Famously Mine: A Contemporary Romance Box Set Page 21

  “Luckily, I am very good at foreplay,” Joshua says. He crawls over me, and suddenly I’m surrounded by him. Caged in by his scent, by his strength, by his heat, by his safety. My heart is going a mile a minute, and I’m so wet for him. Oh God, screw foreplay. This whole month has been foreplay, and I don’t care if it hurts, I want him in me now. I reach down for his zipper, but he catches my hand.

  “Ah ah ah! Foreplay first,” Joshua says, lacing our fingers together, and pinning my wandering hand to the pillow above my head.

  “Josh,” I whine.

  “You’re the one who said–”

  I arch up into him, and he loses focus, but only temporarily. He grabs my other hand and pins it to the sheets too.

  God, he’s strong.

  “Here’s the plan,” Joshua says. “In…” he glances at the clock on the bedside table “... one hour, I’m going to be in you, and you’re going to be screaming my name.”

  “If I don’t lose interest before then,” I mutter, and he gives me a glare that sends a thrill down my spine.

  “But,” he continues meaningfully, “the way we get there is if you let me get you really fucking horny and very relaxed. So please stop trying to unzip my pants and let me make love to you.”

  “I’m already horny,” I say, frustrated, and he laughs. I can feel the motion of his stomach against mine.

  It’s funny. I’ve thought about sex a lot. But I’ve never imagined what it would be like to feel his laugh against my skin, or the way it would make my heart feel lovely and tight all at the same time.

  “I can tell,” Joshua says wryly, and I glare at him, which for some reason makes him kiss me. For a few minutes, we lose track of the world together.

  “You trusted me enough to tell me what your body needs, Sienna,” Joshua says. “Now trust me enough to give it to you.”

  I search his face. Joshua watches me, his brown eyes warm and patient and only occasionally disturbed by sharp flickers of lust.

  It’s Joshua. Of course I trust him.

  I nod slowly, relaxing into the bed.

  Joshua eyes me for a minute to make sure I’ve really given in. Then he lowers his head and kisses me, so soft and gentle you’d think it was our first kiss. My instinct is to push him for more, because I know he’ll give it, and God, I want it. But his lips are drugging me, and I let myself soften.

  As if that softening is what he’s been waiting for, Joshua releases my hands. He trails his own down my sides and up my shirt. I’m trying to relax, I really am, but I arc under his hands as they climb higher.

  “Shhh,” Joshua murmurs into my ear. “Relax.”

  “I’m trying!”

  He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me, eyebrow arched.

  “I am!” I groan and flop back into the pillow. “But as previously established, I really want you in me, so I’m probably not going to be relaxed until I come, but you want to foreplay, so foreplay away. Here, I’ll help.”

  I strip off my blouse and toss it across the room.

  When I turn back, Joshua is eyeing me like a starving man. His gaze is a caress, and I shiver under it, feeling deliciously exposed.

  But it’s almost too much. Like he’s pressing on a nerve. “What are you doing?” I blurt.

  “Getting inspired,” His eyes dance with wicked intent. “Take your pants off.”

  I hesitate, “What do you mean inspired?”

  “You said you can relax after you come. So, step one…”

  Slowly, I take my pants off, my heart pounding. I’m not trying to take my time, but there’s this spellbound quality between us, like I’m swimming through honey.

  Joshua catches my lips, pressing me down into the sheets. He’s still wearing his pants, and the slide of his jeans against of my bare legs is erotic. I have a flashing thought that it’s a metaphor for our whole relationship — him protected, me exposed — but I shove it away and concentrate on what feels good.

  Which is pretty much everything. His warmth and scent and his weight. All of it certain, all of it anchoring me. His taste.

  God, his taste.

  But he’s pulling away from my mouth. His lips work down my neck, flirting along the edge of my bra. I bury my hands in his hair, urging him on.

  His hands are behind me, unhooking my bra, and it could be my imagination, but I think his hands are shaking.

  I’m making Joshua tremble, and it thrills me.

