Page 29 of Take 2

Chapter Twenty-Six

O ur day didn’t start as early as yesterday did—the drive was much prettier and also more terrifying with sunlight—but I’m still tired when we get back to Monaco.

As it turns out, we had enough pent-up desire that it takes more than two or three romps to satisfy it.

When we crash into my hotel room, and he pins me to the bed, I escape Preston’s kiss to accuse him of trying to keep me away from his set today.

He nips at my neck. “What are you really getting out of the shoots?” His teeth scrape my earlobe. “I’ll get Rafi to commit to a dinner. That’ll be better for you anyway.”

I sigh as he jumbles my thoughts. “I hate missing the opportunity to be at a film shoot.”

“But this way”—he kisses my jaw—“you get to rest …” I think he hears my eyes roll. “And work on your own stuff.” A more reasonable thing to tempt me with. “Then you’ll be refreshed to go out tonight, and I won’t have to feel bad about keeping you awake all night.”

A hand pressing up my thigh leaves me wondering what I was arguing about. “You’re telling me my day can just be sex, napping, writing, a business dinner, and more sex?”

His finger hooks the waistband of my panties. “Does that sound so terrible?”

“Hmm … I guess not.”

My apprehension melts in the heat of our joint desire, then sleep jumps at the opportunity to seize me before I can get on my computer.

Waking up in the middle of the day is as luxurious as the first-class seats on the flight here.

When was the last time I did this? Any of this.

It’s almost enough to trigger an identity crisis.

Since this is mostly a vacation for me, I suppose I can accept it.

This would be a great time to catch up with James, but it’s too early in California.

It would be solid revenge for his call in the middle of the night, but sex has me feeling generous.

Instead, I check emails, assure Ashleigh I’m still alive, and open the screenplay I’ve been playing with in my spare moments.

Of course, I have options that are already complete to talk to Rafael about.

Quite a few, actually. How did I end up with so many finished screenplays?

The soreness between my legs reminds me my lack of a sex life probably had something to do with that.

If this continues, I guess my productivity will take a dive. Can this continue in LA? The thought forms a pit in my stomach. Lying to myself that it’s hunger, I head down to the pool for lunch with a book in hand for a chance to shut my brain off.

After enjoying lobster and avocado salad—which is amazing, but not better than Preston—I settle onto a lounge chair and look out at the view of the Mediterranean from the seventh-floor deck. How is this my life?

Well, it’s not really. It’s like watching a movie—an escape that will end and give way back to reality once the credit roll. Because nothing about this can be real life.

My phone vibrates, and my sunglasses slide down my nose as I look at the message.

I Wish I Was Fucking Preston Greene: Hope you’re having a nice day.

It’s not a big deal, and it’s only because we’re on this trip together, but I picture having a real day—a hard day—and getting a message like that. It’s kind of been my badge of honor that I’ve gotten where I am on my own, but is that a sad prize to win?

Me: I suppose sunbathing is pretty nice.

Did we have to remove ourselves from reality because this can only exist outside of reality?

I Wish I Was Fucking Preston Greene: Are you topless without me?

See! That wouldn’t have happened in Cali.

Me: Not yet, but I’m about to turn over. Wish you were here.

Fun flirting. This is nothing new. I’ve done this plenty of times—not with this level of chemistry, but sex is sex.

When I’ve had enough sun, I head back in for a shower. My hair is cold on my back and shoulders, and I come out of the bathroom in a towel to find Preston sitting at the desk. He looks up at me and smiles. “Is it really safe for you to shower by yourself?”

“I think not being alone was what made yesterday’s shower dangerous.”

“I’ll have to keep cookies or chocolates around to make sure we don’t have a repeat of that.”

I sit on his lap and wrap an arm around him. “Mmm, no. I’ll end up like Pavlov’s dog. Every time I eat a cookie, I’ll get aroused.”

“This is exactly the kind of scientific experiment I’d love to try. I’ll go get cookies right now.”

“Right now isn’t necessary. I already showered for dinner.”

“No rush for that. It’s just the two of us tonight.”

I lean back so I can face him fully. “Was the whole thing a ruse? Am I ever going to get more than ninety seconds with Rafael?”

“No and yes. Tomorrow night. Look.” He shows me his phone and the reservation Rafael sent him a calendar invite for.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Still not having sex with you until after dinner, so you don’t negate the purpose of my shower.”

“Can you really wait that long?”

