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We hadn't discussed the implications of what she revealed, her real identity, which wasn't that of a submissive. I was taking a chance, here and now, hoping that her curiosity about the lifestyle was authentic.
That I hadn't imagined how wet submitting made her. That her breathless enthusiasm when she counted out the strikes I'd dealt wasn't all a show.
When she rose from the couch wordlessly, my nerves wreaked havoc on my gut. Had I gone too far? Was she about to reveal that she was done with all of that? That she couldn't, wouldn't submit?
Before my head could run through all the possible scenarios, she'd climbed onto my lap, silencing every doubt as she roped her arms around my neck. Her dark hair spilled all around us and her eyes burned into mine as her lips curved into a smile. "Bring it on, D."
Chapter Five: Sophia
I would have had him right there. On the couch. On the counter. Hell, even on the floor. But he only allowed me a single kiss while I straddled him.
His lips grazed mine, and his taste consumed me. The salt of his skin, the power of his tongue as he dove into my mouth, sweeping over every surface, like he was staking claim to me.
Not Sin. Sophia.
The heat between my thighs became an inferno as I rolled my hips, feeling him come alive beneath me. He wanted this, wanted me as badly as I wanted him. Safewords, protocol be damned, I didn't wait for permission to kiss him right back. To lose myself in his arms.
I skated my fingertips from his neck to his hair, dipping my fingers until I grazed his scalp, taking a fistful and tugging as my tongue became ferocious. I pulled him deeper, moaning into him as my lips said everything I needed to say while saying nothing at all. That I needed him. Craved him. Lusted for him.
And loved him.
I panted, breathless, pulling my lips away from him long enough to clutch his shirt, but he took hold of my wrists. Arousal had turned him into a caveman; his eyes filled with only one objective: the needs of his flesh. Fucking my brains out. But he only managed a grunt.
"Un uh."
I didn't bother pouting. If he didn't want to be undressed, well, I'd just take matters into my own hands. Really solidify just how badly I needed to be punished.
I took ahold of my t-shirt, daring him to stop me. Those wild green eyes of his narrowed and even though he was quiet, his body had plenty to say. His gaze hissed, don't you dare. His erection, piercing right through his jeans, told me not to stop.
Guess which part of Desmond O'Connell I decided to listen to?
I got my white t-shirt up as far as my navel before he bucked me off him and I tumbled back onto the couch beside him in a tangle of hair, blushed cheeks, and legs. Now I pouted, trying to get myself back together.
When I threw him the evil eye, he just grinned that sexy-as-hell grin that was so rare, so devastatingly Desmond, that it should be illegal.
I flipped my hair in a huff. "I thought stars loved getting it on in their trailers." I licked my lips and tiptoed my fingers up his thigh. "I want you, Desmond."
He inhaled deep and bit his lip. He rearranged himself, trying to hide proof that he was just as dialed up as me, before he gave up. He was way too thick and way too aroused to make that bulge discreet. "And I want you. But just so we're clear, this couch hasn't seen any action...yet."
Hope rose in my chest, a bundle of heart shaped balloons (and a few St. Andrews crosses etched on said balloons). But then he stood up like a man on a mission, and when he pulled on his leather jacket, I realized that mission wasn't to christen the couch.
He turned back to me, his voice a low sultry thing that slipped right up my shirt and stroked my nipples.
"When I take you for the first time, for real, with no secrets, and no lies between us, it's not gonna be here." One side of his mouth lifted into a smirk when I slid to the edge of the couch. Waiting. Longing.
"It'll be in my bed," he finished huskily.
I hopped up from the couch, my failed seduction fading into the horizon. I dusted off my jeans, the heat flaring deep inside. "Lead the way, Mr. O'Connell."
He rushed a hand through his chopped mahogany hair, tousling the locks. Combined with that jacket, he looked so damn good that I was throbbing for him.
"One last bit of business," he said, walking over to the counter where a walkie rested against a stack of folders. He turned the knob on the side and brought it to his mouth. "This is Desmond."
The answer was immediate, the male voice on the other end frenzied and out of breath. "Mr. O'Connell! What's wrong? I mean, let me start off by apologizing-"
"That won't be necessary," Desmond interrupted, wincing when I raised my eyebrows. He really wielded some power on set if some dude was ready to fall on his sword before Desmond even got to what he wanted. "Please let Kara know that I'm feeling under the weather and won't be available to shoot today."
The walkie went crazy then, the poor guy on the other end all but begging Desmond to break the news to Kara himself. Offering to call the onset medical staff. To travel to the Alps or the mythical Fountain of Youth to fetch him the elixir of life; anything to not have to face this Kara chick and deliver bad news.
