My Life in Hollywood C47 Crossing the Line (Patreon)

Marcus caught the looks from the crowd, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't feeling smug about it. He leaned closer to Arya and muttered, "See? Renting that AMG for five hundred bucks was worth every penny. We got the whole room staring."

Arya glanced at him, a mix of amusement and exasperation on her face. "You didn't have to go this far. It's not like we're going to the Oscars or the Golden Globes. And on top of the car, you bought that suit and those shoes..." She shook her head. "You spent way too much."

Marcus chuckled. "Are you kidding? This is our first junior prom. Way more important than the Oscars or Golden Globes."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "More important?"

"Absolutely." Marcus said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Think about it. With the shows and films I'm gonna make? I'll probably end up at those award ceremonies plenty of times. Invites, nominations, maybe even wins—that's just part of the career I'm building."

He paused, his expression softening slightly.

"But prom? This only happens once. We're seventeen. We're young. These moments don't come back around." He glanced at the crowd of students laughing and dancing under the chandeliers. "You can chase success your whole life, but you can't chase youth. Once it's gone, it's gone."

Arya stared at him for a moment, then smiled. "You're really something, you know that? 'More important than the Oscars.'" She laughed softly. "Only you would say that with a straight face."

Marcus just grinned. This was prom. They were here to enjoy the night. Whether Arya believed him or not didn't matter.

They made their way into the banquet hall proper, weaving through clusters of students who were already deep into the evening—laughing, taking photos, crowding the refreshment table. The music thrummed through the space, loud enough to feel in your chest.

Then a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Wow. What an entrance."

Marcus turned to see Ryan approaching with a girl on his arm. Ryan looked... surprisingly put together. He'd traded his usual hoodie-and-jeans combo for an actual suit—slightly ill-fitting, but respectable. His curly hair was tamed for once, and his glasses were clean.

The girl beside him was shorter, with soft features and a shy smile. A little on the chubbier side, but cute in a wholesome way. She wore a modest lavender dress and kept close to Ryan like she wasn't used to crowds.

"You two look like you just stepped off a movie set," Ryan said, giving them a slow clap. "Handsome and beautiful. Almost like you were made for each other." His grin turned mischievous. "I knew it would end up like this ever since sophomore year—"

"Stop." Arya's cheeks flushed pink.

Ryan cackled at her reaction.

Marcus ignored the teasing and nodded toward the girl. "Looks like you're doing pretty well yourself. Who's this?"

Ryan straightened up, suddenly looking proud. "This is Anabelle. My girlfriend."

Marcus blinked.

Arya's eyes went wide.

"Girlfriend?" they said in unison.

"Okay, okay. I see those looks." Ryan crossed his arms, feigning offense. "Just because I spend most of my time at home doesn't mean I'm a lost cause. I can get a girlfriend even if I'm not as pretty as Mr. CEO over here."

Marcus raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't say anything." He turned to Anabelle with a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you. I'm Marcus—Ryan's friend."

"Hello," Anabelle said softly, her voice barely above the music.

"I'm Arya." Arya stepped forward with a warm smile. "It's really nice to meet you."

As the girls fell into conversation—Arya asking Anabelle about her dress, her classes, how she and Ryan met—Marcus tugged Ryan a few steps away.

"Dude." Marcus kept his voice low. "I can't believe you got a girlfriend before me."

Ryan shot him a flat look. "Oh, please. If you announced to the school that you were looking for a girlfriend, you'd have girls lining up around the block." He smirked. "Hell, you've already got three of the hottest juniors fighting over you. Arya, Alisha, Ellie—take your pick."

Marcus couldn't really argue with that. "Yeah, well... relationships are a commitment. I'm not ready for that until the business is more stable."

"Uh-huh." Ryan didn't look convinced.

"But seriously—congrats, man." Marcus clapped him on the shoulder. "Happy for you."

"Thanks." Ryan's smirk returned. "So... you do know Arya's into you, right?"

Marcus paused. "You noticed?"

"Dude, everyone's noticed. She looks at you like you hung the moon." Ryan tilted his head. "So what's the holdup?"

Marcus sighed. "I told you. I'm busy. The company, the shows, all of it—"

"Ugh." Ryan rolled his eyes and gave him a light punch on the arm. "I hate popular guys like you. So damn pretentious."

