Page 18 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
Holy fuck. Her soft fingers wrapped around me, and all the air escaped my lungs as she stroked me. “Your hands are like magic,” I rasped out as I rocked into her palm.
“They’ll feel even better like this,” she said, breaking the contact for a second. I opened my eyes to watch her lean across me and grab a bottle of lotion from the coffee table, and pump some into her hand.
“Always thinking,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows.
“Lubrication works wonders,” she said, returning to my erection and gripping me harder.
“That it does, Jess. That it—” I stopped talking when she started using both hands, stroking and tugging in ways that made my whole body vibrate. I sank down into the couch, giving in to the moment with her, to the way her talented hands worked me over.
“God, I want to fuck you so badly,” I said to her in Italian.
“I have no clue what you’re saying, but I bet it’s dirty,” she said, laughing as she grasped me in such perfect harmony, using both hands. Sheer pleasure ricocheted throughout my bones and blood as she pumped her hands over me, on me, against me.
“So fucking dirty. I am dying to be inside you, to feel you come on me, to have you under me,” I said in that language, too, another groan working its way up my throat as her hands flew faster, the lotion doing its job of turning friction into wonderful abandon.
“I love that you talk in Italian when you get turned on,” she said, and this time it was her voice, her hands, the fresh memory of the sexy way she’d arched against me, that set me off into a fantastic climax.
I bit off a string of endless curse words as I thrust hard into her hand.
Minutes later, when we’d both cleaned up, I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in close. “See, and that’s another reason why I hope I can stay in America. All that cake.”
She tensed for the briefest of seconds, then relaxed into me.
I had no idea if she wanted the same things I did—more—but for now I had her, so I’d take what I could get.
FRIDAY
FRIDAY
Weather: 70 degrees, Sunny
7
Jess
* * *
I stretched out my hamstrings at the foot of the trail as I listened to my most upbeat pre-running playlist. There was nothing quite like a jog on the trails as the sun rose. Plus, I was even more energetic than usual. Having a fantastic orgasm last night delivered by a hot guy I was crazy for might have had something to do with the good mood that fueled my morning. He’d already texted me at the crack of dawn. His message had sent flurries down my spine.
HBG: Hi. I think I’m still high this morning on you. Can we have a repeat tonight?
I’d said yes, of course. That man had worked his way into my heart, and somehow he had the secret key to unlock my body. Because the simplest touch from him turned me all the way on. Even his notes unleashed goosebumps in me.
Another note arrived as I moved on to calf stretches.
HBG: Will start the tail soon. Uncle James has demanded I appear at his office this morning. Says he needs to review wedding plans, so at least my delay is for a good cause.
I wrote back: A very good cause.
While bouncing on my toes, my phone rattled in my hand once more. Sliding my finger over the screen, I expected another text from William but instead opened a message from my dad.
Guess who’s history from The Weekenders?? Nick Ballast. Otherwise known as Nick Balloons!
My Hollywood-gossip-loving eyes widened to full saucer size as I read his note, and the way he’d used the tabloid moniker my shots had inspired for the once tubby Nick. I tapped out a quick reply.
Nick’s been cut from The Weekenders? Did the studio boot him?
Ever the early bird, my dad replied quickly.
The director nixed him. Your mom heard about it this morning from a friend who’s an agent at WAM, since a WAM client has been recast in Nick’s role.
I gulped, a new fear swooping through me as I dialed my dad—the possibility that I was to blame. “Already? The studio already recast the part?” I asked, quickly segueing from text to talking.
“Crazy, isn’t it? That movie’s a mess. The script languishes in rewrite hell for the better part of the decade, then more rewrites before shooting, then a cast member axed a week or so before it starts production.”
“But who replaced him, Dad?” I asked, as a cold dread seeped through me. I feared I knew who he’d say.
“Jenner Davies. Of all people, Jenner Davies.”
I stumbled back, and grabbed hold of a fencepost at the head of the trail.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I guess his charitable makeover campaign worked even better than he planned,” I said heavily. But it wasn’t his makeover campaign that had won him a part. It was blackmail.
