I see the heat flare in his eyes. “Do you. Why?”
I start to turn my head away, but he stops me with a firm finger on my chin.
“Why,” he repeats.
“You know,” I say. “It’s because I’m yours.” And then, because I have not yet had enough of him, I turn over, tucking my knees under me so that I am giving him my rear.
“I’m yours,” I say, my voice low and meaningful. I look back over my shoulder. “Please. I want you. I want you first.”
“Jamie, kitten.” His voice is raw, and there’s no mistaking the desire. “I don’t want to hurt you. If you’ve never...without lube...”
“My purse,” I say. “A holdover from my days of fucking around,” I add, then smile when he smirks.
It takes him only a moment to find it, and then he is back. “You’re sure?”
I want to tell him that I don’t want to leave him. That I think, just maybe, I have fallen in love with him.
But that isn’t something I can say, and it’s not something I can give. But I can give him me. “Yes,” I say. “Please, yes.”
“Then come here,” he says, pulling me up from my position on my knees. He crushes his mouth against mine in a kiss that is wild and deep and crazed with passion.
“I adore you,” he says when we come up for air. “I want you. Hell, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any woman. Christ, I’m hard again.”
“You have me,” I say as he moves down my body, stroking and suckling my breasts, then laving my sex with quick, fluttery kisses until I am squirming, so close to bursting I can feel the hum of the approaching climax in my blood.
“Turn over,” he says. “Like you were, on your knees.”
I comply, and his hands stroke my back, soft and sensual as if I am some fragile thing. His finger trails down further, and he explores my rear, his lubed finger sliding over me, easing inside me, readying me.
I close my eyes, my body trembling. I am not a stranger to anal play, but I have never had a man inside me. I’m glad. I want to have Ryan, and only Ryan, and now, as he gets me slick and ready, I try to relax. I concentrate on the throbbing anticipation in my cunt. In the tightness of my nipples. On the delicious sensitivity of my skin.
“You’re ready, baby,” he says, and I close my eyes, relaxing, opening for him as he presses his cock against my tight entrance. Slowly, he eases inside, and I suck in air, wanting him to stop, and yet at the same time wanting more.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks as he moves slowly and deliberately.
“No,” I lie, because the pain is part of it. Like when he spanked my ass, the pain is mixed with pleasure, and I want it all. “It’s okay. Please. More. Don’t stop.”
He takes me at my word, still moving carefully, but thrusting more intensely until, finally, my body seems to welcome him, and the pain melts in to something red and silky, like a memory of pain turned to pleasure.
I shift my arm so that I can tease my clit, getting closer and closer along with him. I come quickly, my body too aware, too ready, and every part of me clenches, drawing him in even tighter and wresting a long, low groan from him.
He comes after me, and when he does, he cries my name, then draws me close and holds me tight. “Kitten,” he murmurs, his lips pressed to my neck. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I ask, and his answer fills me to bursting: “For you.”
* * * *
Later, in the shower, he tenderly strokes my cheek. “You are amazing,” he says.
“I’m glad you think so,” I tease. “I feel amazing.”
It’s true. My body feels thoroughly fucked, deliciously used. And simply having Ryan beside me is pleasure enough. The fact that he’s also naked adds on serious bonus points.
“Yeah,” I repeat, and then kiss him. “I feel amazing.”
When we get out of the shower, he is dressed and looking sinfully handsome in under fifteen minutes.
I take a bit longer to put together. Especially since today is my interview with Ellison Ward.
I spend an hour doing my makeup for the camera, then dressing, then checking myself in the mirror. I’m not naïve—I know that Ward is the one who will get the screen time—but I also know this gig is potentially a break for me, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
“You look stunning,” Ryan says. “Professional, sexy, feminine and smart. All excellent qualities as far as I’m concerned.”
“I appreciate the endorsement,” I say, then accept his kiss, though I make him kiss me on the cheek so as to not muck up my lipstick.
The collar is on the counter where I left it before showering, and now I pick it up. I want to wear it, but it really doesn’t go with my camera-ready outfit. I’m about to say that to Ryan—to tell him why I’m not wearing this gift that so moved me—when he takes it from me.
“What are you—” I begin, but he hushes me with a single press of a fingertip to my lips. Then he uses a small pocket knife to remove the lock from the loop on the collar. He puts the necklace back, then presses the lock into my hand. “You hold the key to my heart,” he says as I melt just a little. “Keep it safe.”
I nod, then put the lock gently in the pocket of my jacket. The weight is minimal, but I can feel it there, and it bolsters my confidence.
As we are leaving the suite, a bellman arrives and hands me a valet ticket. “Your Ferrari, Ms. Archer.”
“Thank you,” I say, but I’m looking at Ryan.
“My guys brought it in,” he says. “The gas gauge is still off, but the tank’s full. I wanted to ask before I sent her ahead to Texas, but just so you know, you’ll be driving there with me.”
I smile. “Perfect,” I say. What I don’t say is that it would be perfect, except for the part where we leave each other at the end.
I drop the valet ticket into my purse for the time being, then follow Ryan to the elevator.
He goes with me to the interview, which is being held in Ward’s penthouse suite. We take the elevator to the top floor, then enter a suite that looks much like our own—only significantly more crowded.
My cameraman is already there, as are at least half a dozen people who must perform some function on the film, though I have no clue what. Another five or six people hover around a buffet that has been set up on the far side of the room, in front of the windows. A few more are huddled around a table spread with papers that I think are pages of a screenplay.
I do not see Ellison Ward.
A harried woman with pencils sticking out of her messy, blond topknot comes hurrying over. She glances at her wrist, says, “I’m Birgit, and we’re already running late,” even though I’m five minutes early, and hustles me to a small sofa. The cameraman leaves his post to come over and shake my hand.
“Leo,” he says. “I’ll shoot Ellison, and then we’ll go back and reshoot you asking the questions. Don’t wanna miss a chance of getting something prime on the celeb, so it works out best that way.”
“Fine,” I say. “Where is our celeb?”
Beside me, Birgit glances at her watch. “He better be on his way or we are going to be seriously off schedule.” She pulls a walkie-talkie off her belt. “Dammit, Carson, I need Ellison.”
“On our way,” comes the crackly reply.
A few feet behind Leo, Ryan leans against a pillar watching me. I catch his eye and smile. At that particular moment, everything feels right. The job. The man. Life in general. I wish I could bottle it and keep it tight against my chest.
But I should know it’s too good to last because when the double doors to the connecting room open, Ellison Ward and his entourage emerge. And there, standing right behind my subject, is Bryan Raine.
I must have reacted because Ryan takes one look at my face, then turns to look behind him. When he turns back to me, it’s clear that he understands. His face is hard, and I am quite certain that if he could kill Raine and get away with it, Ryan wouldn’t even hesitate.