I moan softly and start to squirm, feeling the ache inside me bloom into growing pleasure. Every swipe of his thumb, every stroke of his fingers, leaves me trembling and clenching on him just a little bit harder.
“Oh,” I whimper before I can stop myself, and I start squirming, rocking my hips slightly against him. He groans but lifts his hips gently, letting me set the pace. He’s cheating, though; his stroking hand drives me to move more and more vigorously.
It feels so good that it almost hurts. My cunt tightens around him even more, and I feel my juices making him slick and easier to ride. My head falls back—and then I let out a sharp cry as his mouth closes on my nipple.
He starts to lap at me in time with his strokes, making me ride him harder as my hips roll reflexively. He grunts against my skin and lashes his tongue harder, while his hand keeps moving against my wet, sensitive flesh until my breath burns in my lungs.
I’m riding him rough now, grinding wildly, trembling harder and harder while he starts to shake as well. I can hear my voice rising in sharp cries as I hang onto him for dear life. Stunned, a little scared, but greedy for sensation, I press my cunt against his hand and then rock against him harder as he speeds his caresses.
I don’t know what’s happening. It’s too much. It’s almost terrifying. I open my mouth to tell him to stop—but what comes out is, “Oh, God, yes—”
My muscles seize up as my voice rises into a wail. I thrash over him, exploding with sudden energy as the pleasure ramps up into ecstasy.
I sob with joy, my body going rigid with each contraction, and swooning and trembling in between. As everything comes apart, I hear him groan hoarsely against my skin, and I grind on him more, so that the groan becomes a long shout. Then his cock lets loose in several long shudders, and his hips almost lift me off the bed before he collapses.
The pleasure shocked me, and now I’m shocked by my sudden exhaustion, even as I feel ready to float away on a cloud of bliss. I sway over him, chest heaving for air.
Somehow, he manages to catch me before I can collapse, and I slide down limply as I lay down over him. My knees pop as I dismount from him; I’m speechless, tingling, barely noticing the brief pain.
“Do you like that, sweetheart?” he purrs in my ear as I lie trembling on his chest.
“Uh huh,” I manage to mumble, and he laughs.
“Good.”
It’s David’s laugh that wakes me hours later, well after dawn. I sit up, sleepy and confused, and see him standing half-dressed, long johns still unbuttoned and loose around him as he faces the window—a window that is covered in streaky ice.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snorts as I blink past him at the icy view. “A fucking ice storm on top of everything?”
I grab my robe and pull it on, moving to his side. My legs are wobbly and a little sore, but I’m so relaxed that I barely care. I’ve never felt better about rethinking my stance on anything in my life.
“Ice storm?” I fish my phone out of my jacket pocket and check the weather report. “Not much of one. It moved on hours ago. They should have the roads cleared and in good condition again before lunch.”
“Well, that’s good, at least,” he sighs. “But there’s just one problem.”
A shock goes through me. “The deer cams!”
We manage to do the smart thing and bundle up before we go to check the six cameras that have put up around town. We walk out to check them arm in arm, as much to help me keep my balance on the icy sidewalk as anything. People are already wandering the streets on their morning errands, but the crowds are thinner.
“Think the tourists are hiding inside until they salt the sidewalks?” I ask as we move toward the first camera site.
“Probably a good bet.” We reach the first shop that let us install a camera under their eaves, and he grabs his penlight to check it. “Well, this one’s intact, but the light’s off. Cold may have drained the battery.”
He takes it down—and we both gape in shock as he opens the battery casing to find it full of ice crystals. “Or killed the battery for good. Holy shit.”
“Let’s check the others.” I’m really starting to worry now…though the fear has no real teeth to it any more. That might have something to do with the company, though.
My worries are well-founded, as it turns out. The second shop had a leak in its awning that we didn’t notice, and we find the camera literally frozen inside a large icicle. Two more cameras broke loose in the high wind—we find them broken, lenses and casings shattered. The rest have battery problems like the first.
“Well, looks like the mistletoe will be down tomorrow with no magic involved at all,” David sighs as he looks around, fists on hips. The bag of broken cameras hangs from his side; he doesn’t seem bothered by this last setback. Good sex can do that, and so can a change in perspective.
We’ve had both.
“You’re right. Warm front’s moving in. It will rise above freezing tomorrow. They’ll all just fall off on their own.”
“And this time no one will replace them.” He wraps his arms around me, sighing. “Look, we’re done here. Let’s go home? I have an unopened bottle of New Year’s champagne with our names on it.”
I look around again, a sad, wistful feeling in my heart, like that of a kid at bedtime on Christmas night. “There’s always next year,” I say, half to myself. Then I look up at him and hug him back briefly. “Let’s go.”
