His Eternal Flame

by Layla Valentine

  “Finally, the bedroom,” he said as he pulled me into it.

  “It’s a nice room,” I murmured, running my hand up his arm.

  He caught me around the waist and pulled me into a deep kiss. Excitement rattled my senses and burned in my veins as his tongue twisted around mine, as his hands swept over my body, brushing against every nerve, spreading warmth from the tips of my toes to my lust-drunk head.

  I was trembling with desire before he led me to the bed, picked me up, and lay me down beneath him. He cradled my shoulders with one arm, leaving his other to lazily trail over my quaking body as he kissed me.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, he slid his hand up under my skirt, gently pressing his thumb against my already swollen clit.

  Gasping into his mouth, I arched against him, wordlessly begging for more. Molten heat pooled between my hips, shooting a tingle through my most sensitive area, soaking through my satin panties.

  He teased me mercilessly, keeping me always on the very edge of climax, until I growled and bit his lip. With a sultry little chuckle, he moved his mouth down my throat.

  Freeing his arm, he pulled my dress and bra down to reveal one hard-peaked breast. An appreciative groan escaped his lips as he pulled my nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the tip, driving me wild.

  I was ready to beg. He wanted me to, I could feel it, but I never begged. I twisted my fingers into his curly hair, pulling just enough to heighten the pleasure with a hint of pain, making him moan against me, and he caved.

  He tugged my panties off, found my pleasure point once more, and plunged his fingers inside of me as his thumb worked in quickening circles.

  A rush of ecstasy washed over me like sweet fire, up from my toes, down from my breasts, to explode from my pelvis. My ears rang, my legs shook, and still he didn’t stop. He drove me over the edge again and again, until my entire body was putty in his hands. My cries of pleasure awakened the animal within him. I could see it raging behind his eyes as he stripped me out of my clothes and removed his own.

  My eyes widened as his boxers came off. I was no virgin, but I had never in my life seen a man so heartily endowed. He must have interpreted my heightened interest as fear, because he gave me a small, soft smile.

  “I’ll be gentle,” he promised in a low, husky whisper.

  “Not too gentle,” I insisted, tangling him in my legs to center him over me. “I want it all.”

  His eyes darkened in a reflection of the desperate lust which coursed through my own body and he slid into me—slowly, tantalizingly. He felt as big as he looked, filling me to the brim and beyond, pressing against the limits of what I could hold. He groaned and shuddered, lowering his head to kiss my collarbone.

  I was in heaven when he was inside of me. I was in another dimension when he began to move.

  Gentle and firm, just as I had suspected. He took his time, thrusting slowly as he used his eyes and mouth and hands on my body. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been encompassed like that in the bedroom, with every part of my body engaged and attended to. It stirred feelings deeper than lust, feelings which I was almost willing to risk acknowledging.

  “Roll that beautiful body over,” he told me as he flipped me, tucking one ankle over his shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed as he withdrew, then filled me all at once.

  He stroked my back, my ass, my breasts, caressing me as he stirred my senses. His bulging muscles slicked with sweat, he kissed my ankle and slid his hand between my thighs, playing my body like an instrument. As he pumped, faster and faster, rubbing on me with the heel of his hand, a universe of pleasure exploded within me.

  He groaned and cursed mildly under his breath, then grabbed my hips and turned them until I was on my hands and knees, never once breaking our intimate connection. His hands worshiped my curves as he plunged into me, a primal rhythm, an ancient dance. I felt his hands in my hair, tugging me back, arching me into him.

  Pleasure built again to an insistent ache, and I pushed back against him in time with his thrusts, needing more—needing everything he had.

  “Yes, baby,” he murmured, sending waves of excitement through my very core. “You’re so damn sexy.”

  His breath quickened with his thrusts, driving me to the edge. Then, he stopped. I gasped for breath, trembling in his grasp. He moved again, ever so slowly, running his hands over my back and hips, molding my body.

