by Sierra Dean
Her hands lost their rhythm, and she let go of his cock, drowning in the perfect ecstasy of pleasure his mouth was giving her.
Just when she thought she might go mad, he pulled away with one last flick of the tongue. The look he gave her before settling back over her was a mix of triumph and near-drunken satisfaction.
“You want me,” he told her, a proclamation rather than a question.
“Yes,” she answered anyway.
“How bad do you want me?” His hands ran up the length of her thighs, fingers cupping her sex over the sheer lace of her panties. She gasped again from the unexpected electricity of his touch. “How bad?”
“Very.” She squirmed up to meet his exploring digits but suddenly felt too shy to touch him back. He was working her with the expert strokes of a master, and she had barely figured out paint by numbers. How could she hope to give him half the pleasure he’d already given her?
He pushed aside her underwear without removing it, slicking two fingers over her lips before delving inside her with deep, commanding thrusts.
“You want me bad.” He withdrew his fingers, circling her clit with his thumb in maliciously slow strokes. “You’re so fucking wet, baby.”
It was the dirtiest anyone had spoken to her, and the seedy quality of the words made her even wetter. She writhed up, arching her hips into his exploring fingers.
“I’m going to take these off.” He stopped touching her long enough to remove the embarrassingly dampened underwear and toss them aside. He returned his attention to her, favoring her with purposeful, slow strokes as he lay down on her again, kissing her.
The heat remained, but their almost indecent ferocity had mellowed. Now the kisses were gentle and sweet and made her feel warm through and through, while he used his well-trained fingers to bring her to the edge of what promised to be a mind-bending orgasm.
Like riding a roller coaster, she felt the tension building as she rose to the highest point, and right before she got there everything got slow, as if time were moving backwards and she might never make it over.
Then he thrust his fingers into her again while continuing to circle her clit with faster motions, and she fell. The roller coaster hit the edge, and she was in free fall, screaming her way to the bottom even though she couldn’t catch her breath.
He pulled his fingers out and kissed her softly while she trembled through the aftershocks of the orgasm, panting against his lips with her eyes shut tight like she feared she might fall apart if she opened them.
“You good, baby?”
“So good,” she whispered, when she found she could breathe again.
“You ready for me?”
She recalled the way she hadn’t been able to contain him with two hands, and how he’d filled her mouth earlier that night with both his thickness and length.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for you.”
Ethan laughed, his voice hoarse from heavy breathing. “You’d be surprised.”
He hopped off the bed and crossed the room to where his jacket sat on the couch. Rifling through the pocket, he withdrew a small foil packet, tore it open with his teeth and rolled it on with the perfected ease of a friendly handshake. She was impressed, both with the speed of his maneuver and that she hadn’t had to remind him to get a condom.
When he returned to the bed, he nudged her legs wider with gentle pressure from his thighs. Feeling the head of his cock at her opening, Sam froze, momentarily worried she wouldn’t be able to continue.
“Just relax,” he whispered, sensing her tension. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her more deeply this time. The now-familiar way his tongue flirted with hers and the perfect harmony of their lips working together made the nerves melt away, and she lifted her hips to meet him.
He entered her slowly, and in spite of her wetness he still felt huge. She winced, clawing at his back, her short nails digging into his skin as he thrust deeper.
They rode a fine line, the pain of her body stretching to accommodate him mixed with a formerly unknown ecstasy that found her climbing the tracks again, ready for another downward rush into bliss.
Sam clamped her legs around him, accepting him as deep as she could, and when he was fully sheathed, they lay still for a moment, both damp with sweat, her breath hitching.
“You good?” he asked again.
“Mmhmm.” Words weren’t going to happen, let alone full sentences.
He pulled out almost all the way, and Sam was amazed that a presence she’d once found invasive now left her feeling empty when it was gone. He thrust into her, harder this time, and she bit down on his shoulder to stifle her yelp. She worried if he thought it was hurting her he might stop. She didn’t want him to.
Remembering how to use her tongue, she said as much. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Good,” he growled in response, twining his fingers through her hair while he buried himself deep inside her over and over. Tears welled in her eyes from the overabundance of new sensations, feelings she couldn’t affix a name to.
He clutched her to his chest and pulled them both into a sitting position, clasping her hips while he showed her a new rhythm. She picked up the tempo, following the instructions of his hands as she rode him, her feet digging into the duvet.
He bit down on her nipple, and she jerked hard, screaming out his name as the orgasm hit her. It happened so suddenly she hadn’t had time to prepare for it. Her whole body clenched, and the tightness inside her made him feel twice as big.
He grunted, his body rocking against hers as he trembled slightly, and she felt his release like a sigh within her. When he lay down on top of her again, their arms and legs as disarrayed as a Picasso painting, they were both wet and breathing hard.
“Sweet Jesus,” she said, barely catching her breath.
“You told me to say thank you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sam was sleeping when Ethan left.