Marcus laughed.

They rejoined the girls a moment later. Anabelle had opened up a little, giggling at something Arya said.

"She's really sweet," Arya told Marcus as Ryan and Anabelle drifted toward the dance floor. "Ryan's lucky to have her."

Marcus nodded. "Agreed. The guy survives on instant ramen and somehow landed a girl like that. Life's not fair."

Arya glanced at him, then quickly looked away. "Well... maybe you could get lucky too. If you weren't so focused on work all the time."

Marcus caught the implication. He turned to her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You offering to be my lucky charm?"

Arya's heart skipped, but she kept her composure. "I didn't say that."

"Sounded like it."

"You're hearing things."

Before Marcus could push further, the music swelled—a popular track that got half the room cheering. The energy in the hall spiked as students flooded the dance floor.

Marcus flagged down a passing waiter and grabbed two glasses of fruit punch. He handed one to Arya, and they clinked glasses before taking a sip.

They hit the refreshment table next, grabbing small plates of finger foods—mini sliders, bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms. Nothing fancy, but enough to keep them going.

Then Marcus set his plate down and extended his hand toward Arya.

"Dance with me?"

Arya looked at his hand, then up at him. A smile spread across her face.

She took it.

Marcus was well prepared for this.

He knew junior prom meant dancing—lots of it. So when the system's Monthly Items refreshed and he spotted an Amateur Dancing skill for 25 points, he didn't hesitate. Pure luck that it showed up right before prom, but he wasn't about to question it.

Even at the amateur level, the skill made him feel like he'd been practicing for months. Footwork, rhythm, timing—it was all there, uploaded into his muscle memory like he'd taken lessons his whole life. And conveniently, the dance styles included in the skill matched the kind of music thumping through the hall right now.

As he led Arya toward the dance floor, she glanced at him with a hint of worry.

"You sure about this?" she asked. "Can you actually dance?"

Marcus just smiled. "I can handle it."

Arya looked skeptical. "Uh-huh. You've never mentioned dancing before. Like, ever."

"Guess you'll find out."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Typical Marcus confidence—probably all talk. But she decided to roll with it. This was Marcus, after all. If he embarrassed himself, at least it would be entertaining.

"Fine," she said. "But if you step on my feet, I'm leading."

"Deal."

They took their positions. Marcus placed one hand on her waist, the other holding her hand. Arya mirrored him, her palm resting lightly on his shoulder.

The music shifted into something slower, more rhythmic.

They moved.

And Arya's eyes went wide.

Marcus wasn't just keeping up—he was leading. Confidently. Smoothly. His footwork was precise, his movements fluid, guiding her across the floor like he'd done this a hundred times before.

'What the...' Arya's mind raced. 'He can actually dance. No—he's better than me!'

Her feet matched his instinctively, their bodies falling into sync like they'd rehearsed this. Every step, every turn, every subtle shift in weight—it all flowed naturally.

They looked like a real dancing couple. Romantic. Effortless.

The crowd noticed.

"Did they practice this beforehand or something?"

"They look incredible together."

"Okay, that's actually kind of hot."

But Marcus and Arya didn't hear any of it.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noise, the crowd, the flashing lights—all of it melted into the background. It felt like a spotlight had found them, and nothing else existed beyond the two of them moving together.

The music swelled. Marcus pulled her closer, spinning her gently before drawing her back in. Their faces drifted near each other—close enough to feel each other's breath.

Arya's heart pounded.

They continued to move, following the rhythm, their bodies in sync. They danced like that for a while longer, just enjoying the flow of the music and each other's company.

As the beat deepened, Marcus drew her closer. He held her waist firmly, and she pressed flush against him. Her tits soft and full against his chest, her body warm through the thin dress.

'Damn,' he thought. 'She's always been beautiful. But like this... she's fucking stunning.'

He respected Arya too much to let his mind wander further. But his body responded anyway—heat pooling low as she moved against him.

Their faces were inches apart now. Her eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed.

Arya could barely breathe. She felt his firm chest against her breasts, the heat of his hands on her waist. Her nipples stiffened against the fabric of her dress, pressed tight to him.

'God,' she thought, her skin tingling. 'I want him to kiss me.'

