt, folds it onto a stone, removes his glasses, then his sneakers, and steps in.
She watches with curiosity, then dips her hand into the water—her eyes widen.
“It’s a hot spring!”
He grins. “Told you to trust me.”
“I like this,” she says, already pulling her dress over her head.
He leans against the edge of the pool, watching her.
She gathers her hair into a bun to keep it dry and slides into the warm water with a contented sigh.
“Mmm… so good.”
Then, without warning, Marty takes off his swim trunks and tosses them onto the rocks.
She bursts out laughing. “What are you doing? Are you mad?”
“Come on. Take yours off too.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve seen this in movies. People get naked, someone shows up, and the clothes vanish.”
“No one’s showing up.”
“What about your million cousins?”
“I’m pretty sure only a couple even know this place exists. I can’t remember the last time I came here.”
She shakes her head, rubbing her neck.
He can see it—the spark in her eyes, the pause in her breath. She wants to do it.
“Let me see them.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Let you see what?”
“You know.”

Fuck.
Here it goes.
Just that. The way he's looking at her. His voice. The way he said it.
She feels the heat rise between her thighs. The heat he ignites with words and looks.

Slowly, she slips the straps from her shoulders.
He hardens instantly.
The water covers her breasts.
She bends to the side, wriggles out of the swimsuit, holds it up with a teasing smile, then places it on a rock near her.
He stays where he is, watching her.
Takes a deep breath.
That delicious tension—the kind that coils in your stomach right before something inevitable—settles over them.
Thick. Charged.
His face is written with lust.
So is hers.

“Show them to me,” he says again, voice full of lust.
She inhales. Looks around.
"No one is going to show up."
Her face is flushed from the hot water.
She straightens.
Her breasts rise from the water, flushed and wet.
Her nipples pink, flat from the heat.
He watches, mesmerized.
God he loves to see her nipples like that, knowing the moment his mouth or his fingers touch them, they will become erect.
Then moves toward her.
His tongue traces her nipple, sucking, licking, fingers teasing.
Then kisses her. His hands squeezing them.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers with her eyes closed and her head back while he kisses her neck.
“It’s the morning sex you wanted.”
She gasps as he lifts her legs around his waist and slowly begins to slide inside her.
She muffles a scream with her hand.

“Do all the noise you want, baby. No one will hear.”

He moves deeper. Slowly not to hurt her, but feeling that she's wet and slippery inside—inch by inch, until he’s buried to the hilt.
“Feels good?”
“So good.”
“Yeah…You like having my dick inside you?” His voice hoarse. Full of desire.
“Yes…”
She answers and he thrusts. Deep. All buried.
She moans.
"So good. You are so good Marty. You always fuck me so well."
He's thrusting slow.
“I love this… when you go slow like that. I love feeling every inch of you sliding in and out of me.”
“Meryl…” he groans, “now I have to go faster.”
He speeds up, both of them overwhelmed by the setting, the secrecy, the heat.
And they come, almost at the same time—intense and breathless.

After they get out of the water, they dry off with the towels and dress.
Then they lay down on the blankets, facing each other, giggling.
“I didn’t know you were this frisky,” she says, grinning.
“Frisky? That’s something my mother would say.”
“Are you calling me old?”
“Never. You’re so young.”
“I’m so young.”
“Frisky…” he repeats with a smirk. “You know, I’ve never done this before. Not here, not anywhere.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. I’ve been here, of course. But never done what we just did.”

“So today you woke up and decided to change that?”
He laughs. “No! I mean… I thought the hot spring would be something different. We could spend the morning here, have a picnic…”
“And then?”
“And then, the moment I stepped into the water, the idea crossed my mind. And I thought—why the hell not? It’s private property. It’s like doing it in the pool at home.”
She smiles. “It was… very sensual.”
She leans in and kisses him.

“Now…” she teases, “you mentioned a picnic?”
“Yes! I bought egg sandwiches from the bakery. And tuna sandwiches.”
He starts pulling things out of the backpack.
“Okay,” she says, intrigued.
“We’ve got chips.”
“Hand them to me,” she says instantly.
He chuckles. “Bread, pasta, and fries—or chips.”
“You got it.”
“And beer. I thought about being romantic—you know, white wine, glasses, strawberries…”
She bursts out laughing. “But then… tuna sandwiches and white wine?”
He shrugs.
“I love what you did. All this, by yourself.” She kisses him. “Tuna sandwiches and beer… that’s very romantic.”
“Yeah?”
She wraps her arms around his neck. “So romantic.”
They kiss deeply.
“And the love-making in this scenario,” he adds with a grin.
“The best!”
Another kiss.
“And the chips. I love that you brought them for me, Marty Short!”

His phone buzzes with a message.
He picks it up. “Oh… we’ve got an invitation for dinner tonight.”
“We? Who invited us?”
“Goldie and Kurt. They heard we’re here.”
“They have a house nearby?”
“Yeah, very close. Should I tell them yes? You feel like going?”
“Yeah. They’re fun.”
“They’re very fun. I’ve known them since the kids were young.”

Later that day

They head out by boat to Kurt and Goldie’s house.
She hugs his arm all the way, leaning into him.
“This is beautiful.”
“I’m so glad you like it. Look—that’s their boathouse.”
“Wow. Looks like a fairy tale.”
“Oh—Goldie’s outside.”
Marty waves. Goldie waves back.
“Kurt!” she shouts. “They’re here!”
Kurt joins her on the deck.
“Hi, guys!” Marty calls from the boat.
He hops out, then helps Meryl step down.
Goldie immediately wraps her in a hug.
“I couldn’t believe it when Kurt said you were both here! I’m so happy for you two. Last time we saw you, you were very coy about your relationship!”
Marty and Meryl exchange a glance.
“Well… we’re shy. Thank you for the invitation,” Meryl says with a soft smile.
“What do you guys want to drink?” Kurt asks. “Maybe we should go inside.”
Marty’s hand is on Meryl’s waist.
Goldie nods at Kurt, making a delighted face, clearly loving what she’s seeing.
They dine with Kurt and Goldie and return home very late.