As if it’s been months rather than hours—but that’s not the argument I make. “Maybe I played while you were working.”

His eyes narrow. “Did you pack a vibrator?”

“Of course I did. I’m a woman with needs.”

“Didn’t you think”—he kisses my neck slowly—“I’d satisfy those needs for you?”

My heart picks up. “This was supposed to be a business trip.”

“You knew better.”

“Maybe I was trying to avoid the obvious truth of it.”

He squeezes my thigh. “So stubborn. Have you used it to get past being turned on by me?”

“Perhaps.”

“Have you thought about me when you use it?”

I swallow past a lump in my throat.

Preston’s hand slides up under my towel slowly, his thumb rubbing circles along the inside of my thigh. “You have.” He kisses my neck, and my back arches to push the growing ache between my legs closer to his hand. “I want to see that.”

“See what?”

“You getting yourself off, thinking of me.”

I squirm, but he pulls his hand away instead of touching me like I need. “You know, I usually think of you when you get me off.”

Teeth sink into my neck. “Only usually?”

An innocent shrug is all I respond with, and I turn to straddle him. The towel hikes up around my hips. “You’ve done it without a cookie. Congratulations.”

“Okay, instead of a cookie, you get a toy.” The curl of his lips makes a chill run up my back.

“You really want to watch me?”

“So much.”

“And you don’t want to touch me?” I stand and take a step back from him.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Okay, because if I recall, you were pained just to see me put sunscreen on my boobs.”

He licks his lips. “I knew it was going to take longer to get my hands on you then.”

I drop the towel and soak up the heat of his gaze on my skin. When I turn around to go to the bed, I think I hear him blow out a breath. My vibrator is in the nightstand, and for all the times I’ve taken it into bed with me, I can’t say it’s ever felt like this.

Holding Preston’s eye contact while I sit is almost enough to make me come. My heart and lungs are reeling, and all this is without a single touch. This isn’t going to take long.

The low buzzing of it seems louder than usual.

His gaze flickers to the device in my hand, and his eyebrows draw together.

“It pulses air,” I say, reclining against the pillows. “It provides suction.” As I slide it down between my legs, Preston stands and walks to the side of the bed with measured steps. He stands over me, and the complete exposure ignites a fire in me.

“Spread your legs.” He watches the vibrator moving over me with a clenched jaw.

“So bossy.”

“Please.” His eyes bore into mine. “Please let me see that.”

I take a deep breath and slide my legs apart as I fight the urge to clench my thighs together. My legs tremble with the effort as the pressure builds. “Fuck this. I want to come on you.”

“You will.” His voice is sandpaper. “After you finish.”

I’m not far from it already, but I want him. “I’m not even sure you’re enjoying this,” I get out between panting breaths.

“You have no fucking idea.”

“Show me.” My hips circle and buck. I’m so close.

He keeps his eyes on the action but unfastens his shorts and takes out a raging erection.

Closer now.

“Come here,” I say.

“When you’re done.”

“No. I—” I grab his waistband and pull him to me. I take him into my mouth, and he gasps.

“Holy fuck.” He gives a gentle thrust, then another. I mimic the motion with my hand. “Let me see you come.”

The eruption is simmering in every nerve of my body.

When it boils over, I cry out, pulling my face away from him as pleasure ripples through me.

The vibrator falls to my side. Preston grips my hip and turns me toward the side of the bed so fast it makes my already spinning world blur.

He drops to his knees and dives in to lick me like my orgasm is the finest delicacy on earth.

Holy shit. His mouth eases me down from my release more gently than what I get on my own, while also keeping me on the razor edge of another.

He looks up and grazes a fingertip along my humming skin. “Is it better than me?”

A laugh puffs out of me. “No.”

“What’s your favorite way to get off?”

“With you inside me.” Managing his ego used to be a concern, but now I have only one.

“Hmm.” He licks me again.

“Please fuck me.”

He groans against me, and it almost sends me over again. “Those words on your lips …” He stands and throws his shirt off. My legs hook around him when he tries to step away. “I’m just getting—”

“No. I’ve got the implant. Please. Please fuck me.”

His pupils dilate, and he drops onto me like I had lassoed him. Kisses claim my mouth, warmth emanates from his hand on my breast, and when he sinks into me, I suck in a sharp breath. The relief I didn’t know I’d been waiting years for carries me away as Preston Greene makes love to me.