Marcus felt the moment pulling at him. Her lips—plump, soft, slightly parted—were right there. Begging.

'Fuck,' he thought. 'She looks so damn kissable right now.'

He remembered Lana. The slow burn of her mouth, the way she used to melt when he took control. But this was Arya. His friend. His employee. The one person in this new life he actually gave a damn about keeping safe.

He hesitated. Exhaled. Gently pulled back and steadied her on her feet.

“That was some killer dancing,” he said, voice coming out rougher than he planned.

“Yeah.” Arya’s voice was soft, a little breathless. “I loved it. Like… a lot.”

Her eyes said everything else: disappointment, heat, don’t you dare stop now.

Before either of them could say anything, Frank rolled up with his little crew—Jamie, Alisha, Ellie trailing like expensive shadows.

“Damn, that was quite the show,” Frank said, voice thick with that fake-nice condescension. “Arya, you were straight fire out there. Definitely carried Marcus.”

Alisha rolled her eyes. “Seriously, anyone with eyes could see Marcus killed it.”

“For real,” Ellie jumped in. “Dude moved like a pro.”

Frank ignored them both. He turned to Arya with what he probably thought was a charming smile. "So—think I could be lucky enough to get a dance with you too?"

Arya shifted, uncomfortable. “I, uh…”

Marcus was already stepping up when Alisha cut in smooth.

“Marcus.” She slid closer, eyes locked on his. “You dancing with me next?”

“Hey, don’t leave me out,” Ellie added, stepping right up. “I want a turn too.”

Frank’s and Jamie’s faces dropped instantly. Their own dates were basically throwing themselves at another guy—right in front of them.

“Uh—” Marcus started.

A small hand fisted the back of his shirt.

His eyes went wide.

Arya yanked him down and crashed her mouth against his.

The kiss hit like a spark on dry grass.

For one stunned heartbeat Marcus’s mind blanked.

Then the old playboy instincts kicked in—years of late nights and women who’d shown him exactly how to unravel someone with his mouth.

His hand slid up, cupping the back of her neck with firm, possessive pressure—tilting her head just right. Lips brushed once, teasing her shaky breath, then he sealed them together, soft for a split second before hunger took over.

He sucked her full lower lip slow and wet, pulling just enough to draw a soft whimper, then grazed it with his teeth—light, teasing, making her tremble against him.

Her mouth opened on a gasp. He didn’t hesitate.

Tongue slipped in smooth and confident, stroking hers in a slow, deep rhythm—hot, patient, filthy. He curled around her tongue, sucked it gently into his mouth, coaxing that quiet moan straight from her throat.

Arya’s knees buckled. Her fingers knotted in his hair, tugging hard. He answered with a low groan only she could hear, his other hand sliding to the small of her back—fingers spreading wide, yanking her hips flush so she felt every inch of how hard she was making him.

He tilted his head, deepening it further—tongues sliding slick and unhurried, claiming her while making her feel utterly wanted.

It couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds.

But in that half-minute the banquet hall went deathly quiet.

Heads turned. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Eyes widened—teachers froze mid-step, friends’ mouths dropped open. This wasn’t the usual prom peck or slow-dance smooch. This was raw, wet, possessive—her soft moan audible in the hush, the way her body melted into his, the glistening thread when they finally broke apart.

Arya stood there wrecked—cheeks blazing crimson, lips swollen and slick, pupils blown, breathing fast and shallow. She looked thoroughly, reverently undone.

Marcus brushed his thumb along her jaw, voice low and rough against her ear.

“You started it, baby.”

She swallowed hard. Then—still trembling—she turned toward Alisha and Ellie, sliding her arm around Marcus’s waist in a clear, possessive claim.

“Sorry, girls,” she said, voice way steadier than her heartbeat. “Marcus is taken tonight.” Her fingers flexed against his side. “He’s with me. Exclusively.”

Alisha’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing came out.

Ellie just stared, totally stunned.

Frank looked like someone had throat-punched him.

Marcus glanced down at Arya—this girl he’d known forever, always gentle, always a little shy—and felt something hot and permanent click into place behind his sternum.

'Damn,' he thought, a slow, dangerous smile curling his lips. 'Where the hell did that come from?'

And more importantly—what else has she been holding back?