Brit Flick Sweethearts: A Rom-Com With Spanking

Brit Flick
Sweethearts:

A Rom-Com With
Spanking

Published By
Samantha Hyde At Smashwords

Copyright
Samantha Hyde 2015

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced or used in any way
without the express written permission of the author except for the
use of brief quotations in book reviews. The characters in this
book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is
coincidental.

INTRODUCTION

FROM SAMANTHA
HYDE

This book is a
departure for me. I usually write dub-con, hard action, but the
idea for
Brit Flick Sweethearts
came to me in a rush of
romantic sentimentality. I am totally in love with the story of
Curt and Doris. If you are familiar with my other work, you are not
going to find more of the same here. (Well, apart from a little,
light bottom spanking maybe….)

Curt is an
alpha male with sexually dominant inclinations, but he is not a
complete bastard like my male characters usually are. He may well
be arrogant, strong willed and a self-confessed womaniser, but he
has character, integrity and a fundamental decency so lacking in
the men I usually write about. Curt just hasn’t met the right woman
yet. But fear not, dear reader, he will.

This love story
is shamelessly sentimental, hopelessly romantic and with a happy
ever after. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed
writing it.

Hankies at the
ready, and off we go….

CHAPTER
ONE

“I can’t do
this. This is completely ridiculous, I’ll never pull it off,” Doris
said, nervously tugging up the
far
too plunging neckline of
her floor length ball gown.

“Darling,
you’re the spit, no one will suspect a thing.”

Doris eyed her
agent Jeremy Gates with something close to dislike. Or rather, her
twin sister’s agent. He was the best agent in Britain and was short
and fat with a shock of ginger curls that completely belied his age
of fifty-seven.

“Turn the limo
round. Take me back to the hotel, I
can’t do thi
s.”

“Sweetie,
there’s no such word as can’t. You have to do this, for Dahlia’s
sake. Just act aloof and cold, Curt will never tell the difference
and neither will anyone else.”

Outside the
tinted window lay another five star London Hotel of such opulence
it was offensive. Well, to Doris it was offensive. She lived in a
tiny, one bedroom cottage in Cornwall which she loved. The nearest
she got to opulence was when a friend fixed the leaky tap in the
bathroom and she no longer got hosed down in water every time she
cleaned her teeth or washed her hands. Now
that
was
luxury…

Oh my God, and
here he comes now.

The tall figure
of Curt Gunner topped with dark blonde, immaculately cut hair,
emerged from the grand double doors of The Ritz, accompanied by a
heavy in a black suit. Just the sight of him made her breath catch
in her throat and her heart beat twice as fast.

He looked
exactly as he had done in ‘Brick Face.’ Menacing, mean, dressed in
a stylish black suit and with a flat nose that bent slightly to the
left. Despite this disfigurement, he was the biggest sex symbol in
Britain. Women were
crazy
for him. Rumour also had it that
he was lined up to play the next Bond, despite his relatively young
age of thirty-three.

He lightly
touched the man on the shoulder for a second, his face cracking
open into a broad grin, which the other man returned.

God, that
smile
...

His face
suddenly looked completely different. He actually looked
likable.
Which was why she supposed he was such a good actor
because he really wasn’t.

He was a
complete thug, if her sister and press rumours were to be
believed.

Curt Gunner
slid into the back seat next to her and she pushed herself as far
up against the passenger door as she could. Jeremy, who sat
opposite Doris smiled at the newcomer, and rapped his knuckle on
the dark glass of the dividing window that separated them from the
chauffer. The limo pulled away.

“Hello Curt,
Are you all set for your big night?” Jeremy said.

“As I’ll ever
be. Hello Dahlia. You’re looking fat.”

Inside, Doris
shrivelled. It was true that she was bigger than her identical
twin. In her quest for Hollywood perfection and because of her drug
addiction, Dahlia was rake thin. Doris, on the other hand, loved
her food and had no such problem.

I can’t do
this,
she thought for the millionth time.
I look like a
beached whale, I’m going to be a laughing stock
…

“Hello Curt.
How lovely to see you again. I so missed your witty banter.”

She spoke with
a smooth confidence that belied her wildly beating heart. And
hopefully she was wearing so much makeup that he wouldn’t see her
blushing.

“Is it the
uppers or the downers that have made you bloat?”

The cheek of
the man! What a complete and utter foul pig he was
…

“Dahlia has put
on a stone for a new film role in the pipeline,” Jeremy
injected.

“Oh yeah? What
film is that? Is it a documentary about the adverse effects of too
much fast food?”

Doris couldn’t
speak. She was dangerously close to tears. What a horrible,
horrible man. When she managed to compose herself she let out a
bitter laugh.

“Yeah well,
maybe we should film some more love scenes together. Your breath
and your face are enough to put a girl off food for life. No wonder
I was so thin.”

His pale blue
eyes sparkled with barely constrained aggression. Or at least, that
was what it
looked
like.

“That’s not
what you said in my trailer.”

This time there
was no disguising the hot blush that stained her cheeks, and, even
more mortifyingly, her chest. Dahlia had never said that she had
actually
slept
with him during the shoot. She could’ve
warned her, for pity’s sake…

“Now, now, You
have to smile nicely for the paps and pretend you adore each other.
You’re both actors, are you not?”

“Dahlia can’t
act. She played an
android
in Brick Face.” He turned his
devastating gaze on her and she melted inside. “Still, I suppose it
suited her somewhat wooden acting abilities and personality.”

