by Elise Faber
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I murmured, stroking my thumb over the swathe of pink on her cheeks.
She tilted her head to look at me, and I couldn’t read what was in her eyes. But when she spoke, her words were light. They were also sexy as hell, and complete confidence, just a glimpse of that chip on her shoulder—in the form of one arched brow. “Is there a reason you’re not inside me yet?”
My cock twitched. But—
“Yeah, about that,” I began.
Her expression changed, and I hated that there was a glimpse of embarrassment in her eyes before they darted away, and she started to sit up. That sliver of insecurity had me quickly cupping her cheeks.
“Hey, that’s—”
“It’s okay,” she said, propping herself on one elbow and pushing up. “I get it.” A chuckle that sounded completely different from the few natural ones I’d managed to coax from her sounded completely wrong.
“You don’t get it.” I shifted my hips close, letting her feel the hard length of my cock. “I want you, baby,” I murmured. “Certainly more than any other woman I’ve ever wanted”—she scoffed—“It’s true. I just . . . I’m not convinced that you won’t regret doing this when not under the influence of narcotics. And you were hurting, baby. I don’t want you to be in more pain because of me. I—”
One swift move, and I found myself on my back, beautiful, naked woman crawling on top of me, her fingers circling my cock.
Chapter Ten
Tammy
I probably should be getting up, running from the room, yanking that T-shirt and sweats back on.
I certainly shouldn’t be reaching for the condom, tearing it open with my teeth, rolling it down the length of his hard cock.
I definitely shouldn’t be ignoring the protesting stitches on my upper arm as I positioned him between my thighs, dropped down enough to take the tip of his erection inside.
But . . . it had been so long.
I wanted this man, my need bordering on desperately wanting him. He was sweet and he’d slept in the chair next to me, watching over me (in a non-creepy way—or at least, that was how I was taking it). He’d called in a doctor to take care of me. He’d helped me with the pain pills and getting changed and to the bathroom. Sweet. Lovely. So freaking out of my league.
But for the moment, he was with me.
He was looking hotly at me, at my body, at my face like I was beautiful and feminine, seeing my strength as an asset instead of as something that took away.
And his cock was hard for me.
I knew this couldn’t last; fairy tales didn’t come in the form of Hollywood hunks falling for small-town female police officers. Those spheres didn’t cross. Except . . . for today, they did. Today I could have that fantasy, soak up the kind, nice man, enjoy the hard lines of his muscles, the scrape of his stubble, his talented fingers and tongue.
I could enjoy his hard cock inside me.
And that would be enough.
Because I’d have lived out a fantasy.
I paused, my hips desperate to slide down, to take him deeper, but just as he’d needed to confirm I was with him, I needed to do the same.
I could live out my fantasy, but only if I knew that he was with me in it.
“Tal?” I whispered, statue still, the blunt head of him stretching me wide, promising more pleasure if I . . . just . . . sank . . . lower.
His eyes were liquid metal.
Then his hands came to my waist and slowly, inexorably tugged me down the length of his erection.
And I know that people always said that their man had a big dick, that romance heroes were built like freaking elephants, that every dude had a nine-inch cock. But I’d been with more than a handful of men (cough, nineteen and Talbot would make twenty), and maybe that number made me a bit of a slut, but my point was that I’d been with enough men to know that this cock was special. It stretched me wide, wide enough that I cursed, the slight burn of pain mingling with the pleasure of being filled. I know he was bigger at this angle, but it wasn’t just the angle. The man had a glorious cock.
A magical cock.
A magical cock? Dear lord. I stifled a giggle.
Fingers touching my mouth, tracing a curve I hadn’t even known was there. “What?” he murmured.
I had to admit that the slight strain in his voice made my smile tip up further.
“What?” he asked again.
I shook my head, nibbling at the corner of my mouth.
His thumb pressed against my bottom lip, dragging it out from beneath my teeth. “Tammy,” he warned.
“Talbot,” I countered, having adjusted to him and testing out shifting my hips, grinding down. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that felt good . . . no it felt great, pleasure radiating throughout my center, splintering along my limbs, making everything from my toes to my tongue tingle. “Shut up,” I moaned. “And let’s just fuck.”
He cursed, and then he was sitting up, one arm banding around my waist, pressing us tighter together. I gasped, the angle of him inside me even deeper, even better.
“What?” he murmured again, and this time it was accompanied by a nip against my lips.
More zinging.
More pleasure.
His wide palm covered one of my cheeks, tilting my ass so I hit just the right spot. My head fell back, vision blearily recognizing the wooden bed frame overhead. Teeth on my throat, my pussy tightening around him, making us both groan. But aside from that tilting, he held me in place, held me deep.
Even though I was growing wetter by the moment, getting more and more desperate to move, he held me still.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
My vision blurred further, I could feel an orgasm coiling in my abdomen, just from him being in and in deep, just from this man’s—
“You have a magical cock,” I blurted.
He did an impression of a statue, frozen and stiff, and as mortification tangled with desire, he flipped me over to my back with hardly a jostle—one second I was on top of him, the next I was cushioned on the mattress, his lips curving, his eyes filled with desire and humor.
