Page 33 of Beneath the Fame

“Yeah?” I whimpered, moving my hands to his shoulders, holding on tight as he dug into me with expertly slow, penetrating strokes that incited a deep tremor in my thighs.

“You know your pussy isn’t the only thing that’s mine after this, right?”

I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t.

Any possible words got stuck in my throat as my mind blanked, overcome by the sudden rush of orgasm clouding my senses, overwhelming everything except a deeply entrenched state of…bliss.

Anything else was a blur.

Sounds muffled, colors muted down to grayscale.

Vaguely, I felt the tension in his hips and shoulders as he came, felt his breath on my ear, but I was practically floating for a moment.

And then it all came back in a rush of sweet sensation.

He hadn’t pulled out—he was still buried in me deep, his hips lodged against mine as he caught his breath. I grabbed both sides of his face, bringing his mouth to mine so he could kiss me again, and he eagerly obliged.

“You heard what I said?” he asked, lips against mine when he finally pulled back.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I could’ve teased him.

Could’ve taken the moment to play a little game, try to put myself in charge. But the absence of his dick left me feeling entirely too hollow, too hungry for more of him. So instead, I slipped down from the counter for my turn on my knees, grinning as I pulled the used condom off him.

“Tell me more about what’s included in theBelongs to Alec Everettpackage.”

ChapterNine

ALEC

She…snored.

Not anything too crazy—just enough that it was an amusing tidbit to add to the fast-growing mental bank of things I knew about her.

Neither of us had particularly planned on ending up spending the night together, but after that first round, a quick recovery, and a nap, we’d ended up going at it again.

Then ordered room service.

Then passed out again.

Now, our night together was turning into morning.

This was the point where my “corny” allegations might become something I couldn’t deny—I’d been awake for a bit already, but instead of getting up to brush my teeth, ordering breakfast, looking at script notes,anythingthat might be considered productive…

I was watching Vanessa.

She was beautiful.

The pinned-up style her hair had been in was long destroyed—she’d found stuff in the bathroom though, packaged in what the brand was calling a “rescue kit.” A good brush, ponytail holders, various products, and the item she’d been most excited about—the puffy silk bonnet that was still neatly secured on her head.

My dick got hard all over again reminiscing about the little escapade on her knees that had ruined her makeup. There hadn’t been a single shred of shyness about her, no inhibitions, just full confidence that her usage of her hands, lips, tongue, and teeth were going to take me from semi-hard to moaning like a bitch while I released deep in the back of her throat.

She…was not wrong.

It was wet and messy, and very,verygood—her tear-streaked mascara, lipstick everywhere but her mouth by the time she was done proved every shred of that.

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