  Desperate for release, I slid away and rolled onto my back, pulling him into me with nails and thighs, arching up to slide around him.

  He gazed into my eyes for a long moment, just breathing. Stroking my face with one finger, he kissed me gently.

  “Relax,” he murmured. “Let go.”

  “I can’t,” I whimpered, locking my legs around his and pressing against his flat, hard belly. “I need you.”

  “Tell me how you need me,” he breathed, running his lips over my throat.

  “I need you inside me,” I breathed. “I need you to fill me up.”

  He groaned just under my ear and thrust hard into me. I cried out, my legs winding like steel springs around his hips, my pelvis crushed against his. He slid his hands up my body, pulling my arms over my head, holding my wrists down. Dante was the embodiment of masculine power, overwhelming me with his raw sex appeal, filling my senses with his pheromones.

  I bucked against him, demanding release, demanding his essence. With a slow, lazy grin, he kissed me. He pressed into me until I thought I would break, then moved in a circle, hitting every pleasure point with his thick length. I trembled with the power of it, giving myself up to him, utterly vulnerable in that moment.

  I felt his control snap, and I whimpered. He was so strong and so big that when his restraint left him, I was powerless. Anticipation tinged with just the slightest fear rocked me to my soul as he thrust into me, growling in my ear.

  He hit the right spot and I arched into him, crying out as I pulsed around him, shaking as I pressed against him. Dante swore and groaned, ducking his head as he let go, riding the wave of ecstasy with me. His breath burned my ear, his hands bruised my wrists, and with a primal growl, he emptied into me.

  I was a puddle of molten satisfaction. I sank into his bed as if I were one with it, my consciousness drifting on a hazy glow. He kissed my shoulder tenderly, indicated breathlessly that I should move to the pillow, then collapsed beside me.

  Snuggled into his Egyptian cotton sheets with his masculine scent all around me, I fought against the urge to drift off to sleep.

  I knew better than to sleep beside a one-night stand; something about dreaming in the same sphere, or lying skin-to-skin forged a bond which overwhelmed logic. I had broken my own heart that way more than once, and I had been determined not to do it again.

  In the last second, in my last glimmer of conscious thought, I told myself I really should get up and leave; but then his warm, heavy arm wrapped around my waist and he trailed his fingers lightly over my belly.

  With a comfortable, satisfied sigh, I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Golden sunlight kissed me awake, and I stretched luxuriously out on the infinitely comfortable bed. He must have spent thousands on this, I thought blissfully. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, a delirious smile already playing around my lips.

  I turned toward where I expected him to be, only to find his side of the bed empty. Curious and lazy, my gaze roamed around the spacious bedroom for a clock. The one on the bedside table said 8:16, which was better than I had expected.

  “Mm, good sleep,” I murmured as I stretched again. “Now, where did he say the bathroom was?”

  I padded around naked, opening doors. There should be a bathroom attached to this bedroom, shouldn’t there? I found the closet first, just as a door opened behind me.

  “Looking for something?” Dante’s voice asked, hard and suspicious.

  “Just the bathroom,” I said breezily, still too happy from last night’s
adventure to get defensive.

  Dante pointed at the third door in the room, and I thanked him. I gave him an extra little wiggle as I walked into the bathroom, hoping I could convince him to give me a repeat performance. There was nothing like a bit of horizontal cardio to start the day off right.

  But when I returned, he was already fully dressed, looking bored and a little impatient. He had my clothes in his hand, and he shoved them at me as I approached.

  “Oh…um, thanks,” I said, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor.

  “Yep.”

  “I had a great time last night,” I said, watching his face to gauge his reaction.

  He smiled briefly, absently scanning the room. Confusion was beginning to pound into some sickening mix of shame and fury in my chest, and I turned my back on him to dress in peace.

  “Hope you got enough for your story,” he said with an oddly gloating tone.