10
David
As it turned out, the last interview didn’t record. Our enlightening dinner conversation with the Whitmans had been meant for our eyes—and ears—only. For all my usual careful attention to detail, I had somehow forgotten to charge the audio recorder’s built-in battery.
Instead, we’ve got a lovely video of Andi and I talking about how we fell in love and how much we enjoy our work together, surreptitiously shot by that sneaky bastard Jack and left for me like a gift. I think I owe him some champagne.
It took us only a month to put the book together. It’s being edited now with several breathtaking shots of the town and the mountains around it being worked in. The one thing we were able to do, besides talk to people and record a few interviews, was take a lot of pictures.
But the video—the interview, the attempts to interview Jack, all that stuff either just leads to more questions and greater mysteries or exposes personal revelations about us—although I’ve edited it together nicely, I still don’t know whether we should release it on our website.
It’s not just that parts of it are very personal. I have no problem shouting to the fucking hills that I got my second chance and that the two of us are going strong as lovers and work partners both. I naturally want to check with Andi first, but that’s not the only thing restraining me.
It’s the rest of it. The baffled but amused residents, the retired movie star with his new lover and tiny child, the huffy priest’s daughter and her enormous biker boyfriend, laughing Jack saying he’s Jack Frost himself…it’s all personal and weird as hell. How much of it will appeal to the public at large?
More importantly, how much of it is right to release?
I sit back from my computer, rolling my stiff shoulders and standing up to walk out of my office. My penthouse is arranged around a central atrium with a hothouse inside; beyond its glass walls, I can see the bed where Andi is still curled up, sleeping.
I exhausted her again. The thought still makes me proud. Amazing what a little effort, patience, and communication can do.
I move over to one of my enormous, insulated-glass windows, this one overlooking the fenced deck with its covered outdoor pool and jacuzzi. Beyond it, the city sits frozen in the grip of winter, millions of lights gleaming in the icy dark. I tighten my smoking jacket closer around me and go to pour myself a brandy before returning to my desk.
I play part of Jack’s interview again. “My name’s Jack Frost as I told you before. I’m ageless, I live at the North Pole with my father Saint N
icholas, and my job is bringing the fall colors and the winter frosts.”
“Damn it, that sounds like satire,” I grumble under my breath, sitting back in my chair. No superhuman being would actually walk up to us and introduce himself like that. And even if he did, no one would ever believe it.
Which means that we can’t use the interview. It will kill any credibility this investigation has.
I rub my face in exasperation. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you, Jack?” I can’t really hate him anymore though, even if this shit frustrates me. He did help Andi and I get back together—even if he did it with a stolen kiss.
A flash of movement on the balcony catches my attention. I could have sworn I saw a man-sized figure in a dark coat. But when I look again, there’s no one there.
There’s something I didn’t notice before, hanging from the eaves. And a mark on the glass.
I stare. Then I grab my camera—after checking the battery—and quickly take a few photos. I’m smiling like crazy. We probably can’t use these either—except for ourselves.
She’s still going to love them.
I look back once more as I quit my computer and get up to head back to bed. They’re still there: my evidence, real evidence, and something like an answer. Even if no one would ever believe us.
A curlicue of frost shaped like a fern frond on the insulated window…and a frozen, dried bit of mistletoe fastened to our balcony overhang sixteen stories above the ground.
The End.
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Preview of His Hidden Love
A Reverse Harem Romance Their Secret Desire Book 1
By Megan Lee
Ivy Wonders
Blurb
India Blue is one of the world’s most successful and beloved singers. The beautiful Seattle native fiercely guards her privacy and for good reason—when she was a teenager, a horrific attack changed her forever. Since that day, she has avoided intimacy, excepting only Sun, the gorgeous Korean pop star, India’s friend and sometime lover, who would change his life for her—even going so far as leaving his true love, bandmate Tae.
When India meets superstar actor Massimo Verdi, she is thrown into a world of passion, desire, and uninhibited sensuality. India knows she is falling for the charming, sexy Italian. When he seemingly betrays that trust, India wonders if either of her lovers is the man for her or is she merely a consolation prize?
Still violently obsessed with India, her attacker will soon be released from prison. To be safe, India must disappear into obscurity, but she cannot bring herself to part from either Massimo or Sun.
But are Sun or Massimo the men she believes them to be? Or will her heart lead her to a darker, more treacherous place than she could have imagined?
Secret Love Song is the first part in a series of connected stories with an international cast of beautiful people, stunning locations, dark storylines, and hot, hot sensual romance with no cheating and a guaranteed happy ever after!
When singer India Blue meets superstar actor Massimo Verdi, their sexual attraction is immediate and almost overwhelming. But India is plagued by a dark secret, and when her life is threatened, the two would-be-lovers find their love inundated with jeopardy and distance.