Next day — June 22

Meryl wakes up and looks at the empty space beside her.
Marty isn’t there. Again.
Is he doing this on purpose?
How can he not be by her side when she wakes up—even once—since they’ve been in Canada?
And he knows it’s something she likes. Not just the sex. The intimacy.
Also… how does she not hear him get up? She must be sleeping like a rock these days.
She gets up, a little frustrated. That damn bread is ruining her mornings.

She heads downstairs. No sounds this time.
Maybe he’s not back yet.
She reaches the living room—and stops in her tracks.
Flowers. Everywhere.
Dozens of vases overflowing with blooms.
Mainly peonies, in all shades of pink and white.
Balloons, too—soft pink and white, gently swaying.

“Happy birthday,” he says.

He’s suddenly behind her. Quiet, grinning.
She jumps, startled.
She had completely forgotten it was her birthday.
“Oh my God… you did all this?”
She throws her arms around him, hugging him tight, then kisses him.
She turns again, taking in the room full of flowers.
Then looks back at him, eyes soft.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, baby.”
“Marty… I love them. Peonies… I love peonies.”
“June flowers,” he says simply.
“You’re adorable. I love you so much.”
She hugs him tightly again.

“And I have a little something for you,” he says.
“Well, two things, actually… but it’s nothing and you can exchange them. I bought them in New York, so…”

He hands her two perfectly wrapped boxes.
Barely capable of hiding how thrilled she is with all this.
Before even opening them, she leans in and kisses him.

“I love you,” she murmurs.
“Open this one first.”
“Okay.”
“I really suck at choosing gifts,” he says, suddenly unsure.
“Don’t say that.”
She unwraps the first box—it’s from Dior.
Inside is a midnight blue silk blouse, delicate and luxurious, with a soft bow tie in the side of the neck.
Her eyes go wide. “It’s beautiful. I love it. And don’t say you suck at gifts—this is perfect.”
He smiles, a bit bashfully. “I actually, had a little help.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Lou.”
She stares at him. “You asked my daughter? Are you two sneaking behind my back now?”
“No! I just sent her two options and asked which she thought you’d like more.”
She shakes her head in amused disbelief.
“Now the other one…” he hesitates. “Well—just open it.”
She unwraps the second box.

Inside: a black lace lingerie set. Sensual. Elegant. Luxurious.
She stares at it for a long second. He watches her carefully, suddenly nervous.
“Did you ask Lou’s opinion on this one too?” she asks, eyes still on the delicate fabric.
“God, no,” he says quickly.
She can’t even remember the last time she received a gift like this.
“You can absolutely return it. Or exchange it. I wasn’t sure if—”

She doesn’t say anything. Still not looking at him.
He's convinced she hates it. Thinks it’s ridiculous. Immature.
Then she moves closer. Her voice low.
“Why did you buy this for me?” she asks, eyes locking with his.
“Because it’ll be perfect on you.” His voice low.

A beat. Then she smiles. Something shifts in her face.
“I love it. I thought… I thought I’d never receive something like this again.”
She kisses him—long and deep. “And you got the size right.”

“Well, that’s the easy part. Do you really like it? It’s not… juvenile on me to do it?”
“It’s beautiful. And sexy. And I love that you make me feel like this… on the day I turn seventy-five.”
She laughs softly. “God, I’m old.”
“Let’s stay focused on the part where I make you feel sexy.”
She laughs again and kisses him.
“Thank you. For everything. The flowers, the gifts… these incredible days. For everything you’ve given me since I stepped into that studio. You changed my life, Martin Short. You brought me back to life. Thank you.”
She hugs him. He hugs her back—tight.

“So I was thinking… we could have breakfast in Rosseau,” he says. “Then I made a reservation for dinner in Windermere. And during the day, we can just—”
She shakes her head.
“No?”
“No.”
“No to what?”
“I don’t want breakfast. Not right now.”
She leans in, eyes burning. “I want you.”
He grins, his voice low. “You want me?”
“I want you. Upstairs. In our bed.”
He grabs her ass, pulling her into him, feeling the silk of her nightgown slide against his skin.
“And what shall we do there?”
“Fuck.”
She kisses him and slides a hand inside his briefs, cupping him.
He moans into her mouth, already hard.

They don’t make it upstairs.
He sits back on the sofa, pulling her onto his lap. She straddles him.
“I guess we’re not going anywhere,” she giggles.
She reaches into his briefs and pulls out his cock.
“No. I want to take them off.”
Together, they slide his briefs down, and she climbs back on.
He pulls up her nightgown, needing to feel her.
She grinds on him, slick and hot, teasing his tip.

Their mouths meet again. Hungry. Wet. Devouring.
A phone starts ringing upstairs.
“It’s mine,” she mutters.
“Someone’s calling you.”
“Yeah. I’m afraid it’s going to be a lot like this today.”
“Then I’m glad your phone’s upstairs.”

They return to kissing, breathless.
His hands are everywhere. On her back. Her hips. Squeezing her buttocks .
Then one slips behind her and touches her wetness.
She gasps in his mouth as his finger slides inside.

