by Desiree Holt, Lisabet Sarai, Lily Harlem, Elizabeth Coldwell, Wendi Zwaduk, Imari Jade
I took a sip of champagne.
“Without further ado, please sit back enjoy the music and the show. There will be time afterwards for press to ask questions.”
The lights dimmed and an enormous white screen glowed behind the stage.
I sat back, knotted my fingers in my lap and sucked in a deep breath. I hadn’t had a chance to see the final result of our filming…I’d been too busy. Nerves, apprehension and curiosity suddenly flooded my system.
Through the silence of the packed room, the first tinkling sounds of a piano flowed through the air. The brightness of the screen slowly faded so that it showed the windows of the room we’d filmed in. They were blinding white against the pale carpet and walls, and in each stood a tall, broad silhouette—Nari and Ricardo. Standing only in jeans that appeared the palest shade of blue because of the way the shot was overexposed, they were perfectly still. The camera moved slowly from Ricardo to Nari, closed in on their beautiful backs and tight butts allowing the viewer to absorb every tiny indentation and sinewy taut muscle.
The tune picked up a fraction and the camera pulled back, suddenly my butt filled the screen, high and pert and fabulous in the striking scarlet lace thong. As I strutted towards the men, my feet were in perfect time with the notes playing out. The camera stayed still and my back and legs stretched into the shot and finally my swishing hair and bare feet.
Once level with Nari and Ricardo, I also became a silhouette. There I paused, then reached out and touched their shoulders.
The shot swung to Nari’s face as he turned and studied me with an expression of red hot lust. His eyes were blacker than black and glistened shamelessly as he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. He cupped my chin, drew me to face him. Our skin was pale and backlit by the sun, making our features all the starker.
The tune picked up to a racier pace, soaring through the air and the attention moved to our lips. The camera’s focus hovered while we were a whisper apart, then as we kissed it zoomed in close so that it was just our mouths filling the enormous screen. It was highly erotic to see a kiss so huge and detailed and to observe Nari’s mouth taking charge as it covered mine.
Ricardo’s expression was next in the shot as the music dipped to a deep, masculine low. His longer hair, carefully messy, flopped forward slightly as he pressed his lips to my shoulder blades.
I squirmed on my chair. I could almost feel that soft kiss again.
“Fuck, those men look really hot for you,” Naomi whispered into my ear. “Either they are Oscar-standard actors or they really did fancy a piece of your ass.”
Draining my champagne to cover my discomfort, I gave a nonchalant little shrug.
The cinematography was awesome. Nancy had captured all of our expressions exquisitely. I glanced around the audience. Without exception, everyone stared up at the big screen, eyes wide, mouths slackened. The stunning music was sexy and haunting, and the images captivating and daring. I could hardly dare think of how she’d portrayed me when I’d climaxed.
Glancing up again, I saw Ricardo swirling the tip of his tongue over my navel. I flashed to a memory of a time when Dale had filled my navel up with ice cream. It had been cold and made me shiver, then he’d licked it out before licking me lower, making me shiver for an entirely different reason.
A waiter topped up my empty champagne as the scene moved to the bed. I was sprawled on the bleached sheets in my pretty lace underwear, legs and arms outstretched. I looked great, thin and long, and my expression one of relaxation and bliss.
“New range La Perla?” Naomi whispered.
I nodded.
Ricardo and Nari were kissing my feet, every lick and press of their lips caught by the camera, their dark hair a sexy contrast to the paleness of my flesh. Nancy then concentrated on their wonderfully elegant fingers as they smoothed up my legs then traced the outline of my hips and the material of my underwear. Four big, dark male hands exploring my body, leaving no section untouched. My spine was arching towards them, my flesh quivering under their fingertips, and my chest sighing beneath their palms. I hadn’t even been aware that had all been happening. It certainly hadn’t been acting on my part.
The music lifted, heading towards its big crescendo. My heart rate rocketed. I was sandwiched between Nari and Ricardo now, staring down at Nari’s face. My expression was one of pure desire, eyes wide and mouth loose as if about to speak. I remembered only too well that had been the moment my clit had come into contact with his granite-hard shaft.
Sweeping down our squashed tight bodies, the shot showed how tiny I was between the two enormous men—my long limbs slender and delicate next to their big brawn. A textbook study of masculine and feminine, as opposite as night and day.
“You are one seriously lucky cow,” Naomi muttered under her breath then knocked back her drink in one go.
Ricardo was moving his hips to the beat of the music, pushing me into Nari. My clit began to hum at the memory. There was nothing I could have done about the build to climax that day. It had been impossible to resist.
I glanced across the room at Ingresso Livello. As if sensing my eyes on him, Nari turned to me. He tilted one side of his mouth in a wickedly sexy smile as his gaze snared mine.
He knew my secret.
Looking up at the screen again, I was greeted with a mega-close-up of my face.
Oh shit!
Nancy had captured my orgasm in glorious detail and timed it to coincide with the crashing climax of Il Piacere de Tre. My eyes had widened so that all the white could be seen around my midnight blue irises, and my jaw was dropped low as if in a silent exclamation. Then with a sudden crinkle of my features, my jaw tensed and my teeth came together. My eyes rolled back in their sockets as my lids fluttered shut.
