I can’t believe how good he looks when he sleeps. Then again, the guy could be drooling and snoring like a warthog and he’d still be a god amongst mere mortals.
I dare to inch a little closer, for nothing more than to shamelessly gawp at his tattoos while he’s none the wiser. His skin really is a canvas, designs swirling so perfectly into each other.
Urgh. He’s insanely beautiful.
And I had him.
Oh fuck, how the realisation blooms in my chest.
I had Kyle Prescott.
My womb feels like I’ve been punched as I try to rise to sitting, so I guess it’s fairer to say that Kyle Prescott had me.
Hard.
My cheeks burn as the wine-scattered memories come tumbling back.
Oh. My. God.
I remember the flash of his mobile phone camera, over and over.
Surely I didn’t let him..?
Yes. I did let him.
I let him do whatever he wanted.
And I loved it.
But pictures…
I cringe at the thought of him looking at them in the cold light of day. I cringe at the thought of him waking up and looking at me with eyes full of regret.
One crazy night. Too much whisky. Too much wine. A favour for helping him out.
I don’t think my frazzled hungover condition can take the awkward morning conversation, so I ease myself out of bed – as carefully as I can with a pounding headache – slipping on my glasses and making quick work of gathering up my clothes for the walk of shame.
I tug on my knickers and jeans in the bathroom without even putting the light on. I fasten up my blouse quickly and don’t bother with the bow. My handbag is still on the side, I see my phone flashing as I peek inside to check I’ve got all my essentials.
And then I bail. Quickly and quietly, holding my breath as the door clicks shut behind me. I’m achy as all hell and it’s not just the headache. My legs feel like I’ve been pony-trekking for a week and my belly’s cramping like I’m seriously due on, even though I’m over a week out.
Kyle Prescott will be a memorable experience, that’s for certain.
I smile politely at the hotel receptionist on the way out, squinting against the sunlight as I step out onto the High Street.
Five missed calls on my mobile, all from Mum. Shit. I send her a text message as I limp-walk back home, apologising for the fact that my phone was on silent and I didn’t let her know I was staying out.
The town is busy on a Saturday morning, and it might just be paranoia that leads me to believe people are staring at me all the way up the street, but I doubt it. Word travels quickly around here, and word will certainly be that the meek little bookworm pulled the hot model guy last night.
I’m not sure if I should be mortified or elated by the gossip-worthy status.
Mum’s in the front garden when I drag my sorry hungover ass around the corner. She stabs a trowel into the soil and shakes her head at me.
“You could have let me know you were staying out. I couldn’t sleep.”
I feel like a dick as I apologise again, but she lets out a sigh and smiles at me. I know what’s coming before she says it.
“So? You stayed with Kyle?”
I gesture down at my generally dishevelled appearance. “Something like that.”
“And are you seeing him again?”
Oh, Mum, ever the optimist.
“I very much doubt it,” I laugh, even though it doesn’t feel all that funny. “Maybe in another ten years.”
I’m turning my phone back off silent when it bleeps in my hand. I call up the notification and the sight nearly bowls me over.
A Facebook friend request from Kyle Jordan Prescott. His profile picture is a shot of him half naked on a beach somewhere. Figures.
My fingers are shaking as I click to accept. Mum’s staring as I try to stifle the euphoria, battling the wave of bliss with the objective rationalism that it’s probably just a friend request out of courtesy. I’ll probably never hear from him again.
Ever.
Until the messenger icon pings.
Kyle’s picture greets me in the little circle.
Where did you dash off to, librarian girl?
My racing heart makes my headache pound in my temples.
I thought you’d want to sleep in, I reply.
I see the dots as he types a response.
We’re only through the first scene… is that all I’m getting?
“Well?” Mum asks. “Is that him?”
I nod. “It’s him.”
Her smirk is worth stumbling home hungover for. “He’s keen.”
Keen to land his part on Monday maybe.
You want more help? I type.
The suspense is almost unbearable as the dots come back up on screen.
I want more of everything!!! :p
The emoji has its tongue out. I stare at it. Mute.
“Are you seeing him again?” Mum asks and I find I’m nodding.
“Looks that way.”
My headache fades into the background, well beneath the butterflies in my poor cramping belly. But I don’t care about that and I don’t care how hungover I am, either. I don’t care if it feels like I’ve been kicked in the ovaries and that taking that monster dick again so quickly will probably land me in A&E.
Another message pings. Get your ass back here, Miss Smarty-pants. We’ll have lunch.
I can’t hold back the smile.
Give me an hour, I type before I realise how little time that leaves me.
Shower, shave, makeup, outfit change, headache tablets…
I’m about to rethink the timeframe when the next message comes through.
I’ll meet you in the lobby. One hour. Don’t be late.
Fuck.
I can’t hold back the grin as I force my aching body upstairs to the shower.
* * *
Kyle
So little Miss Prissy bailed on me. Again. But she’s not getting away so easy this time around.
