by Rosie Vanyon
He actually drooled, then and had to wipe his fuzzy chest. Really need to see about a wax…
He was hard straight away, his cock feeling bloated to bursting already. He glanced down, his eyes practically bugging out of his head like a cartoon character. He was enormous! And kind of…furry? In fact, his legs on either side of his mammoth manhood were looking decidedly strange—overly muscular, covered in grayish fur and ending in…paws?
He might have given the odd state of his body more thought, but his gigantic dick was demanding his full attention and Red was rummaging in her doctor’s bag, waving that lace-covered tush in the air.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He could smell her sex, taste her hunger in the air. No need to wait, he thought. He was huge and solid and wild—and she wanted it. He could take her, now! He crouched at the bedside, preparing to spring at her. His mouth watered. All he could think about was ripping off those teasing red panties and plunging his hard animal cock into her.
At that moment, she looked up and tilted her head to the side, shaking it in reproval and wagging her index finger in his direction.
“Now, now, Grandma. You’ve always told me to wait until a treat is offered before you take it, and now you’re forgetting yourself. I will have to punish you.”
Levi hung his head, his ears wilted, his tail—his tail?—drooped. But his mouth revealed a tiny smirk and his heartbeat tap danced his excitement. She was going to punish him!
The collar was red and studded with spikes. Her hands gently fastened it around his neck. The touch of her fingers was charged and thrilling. The leash was a heavy metal chain and she clasped it to the collar. Finally, she gestured that he should return to the bed and lie on his back, where she affixed the chain to the headboard and stepped back to admire her handiwork.
If he was hard before, he was freaking cement—titanium!—now. She was so self-assured and yet so sensual. He wanted her. Badly. But she was out of reach and he was chained to the bed. Torture—but delicious torture.
She gave a nod of satisfaction and then proceeded to seek more satisfaction, it seemed, running her fingertips over her satiny body, smoothing them under the edge of her bra to titillate her nipples, slithering them around the legs of her teensy lace shorts. Meeting his eyes with sultry haughtiness. Leaving him panting and ravenous.
Slowly, deliberately, she slid her fingers beneath the boy leg, shifting it to the side so he glimpsed her plump folds and trimmed hair. She was flushed and swollen down there, he thought. Perfectly primed to take his colossal cock. As though to punctuate his thought, she pushed an index finger deep inside herself and, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back as her body engulfed it.
He thought he might come just watching her.
Then she withdrew the glistening digit and extended it to him. The scent of her center almost undid him. She stepped closer and rubbed her moist finger over his lips. The honey taste of her was unbearably strong and sweet. He growled his impatience. He wondered if he lunged at her whether the bed would give.
“What’s the matter, big boy? Can’t take your medicine?”
But she must have taken pity on him, for she moved toward him. When he reached for her, she swatted his hands away. Still and prone, he waited impatiently for her to climb onto the squishy bed and position herself between his legs. The blow job was the best thing he’d ever felt. She was painstaking and persistent, patiently licking and sucking every inch of him—and there were a lot of inches—taking him deep into her throat and lapping the sensitive tip. She lured him closer and closer to the edge of climax, then backed off fast, leaving him gasping and groaning.
Just when he thought he could take no more, that he would have to assert his will and demand that she satiate him, she surprised him by changing tacks. She indicated he should turn and position himself on his knees.
Shakily, he obliged, watching her in all her commanding, steamy glory. Did she know how perilously close she was to being taken? She winked at him. She knew, all right. And, though it hardly seemed possible, her knowledge aroused him further.
With her hands on him, she arranged him in the posture she wanted him in. A moment later, she lay on her back, slithered between his legs, and went to work on his swollen balls from beneath him, licking and nipping and sucking each plump globe hard into her mouth.
His dick ached with need, his juices were seeping out and running down his shaft like desperate tears. He needed her, he wanted her, he had to have her.
Maybe she sensed his urgency, maybe she felt his control slipping, but a second later, she shimmied up from where he straddled her, levering herself up his body with her hands on his shoulders. Pressed against him, she plonked a quick kiss on his lips. He could taste the musk and fire of his loins on her sweet, pliable mouth.
“Red…” he warned, the need to explode only moments away.
But she was already unhooking the leash from the headboard, so he was chained but not bound.
He met her eyes then. His control was more tenuous than he thought possible. He wanted her so keenly that he was shaking with the effort not to cross the line between man and beast. For the beast would have no thought for her, no care, no patience. The beast would simply take what was his, hard and fast. The beast would fuck her like an animal.
She blinked her agreement and smiled her consent. He waited one beat, two, just to be sure. She was still smiling, promising, encouraging.
He could stand it no longer. He hauled her ass against his crotch, positioned his throbbing rod against her opening, pushed her head roughly down against the pillows. Her sex was deeply hued, engorged, and dripping. He stared at it for a moment, barely able to breathe. He had never felt so stimulated, so excited as he did in this moment. And her desire matched his. She was more than ready for him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
“Please…” she whispered, and he needed no further invitation.