“Marty.”
“What, baby?”
“Your fingers…”
She’s soaked. He teases in and out, his finger slick with her arousal. Her wetness making noise.
“My finger is fucking you,” he whispers.
“You’re gonna make me come…”
She’s moving against him, grinding her clit on his shaft as he fingers her.
Her face is flushed. Desperate. Stunning.
He removes his hand and slides his cock inside her.
She cries out in pleasure.
“Much better,” he murmurs.
She holds his face in both hands. “You’re so good.”
She kisses him, moaning.
He slides his hands underneath her nightgown to hold her by the hips
Driving her onto him, matching her rhythm.
She's gripping his shoulders for balance.
Their skin slaps. Breath sharpens.
The only sounds are wet kisses, panting, the rhythm of their bodies.

Her phone rings again upstairs.

He groans.
“You’re so good, Meryl. I want you so bad.”
“Me too,” she gasps, barely able to speak.
She kisses him again.
“I love making love with my wife… on her birthday.” He whispers.
She freezes. He stills.
His words dizzying her.
A pause.
Then she smiles. A slow, dangerous smile. And kisses him hard.
“Fuck me, Marty. Hard. Make me come.”
He thrusts harder. Deeper.
She grips his shoulders, rising and falling on him in perfect rhythm.
She comes first—loud and raw.
He smiles at the sight of her unraveling.
He thrusts for a little while she whispers words on his ear.
Words she knows will drive him crazy.
Her voice soaked in seduction.
“You’re such a good husband, Marty… You always make me come so hard…”
That’s all it takes.
He comes deep inside her, groaning, head thrown back, fingers gripping her tight.
But he doesn’t let go. Not yet. Not with what she just said.
She collapses on his chest. Both of them breathless.

He lifts his head to look into her eyes.
She smiles.
“I love you.”
“Happy birthday, baby.”

The phone rings again.
She groans.
He kisses her hair.
She finally moves off his lap.

“Let’s go upstairs. Take a shower. You check your phone. Get dressed. Then maybe we go have breakfast… or early lunch.”
“You shower first.”
“Okay.”
She turns, then glances back.
“Can we please come back here after lunch? Spend the afternoon by the lake?”
“Of course. You decide.”

They go out for a quick lunch and return. She has already talked with all her children and grandchildren. Her brothers. Her best friends.

The rest of the day, they stay in. She adores this place—quiet, beautiful. She can swim without a soul around, dry off under the sun, and let the day pass without hurry. Perfect.

And she’s already missing it.
Tomorrow will be their last day. Then it’s back to “normal”—summer approaching, plans with both their families, and time spent apart.
She’s not looking forward to a whole month without him.

Now she’s curled up in Marty’s lap on the sofa, simply watching him.

He senses it, looks at her over the rim of his glasses, and strokes her hair.
“You’re very quiet.”
“I feel like I used up all my words today.”
“Oh, then I’ll shut up too.”
“Not with you. You’re my man.” She hesitates, lowering her voice, almost whispering. “My husband.” She hides her face against his chest.
“Don’t do that,” he says, reaching for her face.
“I get embarrassed saying it… because it’s not—”
“Shhh.” He presses two fingers to her lips, shaking his head. “Don’t say it. It’s us.”
“You’re right.”

He kisses her.
“It turns me on when you say it.”
She chuckles. “What?”
“I don’t know… I can’t explain it. But it does.”

She raises one eyebrow, smirking. Sits up straighter, locking eyes with him.
“You get turned on when I call you my husband?” Her voice is low, sultry.
His eyes flutter. “Now I can’t tell if it’s what you said… or the way you said it.”

He takes her hand and guides it to his crotch.
“You know what I mean.”
He’s already half-hard.
She strokes him, slowly.
“Come on… don’t do that. We have to get ready soon…”
“Yeah, we do… but it’s so irresistible…”

She loves the way he feels in her hand.
“Meryl… please…” His eyes are shut, his breath catching.

She stops.
“You’re always talking about my voice—what it does to you. But do you even know what yours does to me? The way you say my name… sometimes I think I’m going crazy, but I’ve never heard anyone say it like you.”
He opens his eyes. “Meryl.”
She shakes her head. “You hold it longer in your mouth… curling it.”
“That’s just what I want to do with you—keep you longer in my mouth…”

Her lips part slightly.
“Your tone with me is always different. Now it’s obvious… but it always was.”
They smile at each other.
“I love your voice, Marty.”
He shakes his head. “I’m too loud.”
“No, you’re not. You’re only loud when you’re in character, when there’s a camera… and not even then. Not always. You’re not loud, Oliver. You’re so much more.”
He laughs. “Now that would make Johnny proud.”
“Your voice is rough… sexy. I’m crazy about it.”
“That’s something I’ve never heard before.”
She nods.
“The other day,” she continues, “I was thinking—you say things to me that make me feel special, sexy… good about myself. Do I do that for you? Am I treating you nice?”
He laughs softly.
“I’m serious!”
“You are Meryl Streep. Just the fact you looked at me twice made me the luckiest guy alive.”
“Marty.” She frowns slightly.
“I’m serious. I never thought you’d be remotely interested in me. Ever. Yes, I flirted, but I figured you just thought of me as a funny guy. A funny friend. So yes—you make me feel very special just by being with me in a relationship. But yes… you do say things that make me feel extra special.”
“I’m glad. Because you are extra special, Marty Short.”

They kiss.

“I’m going to change for dinner.” She gets up and heads for the stairs. Halfway up, she glances back.
“Tomorrow’s our last day.” Her voice is tinged with sadness.
“Yeah.”
“I loved every moment.”
“We’ll be back.”
She nods, disappearing upstairs.
That night, they have a lovely dinner to celebrate her birthday.

Chapter 36: Connecticut

Notes:

Thanks for reading.

I will only update again, mid September.

After the holidays in Canada, Marty flew back to LA and Meryl to New York.

