When she gathered it in her fist, it was still warm from his body heat.
She licked her lips with deliberate care, knowing his eyes would follow the movement. “One down. Two to go.”
Sitting back, he rested a hand on her knee. Traced the oval of her kneecap. “I can’t wait.”
There was a smile in his voice, even though his face was downturned, his eyes on his fingertip circling, circling, circling.
“The indie movie . . .” When she pressed her thighs together, he glanced up and slanted her a wicked grin. “It’s a limited commitment, more so than the TV series. That probably appeals to you. It’s cleverly written. It’s a chance to show your emotional range. It’d also be one of the few comedic roles you’ve taken, and your first since you became as famous as you are.”
His finger had strayed to the inside of her knee now, teasing the thin skin there through the flimsy barrier of her lounge pants. “Why haven’t I accepted, then?”
“It’s not much money, but I’d guess that isn’t your main concern.”
“No?” It was another near-purr, languid and sultry.
Those strong hands urged her to her feet and stood her between his legs, where he still sat on the couch. Without warning, he tugged down her wide-legged pants, his palms hot as they skimmed down the sides of her thighs, her calves.
She was still wearing panties, but she suspected that state of affairs might not last much longer, given the way he slipped a thumb under her waistband and stroked along her belly.
“No—oh.” When he settled her on his lap, positioning her so she straddled his hips, that bulge in his jeans pressed right there, where she was aching and growing hotter. “Th-the cast is such a large ensemble, you might not get enough chance to shine. I also wasn’t sure Ophelia had much of an identity outside her exes.”
He hummed in agreement and palmed her ass. Rocked her against him. “Two points for Team Whittier.”
Her patience was nearly exhausted. She wanted his mouth, then she wanted his dick, and she didn’t want to wait longer than necessary for either.
“Then take off your fucking jeans,” she told him.
His eyes flared, and he didn’t hesitate further. Shifting her off his lap for a moment, he tugged down his jeans in a single, swift movement before kicking them aside. Then he was touching her again, dragging her closer, his possessive hands on her ass urging her back astride him.
With only two thin, soft layers separating his cock from her sex, each upward hitch of his hips lit sparks behind her half-closed eyelids.
“One more to go.” His voice was a rumble now, a deep vibration against her shoulder.
Her chin tipped back, and he mouthed her neck. “The television show—”
Shit. His hands were sliding under her shirt, stroking up her back and circling forward, and if she didn’t finish her analysis right now, she clearly never would, and if she didn’t finish, she wouldn’t win, and if she didn’t win, she couldn’t watch him strip naked before she rode that smug, sexy face of his.
Well, she probably could. But it would feel even better knowing she’d won.
“More tricks, Caster-Hyphen-Rupp?” She took one last moment to appreciate his hot tongue teasing that spot beneath her jaw, the pressure against her swelling clit. “So be it.”
When she rose to her knees on the couch, he groaned at the loss of friction. Then groaned harder when she reached down and pushed him back against the cushions, sliding her fingers beneath the top edge of his boxer-briefs.
“Raise your hips,” she told him, and he obeyed long enough for her to yank the fabric just below his firm, gloriously round ass.
His cock bobbed against his ridged belly, hard and thick and wet at the tip.
She didn’t touch it yet, even though she could. Even though she wanted to.
He shook his head at her chidingly, but his voice was hoarse. “That’s cheating, Whittier. You didn’t earn that yet.”
“I didn’t cheat.” She stared down her nose at him, cheeks aflame with lust. “Unless I’m mistaken, you’re still wearing your boxer-briefs.”
That cocky smirk should be illegal. “So I am. Not, however, in the intended manner.”
“And not for much longer,” she told him. “Lie down.”
At the flick of her finger, he stretched out full-length on the couch once more. This time, when she straddled his thighs, she did so with her fist tight around his burgeoning cock, and apart from a few semifrantic rolls of his hips, he didn’t offer any more distractions or interruptions.
She gave him a firm stroke before speaking again, and he jerked beneath her and grew even harder in her hand. “I saw Francine’s note about where the television series’s showrunners hope to sell it.” The same cable channel as Gods of the Gates. “If they succeed, that should ensure a decent budget, and I’m sure your involvement in the show would help them make their case. The role has action sequences, but a strong emotional core too. I suspect you like the way they gender-flipped the characters, compared to the norm.”
She licked her palm. Stroked him again as he bit off a loud moan.
“I spent the longest with that script, because I was looking for telltale signs the show intended to shame sex workers. I couldn’t find any.” With her free hand, she stroked up that flat belly and over his chest as he squirmed between her thighs. “My guess? You were drawn to the role because everyone, even the female lead, dismisses your character as just a pretty face and fuckable body at first, but there’s much more to him. It’s a smart script, Marcus. The best of the lot. Good money too.”
“So why—” He was arching beneath her and gasping now, to her infinite satisfaction. “Why haven’t I auditioned already?”
Her hands stilled. Dammit. She’d hoped he wouldn’t ask that.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I couldn’t quite figure it out.”
After blowing out a hard breath, he managed a wry tone. “If you do figure it out, let me know. Because I have no idea, and I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Okay.” This deserved her full attention, and his too, so she removed her hands from his body and placed them on her own thighs. “Do you have any theories?”
He subsided down into the couch again. “I don’t want to leave you, of course. But the audition would only keep us apart for a day or two, so that’s not it. Not all of it, anyway. And I don’t want to stop acting entirely, so that’s not the issue either.”
Reaching up, he tucked a swath of her hair behind her ear. “I haven’t been able to make myself audition for months now, and I don’t know why. Even though it feels ungrateful to waste these opportunities. Foolish too.”
“It’s not foolish.” She laid her palm over his heart, as she’d done before. “There’s no right or wrong answer here. Just—”
“—whatever makes me happiest,” he finished, a slight smile lightening his expression. “I hope that’s true.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
He winced then, his flinch sudden and violent, and she hurriedly scrambled off his lap.