* * *
Complicating matters is India’s close relationship with her friend, K-pop star Sun, who is in turmoil as well. After photographs of Massimo kissing his ex-girlfriend flood the internet, India flees to Seoul where she and the distressed Sun rekindle their sexual relationship.
With two men in her heart and another determined to kill her, India becomes mired in uncertainty and depression. When she and Massimo reconnect, she begins to see a way of out of her gloom and falls in love with him…
…except her vengeful psychopath is never far behind. With more secrets getting revealed, India needs to decide who to love—and who to trust.
Massimo Verdi, international playboy and one of the world’s sexiest actors, is still single after ending a decade-long romance when he meets American singer India Blue and is instantly bowled over by her.
* * *
Frustrated by India’s apparent flightiness, Massimo tries to forget her and gets caught up in a scandal involving his manipulative ex-girlfriend, Valentina.
After photos of them kissing are published, Massimo thinks he has lost India forever but when she reaches out to him, their friendship blossoms and soon becomes romantic in nature.
As much as he is falling for her, Massimo can see that India’s life is convoluted, and he fears that could lose the woman he loves to a deranged stalker.
Can he risk his heart? What about India’s secret past and her love for another man in another country? Can Massimo trust her to love him alone or will he need to put his ego aside to capture the heart of the most incredible woman he has ever met?
Chapter One - Wicked Game
Venice, Italy
* * *
India Blue inhaled as much oxygen as she could through her nose, then let it out slowly through her mouth. The breath juddered from her in a shaky, almost gasp-like hiss. It was always this way: the nerves before the concert started, the heinous half-hour of self-doubt. Her stage fright was well documented and that gave her a measure of comfort. The people who paid to hear her sing knew she got panicky; if they were a decent crowd, they’d give her that bit extra to get her adrenaline flowing.
At least that’s what she hoped—that they’d be kind. Even after all this time, she had trouble believing in the screams and the joy she received when she waved to the thousands of fans that filled her concerts. She had felt like an awkward, bashful teenager when all of this started—when she was able to function once more after the incident.
God. Why are you thinking of this now?
India tasted bile and was about to dissolve into a full-blown panic attack. Not a good situation when she was due on stage in five minutes. She pulled her long dark hair back into a messy ponytail—no stylists or makeup for her—she preferred the intimacy of making herself up, of getting her hair just the way she wanted. She never was a fashionista despite the high-end designers scrambling to sign the beautiful, young Indian-American girl. India checked her reflection: huge dark-brown eyes, pink mouth, golden skin. People considered her beautiful but the haunted look in her eyes never went away, and that was all she could see in her reflection.
India grabbed her phone to check the time. Four minutes to curtain up. Being allowed to play at La Fenice, Venice’s premier opera house, was a testament to her talent. So far, she was one of a handful of non-classical artists to do so. Her signature mix of pop, country, and jazz was unique, certainly, but she never liked being confined by genres.
“Hey, Bubba.”
As soon as India heard her brother’s voice, all her tension drained. Technically, Lazlo Schuler was not a blood relative but he was the one she trusted the most—and there weren’t many.
“Hey bro. Just about to go on.”
Lazlo gave a deep chuckle. “I wish I could be there to see you, Bubba. This is a special night.”
India sighed. “It’s okay, Laz, I understand what you have to deal with over there.”
“How come you’re my only client who I never have trouble with?” Lazlo laughed. He was her manager, her publicist, her everything, but he also had oth
er clients on his roster—clients who demanded his attention day and night. At forty-nine, Lazlo was resolutely single, married to his job and the best in the business. “You heard from Gabe, Bubba?” Lazlo’s brother worked in Los Angeles.
“A text message. He and Selena are really splitting up, huh?”
Lazlo sighed. “At this point, it’s probably the best for both. Flogging a dead horse and all that. Listen, I hate to be a nag but by my watch, you should have been on stage a minute ago.”
India glanced at the clock. “Shit. Look, thanks, Laz, I’ll call you later.”
“Love you, Bubba. Hey, say hello to Diana and Grey.”
India grinned. “Will do. Love you, bro.”
* * *
As she walked to the stage, less anxious now that she had spoken to Lazlo, she thought about her plans after the show. She was having a late dinner and drinks with her best friends, Diana Harper and Grey Lynch, a married couple, two English actors she had been close friends with for years now. Back in the day, India scored a film of Diana’s, when she herself was a music star, and they’d been friends ever since. Diana was flirty, feisty, and fun; twenty-two years senior to India’s twenty-eight, and India considered her a sister. Diana had counseled her through some hard times, and her husband Grey, a laidback sweetheart, had become a close friend as well.
A Kiss of Winter: A Second Chance Christmas Romance (Dreams Fulfilled Book 3) Page 8