She was meant to spend some time with Grace and her granddaughter.
Grace asked her if she would go with her to Connecticut to her father’s house. Mamie and Henry were there and she wanted the little cousins to spend the day together.

Meryl didn’t want to go.
But she said yes.
It was only an afternoon.

Salisbury House

Being here again—this house, this man—after so long, was daunting.
Her expression was tight. Her steps slow, measured.
Each look, each breath—she was inhaling the past.
Memories crashed into her. Her stomach ached.

The grandkids raced past her, laughing. Delighted that grandma was here—in this house.
They didn’t know it had once been her home too.

Her eyes brimmed with tears.
She missed this house. Missed what it had once meant.

She stepped onto the balcony. Through the trees, the pool shimmered.
Voices floated to her—laughter, joy, splashes of summer.
She closed her eyes and breathed it in.

Then—
The creak of the old floorboards behind her.
Her heart stuttered.
She knew it was him.
She didn’t need to turn. She swallows.

She missed him, too.
God, she missed him. And admitting that made her dizzy.

"I miss this," Don said quietly.
She opened her eyes.
"Miss you."
Could he read her thoughts?

Her breath hitched. Her knees weakened. His voice—saying that—shook her whole body.
They were alone in the house. Everyone else outside.
He waits for her reaction.
She stood still. Couldn’t turn. Just breathed.

He stepped closer.
She could feel his breath on her neck. Her pulse galloped.

"I miss you, Meryl."
Her name.
Fuck. He said her name.
His hands came to rest lightly on her arms.
She trembled—but didn’t pull away.
His fingers moved softly, stroking up and down.
She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Pressed a kiss to her temple.
Then turned her gently to face him.
He was always gentle with her.
His eyes—soft, warm. Familiar.

She didn’t know if it was the house… the memories… the family nearby…or because she remembered what Don was for her.
Or simply that she wanted to…
But when he slid a hand around her neck and leaned in to kiss her,
She let him.
And kissed him back.
Slowly.
His tongue barely there.
Until she deepened it, her tongue on his mouth—inviting him to taste her.
And he did.

Suddenly, she was pulled back—into the life that had begun after John died.
The years with Don. The touch she hadn’t felt in ages.
She let him kiss her,
Let him slip his hand beneath her blouse.
Let him cup her breasts.

Oh God.

The feeling of him touching her there again was too much.
Familiar. Certain. Sure.
Not rushed. Not needy.
Firm.

His hands had known her breasts when they were younger, fuller, perkier.
When they were heavy with milk.
When they become bigger because she put a little weight around her menopause.
When they softened with age.
He knew every version of her. Knows her body like no other man.

"Come upstairs," he whispered in her ear. "To our old room."
She didn’t speak. Just let him take her hand and lead her there.

He shut the door behind them. Turned the key.
Just in case one of the kids might show up.
Her heart thundered.

She was going to have sex with her ex-husband.
After all this time.

She started undressing.
Her pants. Her blouse.
He undressed too.
Silently.
She slid into bed, slipped off her panties, tossed them aside.
Her bra still on.

She reached back to unclasp it—
"Let me," he said.
He crawled into bed behind her.
Slid the straps down, unfastened it.
Kissed her shoulders.

Then cupped her breasts again—like he’d missed them desperately. Gasping at the feeling of having them in his hands again, after so long.
She moaned as he squeezed them.
Closed her eyes.
Her whole body upside down with emotions she didn’t understand.
He caressed her breasts for a while, feeling her nipples.

Then his mouth.
He kissed, licked, suckled.
Her moans filled the old room again.
Louder than she meant them to be.
He smiled. He liked her loud.

He eased her down and settled between her legs.
Kissed her as she wrapped her arms around him.
His weight on her body, his tongue in her mouth.

Then his hand moved between them, trying to slide inside—
But she wasn’t ready.

"Wait," she whispered. "I'm not wet enough."

He brought two fingers to his mouth, coated them with saliva, and gently stroked her.
She arched at the sensation. His touch—so different from what she was used to nowadays.

He gasped softly, then pushed in slowly.
It hurt. She flinched.
"Am I hurting you?"
"Go slow," she whispered.
He pulled out slightly, then slid in again, tenderly.
She closed her eyes.
Inhaled. Tried to relax. To adjust.
He was still hurting her.
She likes how he fills her. She always did.
But she's not aroused enough...if at all.

When he finally is all in, he starts a pace.
Her eyes are closed but he's looking at her.
He moved with patience. Kissing her forehead. Her lips. Her cheeks.
His rhythm steady. Familiar.

And slowly, her body began to respond.
Memories melting into sensation.
Her body craving him...her memories, wanting him... she starts to moan and to move beneath him. Brushing her breasts on his chest.
Her hips moved. Her hands ran across his back.
"I missed you, Meryl."
He's thrusting harder, feeling and orgasm building, but trying hard to hold it.
When she hears her name on his mouth...again...she starts to feel the burning sensation coming.
But she'll need something more or she won't come.
"Touch me, Don... please."
"Where?"
"My cunt."

The word surprised him—but he did it.
His fingers found her and she bucked into his touch.
He touched her for a while and it came.
She moaned loud as her orgasm came hard.
He covered her mouth with his, to muffle her cries.
Thrusted a few more times, then came.

He collapsed on her, still inside.
They lay there, him softening, his breath slowing.
Just how she used to like it.
Used to.

Her eyes stayed closed. Her face turned to the side.
Then, finally, he rolled away.
She turned her back to him.
Away from him.
She covered herself.
She wishes she could cover all her body.

He looked at her, smiling, and leaned in for a soft kiss.
She turned away. Covered her face with her arms.

"This wasn’t supposed to happen."
"Why not? I think we both enjoyed it."
"Because I have a relationship with another man. You know that, Don.
He shrugged. "Then maybe it’s not that serious. Or you wouldn’t be in this bed."