I’m still in bed when I message her, palming my hard dick under the covers as I switch between Facebook chat and the pictures from last night.
She’s so fucking hot when her inner cock-whore comes out. I could stare at these pictures forever, but they wouldn’t be enough. I want the girl back in my bed, the sooner the better.
One hour.
Enough time for me to shower and get my shit together.
I hold back from tossing one off before she gets here, because who wants to waste a decent hard-on like that when it could be buried in Emily Foster’s pretty pussy?
I’m well aware I’ve still got two scenes to work through before the weekend is done. I run through my lines from last night from memory in the shower, relieved to find I can still remember every single one. And the action that came after them.
Maybe, just maybe I can pull this off and land the job. Just so long as I have Emily to help me through.
The shower is amazing, and I stay in there a fuck of a long time. I check the time on my phone as I finally step out and wrap a towel around my hips. I brush my teeth and ditch the morning stubble, making sure I’m ready to ping her a message at the exact right time.
She’s showing as online when I hit send.
Come on up to me.
I’m not used to the nerves in my stomach. I’m not used to feeling my heart pick up at knowing there’s a woman on her way to my hotel room.
It’s a good sensation. Really good.
I’m ready for the tap at the door, fixing on my cockiest smirk as I swing it open to greet her in just a towel.
Her eyes widen behind her glasses, her pretty mouth open in an O as she stares up at me.
She looks delicious in a tight pair of jeans and spotty pink cami. Her hair is loose and bouncy, her makeup considerably fresher than when she was underneath me last night.
“I thought we were…” she begins as I step aside to let her in.
“Lunching?”
I finish. “We are.”
I pass her the room-service menu and her expression is a delight.
I’m sure her hands are shaky as she flicks to the right page. She taps her foot against the floor, trying so hard not to look at me as I take a step closer.
“Anything you like?” I ask and she tips her head.
“Plenty of things.”
I let the towel drop to the floor and she takes a breath.
“I’ve got something for starters,” I say and pluck the menu from her hands.
My cock is rock solid in my hand as her cheeks turn pink.
“Get down and open wide,” I tell her and place a firm hand on her shoulder.
I love the way she drops to her knees like a good girl. I love the way she places her hands on my hips and stares up at me so sweetly.
It feels too brutal to shove my dick between those perfectly made-up lips, but I can’t stop. She moans as I push to the back of her throat.
“You ran out on me,” I growl. “I think you owe me an apology for your rudeness.”
She slurps so fucking deliciously as I fuck her mouth, eyes close to watering as they stay fixed on mine. Her fingers tighten against my skin as she tries to control some kind of rhythm, but I don’t want her calling the shots.
The shots are all mine right now.
I gather her hair in my fist and hold it tight, forcing her further onto my dick until she retches.
“Eat it up like a good girl,” I grunt and she does.
She blinks and her makeup smears. It makes my balls tighten.
She dribbles down her chin and it makes me groan.
I know she’s feeling it too when she shifts on her knees and rocks to the rhythm. I hope her sore pussy is ready for round two as she murmurs so softly around my cock.
But first I want her to swallow me down like a good little cum-slut.
“You’re gonna take every drop,” I tell her, and she nods as well as she can.
She’s a dribbling mess as I pull my dick from her mouth and yank her head back by her hair. She opens her mouth wide and sticks her tongue out, and I wonder how much porn good little Emily watches to know moves like this.
My cum lands across her face in thick streaks. It pools on her tongue and she groans, her hands leaving my hips to slip down between her legs.
Fuck, sweet little Emily really has slutty promise.
“Horny girl,” I say as my cum drips to the back of her throat. There’s a streak across her glasses, dirty enough that I have to capture the moment on my phone.
She doesn’t say a word when I angle the camera down on her.
She swallows my cum and smiles up at me, her hand rubbing her pussy hard through her jeans as I rub my dick right back to hardness.
“What about the script?” she asks.
“Fuck the fucking script,” I tell her. “I want you on the bed, right fucking now.”
CHAPTER 9
Emily
He wants me.
I can’t believe Kyle Jordan Prescott wants me, but he does.
He’s turning me into a dirty little bitch and I don’t care. I love the way he makes me feel.
I love the way I feel right now with his cum splattered across my face and the taste of him down my throat. I love the way his dick is still hard as I tug my cami up and over my head.
He looks at me like I’m some kind of sex goddess. As though I know what the fuck I’m doing.
All I know is that I’m fucked in every sense of the word.
Ten years ago he kissed me in a closet and I ran away before his brightness could burn me alive.
Ten years ago I told myself it was safer to run away before I chased him for all time.
And yet here I am, on my knees before him, literally as well as figuratively. I’ll never move on from this and I know it.
I’ll never be able to let go of the time I had this beautiful creature inside me.
I should care, but I really don’t.
I should run to safety and put an end to this craziness, but I don’t.
