Page 126 of The Price of Scandal
He grunted again, and I felt more precum leak onto my skin. I bucked my hips against my own hand, wishing it was his cock plunging into me.
One more masterful pull at my breast, and I felt my muscles begin to quiver around my fingers.
“Derek!”
“Fuck it,” he growled.
And then he was guiding his cock inside me. I came instantly. Closing around his thick shaft like a fist.
“So good,” I cried brokenly. I didn’t care if someone could see us. I didn’t care if there was a cruise ship full of paparazzi live streaming video of Derek making me come. All I cared about was the orgasm that was frying my synapses.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck,” he groaned. I felt the first pulse of his release as he let loose inside me. Then he was pulling out and pumping his dick with his hand. He painted me with his orgasm. Sticky ropes of come laced my folds, my clit, my stomach. I’d never seen anything more erotic in my life than an unrestrained Derek coming on me.
He grunted, pained, and fed his cock inside me again. Still hard enough. Still angled just right. I came again, and this time he stayed buried in me until the ripples of my orgasm slowly disappeared.
When he collapsed next to me on the lounger, I licked my way down his body.
“Emily,” he hissed as my mouth found the head of his dick.
I slicked my mouth over him and felt him buck against me.
“I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to come again so soon,” he gritted out.
“Let’s find out.”
40
Emily
The makeup artist reapplied my lipstick with tiny bird-like brushstrokes.
There were ten of us set up in the lab at AHA instead of the high-security Flawless environment. The educational lab across the hall was swarming with a junior high field trip. Ninth graders were poring over microscopes and the water samples they’d collected from around their homes and neighborhoods.
Lona’s photographers, stylists, lighting technicians, and hair and makeup artists had commandeered the other lab and turned the room into what looked like a high-end fashion shoot.
Except the “fashion” was a lab coat.
I’d kept my connection to the building loose, saying only that the DIY lab movement and hands-on science educational initiatives were causes I was proud to support.
But Lona was smart and more than a little sneaky.
Her interview style was rapid-fire with several easy questions back to back lulling the interviewee into a relaxed complacency. And then she’d strike.
“Why do you own two laboratory facilities?” she said after I told her my favorite place for late night sushi in South Beach.
“Dammit, Lona,” I said, trying not to move my lips. “Not everything is up for public consumption.”
“Off the record then. Call me curious.”
The makeup artist finished his touch-up and bustled off to peer over the photographer and shoot director’s shoulders while they reviewed images from the first hour.
I had a newfound respect for supermodels and how incredibly boring their job was. Hold still. Move a fraction of an inch this way. Now the other way. Look attractive and interesting. I wished I were across the hall looking for lead and microorganisms.
My phone vibrated in the pocket of my coat, and I glanced at the screen. Trey. I ignored the call and leaned against the work table.
“I like science, okay? I don’t get to play in the Flawless lab. So I come here.”
“You own the company that owns this building. That’s quite an investment for a hobby,” Lona prodded.