She sat up. Pulled on her bra. Her panties.
Slid her pants back on. Her hands trembling.
Shaking her head.
"Don’t run away," he said.
"I’m sorry, Don. This was a mistake. I don't want this. It shouldn’t have happened."
Her voice cracked.

She dressed quickly.
Opened the door. Left the room.

Coming down the stairs, she ran into Grace.
Her hair was messy and she’s composing herself.

"Mom, I was looking for you. Where were you?" Grace looks up.
"Oh—I was upstairs. Looking through old stuff. Seeing if there’s anything I want to keep."
Flustered. Trying to sound normal.
"We’re leaving," Grace said looking up.
"Okay. Let me say goodbye to the kids and your brother and sister."
"Is Dad upstairs?"

"I... I don’t know." Her hand reached for the back of her neck. Flustered.
"I’m here." Don appeared at the top of the stairs and started to come down.
"I’m going out," she said quickly. Her voice barely steady.

God. The shame.
She couldn’t believe it had happened.
Why had she let it?
She didn’t love Don anymore. Didn’t want that life.
And yet... for that brief moment—she’d wanted him inside her.

Why?

The second she came, the regret crashed over her.
And the moments after—with him on top of her and lying beside him—felt like an eternity.
She just wanted to go home.
Take a shower and wash it all away.

Fuck!

She says goodbye to her kids and grandkids.
Comes back up to the house.
Grace and Mark are already waiting.

Don finds her alone for a second. He grabs her hand.
She pulls it away.
“Don’t do that. I was just inside you a minute ago.”
“Please don’t say that. It was a mistake.”
“It didn’t sound like a mistake when you were coming,” he murmurs near her ear.

She feels disgusted. With herself.
“Don, please…”
“Okay. So it was just for old times,” he says with a wink. “Stop by more often.”
She doesn’t respond. Heads straight to the car.

Barely says a word the entire drive.
Grace and Mark exchange glances.
“Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Mhm,” she mutters.

They arrive at New York late at night and drop her off at her apartment.
The next day, she catches the first flight to L.A.

When she lands, she goes straight to Marty’s house.
No bags. No calls. No explanation.

He’s surprised to see her at the door.
She doesn’t say anything—just hugs him, kisses him, urgently.
Pulls him to the bedroom.

“Make love to me,” she begs.
He doesn’t understand. The rush. The desperation. The breathlessness.
“Meryl?”
She misses him this much?

But he always wants her. Always will.
She undresses him—hungrily, almost frantically.
Touches him like she’s trying to erase something.
He lets her.
Then him.

Undresses her slowly, with care, his fingers teasing and gentle.
Arousing her with each step.
Touching her and feeling her cunt all wet and ready for him.
Slides into her.
She's sore and hurt from the day before and her face shows pain.
She hides her face in his shoulder, says nothing.
Doesn’t ask him to stop.
Doesn’t want to.
It's him she wants.

She wants him to take her—to make her come, like she knows he will.
She moans. Pants. Whispers his name over and over.
Pulls him deeper. Grips his ass hard.
Grinds against him.
And then she comes. Hard.
He follows. His body shuddering into hers.
They stay still for a moment.
Then he kisses her and rolls on his back.
She hugs him right away.

She’s breathless. Her heart racing.
Nervous. About to break.
Tears start flooding her eyes. Her body trembling.
He looks at her.
“Meryl?”
A sob escapes her.
He sits up, alarmed.
“Meryl, honey… what is it?”
She’s crying. Shaking.
Desperate. She knows desperation is going to come harder.

He reaches for her, holds her tight.
She crumbles in his arms.
“I’m sorry… Marty, I’m so sorry.”
“What happened? Why are you crying? Sorry for what?”
“I’m so sorry.”
She knows she has to say it.
He hears fear on her sob, and fear he gets.
Hugs her tight. The tighter he can.

“I slept with Don.”
The words break through her sobs.
He closes his eyes.

Still holding her, he hears the explosion inside him.
Destruction.
Darkness.
Silence. He no longer hears her cries.

His grip loosens.
His arms abandoning her.
He slowly gets up.
“Marty…” she cries.
He puts on a robe, doesn’t say a word.
He doesn't even look at her.
Leaves the room.
She collapses onto the bed, crying into the sheets.
He goes downstairs. Into his office.
Locks the door.

A few hours later, she comes down, barefoot, in one of his old shirts.
Knocks softly.
“Marty?”
Tries the door. Locked.
He won't speak.
Inside, he sits at his desk. Eyes fixed on the window.
Still. Silent.

He doesn’t feel anger.
Only a sadness so deep it makes him hollow.
Not rage. Not even betrayal.
Just devastation.
A grief too large for anger.

She goes back upstairs.
Lies in the bed they shared.
Waits.
Eventually falls asleep.

Sometime in the night, he enters the bedroom. Quietly.
No lights. No sound.
He walks to the bed.
Sits at the edge. Just looks at her sleeping.

He can barely breathe.

She’s so beautiful.
He loves her so much.
So much it aches. Physically aches.

He gathers a few clothes.
Goes downstairs. Dresses up.
Grabs his car keys.
Leaves.

At dawn, she wakes up.
Reaches for her phone to see what time it is.
A message. From him:

“Please leave. Take your things and leave. Please.”

She breaks.
Sobs wrack her body.
Tears flood her face.

Crying and crying.
Sobbing.
Feeling all the sadness in the world.
Crying. And crying.
And crying.
Flooded with tears.

Then she wakes up!

Gasping. Heart pounding.
Startled. Feeling fear and anguish.
It's the middle of the night.
The bedroom is dark. Shadows stretching across the walls.
Big windows. Wood ceilings.
She’s still in Canada.