He planned to return, so he wasn’t sure why he felt sick about sneaking out. Maybe it was the act of leaving her in bed, her hair a tangled mess against the white sheets. Every part of him said that was where he belonged, but he had somewhere he needed to be.
Grabbing the envelope from the coffee table, he slipped his shoes on quietly and stole into the hall before Sam had a chance to notice he’d left.
If all went well, he could meet Julian, pay off his debt and walk away scot-free before Sam realized his side of the bed was empty.
His side of the bed.
Jesus, how had he gotten to that point so soon? In a matter of days he already wanted to mark his territory around her. Sam was different from other women he knew, she was special. She didn’t make him feel cheap or like an object.
Sex hadn’t been her ultimate goal with him.
But goddamn if the sex hadn’t been extraordinary. Which was saying something considering his line of work.
It had been so much more than what he had come to expect. The sighs and gasps and screams, none of it had been staged. When he’d made her come, he’d felt it in a way that couldn’t be faked. With Sam the sex was all about pleasure, not about camera angles or getting the money shot.
Coming inside a woman instead of on her—twice in one night no less—was a treat he hadn’t realized he craved so badly. Where some men wanted to go without condoms, Ethan had that luxury with his day job. Rigorous and regular testing for all actors meant fear of disease was next to none, and the female performers were all on birth control.
So bareback wasn’t that special for him.
But even with a condom on, getting to come inside Sam had felt like getting off for the first time as a teenager. It was better than having her swallow his load earlier. He started getting hard again thinking about it, and he didn’t want to meet Julian sporting a raging boner.
Instead he thought about what Julian would subject him to if he didn’t pay up, and that deeply unsexy, downright frightening thought put a damper on any brewing excitem
ent.
Ethan had texted Julian to meet him at a bar in Caesars Palace called The Gossy Room. It was in a public walkway between Caesars and the Bellagio, meaning violence would be kept to a minimum, but it was small enough people would mind their own business long enough for Ethan to conduct his transaction.
He took a cab the short distance between the two hotels and wound his way through the maze of the casino until he found the bar. Julian’s shiny silver-gray hair and patches of bald head were a beacon from down the hall, telling him the other man had arrived early.
Just his luck, because Julian hated to be kept waiting.
Ethan sat next to him on one of the cushy barstools. At least the older man had come alone. Or kept his dogs at a safe distance.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Julian commented.
Ethan didn’t bother pointing out he was still five minutes early. Arguing with Julian wouldn’t solve anything. It would only create new problems. And the last thing Ethan needed was new problems.
Instead, he muttered, “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Tell me you have what I want.”
Ethan ordered a scotch to satisfy the exhausted-looking waitress, and once she left he removed the envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the gleaming black bar. Julian peered inside the packet, counting the bills quickly but not missing a single one. He stopped and removed a piece of paper, handing it back to Ethan.
“Keep your receipt. Might need it for your taxes.” He chuckled to himself—a criminal laughing about fudging his income tax—and clapped Ethan on the back of his shoulder. Ethan winced to have the man touch him. “I’ve gotta say, I’m surprised you managed to pull it off. If I didn’t know better—and I do know better—I’d say you had lucky rabbits’ feet in place of your balls.”
Ethan forced a smile, nodding with Julian’s jokes while silently praying the older man would walk away.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Ethan.”
“Mmhmm,” Ethan managed to mumble.
“This makes us even. In the books.” Julian patted him on the back again. “But we’re old friends now, you and I. And I sometimes depend on the kindness of old friends. Understand?”
Ethan did understand. He got the message all too well.
He might be out of the red, but he was never going to be free of Julian.
When Julian left, Ethan glanced at the receipt he’d been given. It was a standard casino payout receipt, and he was about to crumple it up, but something made him look twice. It should have said cash from winnings, but instead it was cash from credit.
He studied it more carefully, and as the realization of what it was dawned on him, his stomach churned, threatening to bring up all the booze he’d just had. He must have read the slip ten times over, each time hoping it would change. If he could alter what was on it, he wouldn’t need to acknowledge the truth of what she’d done for him and all the repercussions that went along with it. It was a cash withdrawal slip from Sam’s personal credit card, not from table winnings.
The depth of what that meant struck him like a bucket of ice-cold water. Sam had lost his money, but instead of making him face Julian without it, she’d taken out ten thousand of her own money to pay off his debt.
He stared at the slip, still not fully comprehending it.
Why in God’s name would she do that?
Why would she go out on a limb for him, putting herself so deep into the hole to save his sorry ass?
And more importantly, how the hell was he going to repay her?
Sam rolled over, and her nose brushed against the rough stubble of Ethan’s jaw. For a moment she was surprised, forgetting how she had come to be in bed with him, then doubly surprised to find him still there with her.
“Hi.” He pulled her closer, tangling his legs with hers and placing kisses on her forehead, nose and lips. “You sleep okay?”
“Yeah.” She melted into the warmth of his body, the perfect smell of his skin—musky with a lingering hint of their sex on him. “You?”
“I had to go out for a bit. Took care of something.”
