Emma

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"And could you have sent up to room 1138 whatever my friend was eating. I'm starving," she said before turning to me and asking, "Do you want anything?"

"I've got everything I want right here," I replied not too subtly.

Emma casually handed me both bottles, grabbed her purse and stood up.

"Will you forgive if I abandon chivalry and not offer to pay for these?" I said, while trying to pronounce the name of the French champagne label in my head.

"Don't worry. I can afford it."

"Yeah I know. I Googled how much you earn," I muttered.

***

Getting to Emma's room took much longer than I expected, in no small part because we were stopped repeatedly by her fans who approached her asking for photos and to shake her hand. I was exhausted just watching this, but Emma, ever the consummate professional and was patient and polite to every single on of them.

Eventually, we finally reached our rooms. I blindly threw bag into my room, hearing the books and folders inside crash with a loud thud against the cupboard, before closing the door and hurriedly walking into Emma's room. It was certainly smaller than I expected for a celebrity, but still considerably larger than mine. It was clearly a room meant for a family, but I suppose with the penthouse booked out, this was the next best thing. And the hotel had clearly added a couple of extra luxury amenities to make her feel at home from considerably more expensive furniture to a comically large gift basket. Emma hadn't even touched the gift basket save for a bottle of wine which stood mostly empty beside the basket; I only spotted one glass.

"Make yourself at home Nate. I'll be back in a minute. Just need to freshen up," she said, before adding, "and open up the champagne. I need a drink."

"Yes ma'am."

I sat down on the couch and opened the bottle of champagne and filled two glasses I found in the kitchen (the fact this hotel room even had a kitchen took me by surprise). I drank a large portion my glass to calm my nerves and quickly refilled it so Emma wouldn't notice. I decided I'd try to take it easy on the alcohol. I only just realised I already had several beers down in the hotel bar. But then, so did she. In fact, now that I thought about it, she finished both of her beers remarkably quickly. I didn't know what to make of the fact she brought me up here along with two bottles of expensive champagne.

I was lost in these thoughts when Emma slinked past and sat down on the couch beside me and grabbed her glass. She had taken off her coat and slipped out of her heels. She rested her bare feet against on the table and casually took a sip and turned on the TV without saying a word. Her jeans clung tightly to her legs and her sleeveless blouse showed off her slender arms.

"Emma, that perfume of yours is something else."

"You don't like it?" she said with a hint of concern in her voice.

"Oh no, I love it. You smell so damn good."

She blushed and turned away for a moment taking a large sip of her champagne before replying,

"Something I picked up in Cannes during the film festival. I'm glad you like it."

I looked at her once more; it seems looking at her is all I'm capable of doing around her. She just had this wonderful quality, beyond her fame, which just made her impossible to turn away from. At the moment, all I could think about was how perfect she looked. And I don't mean that to be hyperbole, I mean she actually looked perfect. Everything from her makeup to her hair just seemed that much neater and flawless compared to when we first walked into the room. Was this for my benefit? She noticed I was staring at her and asked,

"What?"

"Nothing, you just look so..." I said before trailing off.

Emma leaned in close to me on the couch and asked in a seductive voice, "Yes?"

I couldn't help but chuckle nervously as I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her eyes for a moment. I was going to reply with a cheesy pick-up line when I spotted something in my peripheral and said,

"You're on TV."

Emma turned to the TV and sure enough, there was footage of the film premiere from last night. Emma reached for the remote and turned up the volume. I was thankful for the distraction. I was hopeless at flirting under normal circumstances much less with famous actresses. On the television, Emma walking down the red carpet in an ornate white dress. The reporter said,

"Harry Potter actress Emma Watson was 20 minutes late for the Australian premiere of her new film and walked down the red carpet alone. The 23 year old actress later cited a delay with her flight in Kuala Lumpur. Watson was eventually joined by her co-stars for photos, but not before an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction caused her to bare more skin than she would have liked, causing a flurry of photos from the press."

"Oh fuck me!" Emma muttered exhaustedly before adding, "I didn't even realise."

I struggled to suppress a smile but Emma shot me a glare that was two parts embarrassment and one part annoyance.