  “I have enough to get me started, at least.” Dressed and composed, I turned back to him. “Did I do something to piss you off?” I asked bluntly.

  Surprise finally broke through the detached look on his face.

  “Not at all,” he said. “You got what you wanted; I got what I wanted. It was a satisfying transaction.”

  “Transaction,” I repeated bitterly.

  He just shrugged casually and glanced at the door as if he were impatient for me to leave. I shoved my feet into my shoes, clenched my trembling hands into fists, and found my purse.

  “I’ll just forget about that dancing date you invited me on, I suppose?” I asked with acid in my tone.

  Half a dozen expressions brushed his face, none of which solidified. His only answer was a nonchalant shrug.

  “I see.”

  I was seething. With all of my things on my person and in hand, I stormed to the door and yanked it open. I was halfway down the hall when I realized he was behind me.

  “I can see myself out,” I snapped.

  “I have no doubt,” he said, but didn’t leave my side.

  “What is wrong with you? Are you actually two people, or do you just like screwing with women?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. I like to win, and I know what it takes to win. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Don’t take it personally!? How the hell else am I supposed to take it?” I demanded, whirling on him.

  “Look, darlin’,” he said, setting his hands on my shoulders as if I were a child on the brink of a meltdown. “You’ve got your own game to win. Keep your eyes on the prize. You got what you came for, didn’t you?”

  More than what I came for, really, I thought. I raised my chin defiantly.

  “You need help,” I told him. “Normal people don’t change their whole personalities overnight.”

  “I didn’t.” He shrugged, letting his arms drop. “I’m a competitive person. You knew this before you talked to me. You’re just missing one tiny detail.”

  “Which is?” I demanded, my hand on the front doorknob.

  Dante smirked, an expression which should have made him less attractive, but somehow didn’t.

  “Palmer and I aren’t just competing on the ice,” he said. “And goals aren’t the only things we’re scoring.”

  Every nerve in my body fired and I froze. He didn’t mean…?

  “Quit speaking in code.”

  “Really? I thought a writer would understand subtlety. Ah, well. Palmer and I are competing to see how many women we can bed before the end of the season. Thanks to you, I’m winning.” His smirk grew wider, making him look almost menacing.

  I hated myself for the sudden twist of arousal deep inside of me. With my heart pounding fit to burst, I suppressed the urge to claw his eyes out. Composure regained, I looked up at him, meeting his smoldering eyes with shards of ice.

  “You know, last night I was impressed at how mature and sophisticated you were for a jock,” I spat. “I thought you would be above these stupid, immature, childish games. Clearly I was wrong.”

  I didn’t wait for him to answer before I stormed out, slamming the door behind me. I cursed him all the way down the hallway, into the elevator, and out the lobby. Once outside, I realized I didn’t have my car, and cursed him again. Shivering with rage as much as cold, I called a cab.

  Chapter 8

  My fury only increased when I stepped out of my elevator to find my neighbor Luis lurking by my front door. His ratty bathrobe hung to his knees, exposed in the cutoff pajama pants he wore. His scalp glistened within the nest of thin blond hair which he insisted on keeping in spite of his rapidly spreading forehead. He always seemed to be hovering in the hallway, but this was the first time I had caught him at my door.

  “Did you need something?” I asked as civilly as possible.

  “Oh! There you are…oh.” He looked me up and down disapprovingly. “Walk of shame, I see.”

  “That only works if I’m ashamed of myself,” I pointed out lightly.

  “I see,” he said, his frown becoming a glower. “You know, young lady, you should really be more careful about your reputation. There are some terrible characters around.”

  “So I’ve heard,” I said seriously. “Mrs. Morales told me just yesterday that there’s some creep in the building going around looking backwards through peepholes.”

  He flushed bright red and shuffled away from my door. I moved past him to unlock my door when he grabbed my wrist, and I froze.