He pushed his cock into her tight channel in one smooth stroke. She was impossibly hot, silky, and constricted and he almost lost his load with that first motion. He paused. She started to move. He held her head down against the bedding by her golden hair, stilling her.
Slowly, gradually, he began to rock against her. The sensation was glorious, divine! Squeezing wet heat, rough breath, the slap of skin on skin, primal sounds of pleasure…
“More…” she begged.
He could hold off no longer. He rammed his stiff, throbbing penis hard into her core, over and over until the pressure of his restraint actually hurt. Nothing had ever felt this good or this bad. He hadn’t even known he could feel so worked up. On a scale of one to ten, his pleasure factor was off the charts and his entire being shrieked for respite.
“Please…” she said. “Fuck me.”
And he did—pounding mindlessly into her until, seconds later, buried deep inside her, he roared his release, his lust and relief and amazement all bundled into the raw, visceral sound…
His own shout woke him. Levi came back to himself breathless and drenched with sweat in the faerie glade room. His heart hammered, his extremities tingled, and for a moment, his mind could not make sense of the morning. Though he scrambled to hold on to it, the dream was dissipating fast. Red fur, red lace, red leather… But then it was gone and he was left drained, depleted, and alone.
****
The morning dawned watery and gray, the weather as washed out and dreary as Levi felt. There was no sign of the rain easing, no chance of the road clearing. And no hope, it seemed, of finding middle ground with a certain tempestuous writer. So, he was cranky. And horny.
It didn’t help that even tired and rumpled she looked like some sort of morning angel, he thought as she brewed tea and coffee and turned only slightly singed hotcakes onto a pair of plates. Her hair caught the pale light drifting in through the window and her curls haloed her face, accentuating those sapphire eyes he couldn’t get enough of.
She moved like a dancer, he thought as she carr
ied their breakfasts to the table. All long-limbed grace and economical elegance. He loved her poise, her balance, her classy walk and the comely tilt of her head. He loved watching her eat, the way her lips caressed each morsel, the lap of her tongue at the corner of her mouth, the flutter of her eyelashes as she savored each bite.
She ate liked she loved, he realized. Thoughtfully. Intently. Wholeheartedly.
And therein lay the problem. How could he stay mad at her, let alone force his will upon her, when all he could think about was how he wanted to thoughtfully, intently, and wholeheartedly ravish the living daylights out of her?
“Looks like we’re stuck here together for a bit longer,” he said, wondering how he was going to deal with being cooped up in this house with her. If only he hadn’t brought up the subject of the changes to the script, maybe they could have just boinked their way happily through the flood and dealt with the serious issues later. Maybe he could have appointed Otto to do his dirty work and discuss the script with her. Or Candy, his faithful assistant, currently working on his personal pet project—she was good with people. Hell, even if he’d broached the topic a little more gently, he thought, perhaps there would be some way to convince her to ease the ache of the permanent hard-on he’d had since he first laid eyes on her—and get the movie on track, too.
Damn it, he had to give the conversational nightmare a decent shot. And he had to do it now.
Her next words smoothed the way.
“Look, I’m sorry about what I said last night…” she began.
“No. You were right. Spot on, in fact. I do care about money. It motivates me. But it doesn’t drive me in and of itself.” Levi chose his next words carefully. “I need to be up front with you, Cara.”
She clearly sensed the somberness in his tone, read the seriousness in his body language, and he saw her shift from uneasy calm to hyper-readiness in a heartbeat. She put her fork down and straightened her spine, met his eyes with an unwavering gaze. God, she was tough, he thought. And that was the sexiest thing about her.
He didn’t like that he had made her tense up and he hated that they had to be opponents. Things were so much better when the two of them played nicely together. If only there was some middle ground.
There was no room for compromise, he reminded himself. Forcing himself to get on with the unpalatable task at hand, he dropped his eyes to his shoes. He told himself he was looking away so he wouldn’t have to take in her taut muscles and drawn expression, so he wouldn’t waver. But deep inside, he knew it was shame that made him avert his gaze. She would never entrust him with her film, let alone her body, if she knew what a cad he was. She would not even be sitting here listening to him if she knew his horrible secret.
“I’ve put everything I own on the line for the…our film. Not just the company, but also my house, my yacht, my car... Hell, if the film fails, they’ll probably take the shirt off my back.”
He glanced up, watched her evaluate his words, and dropped his gaze to his runners once more.
“That’s quite a gamble,” she offered cautiously.
“There are two reasons I made that gamble,” he told his Nikes steadily. “One is that I believe in the film—your film. But you already know that.”
He sensed her nod, holding her breath, as though she knew there was something weighty coming.
“The other reason is that I need money. Lots of money. More money than I can make out of fifty art-house films. And I need it fast.” His running shoes didn’t respond to his shameful admission, so he looked up again. He watched her mind race, slicking over the possibilities. It was as though her thoughts were scrolling by in subtitles—Gambling debts? Blackmail? Drug habit?
“It’s nothing illegal, nothing dodgy,” he assured her, and forced himself to look her in the face, despite the squirming indignity of his admission. “But it’s real and it’s critical and... Look, let’s just say I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s a matter of life and death.”