"It's not as bad as you think," I said comfortingly.

"You're just saying that. They didn't even show any footage."

"Well it's all over the internet."

Emma looked surprise and said, "Have you seen the pictures?"

"Um..."

I trailed off as Emma looked at me again with those eyes of hers. She didn't seem particularly angry, just embarrassed. Her face was red as a beet as it became more flushed.

"I may have seen a couple of articles about it this morning," I continued.

"And?"

"Like I said, it's not bad. Just a hint quick glimpse of your...um," I stammered, not sure how to best phrase it.

"My tits?" Emma suggested with a nervous smile.

"No, just you nipples," I replied hesitantly.

"Oh God," Emma groaned, burying her head in her hands.

"Actually it's more like nipple. Only one of them was visible."

"I just had to pick the dress with a lot of cleavage didn't I?" she muttered, more to herself than to me. "I wasn't even wearing pasties last night."

"Wearing what?" I asked.

"Pasties. They're these little patches that cover your nipples. Actresses use them all the time when they're filming a nude scene or on the red carpet to avoid stuff like this. They've saved me from a few awkward wardrobe malfunctions in the past," Emma explained.

"Still, don't worry about it. Not really a big deal. And you looked great."

"I looked great? Or my nipples did?" she asked wryly.

I thought about the question for a moment and before slowly replying, "Both."

Emma laughed and gently placed a hand on my forearm. Emma Watson was touching my arm. It's strange how something so innocent could feel so good. It only lasted for a moment though. She quickly reached for her champagne glass again and took another sip. And a few moments of silence, Emma said,

"It could've been worse I suppose. The dress hugged my body rather closely, so I had to go commando last night."

"Commando? You mean no...um...no panties," I asked slowly as my mouth suddenly went dry and my pulse suddenly quickened just a tiny bit.

"None," she said.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Emma jumped to her feet and headed to the door. Her food had arrived.

***

The next couple of hours were a blur. She ate her dinner, we both drank and talked while the TV was on in the background. It was hardly a romantic date. We were just two people hanging out. It wasn't at all how I expected a night with Emma Watson to go. Despite all appearances pointing to the contrary, part of me still expected a prima donna who would complain about all the grease and the amount of calories in her burger. Instead she devoured the whole thing plus her fries and spent a couple of minutes debating whether to order another one. She was just an ordinary girl in her early twenties. Mind you this ordinary girl was famous worldwide and had millions to her name, but as we talked about everything from favourite restaurants to music and even our shared love of 'Game of Thrones', it was hard to view her as anything more than a girl my age who I shared common interests with and whose company I enjoyed for reasons that went beyond her fame. In other words, if this were anyone else, I would've asked her out on a date by now. And call me crazy, but she seemed to be flirting just as much as I was.

Long after she had finished her meal and we were well into the second bottle of champagne, we found ourselves leaning on oppose ends of the couch, facing each other with our legs intertwined. Her right foot was running up and down my leg; neither of us made a big deal of it, but secretly, I think by this point, we both knew what the other wanted. I said to her,

"So, sorry if this sounds rude, and not that I don't love hanging out with Miss Hermione Granger, but aren't there other people from your film who were at the premiere that you'd rather hang out with?"

"Do you hang out with your work colleagues?"

"Sometimes."

"Just because I worked with them for a couple of months, doesn't mean they're the type of people I'd hangout with. They're good people, but just not my type of people."

"But I am?"

"You're funny. And aside from the book you had me sign before and the fact you just called me Hermione, you've barely mentioned Harry Potter. A quality I look for in a guy."

"Are you looking for a guy?"

"Not actively. But I'll admit, I've been keeping an eye out during these past months."

"Ever since you split with your boyfriend?" I asked while watching her face carefully to gauge her reaction.

She lowered the glass of champagne from her lips and said, "You've been researching me."

"You're an interesting person."

"Because I played Hermione Granger?"

"Partly. But also because you're not at all what I expected."

"And what did you expect Nate?"

"A spoilt child actress," I said honestly.

"You haven't seen me on my bad days," she replied with a smile.

"I'd like to."

"You really wouldn't. I can be a real prima donna when I want to be. Every bit the bitchy Hollywood celebrity."

