Page 165 of Merry Me
I just sat there. Flushed. Shaking.
Wrecked.
My body still thrummed with aftershocks, every subtle shift setting off a fresh ripple between my thighs. My dress clung tome in places it definitely hadn’t when we sat down, like it knew things now. Intimate things.
I couldn’t remember half the movie—only flashes. His character bleeding and beautiful. A line that cracked open the whole theater emotionally. And then me, unraveling in real time while his hand moved like it had a PhD in bad decisions and a personal vendetta against my self-control.
Performance of a lifetime, they’d say.
Yeah.No kidding.
People were turning now, faces lit with admiration. Wide eyes, big smiles, whispers ofBrilliantandHe’s a lock for the Oscarfloating like confetti in the air.
He leaned in.
Voice low. Breath warm against my ear.
“Still think you can make it through the after-party?” he asked, his tone laced with a promise of more to come.
I turned to him, my gaze narrowing as a smirk tugged at my lips. “As long as you fuck me in the limo on the way,” I said, my voice low and dangerous and daring.
Easton’s head snapped toward me, his emerald eyes darkening with a hunger that made my breath catch, his polite smile faltering for a moment as he registered my words. “Nat,” he growled, his voice a low warning, his hand tightening around mine so hard I thought he might crush my fingers. “You know you’re playing with fire.”
“Good,” I shot back, my smirk widening as I squeezed his hand in return, my voice a sultry purr as I leaned in closer, my lips brushing his earlobe. “I want to burn.”
His jaw clenched, a faint grimace flickering across his face before he quickly masked it with his Hollywood smile, his eyes tightening at the corners as he nodded at the first wave of well-wishers.
“Easton, that was incredible,” a producer in a sleek tuxedo said, clapping him on the shoulder as he leaned in, his voice booming over the lingering applause. “You’ve got a real shot atthe awards this year, my man. That scene in the rain—pure magic!”
“Thanks, Greg,” Easton said, his voice smooth and professional to anyone who was listening.
But I knew Easton better than anyone. I could hear the strain in it, the way his words were clipped as he forced a smile, his hand tightening around mine. He shifted slightly in his seat, and that’s when I saw it, the huge bulge in his tailored black pants, straining against the fabric. That was probably uncomfortable.
It gave me a little thrill that teasing me to orgasm had turned him on just as much as it had me…maybe more. He was in pain, his cock throbbing with need, and yet he had to sit there, smiling and nodding as more people approached, their voices overlapping with praise and congratulations.
The limo ride was going to be a good time.
“Easton, darling, you were phenomenal!” a woman in a glittering gown gushed, her hands clasped together as she leaned in, her perfume overwhelming as she air-kissed his cheek. “That monologue at the end—I was in tears! You’re a genius!”
“Thank you, Marissa,” he said, his smile tight, his free hand adjusting his jacket in a futile attempt to hide his arousal.
I slid my hand into his lap, my fingers brushing against the anaconda currently straining to escape his pants.
A sharp cough came out of his mouth, his jaw clenching again as he grabbed my hand and yanked it away, all while trying to smile at well-wishers. His eyes flicked to me for a brief moment, a promise of retribution in his gaze that had my pussy clenching all over again.
I winked at him.
The theater finally started to empty out, people filing toward the exits, their voices buzzing with excitement as they headed to the after-party. Easton stood, pulling me with him, his hand firm on mine as he led me through the crowd, his other hand still holding his tuxedo jacket over his situation in his pants. His posture was stiff, his movements careful as he focused onkeeping covered, but his eyes kept darting to me, dark and hungry, and I knew he was counting the seconds until we were alone.
“Easton, you coming to the after-party?” another producer called, raising his champagne glass in salute as the crowd buzzed around us.
Easton didn’t even blink. “Yeah, we’ll be there,” he said, voice tight, jaw set.
His hand closed around mine like a man seconds from losing his damn mind, and before I could even catch my breath, he was pulling me toward the exit with single-minded focus—like nothing else mattered. Not the party. Not the cameras. Just us.
He opened the limo door and practically pushed me inside.
The second it clicked shut behind us, the mask dropped.