She paused for a few moments, taking in what he said. Weighing up his words. Evaluating his body language. Turning his confession this way and that in her mind. Assessing it.
“So,” she said at last. “I have a mission to tell the truth and you have a mission to make money fast.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“And to make money fast, we need a movie with more action, more violence, and more sex.”
“To guarantee success at the box office, we need those elements, yes.”
“But those elements do not reflect the truth.”
“As you see it.”
“As I see it. It sounds like we’re at an impasse,” she said.
“It does. But—”
“No buts. I won’t allow this movie to progress as anything but a faithful representation of the truth as I understand it.”
There was no heat in her tone, none of her earlier defensiveness, just an unvarnished statement of fact.
“So you’ve said, Cara, but—”
“Could the film make money without your changes?”
“Look… No. Maybe…”
“Have you considered finding another film to make?”
He banged his fist against the chair leg. He worked hard not to flinch. “There’s no time! And besides, do you know how rare a screenplay like yours is? This is a once in a lifetime script, Cara. I’ve put all my eggs—my house, my car, right down to my freaking cufflinks—into this particular basket. If we pull the pin now, I’m screwed. If we ditch the project...”
He didn’t have to say the words. They echoed silently around the room. Someone will die.
His stare returned to his shoes. Eyelets, laces, logos, tread...
For long minutes, neither of them spoke. At last, he turned to her, capturing her gaze with his own.
“At least think about what I’ve said,” he said, rising smoothly to his feet and walking away.
Chapter Nine
Levi was doing a lot of that, lately—walking away. And if they couldn’t come to some resolution over the screenplay, she suspected he would be walking away one more time, forever.
Cara was choked with tension, twisted with conflict. Her feet wore tracks in the shaggy cream rug of the study. The sound of persistent rain on the roof was doing her head in. She’d have given her leather jacket to spend a few hours outside, riding off this stress. Then again, she didn’t have a bike. That thought just notched up her angst and she felt as though her head might detonate. Why did everything have to be so damn complicated?
When Levi had held her close as they danced in the candlelit kitchen last night, she had told him that she liked him. No sooner had the words left her lips than she recognized the lie in them. Like cheap perfume or imitation leather, something rang false in the reality before her. The realization jolted her into understanding, and the truth had been like a cascade of cool water, cleansing and chilling all at once. What she felt for him was more than “like,” she was forced to admit. Far, far more.
As she trailed up and down the hearth rug, her mind drifted over the past few days—her instant attraction to Levi when he’d discovered her naked in bed, his protective manner over the theft of her motorcycle, the way he listened to her side of her argument with her sister, and his propensity to pamper her with food and dancing, providing anything she needed, almost before she knew she needed it...
There was something compelling about a man who could be so in tune with her, so generous and so giving.
Then there was the big duo—his utter faith in her film and his downright heady ability to take her body to places she had never dreamed existed.
Yes, her feelings for him were more than “like.”
She thought about the way he had looked as they slowly waltzed the small back kitchen together. Manly features, tan skin, a sensual mouth, and stubbled jaw. She thought about the dirty blond hair falling becomingly over his forehead, the curve of his ear with the faint ancient pierced hole, the beauty spot on his neck jus
t above his left shoulder, the scar.
She recalled the feel of him against her, the play of his muscles as he drew her closer, the graze of his cheek against hers, the hardening evidence of his arousal as they moved together in a courtship dance as ancient as time itself.
Cara paused in her pacing, felt the rapid thrumming of her heart, the shortness of her breath, the ache deep inside her.
It really was love, she conceded quietly to herself. With stealth and cunning, the emotion had somehow crept up on her, breached her defenses, insinuated itself in her heart, and taken up residence without so much as alerting her normally heavily guarded feelings or setting off any alarm in her emotional garrison. Somehow, she had fallen prey to Levi Callister and the feelings he engendered in her. And somehow, she was going to have to deal with this development.
Love was something she didn’t need, didn’t have time for. She was an individualist. Everything she did, she did solo. Hell, she rode a motorcycle and she wasn’t looking for a pillion. She couldn’t even keep a cat. The last thing she needed was to find herself boxed in to some sad, conventional life where the day boiled down to arguments over the remote or who left the milk out. Imagine having to remember to be home for dinner at a certain time... The idea of having to account for her whereabouts was abhorrent. And the thought of keeping tabs on someone else was equally distasteful. She had learned a long time ago not to count on anyone but herself. And she was happy on her own, doing things her way, not answering to anyone, least of all some man... Wasn’t she?
Her mind switched back to the previous night and the smell of fresh bread baking, the flicker of candles and the feel of a man in her arms, and she knew she was lying to herself. She loved Levi and all that loving him might entail. She was suddenly consumed by the most profound loneliness she had ever experienced. She wanted him, a life with him, in the worst and most dire way. For a moment, in the study, she could almost taste that life, and it brought tears to her eyes. Her heart clenched. Her soul keened. It took all her strength not to run to him and pour out her newly minted feelings. Beg him to have her. Beseech him to love her back.