Page 64 of The Oscar Escape
His eyes glittered with desire. “I can guarantee you’re using your talents right this very second. And I fucking love it.”
This man.
Recording artist and classically trained pianist Aria might have been offended at the notion that one would assume hertalentswere strictly of the carnal variety. However, Island Aria was too busy getting laid to care.
She arched her back, indulging in the heat of their bodies and the coolness of the tile floor beneath her bare feet. After staying up late last night washing six sets of bedsheets, thanks to testing out six of the eighteen guest room beds, they’d decided to move their fake honeymoon humping to the bathrooms to spare themselves another night spent in the dank basement laundry room. Then again, having her body rocked against a washing machine during the spin cycle, she’d come three times. So clearly, she’d made the best of it.
She reached back and threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe it’s a good thing everyone on this island despises me and won’t give me the time of day. It gives us more time to devote tocommunity service.”
He rolled his hips. “I don’t despise you.”
“That’s because you’ve been too busy screwing my brains out.”
“It’s one way to make a relationship work.”
She watched him thrust his hips. “I thought of something—another talent.”
“What kind of talent?”
“Rhyming. Hot, sweaty sex a day will keep Aria from jumping naked into the bay.”
“Look at you multi-tasking.”
“Here’s another,” she rasped. “Hot sex with Aria every day keeps Oscar’s lobster fetish away.”
He abandoned her breasts and wrapped her hair around his fist. “You’re writing lyrics, busting my balls, and fucking at the same time. You are a rare talent.”
“We need to excel . . . at something,” she bit out. The sweet bite of pain then crashed into her release.
A wolfish grin spread across his face. “You’re about to excel in calling out my name.”
“Is that so?”
He pulled her hair hard. That sweet bite of pain propelled her body into wanton overdrive.
“Touch yourself,” he growled against her ear.
She wedged her hand between her body and the sink. The minute she pressed on her tight bundle of nerves, Oscar shifted his weight and pistoned his hips. This man was a machine. She gasped, feeling him go deep, so deep. She wouldn’t be making up any more silly rhymes. A heady lightness overtook her as she surrendered to the rhythm of their bodies. The predatory gleam in Oscar’s eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
“You love taking every fucking inch of me. I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in your sexy moans. You can’t stop yourself from coming when my cock’s buried deep inside you.”
Was the guy a little full of himself?
Yes.
Once upon a time, her sassy side would have pointed this out.
Again, Island Aria was too busy livingla vida orgasm.
She locked on to his stormy gaze. With the scent of sweat and sex in the air and the rasp of Oscar’s dirty talk buzzing in her ear, she shattered into a million pleasure-laden pieces. “Yes, Oscar, yes, I want it all. Give me everything,” she cried. Her release hit in rippling waves. Over and over, she crashed against the edge of delirious consciousness. She inhaled her first breath, back from the brink. Dissolving into an ocean of sensations, she allowed Oscar to guide her back.
“Christ, you’re glorious,” he said, kissing her temple.
She leaned against his bare chest. “You didn’t . . .”
“Not yet.”
She eyed her cherry-red lips, and a devilish idea sparked. “Take a step back. I need room to move.”