He watches everything. Watches how I fumble with the clasp on my bra before it pings free. Watches how I kick off my sandals and shimmy my jeans down my thighs.
I’m less self-conscious today when I step out of them. I’ve shaved and moisturised and spritzed myself with a fresh load of Dior, which means I’m as ready to rumble as I’ll ever be.
I climb up on Kyle Prescott’s hotel room bed and today I position myself on all fours like I’m ready for him.
I love the way it makes him smile.
“Easy tiger,” he laughs, and grabs his script from the dresser. “We’ll compromise. Ever worked and fucked at the same time?”
I shake my head.
“Time to give it a go,” he says, and climbs up alongside me.
He shunts me flat on my face, then hands me the paperwork.
I realise I can see our reflection in the dresser mirror as he positions himself behind me. He shunts my legs wide, until I feel like a splayed frog, and my pussy aches afresh at the tension.
“So smooth,” he says as he slips his fingers underneath me. “I like it.”
I’m pleased that the shaving effort was worthwhile. I’m also pleased that the guy is such a wizard with female anatomy, because all it takes is a thumb in the right place and I’m squirming around without any consideration for the battering my internal organs took last night.
I want him to fuck me again.
Scrap that, I need him to fuck me again.
I need Kyle Prescott inside me like I need to breathe.
“Read,” he tells me. “I need to learn scene two.”
It’s hard to concentrate on reading with a thumb rolling your clit, but I give it a go anyway.
My voice is wobbly and pathetic as I start reciting the lines. My breath is already quickening as he spits on his fingers and slides two inside.
“You can’t deny me, Brianna– ah,” I grunt. “Fuck…”
“That’s not part of the script,” he says.
“Sorry,” I hiss. “You can’t deny me, Brianna. You know he’ll never be… ah… be me.”
Oh how my pussy aches, and it’s glorious. I’m bucking back at him without care for how sore it is or how wet I am or how slurpy the noises are as he fucks me deep with this fingers.
I keep reading, not caring if I stumble or stammer, not caring that this isn’t a method of teaching they’d have ever endorsed at university.
Not caring that Kyle Prescott is going to disappear on Monday and leave me a broken, pining mess in my boring little life here.
“Keep reading,” he says, and lowers himself on top of me.
I cry out as the head of him forces entry. His chest is hard against my back, his breath hot against my ear as I groan for more.
It hurts as he pushes inside, but I love it.
“More,” I beg. “Please…”
He gives me more and I tip my head back against his shoulder.
“Your pussy is fucking divine,” he whispers. “I’m gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop.”
He’ll be fucking me forever before I beg him to stop.
“Read,” he says.
And I do.
I read and I groan and squirm underneath him. I read through my panting breath, even as the ache dulls and turns into something fucking amazing.
I read that scene over and over as his dick slides in and out of me, and slowly, so very slowly, he starts adding words in sync with mine.
He’s learning, and so am I.
I’m learning how good it feels to be fucked by a cock that displaces your internal organs.
I’m learning how it’s possible to feel butterflies after months of feeling nothing.
I’m learning how good it feels to be inside my own skin, when Kyle Prescott is inside of it too.
“I’m gonna take your ass for scene three,” he whispers before we take it from the top again.
“I want it,” I hiss back at him. �
��I want it all.”
“You’re a dirty little minx, Emily Foster,” he says and it makes me smile.
Yes. It appears that I am.
“I want you to come around my cock,” he tells me.
He shifts his hips and I cry out as the pressure builds. He fucks me like a jackhammer, right on a target I never knew was there.
I can’t stop panting as he takes me there.
“Read,” he says, but I can’t. I drop the script on the bed and use my arms to leverage myself back at his thrusts. I’m a whimpering mess as he pounds me, my glasses steaming up as I grunt and groan for more.
And then I come.
Hard.
Hard enough to see stars as I buck and strain and beg for deeper, harder, faster.
“Fuck,” he growls, and I know he’s coming too.
He bites my neck as I cry out for him, pins me tight to the bed as he finishes off inside me.
And then we breathe.
Quickly.
Then slowly.
His dick still inside me as I feel an ache all over again.
“Read,” he says.
I giggle as the euphoria washes over me.
And then I take it from the top.
* * *
Kyle
Emily Foster is good at many things.
She’s good at reading, she’s good at teaching, she’s good at taking my dick and driving me crazy for more.
She’s not good at ordering room service.
My slutty librarian has been studying the menu with my face buried between her thighs for twenty minutes already.
“Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll have the steak baguette.”
I gesture a hand at the phone on the bedside table, knowing full well it’s in easy reach of her.
“You want me to call?” she asks, like it needs clarification.
“Order,” I grunt as I lap at her swollen clit.
She tries to close her legs, but I won’t have any of it. I wrap my arms around her thighs and hold her right in position.
“Order,” I say again.
I love the shocked expression on her face when she registers my game.
I know she’s a trooper when she picks up the handset and clears her throat.
Drawn to Him: A Romance Collection Page 29