  He gets my bra off, and I’m half expecting another savoring-the-sight moment, but he’s already feasting. When he sucks my nipple, my breath breaks.

  Joshua sucks and pinches and bites and kisses until I’m the one trembling.

  “How am I doing? Are you there yet?” he says.

  “Almost,” I say, trying to guide him back where I want him, but he slips from my grasp and works his way down.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  He kisses me through my panties, and I have a moment of hoping I wore something cute today, before he slides my underwear down, and begins the process of figuring out how I like to be touched, licked, kissed.

  I’ll say this for Joshua King: he’s a fast learner.

  When he finally slides his fingers inside me, I don’t think I can stand it.

  “Josh, I – oh. Oh—” I gasp.

  “It’s ok, Sienna. I’ve got you.”

  I come on a roiling wave of intense pleasure that leaves me shaking.

  Shaking and then … calm.

  “Ok, I see your point,” I say.

  “I had a point?” he looks up at me, his eyes dark and unfocused. His mouth is wet with my cream. The sight is so hot, I clench around his fingers still inside of me, and he shivers.

  I am so ready to have this man.

  “Come up here,” I say, and he’s halfway up, like my voice is a drug he can’t get enough of, before he catches sight of the clock.

  “No,” he says, sitting up, rocking back on his heels. “An hour.”

  I pout.

  He tries to look stern.

  I try a new tactic. I trace my fingers idly over my breasts, then cup and lift them for his perusal.

  He doesn’t look stern anymore. He looks hungry.

  This time it’s my turn to look my fill, and it’s all I can do not to moan when my eyes settle on his crotch.

  “Can I?” I ask, half reaching for him.

  “You’re supposed to be relaxing,” he murmurs. But he lets me unzip his pants and pull his cock out.

  Hell. He’s hard and warm and gorgeous. “I find this incredibly relaxing,” I say.

  “I don’t,” Joshua grits out.

  I give him an experimental squeeze, and he groans.

  I lean down to kiss him there, but before I know it I’m flat on my back, my hands fiercely pinned above my head.

  “Hey,” I whine.

  “If you… I can’t… I’ll lose control,” he shakes his head, as if trying to shake off an unspeakable failure.

  “That might be my new fantasy,” I purr. “You losing control.”

  “Please. For my sanity. Stop talking,” he kisses me to shut me up. I’d be indignant, if his lips were just a smidge less heavenly.

  He shifts his grip so he’s cuffing me with one hand, while his other wanders down to my clit. I mean to break free, I really do, but his hands on me feel so good, and before I know it I’m coming again.

  As I’m coming down to earth, I roll to my side, and shove the clock away so Joshua can’t check it again.

  “There. It’s been an hour.”

  “Sienna!”

  “Do you really want to fight me on this, Joshua?”

  He closes his eyes briefly, “No. No, I really don’t.” He shucks his pants and underwear — black boxer briefs, for anyone wondering — and grabs a condom from his wallet.

  Joshua starts to climb on top, then remembers what I said on the beach and rolls so that I’m on top, setting our pace.

  He’s so careful as I take him into me, doing
his best not to move before I’m ready, that I almost cry. Joshua keeps asking if I’m ok, then checking my face to see if I’m telling the truth when I say I am.

  And the thing is, I am. He’s so big inside me, but he’s gentle, and I can’t help but settle into the feeling of it all.

  Trusting him to give me what I need.

  I rock a little, shifting my hips, and Joshua bucks up into me.

  I grab his shoulders to keep from falling, every nerve I have catching delicious fire.

  “Sorry,” Joshua bites out. “Lost control. Won’t happen again.”

  He frowns up at the ceiling. His lips move.

  “Joshua. Are you doing math?”

  “I’m going to give you what you need. I swear. It’s just you feel really good. Like so fucking good. And I can’t think straight, I can’t breath, I just want to—” he breathes heavily, like he’s reeling himself in. “So yes, I am making use of the quadratic formula.”