  “If you need a chaperone, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” I hissed, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Can I go now?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I yanked my arm away and unlocked my door as quickly as I could. Luis opened his mouth to speak, but I ducked inside and slammed the door before he could. His irritating presence would have been a mere annoyance most days, but today it only stoked my rage.

  With my mind filled with everything that was wrong with the male species, I marched to my computer. I was set on writing the most scathing, career-destroying expose on Mr. Drake that I could come up with. My fingers flew over the keys, fueled by my hurt.

  Dante Drake: Heartthrob, star player, asshole. Yes, dear readers, the man you all love and adore is one-hundred-percent douche bag, and I will tell you why. Mr. Drake is not only determined to ruin Joel Palmer, he is dead set on ruining every woman who has the misfortune of crossing his path. He will whip up your emotions, see into your soul, and then…

  I paused, hands poised, waiting for instruction. The “and then” was tripping me up, filling my mind with memories from the night before.

  “And then he’ll rock your world,” I mumbled, staring off into space.

  My body still held the impression of him. His firm torso. His gentle, demanding hands. His talented mouth, and God, those lips. A hot chill rushed over me, pooling in my belly.

  “No, damn it! I’m pissed,” I scolded myself. “Who does he think he is, using me that way? How many women has he slept with and tossed aside? Somebody needs to warn them.”

  I glared at the cursor flashing on the screen, willing my brain to put the words together. They wouldn’t come, and I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew why. I didn’t want to ruin him, not really. An article like this would not only end his career, it would kill his chances at having a fulfilling personal life.

  Not that he deserves one, I thought bitterly. But still…did I even have it in me to be that cruel?

  I did, and I knew it. If I were pushed to it, I could be the most vindictive person I knew. But Dante was right; I got exactly what I came for, and it was glorious. I didn’t regret the dinner and I certainly didn’t regret the sex. The only wound I carried lay on my pride, and my pride wasn’t worth a man’s livelihood. With a heavy sigh, I selected everything I had written and deleted it.

  “Congratulations, you get the ‘I wasn’t a bitch today’ gold star,” I muttered to myself.

  I was far from finished with him, though. He would not get a
way with making me his pawn in this childish game. I refused to allow anyone to control me like that—unless it was in the bedroom, and the control was firm but gentle…

  I shook the thought away. How on earth was I supposed to stay angry at him with those images replaying in my head? I fixed a scowl to my face and set my mind on a more active path.

  “Can’t undo it,” I murmured. “Wouldn’t want to, though. No, bad thoughts! Focus.”

  I rocked in my chair with my knees tucked under my chin, staring at the blank page on the computer screen as if it would magically tell me what to do. I felt like the solution was right in front of me, but somehow I kept missing it.

  I absently began reshuffling the pile of papers and stray notes on my desk, stacking by size, then color, then…something fell out of the stack, onto my lap.

  “Joel Palmer—All-star player, sex god. Ha! Really?” His phone number was printed underneath, with “Call me” printed in tiny letters under that.

  “Can you get any more disgustingly sure of yourself, Mr. Palmer?”

  But I was beaming. The pieces all fell together with that single little card. I knew exactly what I needed to do.

  “H’lo?” he answered, his voice thick and sleepy.

  “Hello, Mr. Palmer,” I said, keeping my voice low and just the tiniest bit husky. “This is Livia Ramos, the reporter.”

  “Mm? Oh! Hello, Livia.”

  I could feel his leering grin over the phone, and I rolled my eyes, suppressing my laughter.

  “I really appreciate you giving me your number.” I oozed sensual suggestion with no subtlety whatsoever. I didn’t trust him to pick up on subtlety. “I was left terribly unsatisfied after our quickie interview. I would really, really love to talk to you again.”

  “Well, well! I would love for you to talk to me again. Couldn’t really talk with my agent right there—you know, he gets a little bit picky about what goes in print. He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with yet.” He let out a little grunt, as if he had just flexed a muscle. He was utterly, delightfully transparent.