She turns.
Marty’s asleep beside her.

She closes her eyes, breathes deeply. Trying to calm down.
Diving in the profound relief that she just had a nightmare.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.

She can’t help it—she moves toward him, needing his warmth.
Wraps her arms around him.

He stirs. Turns to face her.
Wraps her in his arms, half-asleep.

She exhales, melting into him.
Into relief.
Into love.

Everything is alright.
Back where it belongs.

Chapter 37: fantasy island

After their days in France and Canada, they return to L.A. Each to their own house.

It feels good to be apart, too.

It’s in the apartness that the memories they’ve made settle in. It’s in the apartness that they do the things they want to do alone. And it’s in the apartness that they miss each other—ache for each other.
Feel they need each other.
That ache is the worst, and the best, part.

Aching for closeness. For their endless talks—about everything: the day-to-day, old memories, venting about frustrations, sharing family stories.
Aching for hugs. For kisses. For the small touches—the feet on the lap, the strokes through hair. For their silence. Every couple has their own kind of silence, and theirs is warm, filling.

Aching for skin on skin. For making love.

But life doesn’t pause. They have professional appointments. Family obligations. Personal errands. Dinners and lunches with friends. Doctor visits. Always apart.
On days like this—after a stretch of time together—they don’t talk much. They text. Short check-ins.

Marty’s heading back to Canada in mid-July, to spend time with family and friends. So, after two weeks apart, they’ll only have a few days together before he leaves.
Again, she has been splitting her time between her daughters and her son.
She calls him.
“Hi baby.”
“You’re coming today, right?”
“Yes. After lunch.”
“Good.”
“Miss me?”
She doesn’t answer.
“No?”
“Yes, I miss you. You know I do. That’s why I’m calling.”

He smiles. She’s been calling more often, texting first. He loves that.
“It’s been too long.”
“We have what—eight days before you go to Canada?”
“I was planning on being there for five or six.”
“Ok. I have pilates today. My PT is coming.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and tomorrow Mark and Grace are coming for lunch with us.”
“Oh, okay.”

That’s always exciting—when one of her kids is around.
“And… I was thinking we could stay in tonight. Have dinner. Open a bottle of wine.”
“Sounds excellent.”
“Okay. See you later.”
“Yes.”

Marty shows up in the middle of the afternoon.

He opens the door—no one.
Checks the bedroom—no one.
Steps outside—sees Lou lounging by the pool on a sunbed.

“Hi, Lou. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi, Marty. I came for lunch, but I’m leaving soon. I’ve got a flight to catch.”
“Where’s your mother?”

Lou points to the far end of the pool. Meryl’s there, doing pilates in the open air with her trainer.

“Oh, yeah. She mentioned…” He trails off.

Meryl is lying on her back, lifting her pelvis. The trainer’s hands are on her hips, guiding the movement. Marty lowers his sunglasses to get a better look, then glances at Lou.

“Pelvic strengthening,” Lou says, amused.
“And that’s the…” He doesn’t finish.
“That’s the way you do it. Besides kegels.”
“Right.”
He keeps watching from afar, jaw tightening. The way that man’s hands linger on her hips is getting on his nerves. Too close. Too easy.

He’s younger—what, fifty-five maybe? Dark hair, tall, tanned, fit. Too fit.
“Is he…” Marty mutters.
“Hundred percent straight,” Lou answers with a sly smile, clearly enjoying herself.

Marty shoots her a look, then sighs and drops down onto the sunbed beside her. Fully clothed—jeans, shirt, sunglasses—looking utterly out of place. Just watching. Arms crossed
Lou giggles, delighted by his discomfort.
The class continues.
He keeps watching. The guy’s hands are always on her—hips, ribs, too close to her breasts.
Now she’s on all fours, doing another exercise. He kneels behind her, telling her to squeeze inside as well as her glutes. Then he says he doesn’t see her doing it—and puts his hands on her ass.

“Oh, come on,” Marty mutters, looking at Lou. She just shrugs.
“I’m going over there.”
Lou bursts out laughing.

Marty walks over.
“Hi! Don’t get startled.”
Meryl turns, smiling.
“Hi baby. Just letting you know I’m here.”

The trainer stands, reaching for Marty’s hand. “So finally I meet the man who’s keeping Meryl focused on these new exercises.”

Marty looks at Lou—who is already cracking up. The guy seems… gay, judging by the way he clasps Marty’s hand and keeps holding it and eyeing Marty.
“You’re very fit too!” the trainer feels Marty’s arms.
Lou is howling.
“Thanks.” Marty says.
Meryl gets up too.
“Pedro, we’re finished, right?”
“Well… we didn’t get to the exercises that perk the boobs.”

Lou loses it, laughing so hard she can barely breathe.
“Now I’m curious about what those are!” Marty says.
“I can show you,” Pedro offers.
“No, no—that’s exactly what he wants!” Meryl protests.
“Do it, Pedro! I’m recording,” Lou teases.

Meryl points a mock-warning finger at Lou. “Pedro you gotta go. See? Two seconds and chaos is installed.”
Pedro laughs. “Okay, okay.” He gathers his things.

Marty joins Lou again. “You’re terrible.”
“Oh my god, your face when I told you he was straight and his hands were all over mom!”
Marty laughs.
“What are you two laughing about?” Meryl asks, suspicious.
“Nothing, Mom. I have to go. I was just waiting for you to finish.”

She eyes both of them, knowing full well they were goofing, but she loves it. She gives them her best fake side-eye.
“Bye, Mom.” Lou hugs her. “Bye, Marty.” A kiss on his cheek.

