Page 30 of Fiancée for the Cameras

His fingers pumped with a delicious rhythm that pushed her on and on, and his lips drew on her clit with a subtle tug...and her climax broke through, thrashing her about into so many jagged pieces.

Tears pooled and spilled at the acute, unbearable ripples jerking through her pelvis and down even as her hips still chased that wicked mouth with a mindless greed. Finally, his mouth stilled. She was desperate to touch him as he kissed a soft trail up her body, praising her, telling her how much he wanted to feel her fall apart around his cock, and she fell back against the bed, feeling wrung out and yet already thrumming with fresh need.

She slowly came back to herself as he undid the knot at her wrists, and it felt like she’d returned not quite the same. Which was ridiculous because it was one orgasm—albeit, yes, the kindthat she’d heard friends and colleagues rave about. Her throat felt raw with all the screaming she’d done, and her limbs felt as if they were filled of thick honey, and her heart still hadn’t returned to its normal pace.

When Andrea climbed up over into the bed, she instantly turned her face into the sheets, loath to reveal how much the orgasm had knocked out of her, physically and emotionally. God, he’d think her an idiot of the first order if he saw her tears. She pressed her face into the sweat-damp sheets, wiping away the wetness, feeling a sudden, strange shyness.

She rifled through one thing after the other that came to her lips, second-and third-guessing what she should say to break the building awkwardness, how she could speak to sound more confident and less...turned inside out.

“Are you okay,cara?” he inquired softly, one hand rifling through her hair with a tenderness she wouldn’t have expected of him in a thousand years.

“More than okay,” she said, sounding half-feverish, half-delirious. She couldn’t blurt out how much she liked that he was still touching her.

It took her a few seconds, wrapped as she was in her own head, to realize that behind her Andrea had stilled. Except for those two fingers that moved over the scar on her waist with a compulsiveness that betrayed his usual indifference to most things.

“You really don’t like that scar,” she said, her tease sounding raspy.

“I don’t like what it reminds me of,” he said and then exhaled roughly.

Something about his tone made her desperate to see his expression. She jerked back on the bed, slipping and sliding on the now cooling sheets, to get a better look at him. Whatever teasing words she’d thought up disappeared because thisintimacy was a punch to her gut. As much as the knowledge that he’d blasted through her defenses on more than one level.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she met that dark gaze, the scene of just moments ago replaying in Technicolor in her mind. How she’d screamed; how she’d begged when he’d slowed down the pace; how she’d clamped her thighs around his head...and now the sight of those thin, sculpted lips that had woven such wicked pleasure through her.

“I know you know this, but she feels no lingering trauma from it,” she said. Mentioning his mother when she was naked should have felt awkward. But it didn’t. But then their relationship, if she could call it that, so far hadn’t followed any rules or conventions.

He took a long while to answer, his brows furrowed, his fingers still dancing over the scar. When he finally spoke, his mouth was flat with tension. “And you think that’s all that matters? Thatsheis unhurt and trauma-free?”

Monica stilled, a cavern of longing opening up inside her.

He cared about her, in his own grumpy you’re-another-nuisance-I-have-to-look-after way. She had known that even before the whole episode with Francesco. But to hear it in his words, delivered with that grumpiness, made her chest expand like some secret hidden chamber had been opened. She covered his hand with hers. “I’m unhurt, too, Andrea. And here, with you. Like this,” she said, feeling the need to stretch and work loose the tightness in certain places. “And I know you will call me silly and pathetic and even twisted, maybe, but I met you and Flora and Romeo that day because of that accident, and you gave me a new life, and friends and almost-family, when I had nothing. And even without gaining all that, I would—”

“You would save Mama, I know,bella. You have little regard for your own safety.”

“Not true,” she said, inching closer and closer, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. “I know what I want and how I want it and I’m finally, thanks to you, beginning to flex my claws.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his with a giggle, and that he allowed this...was a gift, too. “I just don’t stomp about, declaring and announcing and demanding that the world bend to my will and my wishes, that’s all.”

“Ahh...but in your case, I would make the bending to my wishes so worth it.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” she whispered, finally taking his mouth like she wanted to, reaching for this man who seemed to have somehow tunneled deep into her heart without her knowledge.

He was an explosion in her mouth as she poured every ounce of need she felt into it. Her kiss lacked finesse but was filled with a new frenzy she didn’t hide. He grunted into her mouth when she bit his lower lip, knowing already that he liked it a little rough, and she smiled, joy beating like a live pulse through her.

She gave in to all the overwhelming impulses, turned and stretched out like a lazy cat, and heard another rewarding grunt as her breasts rubbed against his bare chest. Flexing her newfound freedom, she sank into the stretch, while attached to him from chest to feet. The press of his thick shaft against her lower belly fanned out into a thousand flickers of fresh want and a near-painful ache where his fingers had been.

Leaning forward, she kissed his chin, and the sharp slashes of his cheekbones, and his thick brows and the scar that stretched out from his right temple to his mouth and lower. She trailed her mouth down to his throat and the notch there, across his chest and back up. Insatiable when it came to touching him, she registered the catch and release of his breath when she moved her mouth to the slab of his abdomen, those grunts and curses that flew from his mouth like punctuation marks to his pleasure.And it drove her on as she undid the trousers and pushed them down his hips. When his cock plopped into her palm, she pressed her thighs together and rubbed in a wanton gesture that did nothing to assuage her need.

She stroked him, slowly at first, marveling at the texture and shape and weight of him, and imagining how he would feel moving inside her; how he would submerge her in sensation; how he would own every inch of her dreams and wants.

His grunts and commands finally came to her past the deafening beat in her ears, and she squeezed him as he ordered her to, rubbed her thumb over the soft head, and when pre-cum pooled at the tip, she bent her head and licked at it without his command. It was strange and musky-tasting, and Monica needed another taste so she dipped her head again and closed her lips around his length.

It was uncomfortable at first, his girth stretching her mouth, but God, the rough, guttural grunts that fell from his mouth, and his fingers tugging at her scalp as if he was trying his best not to push her down and the instinctive thrust of his hips upward until he hit the roof of her mouth... It was the most daring and rewarding thing she’d ever done in her life.

She released him for a breath and took him in again, this time actually sucking a little more of him inside her mouth and laughing when he cursed, which turned into a hum when he filled her, which resulted in him telling her that she was such a “good girl” andCristo, who knew her innocent countenance could carry such filthy spirit, and Monica wanted to stay in that moment forever and ever.

Two seconds later, she was on her back and heard the rip of a condom wrapper and he was lodged between her legs. Monica squeezed her inner thighs and her core muscles tight as if she could forever keep his hardness there, just there, where she needed it so desperately. One hand in her scalp tugged her headback, his lips playing and nibbling at her nipples, his hard hips bearing her down into the bed, and all that feverish longing she thought had been satiated came flooding back into her body.

Monica pressed up into him, arching into his touch when his lips moved up her neck, biting and licking and nipping, as if he meant to leave marks on her for days to come.

“I need you. Are you ready for me,bella?” he asked, and she nodded, feeling frantic and frenzied enough to burst out of her skin.

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