Spoiler Alert

by Olivia Dade

  Here, he tasted like sugar instead of salt. Like mint. Like darkness and heat.

  “So sweet,” he rasped, then slanted his fierce, reddened lips across hers once more, and she moaned into his mouth as he rubbed against her just right. His jeans were loose enough that she could slide both hands beneath the denim if she kept them flat, slide them beneath his ultra-soft underwear too, and then she was sinking her short, blunt nails into the satiny, clenching, round cheeks of his ass and staking her own claim.

  At the sting, he ground against her again with a low, rough noise and twined their tongues greedily. His herbal scent was turning muskier, deeper by the moment, and her own overheated skin prickled with growing dampness.

  He couldn’t wrap her legs around his waist and fuck her against this fence. Not in daylight. Not in public. Not given her size. But the next time she fished her technicolor vibrator from her nightstand, she had a new fantasy to ride to a bed-shaking orgasm.

  When his mouth eventually lifted a hairsbreadth from hers, she chased it.

  Then she heard the sound too.

  “Hey, you two! Get off my property!” It was a disgusted shout, originating from the doorway of the house beyond the fence. “That’s way too much tongue for a Saturday morning!”

  Marcus gave a quiet snort, and he whispered in her ear, “Apparently we can come back later this afternoon to dry-hump against his fence again.”

  “During normal business hours.” Regretfully, she slid her hands out of his jeans. “Although there are also public indecency charges to consider.”

  He rested his forehead against her shoulder for a moment, still breathless. “Fair point.”

  Then, with an odd sort of groaning whine, he levered himself away from her and turned to offer the man in the doorway his usual charming smile. “Our apologies, sir. We’ll be on our way now.”

  The man emitted an unappeased grunt and disappeared back inside his house.

  As they returned to the sidewalk, Marcus cupped her hips and maneuvered her in front of him. Almost close enough to touch, but not quite. “Stay here for just a minute, please.”

  If she arched her back just a tad . . . yes. There.

  As her ass pressed against the ridge of his erection, his fingers tightened to a pleasurable bite through her leggings. “April . . .” He sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. “You’re not helping matters.”

  Okay, then. No more below-the-waist contact, at least for now. Instead, she tipped back her head, laid it against his shoulder, and smiled as they waited for his body to calm. “Really? Because it felt like I was helping.”

  “Helping me get arrested, maybe.”

  “To echo a wise man: fair point.” Luckily, her current state of swollen arousal wasn’t quite so obvious, but God, she needed to squeeze her thighs together. “Want to hold my purse?”

  “What does that have to do with—” He paused. “Oh. Yeah. That’ll probably work.”

  Still, neither of them started walking. Instead, he hitched her a bit closer, and they just . . . cuddled for a minute, her head on his shoulder, his strong, broad hands lightly stroking her sides and hips and arms. When he eventually folded her into his embrace, she rested her arms on top of his.

  After a moment, he kissed her temple, then laid his cheek there.

  It was the gentleness she’d told herself she didn’t want.

  Turned out she was a liar, because she wanted it all. His teeth and his tenderness. His pretty face and his laugh lines. The respected thespian and the hammy star of Sharkphoon.

  The gold and the pyrite.

  Turning her neck, she pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Come home with me. Please.”

  He didn’t hesitate, not even for a breath.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

  MANMAID

  EXT. SHORELINE AT THE BASE OF THE CLIFFS – DAWN

  CARMEN has waded chest-deep into the surf, fully clothed, and TRITUS flicks his tail idly to stay upright before her, gazing adoringly into her seafoam-green eyes.

  CARMEN

  When will you return?

  TRITUS

  Whenever you need me.

  She casts him a shy glance through her lashes.

  CARMEN

  What if . . . What if what I need from you, you can’t give?

  He frowns, confused. Then realization dawns, and so does desire. He swims closer.

  TRITUS

  Trust me. I may only be half human, but I’m all man.