“Well then,” he murmured, humor in his tone as his lips came to my ear. “Let me put this magical cock to work.”
He began moving, not slow and inching, not teasing and gentle, but firm, deep strokes that had my hips lifting up from the bed, rising to meet his thrusts, that coiling orgasm spiraling tighter, growing tauter, readying for implosion.
His mouth was on mine then on my throat, my collarbones, one nipple and then the other, and then the orgasm wasn’t just in my abdomen.
It was exploding outward, filling my entire body with pleasure, sending my muscles contracting, setting my nerves on fire, and then leaving me limp and satiated, the aftereffects of all that bliss sparkling through me as Tal stroked deeper once, twice, three times more, his head dropping to my shoulder as his own orgasm tugged him down. He collapsed on top of me. Though collapsed wasn’t quite the right word. He gave me his weight, hips settling on mine, his torso pressed to mine, but one elbow was propped near my shoulder, making sure he didn’t squash me, didn’t crush my injured arm.
And that small bit of care undid me.
I was falling headfirst down a dangerous slope, longing for a fantasy that could never actually be reality.
As though he sensed that panic, that despair creeping in—even though I told myself to just enjoy the good time, to appreciate the pair of glorious orgasms and not want for anything more, even more of that fantasy—Talbot pushed up, his pupils still dilated, his forehead sheened with sweat, his damp hair skewed in every direction. “What is it?” he asked, fingers coming to my cheek. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then what?” His thumb swept under each eye, not to wipe away tears because I wasn’t weak enough to give in to them at this moment, even though misery at my stupidity was becoming rampant. I’d opened Pandora’s box, letting hope escape. I’d peeked inside the t
reasure chest and found it empty—or perhaps filled with jewels and gold I couldn’t carry home. I’d tasted ambrosia but would never again be able to savor the food of the gods.
Later, I’d pick up a sad-ass book. I’d let myself cry about the characters, rid myself of this knot, even while trying to convince the universe that the tears weren’t about me at all. I was just wrapped up in the story.
I’d done it time and again.
Plenty of grief, plenty of heartbreak.
Plenty of techniques to pretend I had neither.
“That was good,” I said, not letting him coax another confession out of me. Magical cock was bad enough. He didn’t need to know about my sad-ass childhood, nor the various sad-ass things of my adulthood.
Hell, no one knew everything about all that happened.
Not Maggie. Though she knew parts.
The rest of it, I held closer, buried deeper. Because it was the only way I knew how to survive.
“Tammy,” he warned in that delicious raspy voice.
But I wasn’t weak. I wouldn’t give into that sexy order. Even though I really wanted to, had really enjoyed where it had taken me in the last thirty minutes.
I wound my arms around his shoulders, brought his mouth down to mine. “You do have a magical cock,” I murmured, and then I kissed him, wondering if I could distract him long enough to escape, how I could interrupt his inquisition and don some armor to protect myself from the man and my fantasies and my weak, desperate heart.
Footsteps.
I didn’t register them at first.
Not until they were coming closer. Closer.
I tore my lips free, breathing heavily, trying to listen over the sound of my pulse thrumming in my eardrums.
Talbot was in no better shape. His breaths puffed against my mouth as he said, “Tell me—”
And then I got my interruption.
Only . . . I wasn’t able to escape as Maggie strode into the bedroom. “Why the fuck didn’t you call me—oh my God!”
Chapter Eleven
Talbot
I whipped my head over my shoulder at the gasp, unwittingly exposing Tammy to Maggie’s gaze.
“Tammy?” she breathed then immediately clamped her hands over her eyes before spinning around and knocking into the doorframe as she fumbled her way out of the bedroom. “Oh, son of a paparazzo.”
A moment later, her arm reappeared, but not her body, as that almost disembodied limb reached for the knob, dragging the door shut.
Click.
Yeah, the first thing I could think was, Oh, son of a paparazzo.
Yeah, I’d stolen it from Maggie.
Yeah, it was apropos.
Tammy was shoving at my chest, and I pulled out, my cock still rock-hard. Despite the orgasm, it wasn’t nearly satisfied. I wasn’t nearly satisfied, especially when her lips formed a small little “O” as I left her body. Then she shoved up off the bed, digging her hands into her hair, a soft moan leaving her mouth. But not one of the soft, sexy moans she’d been making just a few minutes before.
No, this one was a soft sigh of misery.
“Hey,” I said, coming up next to her.
Another groan.
“Are you in pain?”
“Pain of embarrassment, maybe,” she muttered, finally lifting her hands from her face and looking up at me. “How much did she see?”
“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was more of me than you?”
Her face screwed up. “No, in fact, it wouldn’t.” She was quiet for a beat. “Okay, yes, it would.” Hazel eyes on mine. “My childhood bestie didn’t see my hoohaw?”
My lips twitched.
She swatted me.
“It’s not so bad,” I said. “It’s not the first time—”
Her fingers pressed to my lips. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”
I peeled her fingers free. “I was going to say, It’s not the first time Maggie has seen me naked.”