She raised her face and met his eyes. “And it’s all good?”
“It’s all good.” He didn’t seem as relieved as she’d hoped, and she worried the guy might have given him some trouble.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I promise. We’re golden.” He kissed her again, the teasing graze of his tongue chasing away her doubts, making her forget the concerned look on his face.
When he pulled back, the smile he gave her wasn’t lascivious. It was so sweet and open it made her feel warm all the way down to the bottom of her belly.
Sam thought about the money she owed and the river of shit she’d be paddling her way out of once she got home. But she took one look at him, and her problems faded away. For right now, she had it good.
Everything else could wait.
With each new kiss from Ethan she let all the worry and drama slip away. Money was money, and maybe it was worth it to have a few minutes like this.
At least she’d let herself believe that until the Visa bill came.
Chapter Twenty
Two weeks later
“I need something really naughty.”
The words on their own weren’t what Sam expected to hear on a bright Saturday morning, but coming from the miniscule, seventy-eight-year-old woman standing in her shop door, they were all the more out of place.
“I beg your pardon?”
Jessamine Bowler once claimed she began progressively shrinking after she turned fifty, and if things continued at their current pace, she’d vanish before she had a chance to die. She was currently under the five-foot mark, and that put her puffy orb of white hair under Sam’s chin. Bright eyes set under a deeply wrinkled brow stared up at her.
“I said…” Jessamine articulated her words slowly and clearly, as if Sam were the one losing her hearing, “…I need something really naughty.” The old woman thumped a pink-spined paperback against Sam’s chest and tapped the cover with a gnarled, pale fingertip.
Danielle Steel.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Sam took the novel so Jessamine would stop shoving it at her.
The older woman stepped backwards, wobbling slightly, then gave Sam a conspiratorial smirk. “I want to read something…tawdry.” A wink.
Sam couldn’t pretend she’d heard wrong. Mrs. Bowler was pushing eighty, and she’d just requested literary porn. Smut. She wanted the dirty stuff. And these days, who didn’t? It seemed like every other person who walked into Sam’s bookstore lately—especially since she’d gotten home from Vegas—wanted their reading to be a little on the wild side.
“Not you too,” Sam groaned, though she laughed as she said it. With the recent surge of interest in erotic titles, each one she sold served as a reminder of her NC-17 romp with Ethan. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in something else? Some Mary Higgins Clark? Some Proust for light reading, maybe?” She raised her brows hopefully, directing Jessamine’s attention to the dozens of loaded bookshelves with a sweep of her hand. “Anything?”
“Nope. Romance. Hot, quick and nasty. I don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”
Hot, quick and nasty. A pang shot through Sam when a wicked thought of Ethan surfaced. A man she hadn’t seen and had barely spoken to since her plane had lifted off the tarmac at McCarran International.
Sam sighed and pointed to the newly expanded erotica shelf. “The ones on the front-facing row are all Publishers Weekly top picks,” she added. “Very highly recommended.”
“Have you read any of them?”
“Not really my thing,” Sam said, walking away from Mrs. Bowler and sitting on the high stool behind her counter. True, the dirty books weren’t her cup of tea, but not because she had anything against the content. More like nothing in the pages of those books could compare to the passion she’d experienced in real life under the skilled hands and tongue of E
than Silver.
Since she’d gotten home, she’d tried her best to forget what had happened in Vegas. It wasn’t easy considering she nearly had a coronary every time she looked at her statement online. But all the same, Sam had her shop, she had her small-town life, and that was enough for her.
It had to be enough, because Ethan hadn’t called, and their only communication now was via short one- or two-word texts that made her more sad than happy. They’d spent the whole weekend in bed, but once she’d left, he’d practically vanished from her life.
She tried to be okay with the idea of never seeing him again, but some days—like when ancient old ladies asked for smut recommendations—Sam had to wonder if she was only kidding herself. Her time with Ethan had been the most exciting week of her life, and she could admit she’d hoped there was a way it could have continued. Too bad that didn’t seem like a possibility anymore.
While Mrs. Bowler hemmed and hawed over different trade paperbacks with scantily clad women in various bondage gear on their covers, Sam opened her laptop and browsed an online catalogue of upcoming releases. She added some paperback mysteries—popular with the old men at the diner—and more romance novels. She wasn’t going to deny the folks in Edison Falls a little extra spice just because she was suddenly sex-deprived.
A biography of Vàclav Havel—a Czech politician—caught her eye, and she added it to the order for herself. Nice and dry, no sex there.
Who was she trying to fool? She was just doing everything in her power to resist Googling Ethan for the seven hundredth time since getting home. Much to her embarrassment, she had visited the picture of them he’d posted online so many times that whenever she typed “t” into her address bar, it autocompleted the Twitter link for the photo.
They’d been happy in that picture, with a world of possibility ahead of them. Then Julian had ruined everything.
“I’ll take these.” Mrs. Bowler plopped a stack of shiny books on the rough wood counter, and Sam added the pink Danielle Steel to the short tower.