The shot rolled to Nari’s face, his expression exquisite agony, then to Ricardo’s back, moving and writhing and coated in a glistening sheen of sweat.
A flush of mortification ran through me as the music came to a lulling end and the screen flicked off.
“Fabulous acting, darling,” Naomi said, nodding approvingly. “Simply fabulous.”
“Er, thanks.” I studied her face, looking for signs of sarcasm. There didn’t appear to be any. She just looked impressed.
“Hopefully Rachel will be getting calls from Hollywood,” she said, “after that performance.” She lit a cigarette, despite the no smoking rule.
“Yes, that would be great.” Applause rang through the club and I glanced at Nari and Ricardo, who were smiling and accepting compliments from all around the table. There seemed to be much handshaking and back-slapping going on.
Had I got away with it?
Naomi knew me better than anyone—well, except for Dale—and she’d thought I’d been acting. It seemed my sneaky orgasm would be a secret between Nari and me…and that was okay, because I knew a much bigger secret about them.
I suddenly felt hot and wanted a moment alone before I had to get involved in the excitement. Naomi’s smoke was thick and I knew no one would dare ask her to put it out. Reaching for my bag, I pulled it over my shoulder as I stood.
“Back in a minute,” I said to Naomi.
Spinning on my heels, I then strode to the exit, intent on finding the ladies’ restroom and recovering my composure.
I stopped.
Froze.
My breath caught in my chest.
Standing in the doorway, his impossibly wide shoulders filling the space and his head nearly skimming the frame, was Dale. He wore his soft, black leather jacket and leather cycle trousers and held his motorbike helmet in his right hand.
What the hell was he doing here?
I stepped up to him, trying to ignore the fact that he was even more soul-achingly gorgeous than I’d remembered. He’d had his hair braided into corn rows and it suited him, highlighted his masculine features and his high cheekbones.
“Tiffany,” he said, in a quiet murmuring voice that made my knees turn to jelly.
“Why ar
e you here, Dale?”
“I needed to see you.”
The dim lights in the room cast shadows on his coffee-coloured skin and I could see that he looked tired. “You haven’t needed to see me in four months,” I said, folding my arms. “Why today?”
He shook his head and his blacker than black eyes narrowed as he pulled his brows low. “Because I’ve finally realised what a fucking idiot I’ve been, Tiff. Without you I’m empty, hollow. There is no reason to get up in the morning, no damn reason to go to bed at night.”
A bubble of hope grew in my belly. Was he saying he missed me the way I missed him? I beat down that teasing emotion, the possibility of letting it grow then having it burst was too scary…more than my bruised soul could cope with. I was getting on with my life, getting over Dale…
Wasn’t I?
“Baby,” he said, reaching out and cupping my jaw. “Can you ever forgive the idiotic way I’ve behaved?”
I shook my head, felt the sharp nip of tears behind my eyes.
He set down his helmet then placed his other hand on my opposite cheek. “You know I found it hard—you dashing off all the time, fancy cities and fancy people, leaving me at home waiting for you.”
“You were working, too,” I managed even though my throat was as dry as a desert.
His wide, full lips tipped into a grin. “Yeah, but not doing the sort of stuff you do.” He nodded over my head at the screen. “Did you enjoy that assignment?”
I shrugged. “It was a job, it paid well.” He didn’t ever need to know exactly how I’d been paid for my troubles. That was none of his business. Not when we hadn’t been together at the time.
“You look great even if it does pain me to see other men worshipping your body… I’m sure it will get you plenty of acting opportunities.”
I swallowed tightly. “I hope so.”
Dale lowered his head, his mouth a hair’s breadth from mine. “I’m different now. I’ve had a chance to get my mind around the fact that my woman is always going to earn more money than me, is always going to have people adoring her body. It took time apart for me to sift through the emotions.”
Placing my hands on the cool material of his jacket, I urged him to go on with a furrow of my brow.
He sighed. “I’ll admit I was jealous of everyone who was getting a bit of you. I felt like battling away on the stocks to make a wage that was insignificant compared to what you earn made me less of a man. But then when I put all that out of my head—”
“Where have you been?”
“Over to LA to stay with my cousin. Quiet time, long walks on the beach missing you, early nights…missing you.”
“You didn’t call.” I tried hard to keep the whine from my voice but I couldn’t help a pout. “Not even to let me know you were okay.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I should have. I should have called to see if you were okay. You were pretty upset when I left.”
He touched his lips to mine and that pesky bubble of hope grew to the size of a hot air balloon.
“Baby, take me back,” he breathed against my mouth, “say you will forgive a jealous, confused fool and allow me to spend the rest of my life making up for the last four months. I love you, Tiffany O’Dell. You are devastatingly beautiful on the outside, but I also know how caring and considerate and flawlessly beautiful you are on the inside too.”
He released my face and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pink heart-shaped piece of paper I recognised.
“I found this when I put on my jacket this morning.” He held it up so I could read my neat, boxy handwriting—I will always love you.
He tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth. “I miss the notes you were always leaving me. Notes with words that would make my heart sing all day.”
I took the slip of paper and ran my finger over the ink. It was true, I would always love Dale. He was the one for me. No one else had ever made every aspect of my life feel so rich and perfect.
Suddenly he dropped to his knees, cupped my small hands in his big, dark ones. “Tiffany O’Dell,” he said, his eyes glued on mine. “Would you do me the very great honour of marrying me?”
His words took a moment to register. They swam and swarmed in my mind, struggling to settle into place, but when they did, a huge, dazzling light filled my soul and my heart soared.
Dale still loves me.
Dale wants to marry me.
After the agony of not being with him, the sudden wild elation seemed so much bigger, so much sweeter—a heady drug to feast on. “Yes, oh yes, you know I will. Dale, I love you so much, I always will.”
I dropped to my knees and threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against the skin and scent I wanted to be close to for all of time. He hugged me tightly and possessively, and with every wonderful, desperate kiss we shared, I knew that true happiness had—finally—returned to my life.
About the Author
Lily Harlem lives in the UK with a workaholic hunk and a crazy cat. With a desk overlooking rolling hills her over active imagination has been allowed to run wild and free and she revels in using the written word as an outlet for her creativity.
Lily’s stories are made up of colourful characters exploring their sexuality and sensuality in a safe, consensual way. With the bedroom door left wide open the reader can hang on for the ride and Lily hopes by reading sensual romance people will be brave enough to try something new themselves–after all, life’s too short to be anything other than fully satisfied.
Email: [email protected]
Lily loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com
Also by Lily Harlem
Thief
Escape to the Country
Christmas Crackers: Candy Canes and Coal Dust
Bollywood: The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita
THREE-PART HARMONY
Elizabeth Coldwell
Dedication
For Fi, my fellow Wistow Witch
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Fender Stratocaster: Fender Musical Instruments Corporation
Pineapple Dance Studios: Debbie Moore Enterprises
Call of Duty: Activision Publishing Inc.
Pro Evolution Soccer: Konami Digital Entertainment Inc.
Grammy Awards: National Academy of Recording Arts & Sciences, Inc.
Twitter: Twitter, Inc.
Goin’ Down: Don Nix
Chapter One
Mark quit the band six days before we were due to embark on our comeback tour.
It was the timing that really upset me, more than the news itself. After all, I’d been expecting him to leave at almost any time over the last eleven years, ever since the day I’d told him Stefan and I were getting married. Instead, he’d stayed—channelling all his sense of loss, betrayal and stone-cold determination never to let another woman hurt him the way I had, into songs that catapulted us to a level of international success far beyond our wildest dreams. Even during the eighteen-month hiatus we’d effectively been on between finishing our last tour and starting work on our latest CD, Mark had given no indication he was unhappy with the state of affairs. Indeed, the flow of ideas, the creative understanding between the three of us who wrote the songs, was as strong as it ever had been. So why walk out now, when Older, No Wiser was top of the download charts and the concert promoters were adding extra dates to the tour after the original ones had sold out within hours?
At least he’d had the decency to announce the news to our faces before leaking it on his Twitter feed. When he’d walked into the rehearsal room, lugging his faithful Stratocaster in its battered leather case, I should have realised something was wrong. But somewhere down the years, the almost telepathic understanding we’d once enjoyed had faded, and now I simply assumed he was gru
mpy after a bad night’s sleep in a strange hotel room.
“Oh, and about time, too!” Paul put his coffee mug down on top of the speaker stack with a theatrical flourish and went to sit behind his drum kit. As half of the rhythm section responsible for keeping time and pulling everything together tightly, he liked to extend that role into the rest of his life. Mark’s lack of punctuality never failed to annoy him.
“Sorry, guys. I would have been here sooner, but—” Mark sighed, pushing a hand through his black hair. “Look, there’s no easy way of saying this, so I’ll just come right out with it. I talked to Jeannie for a couple of hours last night, and I just… I just don’t feel my place is in the band anymore. I’ve got things in my life I need to sort out. Things I should have dealt with years ago. I’m going over to Bodega Bay to stay with Jeannie for a while. She’s going to help me work through them.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re walking out on us?” Stefan sounded strangely calm. I was anything but. I knew if I opened my mouth now it would be to emit a scream of pure rage. “A week before we’re supposed to open the tour in Pittsburgh, and you’ve decided that’s it? You’re off?”
“I appreciate this might not be the greatest time to do it, but I just can’t get up on stage night after night. Not with my head where it is right now.”
When had Mark stopped talking like the born and bred North London boy he was and started justifying his actions with a stream of mid-Atlantic psycho-babble? Probably about the same time he’d met and married Jeannie Montacute. A New Age therapist who ran an exclusive rehab facility on the California coast, she had encouraged Mark to quit drinking, start eating a macrobiotic diet and perform yoga on a regular basis. Even though they’d split up within two years of the wedding, they were still close. Closer than the rest of us thought, apparently, if the fact he’d gone to her for advice was any proof.