Odd though it may be, when he thought of her, he really just remembered the terrified sixteen year old girl. And, in that sense, she was always surprising him.

He remembered the first moment he'd seen her. He had known straight away that this would be his star. His assistant had questioned him at first, pointing out how scared she'd looked as she stood in line. But he knew.

It hadn't been long before he had, in fact, turned her into the star he'd seen in her. And she, either in awe or gratefulness, appeared to be sweet on him. Well, he doted on her of course, his star, but he hadn't thought much of it.

Not until later when he watched her act again. As her co-star leaned to kiss her, she slapped him, looking affronted. She went to slap him again and he grabbed her wrist before molding their lips together.

He felt a pang of jealousy bubble inside him and that was when he'd realized it. Sometime while he'd been making her a star, he'd fallen for her. Head over heels in love.

He asked her over to his house for dinner that night and, alight with excitement, she agreed.

He hadn't intended anything physical to happen-- not that night, at the very least-- but he hadn't been able to help himself, not when she'd walked into his dining area looking the way she had. Her gorgeous red curls were piled atop her head and her plump lips were painted a bright red. Her silken dress clung to her every curve, gold shining and capturing the light, as she sauntered into the room.

Before they'd even had dinner, he carried her to his bedroom, her giggling madly as she pressed excited kisses to his cheeks and neck. When he laid her on the bed, though, her fear seemed to return.

"I-uhm- You are going to marry me, right?" she whispered.

"Of course, my Norma," he soothed, kissing her plump lips. "And I will make you a star. My star."

She broke their kiss, turning her face to the side before blinking up at him with a strange innocence. "You promise, Mister von Mayerling?"

"Call me Max," he breathed, kissing her again as he ran his palm up her leg, exposing her toned thigh. "And yes, I promise."

"Okay," she nodded, swallowing. "Okay."

He'd slowly peeled her silken, gold dress from her body, exposing her pale, heaving form. She was wearing black lace undergarments, always the temptress. His fingers slowly worked the clasp of her bra before he leaned down, covering her soft flesh in delicate little kisses that made her breath catch.

She'd gasped and whimpered in a mixture of pain and pleasure when he finally slid into her, her blood-red nails digging into his biceps until she'd made marks to match the polish of her nails. And she whimpered and moaned and gasped for breath each time he moved inside of her. And he knew—he knew—that he was her first.

He could still remember her sharp gasp and that squeal she'd made. He could still see her face: her dark eyes half lidded in pleasure and her plump, painted lips parted as she vocalized her pleasure for him.

She was so beautiful. She still was, of course. But...

When he looked at her, that was the Norma he saw. The sixteen year old girl who was terrified at the pleasure she was experiencing... But still so willing to go there with him.

… Maybe that was why he so despised this new writer boy-toy she'd acquired.