“I said, I don’t want to know.”
“However,” I said, being purposefully blithe as I continued, “This is the first time she’s caught me with a woman.”
“I’m so happy to be the first,” she muttered.
“My point is that there haven’t been any other women.”
“Pft.” She pushed to her feet. “Okay, sure.”
I stood, too. “Sweetheart.”
“So not your sweetheart,” she snapped.
God, I liked her fire. But also, I could give some back of my own. “I was inside you all of two minutes ago.” Her cheeks went pink. “So obviously, you’re something to me.”
“A quick fuck?”
My temper peaked, and I found myself whirling to face her, fury in my voice. “You’re more than that.”
Another “Pft.” Her lips pressing flat. “We met all of yesterday. Oh, and also, you being allowed inside my body doesn’t link us together in any way.”
The hell it didn’t.
The sex had been fan-fucking-tastic, but it wasn’t just a fucking orgasm. There was more here, something worth exploring, and I’d felt it the moment she’d confronted me in the garden.
But she was still talking. “And it certainly doesn’t obligate me to your continued presence.”
No, it didn’t.
Of course, it didn’t.
Except . . . every cell in my body rebelled with the thought of just letting her walk out of my life.
I took her hand. “You saved me.”
A scoff, drawing her hand away. “More hero-worship bullshit.”
“Tammy,” I said.
Her teeth closed with an audible click, and she yanked the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around her. “I’d take the warning out of your tone if I were you.”
My temper was still frayed, growing even more so by the moment, by this woman’s resistance to admitting that there was something between us, even if that something was just a slender thread of connection, a green bud in the first stages of unfurling. But I’d had plenty of experiences in my life dealing with recalcitrant actors, and certainly a lot of experience with stubborn ass co-stars.
Enough that I could keep my temper.
Barely.
But I could still keep hold of it.
And the Oscar goes to . . .
“Tammy,” I said, making doubly sure that there wasn’t any attitude or warning in my voice. In fact, I made sure that my tone was completely and absolutely even with no trace of order or anger. “Why don’t you take that shower? I’ll go handle Maggie.”
Her lips pressed flat, which was an absolute crime against humanity. But her eyes told me that she was going to protest, just because protesting would mean that she didn’t have to agree with me.
“Come on,” I cajoled lightly. “I’m sure you want to feel clean.”
I hustled to the bathroom to retrieve the waterproof cover, pausing only to grab my towel and wrap it around my waist. I’d deal with the condom later.
“See?” I said, moving back to her and holding it up, waving it around like a flag. “I’ll help you get it on and leave you to get settled and—”
Something flashed across her eyes.
My words came faster. “I won’t look, I promise, I’ll just—”
Fingers on my arm.
“Okay.”
“And a shower will—” I broke off, turned to look at her. “You’re agreeing with me?”
There was still something almost fragile about her, as though pressure in the wrong spot might shatter her into pieces. But then she smiled, and I saw that flash again, only this time it was definitely tinged with amusement. Not a lot of it, as her tone was still a little bit sharp, but at least enough to take the sting out. “Can you spend at least one moment not arguing with me?” A beat. “Just one?”
I shut up, just nodded in response, and slipped the cover up and over her arm. “Okay?” I asked, smoothing the edge to make sure it would keep her arm dry.
“Yup.”
; She brushed past me, taking the blanket with her.
I followed, moving into the bathroom and immediately pulling out several fresh towels, a new toothbrush, and my toothpaste. Then, inspiration striking, I dug in my linen cabinet and pulled out a gift bag from an event I’d gone to the week before. Usually, I passed, but this one had been pressed into my hand as I’d left the party, and I hadn’t been able to demur. Today, however, it came in handy. I set it on the counter and pulled out the hair and body products. “Probably not your brand,” I said. “But they’ve got to be better than my stuff.” I nodded at the counter, where I had some deodorant, face wash, and other stuff. “Feel free to use mine, though, if you’d prefer.”
She swallowed, was quiet for a long time. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thanks.”
I nodded, slipped into the toilet room to finally deal with the condom, then stopped back by the sink to quickly wash my hands. The shower was still on, filling the room with sticky, humid air. I flicked on the fan, knowing that I was probably singlehandedly responsible for California’s drought that day but unable to regret what had just happened with this woman.
Hell, regret was the absolute last thing on my mind.
That had been incredible. She had been incredible.
“I’ll go take care of Maggie,” I said, unable to stop myself from cupping her cheek, from feeling some part of her skin against mine. “You take your time in here. Holler if you need anything.”
I watched her throat work as she swallowed then smiled gently when she nodded.
It was harder to force my hand to drop, to make my feet carry me back, carry me away from her and out the door of the bathroom, across to my closet to get some clothes on—no need to scar Maggie twice in one day.
And then I had to keep forcing them to move out into the hall, and then to the kitchen, where my lovely, beautiful, scowling publicist was standing next to the island, her arms crossed, her toe tapping on the ground, as I closed the distance between us.
One finger poked into my chest. Hard.
“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, Talbot Green?”