"Are you sure that's not just you being a woman?"

Emma laughed and playfully kicked me. "How very chauvinistic of you."

"Alright, so we've established that I'm funny and you're not a prima donna. But I still don't think that explains why you invited me up here."

"I'm just feeling a bit lonely I guess."

"Really?" I asked.

I took that as a sign and sat up straight and pulled her right leg into my lap.

"Really," she replied firmly.

I placed my hand on her knee and slowly ran it up the inside of her thigh. The champagne had given me a bold courage. I'd been drinking so much I barely realised the significance of what I was doing and to who I was doing it to. All I knew in this moment was that I wanted her. And she seemed very willing.

I slid my hand over her coarse denim jeans until my hand was right between her legs, the top of my fingers grazing the zipper of jeans. Despite all that, I could still feel the warmth from between her legs. Emma held her breath and waited for me to continue. She remained still on the couch, with her legs in my laps and my hand between her thighs. Things had escalated quickly.

I decided to go for it and laid my hand flat against her groin. Emma inhaled sharply at my touch. I took her reaction as a green light and leaned in a kissed her on the lips. Her perfume filled my nostrils again but this time I could also smell champagne on her breath. This was probably not a good idea. But neither of us cared. Her lips were wet and soft and her tongue...

I moved my hand from between her legs and slid it up her shirt. I laid a hand on her bra and pulled it above her breasts and savoured the bare skin beneath my hand and the nipple between my fingers. My hands were all over her. I was so preoccupied I barely noticed the fact she was basically just lying still and not moving much.

"I want you Emma. I want you so badly," I whispered into her ear.

I reluctantly tore my hand away from her tits and moved it back down to her jeans. I undid the top button and her zipper to reveal her white panties beneath. Without thinking, I slipped my hand into her panties and ran my fingers through her pubic hair. Emma moaned slightly as I touched her most intimate area. All the while, I was still kissing her when she suddenly pulled away and said,

"I don't think I can do this."

I was barely listening. There was no romance in this moment. I just desperately needed her and assumed she felt the same way. It was like a frenzied dream. I moved my hand further down and felt her tight hot opening at the tip of my fingers.

"Nate," she said meekly.

I pulled my hand away momentarily before taking her jeans and panties in my hand and roughly yanking at them, bringing them down halfway down her thighs. I was about to undo my own jeans when suddenly Emma sat up and brought her hand to my face.

"Stop," she said with authority.

"What's wrong?" I asked frustrated.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?"

"This. We've just met. We don't know each other."

"You invited me up remember?" I said in a slightly more aggressive tone than I intended.

"I know. It's just, I don't know what I was thinking," she stammered. "I think you should leave."

I looked at her pleading eyes. We were both sitting up on the couch, our faces inches away from each other. Her jeans were still pulled down to her knees. I placed both hands on them causing her to shut her eyes and say,

"Nate, please."

Ignoring the alcohol fuelled impulses in my head, I gently pulled them up her legs and covered up her nakedness. I even zipped her up and buttoned her jeans before looking her in the eyes. She smiled weekly at me before saying,

"I'm sorry I lead you on. I don't know what I was thinking. But I think you should leave," she said.

I looked at her again and suddenly realised again who this was; Emma Watson. In my drunken lust, I had almost forgotten this fact. The champagne had given me a boldness that surprised even me. I nodded and stood up. I realised now the extent of my drunkenness as I tried not to fall over. Emma fixed her blouse and her bra before standing up as well. Like me, there was also a wobble to her. Despite everything, I leaned in and gently kissed me on the cheek.

I smiled at her and stumbled towards the door. From the time her food arrived till now, I don't recall much. Only the bitter disappointment at how it all ended. It seemed like only one second before that I giving her one last look and the next I was collapsing on my bed in my hotel room next door.

***

This whole thing may not have worked out as I might've liked, but at least I got to kiss and grope Emma Watson. Not many people can say that. It was cold comfort though. But in the end, it was unrealistic to expect something to happen given I've only known her for about 24 hours and we've talked for an accumulated total of two and a half hours at best. It usually takes me two months just to pluck up the courage to speak to a girl. Taking two hours to get to second base is personal growth. But no matter what kind of spin I put on it, it still didn't make me feel any better.