  CARMEN

  You mean . . . ?

  TRITUS

  Let me show you.

  But as they touch for the first time, hands entwined, her legs against his tail, her eyes widen, and not in desire. Suddenly, she is struggling to breathe, gasping and staggering away from him.

  CARMEN

  My—my allergy! To kelp! I’d—

  (gasps)

  forgotten!

  TRITUS

  No! My curse! It has finally come to pass!

  The tragedy of their love overwhelms him, and he swims away, disappearing beneath the waves.

  16

  “SO THIS IS WHERE I LIVE.” APRIL WAVED HIM INSIDE. “IT’S an in-law apartment, so I have my own entrance, and it’s relatively private.”

  Marcus glanced around. “Looks like a great find, especially in this area.”

  An open floor plan, excluding the bedrooms and bathroom. Not overly spacious, but cozy. Well maintained too, with gleaming hardwood floors and stainless appliances and marble-looking countertops. Once she had the chance to settle in, he suspected it would become much more welcoming than his own LA home with its aggressively modern interior design. Served him right for not overseeing the process himself, of course, but he’d been overseas at the time and eager to come back to a finished house.

  “Sorry about the boxes.” April shifted from foot to foot. “I haven’t had time to put everything away or get art on the walls.”

  The white marble console table in the entryway—she’d chosen stone rather than wood, no surprise there—didn’t wobble when he rested a hand on it, its surface cool and smooth and solid under his fingertips. “I’m impressed by everything you’ve managed to unpack in such a short amount of time.”

  She pursed her lips, but her little hum sounded like doubt.

  By the time he’d followed her to the apartment, some of her confidence and her unabashed, intoxicating sexual aggression had faded. Right now, her gaze was darting around the room, seemingly cataloging all the space’s flaws. This was as nervous as he’d ever seen her, and that included their first dinner together and their first encounter with paparazzi.

  Which was unfortunate, because the change allowed his blood to cool and his head to clear too. Enough that he remembered his resolution to discuss one last sensitive topic with her before they bared themselves to one another.

  Not that he’d assumed they would, and she could change her mind now or whenever she wanted. But he’d hoped. Fantasized.

  “I know it’s not what you’re probably accustomed to—” she began.

  “April.” He shook his head at her, an eyebrow raised in gentle reproof. “My parents are prep school teachers, remember? I grew up in a house not much larger than your apartment.”

  Her face brightened slightly at the reminder, but the stiff set of her shoulders didn’t entirely ease. “That’s right. I’d forgotten.”

  She was anxious about his judgment. That was obvious enough. What wasn’t: whether all her nervousness really stemmed from her half-settled home.

  They’d come to her apartment for a purpose, one she’d made clear. But now that the prospect of so much intimacy, so much literal and figurative nakedness, loomed before them, did she worry he might judge her and find her lacking in an entirely different way?

  “Umm . . .” She wandered toward the kitchen area. “Are you hungry? We could eat lunch, if you’d like. I have some leftover pizza. Some leftover fried rice too.” Her shoulder lift
ed, and she opened the refrigerator and scanned the shelves. “Sorry. I haven’t done much cooking since the move. Not that I cooked much before then, either.”

  He wasn’t going to get a better opening than that.

  She didn’t move from the refrigerator as he walked up behind her. Not even when he wrapped his arms around her from behind, looping them just above her waist. Her body was still within his embrace. Stiff, although she didn’t move away.

  After a few seconds, she relaxed, melting into him the way she had earlier.

  Ducking his head, he rested his chin on her round shoulder. “I like to cook. Which is good, because my job means I have to be careful about what I eat. How I exercise too.”

  And there it was. He might as well have been holding a piece of her stone countertop. No surprise there.

