When I lift my head and touch the head of his cock with my finger, he lets out an animalistic sound of pleasure and starts coming hotly against my stomach. “Fuck, Arden, fuck! Yes, fuck . . . yes.”
I never would’ve thought that watching a man come on me would be sexy. Not only is it sexy, it’s intimate. He was right, I feel marked.
Dropping onto the bed beside me, he kisses me gently as he rubs his come around on my skin.
Breaking the kiss, he adjusts us so that he’s holding me in his arms. Looking down into my eyes, he smiles.
“I love you wearing me,” he says possessively.
I’m so orgasm dumb that I can’t even respond with a coherent sentence. Instead I chuckle softly and curl into him. Within seconds I feel my eyes drifting shut and I enjoy my last few seconds of being awake as his fingers trail over my skin.
LETTING MYSELF INTO EXTON’S house, I let out a sigh of pleasure as I kick my shoes off and carry my overnight bag up to the bedroom to change into some casual clothes. It took about a week after we made love for the first time for him to talk me into spending time at his house. I was uncomfortable at first, but now I’m okay. As the weeks go by we get closer and more of my walls start to come down. I’m still scared—not terrified anymore, but there is still fear that something bad could happen—but I’m getting used to being his girlfriend.
It helped that the morning after we made love, Exton got on the phone with his publicist and composed a press release to confirm his relationship status. There was a lot of interest in the fact that he’s dating a working girl and there were a few paparazzi at my car each day for about two weeks, but now it’s died down and we’re old news.
After changing out of my work clothes I head toward Exton’s office to tell him that I’m home. He’s been hard at work on his script and he likes to stay in what he calls his writing cave until the minute I’m home.
I can’t help but smile when I hear his voice, but it quickly falls away when I hear what he’s saying.
“No goddammit, you find me a way to get in touch with whoever the fuck this Ricky Greenway is and you find it now! I can’t have naked pictures of my girlfriend on the Internet goddammit! How many pictures were there and what was the sale price? I’ll double it—fuck, I’ll quadruple it!”
My hand flies to my mouth as all of the breath leaves my body. What naked pictures?
It takes a minute for me to realize that Exton is now yelling. “No! I refuse to believe that it’s too late to get them back! You’re not understanding what the fuck I’m saying right now—I cannot fucking deal with this shit!”
Oh my God. Why? How is this happening?
As Exton continues yelling, my brain starts running a million miles an hour and I can only focus on one thing. He doesn’t want to deal with this—and I don’t want him to have to tell me that to my face.
Turning on my heel, I run down the hall, grab my purse and slip back into my work shoes. I look like an idiot in yoga pants, a tank top and high heels, but I don’t care. I run to my car at top speed and within seconds I’m peeling out of Exton’s driveway.
Home, I just need to be home.
I break a land speed record to get to my apartment, and I completely ignore my cell phone as it rings practically non-stop the entire time. Turning onto my street, I stop with a screech of tires when I see a few paparazzi gathering outside my apartment building.
What this means hits me like a kick to the stomach as I stare at the assembling mass—there really are pictures, and they really are going to be all over the Internet. I’m ruined. Everyone is going to see me naked and everyone is going to know that I was married to someone who took my virginity for a bet. The humiliation of everyone knowing is going to destroy me.
Backing up, I drive a few blocks over before pulling into an alley and stopping my car. Picking up my cell, I find the screen full of missed calls from Exton. I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold the phone.
What the hell am I going to do?
It takes me a few minutes to stop shaking enough to form a coherent thought, all the while ignoring the ringing of my cell phone. Finally, I realize that there’s only one person who I trust to give me advice. Picking up the phone, I scroll through my contacts and then hit call.
As soon as she picks up, I start crying.
“Sabrina, I need your help.”
Authors always write these things in the third person and I just can’t do it. It’s me . . . I’m writing this. So instead of saying, Ella likes . . .” I’m just going to write this in the first person.
I love to read. Always have, always will. My favorite genre is romance, but I also enjoy thrillers, mysteries, some sci-fi, rock n’ roll biographies and autobiographies. I’m obsessed with music. OBSESSED. I’m very partial to rock music, but I also enjoy rap, country, classical, oldies and pop. I could go on “Don’t Forget The Lyrics” and clean up!
I’m a total practical joker. I love to laugh. If I could hang out with any celebrity for one day, I’d choose Dave Grohl from The Foo Fighters.
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Breakaway Kelly Clarkson
Stronger Kelly Clarkson
Fighter Christina Aguilera
Easier to Run Linkin Park
Not Myself Tonight Christina Aguilera
Secrets OneRepublic
Over My Head The Fray
She Will Be Loved Maroon 5
Please Don’t Leave Me P!nk
Let Love In The Goo Goo Dolls
Halo Beyoncé
All of Me John Legend
You can follow the Strictly Temporary playlist on Spotify
Strictly Temporary
I’d like to thank the wonderful bloggers, readers, authors, cover designers, formatters and editors that I’ve met since I became an Author. This is a wonderful job that I’m very aware that I’m blessed to have. I never lose sight of that.
Other books by Ella Fox
The Hart Family Series:
Broken Hart
Shattered Hart
Loving Hart
Unbroken Hart
Missing Hart
Finding Hart
The Renegade Saint Series:
Picture Perfect
Twist of Fate
The Catch Series:
Catch My Fall
The Deception Series:
Consequences of Deception