As I lay motionless on my bed, my mind wandered to what I could've done or said differently. First things first, I probably should've said no to the second bottle of wine. I wondered if I had acted a bit gentler or waited a little bit longer to touch her, whether I'd currently be in bed with her. But after so much time of analysing my mistakes, I just started to think about her; that pretty face, those slender arms, those thighs and the way her shirt clung tightly to her chest, accentuating her... bountiful features. I recalled how firm and perky her breasts were and how hot she was between the legs. I wanted nothing more than to walk in her room and tear her clothes off and spend all night doing things to her. I wanted my hands all over her slender body. I wanted to hear what sounds she made and what face she pulled when she climaxed. But alas, here I was.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and found myself on Google. Soon, the whole screen was flooded with a wealth of images depicting up skirt shots, cleavage shots, wardrobe malfunctions and surprisingly sexy photo shoots of Emma. Masturbating over images of celebrities is natural to any male, but there was something particularly strange about doing so when that celebrity happens to be in the adjacent room. Nevertheless, a combination of this and the alcohol sent me into a deep sleep. My last conscious thought was whether she'd still be here when I woke up.

***

There was a loud knock at the door. My eyes open. I sit up, feeling remarkably alert. Beside me were some scrunched up tissues and my iPhone which had remained on and showed a particularly sexy picture of Emma from some film premiere; evidence of a particularly sordid and unglamorous moment from just before I fell asleep. I slipped my phone in my pocket and threw the tissues in the bin and headed for the door. The effects of the champagne had mostly worn off, although I'd be lying if I said I walked a perfectly straight line. I already suspected who was at the door. After all, who else knew where I was.

"Emma. What time is it?" I asked as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

"1:30 am. I can't sleep. But now I feel bad because I see that you had no problem sleeping."

"No, don't worry about it. Anything I can do to help?" I asked, desperate for both of us to ignore what happened earlier.

"No, probably not. It's just jet-lag I think. I'm just lying alone in bed, it's a bit boring and lonely."

Even though I was dreadfully tired and far from focused, I was aware enough to note the tiny implication in what she had said. The tiniest sliver of a request beneath her guarded words. But I wasn't about to dive in headfirst again. Before I could reply, she continued,

"I'm sorry I asked you to leave before. That was rude of me," she said.

This took me by surprise me. I had assumed I was at fault. After all, I was the drunken lawyer who had forced himself onto a famous actress in a hotel room. It seemed like typical Hollywood scandal. I chose my words carefully and replied,

"No, it was my fault. I overstepped."

"Not really. I was leading you on but I couldn't pull the trigger on it. I got nervous when things got serious."

She was obviously tired. She leaned against the door frame wearing only a hotel bathrobe. I took a good look at her and saw just a tiny hint of shame in her expression. This was turning out to be a strange situation for all involved.

"Are you okay Emma?" I asked.

"No. No I'm not. I haven't had time to relax in months. I broke up with my boyfriend not long ago and since then it's been non-stop filming movies and doing press junkets for months. It's too much Nate. I just need something to take the edge off. I just need some relief."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Well, maybe there is. To be honest, I've been feeling rather under-fucked lately."

It took me several moments to process that statement. The meaning sounded clear, but the fact she said it, and said it so freely had me on edge.

"Does that mean the same thing in England as it does in Australia?"

"Keep me company tonight. I won't get cold feet again, I promise. I don't know what that was before but it won't happen again. I just....I want you."

"Have you been drinking since I left," I asked, just to be cautious.

"Don't worry, I'm completely sober now," she replied with a mischievous smile. "And you?"

"Me too. That champagne wasn't very strong."

She laughed quietly, not wanting to wake up anyone else in the hotel. It was an infectious sound and soon I joined her in her laughter. It's true, she didn't appear drunk. But guys like me don't meet girls like her, and girls like her sure as hell don't make such proposals to guys like me. What happened earlier was vexing but in all honesty, it seemed like a realistic end to our courtship. We looked at each other for several long moments, neither wanting to make a move, but both of us clearly wanting it.