  “April . . .” He pressed a quick kiss to the newest bruise on the side of her neck. “After those doughnuts this morning, I’ll probably eat nothing but protein and vegetables for the rest of the day. I can’t have leftover pizza or fried rice. I’m not especially hungry anyway. But—”

  She was closing the refrigerator door and twisting out of his arms and moving away from him, and he didn’t try to stop her. He just kept talking and hoped she was still listening.

  “—I don’t expect anyone else to eat or exercise the way I do. It’s a part of my job. That’s all.” He gestured to the shiny refrigerator. “So if you’re hungry and want pizza, have pizza. If you want fried rice, have fried rice. If you want to eat more doughnuts the size of your head, or another of those croco—”

  “Cocroffinuts,” she muttered, finally meeting his eyes again.

  “—whatever the fuck those things are, you should do it. Despite the very real risk that more caffeine might actually make you levitate.” He tried to infuse each word with every bit of sincerity he could muster, every bit of reassurance. “What I eat or don’t eat is irrelevant.”

  He shouldn’t know why she’d turned cold in the cab after their day at the museum. But he did know, and before they fell into bed together, she needed to hear the truth.

  His body was a tool for his job. He intended to keep it strong and durable and flexible. If the attention he had to pay to food and working out would trigger anxiety for her or make her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t get past, then they both needed to know that now.

  She’d paused several feet away from him, leaning a hip against the countertop. Behind those adorable glasses, her brown eyes were narrowed. Assessing.

  It wasn’t enough that he was telling the truth. She had to believe it too. He intended to project earnestness and credibility using every trick in his actor’s playbook.

  He kept his stance open under her scrutiny, his hands relaxed, his gaze steady in return. Before her, he stood calm and stalwart, the very exemplar of trustworthiness.

  Another long pause, and then she inclined her head and took a small step toward him. “Fair enough.”

  The sudden release of tension weakened his legs, and he propped his butt against the countertop for extra support as he cast her a sidelong glance. “You mentioned lunch. Do you want to eat something?”

  For the first time since they’d arrived at her apartment, a wicked edge turned her smile sharp. Predatory. Jesus, he’d run past SFX fireballs on set that weren’t as hot as April with that particular expression on her face.

  Best of all, her expression meant he’d done it. He’d navigated a verbal minefield without a script or character guiding his words—him, of all people—and that gorgeous incendiary device of a smile was his reward.

  “Not food.” Another step closer. Another. “In other matters, I could be persuaded.”

  His breath whooshed from his lungs.

  April, her red-gold hair spread over his thighs as he arched into her hot mouth and trembled.

  That particular image had brought him to orgasm numerous times over the past week, almost as often as when he imagined the sounds she’d make as he licked her, how she’d buck in his hold and toss her head as he held her in place, how she’d tighten around his fingers when he sucked her clit, how she’d pulse and moan as she fell to pieces under his mouth.

  Just an hour ago, though, his cock had strained against the zipper of his jeans at the genesis of an entirely different fantasy. That one he could make happen, if she was willing. Right now, in her kitchen, with daylight pouring through her windows.

  He held out a hand. “Come here.”

  No hesitation. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she didn’t pause or protest when he turned her and tugged until her back pressed against his chest. The counter behind him was hard and cold, but he barely felt it anymore. Not given the heat and softness in his arms.

  The pressure of her generous ass against his growing erection turned his eyelids heavy. Especially when she did exactly what she’d done on that sidewalk earlier. Tipping her hips, she rubbed up and down slowly, a caressing taunt.

  He ran his nose along her neck. Sank his teeth a millimeter into her earlobe, glorying in her gasp and the clutch of her hands on his arms.

  His fingers flirted with the hem of her sweater. “Can I touch you?”

  “Anywhere.”

  He licked the rim of her ear. “Anywhere? Really?” “Really.” Twisting her neck, she pulled his mouth to hers for a brief, wet kiss, sucking his tongue until his vision turned white around the edges.

  When she faced front again, her head against his shoulder, he let his hands roam under her sweater. His palms stroked over her rounded belly, up her sides.