  I laugh, and groan, then stroke a hand through his hair, feeling a well of frustrated tenderness. He’s trying so hard. And he’s such an idiot.

  I catch his face between my hands, then kiss him, my hair falling in a dark curtain around us. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur.

  “Me?” Joshua asks, his voice strained. “I am not the beautiful one in this relationship.”

  Relationship. He doesn’t even realize he’s said it, but the reality of it blooms around me. We do have a relationship. It’s strange and fragile and temporary, but it’s ours. And for this one night, it doesn’t feel fragile at all.

  I pick up the pace, riding him hard.

  He’s frowning at the ceiling again.

  I swat his arm.

  “Joshua. What if what I need is for you to lose control? Ever think of that?”

  “It… can’t be that simple. No,” Joshua shakes his head. “You’re saying that now. But when I screw it up—”

  “I’ll think God, that man is beautiful when I’m making him come,” I rock into him, and he shudders. “Come on, Joshua,” I say. “Don’t leave me out here all alone. Be with me. Right here. Right now.” I catch his hand and kiss it. Like he’s always doing for me when we’re in front of the cameras, and he’s trying to tell me it will all be ok.

  Joshua looks at his hand in mine. “That’s really what you need?” he asks, like he’s expecting there to be a trick.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Okay. Okay then,” he catches my face in his hands, peering deep into my eyes, as if to convince himself it’s really what I want. “Here goes nothing.”

  And then he finds my lips and lets himself go.

  It’s messy at first – our hips bump, our rhythms clash, but his hands are tight, bruising my hips as he holds me where he needs me, and when we figure out how to dance together, it’s all the more exhilarating.

  His face is a symphony: lust, tenderness, humor, heat. And all of it so very Joshua. When he lunges for another kiss it shifts our angle, and suddenly I’m gasping for breath, clutching him from pleasure, coming and coming and coming. Then he’s burying his head in my shoulder, biting my neck as something powerful sweeps through him too.

  A breeze blows through the hotel room as our hearts slow together.

  Joshua runs a gentle thumb over the place he bit, “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t leave a mark.”

  “Liar. You absolutely want to leave a mark,” I joke.

  The truth is, I’m shaken. That was… better than I thought it would be. Much better.

  I climb off Joshua, feeling suddenly shy, and start to turn the clock back so he can see it.

  Joshua covers my hand with his, “Don’t.”

  “But we should check what time it is. You still need to do your nightly check-in with Darian, in case there’s anything time sensitive. And neither of us have checked our email in hours–”

  “Fuck all that,” Joshua turns to get rid of the condom, and turn off the lights.

  When he climbs back into bed, he wraps his arm around my waist, cuddling me to him. I feel every inch of my body relax as I breath him in.

  “Who are you, and what happened to Joshua King?” I ask.

  “He lost control,” Joshua says, and starts kissing me again.

  14

  Joshua

  I’m dead asleep, but my phone’s going off. I reach to turn off the alarm, but it’s not on my bedside table. It’s in my pants, on the ground. And it’s not my alarm. Someone’s calling me at … I check the clock.

  3:07 in the morning.

  Normally, I’d treat that as an emergency. But Sienna is sound asleep in bed next to me, her head resting on my chest, and I can’t think of a single thing worth leaving this bed for.

  I trail my fingers through her hair, and she makes a sound and nestles closer in to me.

  I still can’t believe she picked me. I mean, I know women like me for flings. And every now and then someone’s interested in a relationship until one of us realizes that it’s never going to work. But for something real? No one thinks I’m a good bet. Not even me.

  I’d think this was just sex, but sex is never just sex the first time.

  And she waited until she was 26, so… this has to matter to her, right?

  And if it does, then maybe … I matter.

  I peek down at her. The room is dark, but there’s just enough moonlight to see that she’s smiling in her sleep. Naked except for my ring.

  I relax as a slow, hopeful certainty spreads through me. I matter to Sienna Bridges.

  My phone rings, and I groan. It’s not Poppy, she’s with Brittney this week, and she never calls when she’s with her mom.

