Page 72 of His Girl Hollywood

She paused. “Should I stop? You’re hurt. I’m sorry, I—” A furrow of worry creased her brow.

“Don’t you dare,” he gritted out, trying to contain the growing sign of his want in his pants. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, this would be a heavenly way to die.”

She bit her lip and blushed. He loved her like this. Shy. Unsureof herself. It was so different from how she was in life, commanding, certain of what she wanted, the one in charge. “Do you need more pillows?”

“No, I don’t need more pillows,” he growled.

“But you’re wincing.”

“I’m trying to stop myself from spending in my trousers before you’re even finished undressing.”

“Oh.” The blush deepened and spread across her chest, giving a rosy sheen to the golden color of her skin in the sun. She looked like Venus rising from the seafoam.

“Take them off.” He needed to see her. All of her. To know that this wasn’t a dream. That she was real, right here in front of him. That she was the most real thing he’d ever known. More real than dancing, than music, and more real than Frankie fucking Martino. What a first-class idiot he’d been, severing ties with her.

Staying away had always seemed to make sense. Now he could scarcely remember why. In a list of monumental mistakes, losing ten years of having her in his life was the biggest one he’d ever made. He should’ve known that she wouldn’t judge him. That she’d understand. Hell, she wasn’t even afraid of Frankie. When Don needed rescuing, Arlene hadn’t abandoned him. But instead had recruited a whole posse to save him. And now she was here before him, giving him all of herself.

She looped her thumb inside her plain cotton underwear, and despite the lack of lace or embellishment on them, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She yanked downward and he nearly bucked at the sight of the titian curls that emerged. He wanted to bury his face in them. She stepped gingerly out of her underwear and stood completely naked before him. “Come here,” he growled.

“But you’re hurt—”

“Every bone in my body could be broken, and I’d still need to have you right this second.”

She kneeled gently on the bed, treating him as if he were a porcelain doll that might break if she moved too quickly. To hell with that. He reached out and slid his hand between her legs. God, she was soaking wet. He didn’t think it was possible, but he grew even harder as he cupped her in his hand. She sighed in pleasure and widened for him. He pushed the pad of his thumb to her clitoris, and she shivered in anticipation. His movement was limited, but he nudged her thighs farther apart with his knuckles and proceeded to fill her with two fingers. She gasped.

“You like that?”

“Yes, I… Please.”

He chuckled and leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always so impatient.” But he began to slide his fingers in and out, working at her clit with his thumb at the same time. She was mewling, little gasps of pleasure in time to the rhythm of his hand. He could tell she was close by the red flush that suffused her body and the tight grip of her muscles around his fingers. He curled his fingers, and she cried out, her release hitting her like a tidal wave and drenching his hand. If this was a dream, it was the best damn one he’d ever had.

***

Arlene couldn’t breathe. All she could see were stars dancing in her vision. She’d never come like that before. Suddenly and violently. Her heart was racing, and she struggled to come back down to earth. But when she did, Don was there, grinning at her like he’d won some sort of prize. She had to admit, if there were awards for such a thing, he’d certainly have earned one. He smirked andraised his hand to his mouth, making a show of licking his fingers. He savored it, and she couldn’t look away, entranced by the mere pleasure he derived from the taste of her.

“What do I taste like?” she blurted out. She blushed and buried her face in her hands. “Forget I said that. That’s ridiculous.”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, nudging her chin from her hands and holding it so he could meet her gaze. “Like honey and earth.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “Like salvation.”

She lifted her right leg, still wobbly from her orgasm, and straddled him, bracing her hands on either side of his head and leaning down to kiss him. Her hair cascaded in a curtain around them, shielding them from the world. He groaned into her mouth. She pushed back, the tips of her breasts grazing his chest.

“Is that a good groan or a bad groan?”

“Good groan.” He smiled. She pressed a kiss to his lips and let him take her hand and move it to the button on his slacks. As she kissed him, she undid it, her fingers needing no guide as they pulled down the zipper and found the hard rod nestled inside his boxers. She reached beneath the waistband and took him in her hand, relishing the feel of him, velvet heat and steel together. She moved to shimmy down his body, but he wrapped his hand around her wrist and squeezed until she met his gaze.

There was a fire there, one fiercer and more dangerous to her person than what they’d faced on the docks this morning. This morning he’d told her he loved her. Before, he’d told her that he cared for her. That he’d protect her. But love? Had he meant it or had he simply been grateful for his rescue? Woozy from the punishment Frankie and his men had doled out? Did he regret it now? Perhaps he didn’t even remember. This man before her—loving her, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy—was the most dangerousthing in her life. And it had nothing to do with the gangster threatening him.

She wanted to be furious with him for keeping that from her, for not telling her the truth from the moment he’d wandered onto that soundstage and back into her life. But she couldn’t be furious because she knew he had been protecting her. Even if some part of it had been about his pride. Even if he’d been a fool. It was ultimately to keep her out of Frankie Martino’s orbit—and how could she be mad at that?

She turned, trying to make her way down his body, but with a wince he sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “No, Lena. I want you.” She met his eyes and searched for any hint of guile. Any sign that this wasn’t what she hoped it was. “All of you.”

He reached between them and moved to push his underwear and his pants down his legs. “You’re sure?” He’d been tentative before. Unwilling to take this next step. She’d thought it a sign of his fly-by-night attitude. A reluctance to truly make love to her so it’d be easier to cut and run, to abandon her all over again. And that was what she’d promised herself, wasn’t it? One night. She’d been kidding herself. One night would never be enough. She needed to know this was for keeps.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“Here?” This was his parents’ old house. Their former bedroom. Granted, her mother had completely redone it, but she didn’t want to make love to him here if all he could see was a room full of ghosts.

“I said the room needed some new memories.” He smiled, and she melted at the sight of his scar crinkling with his dimple. Only this morning she’d feared she’d never see that scar, that perfect imperfection again. She leaned forward and planted a kiss to the dimple. She felt him smile harder beneath her mouth. His hand slid under her bottom and teased at her. Two could play at this game.She wriggled, and he twitched beneath her. “Lena, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to explode.”

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