“Bye, baby,” says Meryl.
“Lou, can you give me a ride?” Pedro asks.
“Sure!”

Meryl and Marty are left alone. He looks her over—leggings and tank top, everything clinging tight to her body.

“What?” she asks, already knowing.
“I’ve never seen you dressed like this.”
She laughs. “Oh, but you have—remember that video?”
“Of course I remember that infamous video. I mean in person.”

His hands go to her hips, feeling every curve. She loves his touch, loves the desire he has for her
“You feel… incredibly irresistible in this outfit.” She laughs.
“Don’t I always look irresistible to you?”
His hands slip to her ass. He sighs. “Yes. But this… is very appealing. Smooth. Soft…” He groans. “You drive me crazy, Meryl.”
She laughs. “I’m taking a shower. Maybe you should too. A cold one.”
“Oh, baby… you’re leaving me,” he says dramatically as she heads inside.

He follows, but lets her be. He takes a few things to the closet, a few more to the reading room. By now, he feels completely at home here.

He slipped into the bedroom again, traded his jeans for shorts and a t-shirt, then wandered back outside with his pods and phone. Sprawled on the sofa, he let the podcast play while his body unwound.

Soon, she joined him—book in hand. She curled into his lap, head on his thigh, legs bent across the cushions. No words. Just her weight against him, her warmth. He bent down to press a light kiss on her lips before leaning back, stroking her hair absently as he returned to his podcast.

This was what she had hoped for—their quiet rituals. Here, in this house, they were often loud: endless talking, laughter, music, teasing. But there was also this.
Loud quietness.
Their sound of silence spoke volumes of who they’ve become as a couple.
Intimate. Rooted.

They stayed like that all afternoon.
Then the quiet gave way to soft giggles, small talk, playful touches.
Dinner was light, no wine. A movie.
Marty fell asleep on the couch, and they finally drifted to bed.

The next morning.

She woke first. Rolled to her side and found him sprawled on his stomach, arms spread wide. Sleeping heavily. She traced a gentle line down his back, just enough for him to stir and groan. She smiled, slipped from bed, pulled on her robe, and padded to the bathroom.

By the time she came back out, she didn’t return to bed. She wandered to the kitchen for water, pausing by the marble island, her glass in hand. Thoughts swirled. Their days together were slipping away—soon they’d be apart again. Children, grandchildren, obligations. The ache of separation.
Today Grace and Mark are coming to lunch. Also, Mamie sent a text last night asking if she could come too.

She sips another bit of water and puts the glass on the counter. She looks at the marble.
She smirked faintly, a private thought sparking. Instead of the master bath, she ducked into the guest one. Slipped off her nightgown. Pulled the white silk robe back on, wrapping it snug but leaving the neckline loose.
On her way back to the kitchen she heard Marty. Getting up and coming to meet her.
She leaned on the counter, sipping her water.
Steps, and his voice rough from sleep.

“Good morning. Why didn’t you come back to bed?” His tone was soft, half-complaint.
She turned, glass in hand. “Oh. Good morning. I wasn’t sleepy anymore. I was thirsty.”

She leaned again on the counter, her robe slightly open at the chest. Then she turned her back to him, set the glass down, palms flat on the marble, arms spread.
Waiting.
He understood instantly. He always gets her.
Sleep fell away. Hunger surged.

He moved behind her, laid his hands over hers on the counter, and leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. A kiss trailed her skin. She closed her eyes, savoring his body warm from the bed.
His body pressed against hers, his hands sliding up her arms, over her shoulders.
Rubs her shoulders a bit. She sways her head gently, feeling his touch.
Then his hands go down into the robe—palming her breasts, thumbs circling nipples until she gasped. He ground his hardness against her ass, groaning into her hair.

“These nipples…” he murmured, pinching until she moaned, “they get me so hard.”

Her breath hitched. His hand slid down her right thigh, rough and deliberate. Stroking it.
"What do you want Meryl? Hum?"
Then he hiked her robe up around her waist.
"What do you want?"
Bare skin, revealed. He muttered a curse under his breath.

He squeezed her ass, kneading, spreading.
Then pulls his briefs down. Using his feet to toss them aside.
Rubs himself against her slick heat until she whimpered, “Aaah…”. Loud.

“Is this what you want?” he growled, bending her lower over the counter.
Another loud gasp. Just this makes her feel soaked for him.
“Yes.” The word was half-breath, half-plea.
Her heart is pounding. She wants it so much. He wants this, since forever. Ever since that awful day, when she returned from Spain. He can't believe that was almost a year ago.

The height of the island was perfect for them.
He bent with her, his mouth at her ear. “God, you look so fucking sexy like this.”
His fingers slipped between her thighs, and she moans the instant his fingers find her all wet.
“Fuck me, Marty,” she said, raw and urgent. Needing him like this.

He shoved inside her, hard and deep. One hand anchored on her belly, pulling her back against him, steadying her as he thrust in relentless rhythm. She cried out, panting, the marble cold beneath her palms as his groans filled her ears.

“I want you so much, Meryl… fuck…like this...God, this is good…”

The robe slid down, over his cock and he pulls it up again.
Exposing her lower back.
He bent, kissing her spine as his hips pounded into her. “I love you so much… I love fucking you… so much.”
He says it, trying to thrust even deeper. The hunger for her driving him crazy.
She let out a wild, high-pitched moan. “Marty…”

“Are you gonna come?”
“No…not yet… God, you’re so good…”
"Am I? You like this?"
"Yes...yes...don't stop..."
But he did stop—pulled out, spun her toward him, crashing his mouth against hers. She clung to him, hungry. He lifted her, hoisting her onto the counter.
“Sit up,” he rasped.