  Unless something’s wrong. With her, or Brittney. And I’m hours away, unable to help. Visions of Poppy in a hospital bed have me out of bed in a flash and fumbling for the phone.

  It’s Darian, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Until I see he’s called 48 times in the last half hour.

  I look back at Sienna, sleeping in a cloud of white sheets and moonlight. And I am so, so tempted to toss my phone and crawl back in with her.

  But Darian would never call me this late unless something’s really wrong. And he definitely wouldn’t call me this many times in a row. I put on my pants, and go out on the balcony to call him back.

  He answers on the first ring.

  “Darian, what’s wrong…”

  “We’re going to lose the script.”

  I nearly drop the phone. “What?” I bark.

  The serenity of the ocean below seems to be mocking me.

  “Marilyn Cohen is getting nervous because the buy was anonymous. And she’s worried we’re going to ruin it, so she’s returning our money and selling it to an old friend she trusts. I was going to tell them who you were, but then I thought, what if I tell, and we lose Elinor Swift? And we’ve already invited all the reporters to the launch party, and I’ve given the rest of the leads their signing bonuses… Josh, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do.”

  “She can’t take back the script,” I say. “Can she?”

  “Legally? No. But do you really want to start our company by taking Abe Cohen’s grieving widow to court?”

  I slump against the balcony railing. He’s right. The easiest thing in the world to boycott is a movie. I don’t even want to think about what a court battle would do to our shooting schedule.

  I play out all the scenarios in my head.

  Finally, I say, “Tell her the truth.” Elinor Swift can make or break a movie, but she can’t generate Oscar-worthy scripts from thin air in two months.

  Darian hangs up, and I know he’s already making the call.

  I stay on the balcony, my heart in my throat, waiting for Darian to call back and tell me that it worked. Or tell me that my fear of public criticism and wanting everything to be perfect has cost me my dream.

  The surf pounds, and the night wind chills my skin. I’m thinking of going back in for a shirt, when my phone rings.

  “Did it work?” I ask Daria
n.

  “I couldn’t get through. It’s the lawyer’s phone number I have, not Marilyn’s. And apparently he’s blocked my number, since I called him even more times than I called you.”

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I kick the balcony rail.

  This can’t be how it ends. Years of planning and investing, all up in flames because I picked tonight to let go.

  I try to think if I know anyone who knows Marilyn Cohen.

  Hell, anyone who knows the lawyer.

  “Who’s the lawyer?” I ask.

  “Bill Davis. I guess he normally does music contracts, but he’s a friend of the Cohen family–”

  “Music,” that’s why the name sounds familiar. I think Brittney knows him. “I’ve got an idea,” I tell Darian. “Don’t pull the plug on any of the production company stuff yet. And for God’s sake, get Elinor Swift to sign the damn contract.”

  I hang up and call Brittney, but she’s not picking up. I try three more times, but I don’t really expect an answer. The woman sleeps like a log. And since Poppy’s with her, she doesn’t have the fear of God to wake her up.

  Luckily, I have a key to Brittney’s house and nothing to lose. I shove my phone into my pocket, and go inside to grab my shirt and shoes.

  Sienna shifts in her sleep.

  Shit. I didn’t think about Sienna. I’m her ride back to L.A.

  She trusts me enough to have sex for the first time (and ok, the second and the third), and I repay her by dragging her out of bed in the middle night and shoving her into a car with no explanation, or time to do something as basic as take a shower.

  No. It’s out of the question.

  I’ll call her a car to take her back to L.A. when she wakes up. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the alternative.

  I jot a quick note on the hotel stationary, and leave it on her bedside stand.

  Hell. I don’t want to leave her. She’s sweet and peaceful in her sleep, and when I move a strand of hair off of her face, she nestles into my hand.

  I fight off a horrible feeling that I’m choosing between Sienna and my career. But that’s ridiculous. Sienna’s one of the only people in the world who knows what this production company means to me. She’ll understand.