They moaned in unison when he gained another inch. He waited for her flesh to become accustomed to him. “Okay?”
“I’m fine,” she squeaked. For a second, he thought she was lying, until he noticed how rapidly her hand moved between her thighs.
“Hold still then,” he instructed. He began to fuck her with just the tip of his cock. She moaned loudly, and this time, he knew for certain it was in arousal, not pain. Jolts of pure, electrical pleasure went through him. Yes, this is what he’d needed ever since he noticed her slight withdrawal earlier. He hadn’t thought twice of it when she’d said she was on her period, but maybe on some level, he’d been disappointed. He’d needed to fuse with her in some way, feel her there with him on some deep, elemental level.
There was nothing more primal and poignant than this.
He fell down behind her, his head on the pillow above hers. He held her against him, absorbing the heat of her skin and her subtle shudders and the sweet, sharp whimpers that fell from her lips as he slowly burrowed deeper into her with each pass. A lavender dusk had fallen, the sound of the waves hitting the beach far below the cliffs sounding hushed and expectant. He stared out at the sublime night, holding her tightly, a feeling swelling high inside him. He wanted to
let it out, to speak it, but he’d never felt it before—not to this degree. The incendiary quality of it made him wonder if it wasn’t dangerous, something to be held in, just like he strained to bind his mounting desire.
His resources failed him, though. His entire body tightened, his need ripping and tearing at his restraints when his pelvis bumped against her bottom. He took a moment to catch his breath.
“Can you come for me, Emma?” he asked on a ragged exhale.
“Yes,” she said in a high-pitched, quivering voice.
“Then do it. Let me feel you shake around me,” he grated out, hovering on the crumbling ledge of his restraint, bliss bubbling and boiling just beneath the surface, tempting him to fall. He waited, unable to breathe, his lungs burning in anticipation. When she cried out and shook, a rough groan scored his throat. He flexed his hips, fucking her in short, firm strokes, his pelvis slapping against her ass. He was a pure savage in those electrical moments, but Emma took him eagerly, absorbing his furious need . . . mounting it until he couldn’t contain it anymore.
Climax hit him, brutal and slashing.
It was like being ripped open by a slicing flood of feeling. For a crazed moment as pleasure buffeted him, he seemed to look down at himself from outside of his body. Laid open as he was, he saw there was more inside Vanni Montand than he’d realized.
But was it enough?
Look for THE AFFAIR Week Eight, on sale November 4, 2014.
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If someone had told her when her alarm clock went off that morning that in a few hours she’d be calmly given the odds of her continued survival, Joy would have rolled her eyes and laughed her fears into the corners of her consciousness.
If someone had warned her that later that afternoon she’d be going down on a gorgeous stranger, she’d have told that person they were certifiably insane.
Wilkie shouted her name as she raced through the din of the makeup room. A photo shoot for movie posters and other promotional materials was scheduled today. The special effects makeup department was roaring in high gear. Wilkie James looked too busy to chat, so Joy merely slowed her rapid pace. Her friend held an airbrush and was staring intently at a female’s right breast as he turned it pale green, his shaggy, dark brown hair just inches away from a nipple.
“He’s in his lab, angsting for your talent. ‘I need Joy,’ he keeps moaning,” Wilkie imitated, adding a tremble to Seth Hightower’s gruff baritone for comic effect. “He’s been trying to reach you for hours. Where’ve you been, beautiful?”
“Don’t I have a life, or was that all my imagination?” Joy asked, grinning.
“You may have had a life before we began production on Maritime, but that’s all just a dream now, honey,” Wilkie drawled as he moved to the left breast, and his model yawned widely.
That’s all just a dream now.
Wilkie’s careless words struck her with frightening precision. She shrugged off the shadow of dread that hovered at the corners of her consciousness and walked on, willing the energy from her surroundings to distract her . . .
Numb her.
The drama and excitement of a Hollywood film set wasn’t Joy’s typical work world. As an art teacher for gifted high school students and a painter, she preferred the atmosphere of the classroom or her quiet, sunlit studio at home. Even the clamor and bustle of a Hollywood makeup department couldn’t fully penetrate her dread, however.
Not today.
She felt as if she were moving through a dream . . . something like the brilliant, surreal underwater world film director Joshua Cabot was creating for United Studios’s latest blockbuster, Maritime.
She willfully ignored the uncomfortable pounding in her chest and flung open the door to Seth Hightower’s office-studio. She needed to see the familiar, loved, bold-featured face of her uncle; he was the only true family member she still possessed. Seth glanced around at the sound of her tool kit rolling over the threshold behind her.