She obeyed, gasping as her bare skin hit the cold marble. He slid her back, spreading her wide. In one fluid move, she lays her back and head completely down on the counter, while he dropped his head between her thighs.

“Oh my God… Marty…Oh God!” she cried, arching, her back bowing as his tongue worked her, slow and greedy.
Breathing fast.
Feeling dizzy.
Feeling fucking amazing and alive!
“Come here,” he muttered against her, dragging her hips closer when she started to slip away.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” she gasped, her voice breaking with pleasure.

He’s taking his time, licking her slowly, savoring every drop of her, drinking her in like he never wants to stop. And yet, beneath his patience, there’s a hunger—a pull to take her again the way he had her moments before.
Still, he keeps going, tongue gliding, lips sucking, fingers teasing, because eating her might just be his number one favorite thing. Or second.
Fuck, maybe it’s everything. He likes everything about her.

“Oh my God!” she cries, her voice breaking into the kitchen air. Her head rolls from side to side, hair spilling loose, body arching. Her hands climb to her breasts, squeezing them together, thumbs brushing her nipples as moans tear from her throat.

The sight makes him dizzy. Watching her touch herself while he devours her—it’s too much, almost unbearable.
He groans against her wetness, the vibration pulling another sharp gasp from her.

She’s close. He knows it.
Her thighs tighten, her hips bucking toward his mouth, her breath short and fast. He focuses, tongue swirling, lips closing over her clit, sucking hard and steady. His hands climb to cover hers, pressing her breasts tighter, controlling the rhythm, coaxing her deeper into the rush.

Her body begins to tremble, the sounds spilling from her throat raw and helpless.
He knows she’s about to break. Her body shivers beneath him, her moans spilling out louder, his name tumbling from her lips again and again until she comes hard, trembling against his mouth. He holds her there, waits until the last wave passes, then eases her down gently. Pulls her up into his arms. Kisses her deep.

“I’m not done,” he murmurs against her lips. “I’m going to keep fucking you.”

“Yes…” she gasps, voice already thick with need. “Fuck me. I want you to come hard, Marty.”

He turns her, bends her over again. Kisses her back first, then her ass, his lips burning against her skin. “I love you,” he whispers, as he pushes inside her in one hard stroke.

She cries out, clutching the edge of the counter. He starts thrusting—steady, deep, hungry. He wants to fuck her forever, but he wants release too. She presses back against him, her body moving in sync, and he nearly loses it. His eyes flutter shut, his head shakes as he tries to hold on. Fuck—he can’t. His pace breaks into something rougher, desperate, until it takes him. He groans loud, panting her name, spilling hard inside her.

Hands pressed to the counter, still buried in her, he breathes heavy, trying to come back down…to earth.
Finally, he slips free, watching his cum spill warm down her thighs. Leans on the counter

She turns, leaning against the marble, both of them trembling, both smiling. Then she slides to the floor, laughing breathlessly. He drops beside her, legs shaking.

They just look at each other. Raw. Wild. Completely undone.
“What just happened?” she asks, grinning wide, running her fingers through her hair.
“A memorable fuck,” he says, still catching his breath.
She bursts out laughing, leans in to kiss him. “How come we waited so long for this?”
“I told you long ago I wanted it.”
“I know.” She shakes her head, still smiling.

“This counter…” he chuckles, looking back at it. “It’s perfect. Just the right height. How the hell did you get so lucky? Counters are always too high.”
Her brow arches. “Well, thank you for sharing your… counter shags.”
He laughs and pulls her closer. “Not very gentlemanly of me, sorry.”

She pretends to pout, looking away.
"Hey. Come here." He tugs her face back to his. Kisses her.
She squints.
“I called my hunky contractor,” she teases, “told him he needed to come here...to take measures to build the perfect counter…so he measure me. Bending me down against the—”
“Oh, shut up!” he cuts her off with another kiss.

Her hand cups his jaw, stroking gently. “You’re so sexy, Marty Short.”
“You are,” he shoots back.
“No.” She looks straight into his eyes. “I mean you. You’re sexy. You turn me on… so… fucking much.”
A faint, embarrassed smile curls his lips.
“The way you move. The way you hold me. The way you…” she exhales, shivering at the memory, making a satisfied sound “…turned me and bent me down.” Her lips part as her gaze drops to his mouth.
His hands grip her hips, pulling her tight against him. “You drive me insane. I just want to be inside you.”
She chuckles, breathless. “I just want you inside me.”
“You took off your nightgown…”
“I remembered our talk,” she smirks. “I wanted you like this too.”
“God, it was insanely good.”

She leans in, kissing him again, lips hot and unhurried, the passion still burning between them.
“We have to get up,” she whispers between kisses.
“Mhm.” His mouth doesn’t leave her skin.
“Breakfast…shower…get dressed…”
“Mhm.” His hands cup her breasts.

“Grace and Mark are coming to lunch. And Mamie.”
That makes him pause. “Mamie?”
“Yes. She sent a text last night.”
He straightens instantly. “She knows I’m here?”
“Yes. I called her while you were asleep on the couch.”
He stands, offering his hand to pull her up. “Come on, Streep. No more fooling around.”
She laughs. “Are you afraid of Mamie?”
“I’m afraid she’ll show up early and catch us.”
Adjusting her robe, she mutters, “God, my ass hurts.”
“We do not want those kind of comments around the children.”
She bursts out laughing. “From sitting on the floor…” Then lowers her voice, teasing, “…from lying on the cold marble. Way too cold, by the way.”
“So you don’t want me to—”
She silences him with a smile. “I want it always. Everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Well, not everywhere, everywhere” she grins, “but you know…”
She loops her arms around his neck. He grabs her ass, squeezing both cheeks, pulling her against him.
“I know. I know very well what you want.
They kiss again.