Despite
herself, she laughed, the threat of tears having passed. Or
snorted, as she was apt to do when a rush of laughter caught her
unawares. He was right. Dahlia did have the acting ability of a
dead rat.

Then she
remembered that she should be insulted seeing as she was pretending
to be Dahlia.

“Yeah, well,
I’m not the only one to play myself, am I? Your character was a
womanising thug who goes around beating people up. Hmm, who does
that reminds me of? I just
can’t
think.”

“In the film he
saw the error of his ways when the right woman tamed him.”

“Yeah, the
android with no feelings who learned human emotion.”

“So tell me
Dahlia, have you learned how to feel yet?”

The intensity
of his pale gaze bore into her. It was the sheer magnetism of the
man that surprised her, he oozed masculinity and barely constrained
aggression that had her squirming on the limo seat in an unwelcome
arousal.

“Yes, I’ve
learned how to feel. I’ve learned how to
really
hate
you.”

Her words were
a surprise, even to her. She knew it was because she was
overcompensating for her entirely illogical attraction towards
him.

Something
flashed across his face, and for the briefest of seconds she
thought it was
hurt.

As if. Curt
Gunner is incapable of emotion.

Just as quick
it was gone again, and the languid, permanent semi-scowl was
back.

“Whatever.
Don’t forget to walk a few steps behind me down the red carpet.
You’re gonna look
massive
in the pictures if you stand next
to me.”

Rude
bastard…

“And don’t you
forget to keep your face in profile, or you’re gonna look like a
brain damaged boxer with a full frontal of that nose.”

They drove the
rest of the way without exchanging a word, and let Jeremy take the
reigns and brief them of the evening’s itinerary.

Less than ten
minutes later, they had reached the theatre in the West End. They
drove to the back entrance first to drop off Jeremy.

“I’ll see you
kids inside. Just relax and have fun,” he said, speaking directly
to Doris as he climbed out of the limo. “Don’t worry, you’ll be
fine.” Once outside, he rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window.
“Drive round the block a few times, will you? We’re a bit
early.”

With a final
tap on the roof, the car accelerated away.

Curt was the
one to break the silence. “Do you ever think about what we had
together, no matter how brief it was?”

“No,” she
answered truthfully.

“I know there’s
good in you Dahlia. I felt it when we fucked.”

The coarse
language made her blush. She was no virgin by any means, but at
twenty-seven her sexual knowledge and prowess was somewhat limited,
confined to the sum total of three steady boyfriends and no other
sexual escapades of any kind.

“I know I’m
hard to get over, but you’re going to have to try.”

Her voice
dripped with sarcasm but inside she trembled.

She gasped when
he closed the gap between them, pinning her against the passenger
door.

“Don’t worry, I
won’t smudge your lipstick.”

His mouth
grazed the side of her neck, sending a shiver of delight radiating
through her. A hand easily found entry into the front of her
midnight blue, plunging gown and a rough, dry palm cupped her
breast. Instantly her nipple hardened and a soft moan escaped her
lips, a heavy, wet throb growing between her legs.

Because the
dress was so low cut, she wasn’t wearing a bra. The dress had been
specially designed for her with hidden, inbuilt wiring and support
around the sides of the bust that made her C cup breasts look
plastic perfect. To Doris, the dress was a feat of engineering that
left her dumbfounded.

And it was also
very easy to free her breasts through the gaping neckline. Before
she had even properly realised her had done it, both her breasts
had been freed, every last inch of them visible and pressed
together through the gaping neckline of the dress.

Both his hands
clamped down on her breasts and roughly needed them, squeezing her
nipples hard between his thumbs and forefingers.

The affect was
devastating. The wet heat of his lips and tongue and his breath on
her neck left her dizzy.

One hand left
her aching breast and shoved up the thigh high slit of her skirt
and quickly sought the place it needed to be.

She gasped in
shock when his fingers easily shoved the elastic edging of her
panties to one side and roughly jabbed inside her with no
hesitation whatsoever.

Doris was being
finger fucked in earnest and her thighs involuntarily fell open to
allow him better access to her soaking wet pussy that squelched
under his violent assault.

“Yeah, you like
that don’t you, you dirty fucking bitch.”

His vile words
snapped her back into the moment and she squirmed away from him,
rearranging the front of her dress as she did so.

“If you ever
touch me again Curt Gunner, I will have you up on an assault charge
quicker than you can ever call me a
dirty fucking bitch
again.”

“You never
complained before.”

Did
Dahlia
like
being called a dirty fucking bitch?

You do too,
your pussy has never been so wet
….

She pushed away
the horrible, uninvited thought. She was just stressed at posing as
her sister, stressed at having to walk down a red carpet when the
only carpets she had ever walked on before were in living-rooms,
bedrooms and hallways.

“Just don’t,
OK? All we have to do is get through tonight so we never have to
see each other again.”

“Here.” He
reached out for her face, and she flinched. “Hey, relax, I’m just
smoothing your hair back into place. I like the new shorter hair,
by the way. It suits you.”

Doris and
Dahlia were blessed with thick, natural blonde hair. Dahlia wore
hers down to her waist and Doris’s skimmed her shoulder blades.
Doris had been forced to lighten it to match Dahlia’s unnatural
platinum shade of blonde. Right now she had been made to wear it in
a Veronica Lake style side parting, complete with carefully coiffed
waves.

“Just keep your
hands to yourself, OK? I’m nervous enough as it is.”