  Soft. She was so soft everywhere. Full of curves and secret valleys.

  Her satiny skin was heating under his touch, even before he brushed a thumb along the swell of her breast, right above her bra. Her supportive, thick-cupped underwire bra. Too thick for him to feel even a hint of her nipple, and too supportive and stiff to allow him to tug it down in a comfortable way for her.

  Fine. That could come off later. Her breasts weren’t his primary goal right now, anyway.

  He stroked downward again. Trailed his fingers just above the waist of her leggings.

  Thank fuck for stretchy fabric.

  Her breathing hitched, the movement slight but definite under his lips on her neck. He mouthed and sucked and licked, one hand spread on her belly as the other slid beneath her leggings, slid beneath her smooth underwear, only to encounter slickness and heat between those trembling thighs.

  She let out a choked sound, and he paused. “Okay?”

  “Yes.” Her hips tipped, pressing her tighter against his hand. “Please.”

  Even with forgiving fabric, there wasn’t much room to maneuver, but her warm, wet sex nestled perfectly into his hand. So perfectly.

  Carefully, he teased apart her hair and lightly stroked his fingertips along her folds, learning the intricacies of her by feel alone. She quivered beneath his touch, delicate and soft, and when he teased her entrance with his forefinger, she parted her legs wider, leaning more of her weight against him as her hands reached back to clutch his hips.

  But he slipped up, up, up again, exploring until he found it.

  Slow. Slow. He circled her clit gently, and her nails were gouging into his thighs now as she huffed out soft little noises. When he dipped lower again, she was even wetter. Even hotter. This time, he slipped a fingertip just inside, playing. Rubbing.

  She arched against his hand and whimpered, and he smiled.

  “Do you like something inside you when you come? Something to clench around?” Her cheek was feverish under his lips. Unable to stop himself, he ground his stiff dick against her ass, and it made him burn even hotter. “Or is the clit alone better?”

  Her voice was a strangled whisper. “Both. I want both.”

  This time, he didn’t stop with a tease, but pressed a finger inside her. Two. Jesus, she was swollen and slick and so fucking hot. So fucking tight too, even though her body offered no resistance whatsoever to the penetration. He hooked his fingers
. Rubbed.

  She exhaled shakily, then turned her face into his neck when his thumb found her clit again.

  By now, he was supporting both of them with the help of the countertop, grinding his jeans-covered cock against her in rhythm with her own rocking hips as she bit off moans with each circle of his thumb, each twist of his fingers.

  She began to stiffen against him, her flesh twitching under his thumb, around his fingers, and he tangled his free hand in her hair and urged her lips against his.

  She was too far gone for kissing, and he didn’t give a fuck. As she panted into his mouth, he greedily swallowed every breath, every sound.

  Another circle around her swollen clit. Another.

  Then she gasped and arched and broke, sagging back against him as she squeezed his fingers and pulsed against his thumb and made low keening noises.

  Gently, he stroked her through every twitch, every hitched breath.

  When she was done coming, he removed his hand from her leggings, turned her in his arms, and let her watch, eyes heavy-lidded, as he licked his fingers clean.

  A bit tart. Earthy, which seemed appropriate for her. Perfect.

  The sunshine through the over-sink window gilded her. She was flushed and dewy and languid, leaning heavily against him, and he wished he had enough talent to capture that look on film. Not that he wanted anything to puncture this private, idyllic bubble of a moment.

  With his thumb, he stroked a strand of hair away from her still-damp temple. “That was even better than I’d imagined.”

  Her voice was husky. Amused. “You . . . you imagined this? Making me come in my kitchen?”

  “The kitchen part was improvised.” He chased the flush on her round cheeks with his lips, letting it warm him. “But when you rubbed that amazing ass against me on the sidewalk, I wanted to get my hand into your pants and grind against you as you came around my fingers.”