Over-Exposed (Perspectives Book 2) Read online

  He set a fifteen-minute timer on her phone, then gripped her bare inner thigh with a warm, firm hand. “I’ll do this to ground you before we start and when we finish, and during the session if you seem to need it. It roots you in the moment.”

  She nodded and may have murmured agreement or spoken in tongues or sung an aria, but his brown-black eyes were already on her bare pussy so she couldn’t be sure what was real anymore. With as much as he had stressed that this was a meditative practice, not a sexual one, she suspected she wasn’t supposed to feel as swollen and turned-on as she was. She felt her tight nipples pushing against her t-shirt and thanked god he had told her to close her eyes. He hadn’t even touched her yet and she was already on the brink.

  His deep voice sounded gravelly. “I see that your pussy is a rosy pink... it’s flushing to an even deeper rose as I watch. Your clit is swollen... the skin is so smooth and tight, it looks like satin. All right, I’m going to start stroking you, now.”

  A heartbeat later, Natalie felt a gentle nudge on one side of her clit. The slow slide of Sam’s fingertip traveled up and down along her sensitized skin, centering her awareness on a minute area packed with nerve endings. She was wet -- she felt herself dripping, the moisture on her skin cooling in the air. Okay, that’s mortifying. Her legs wanted to close, but the way his were entwined with hers prevented any movement. She heard herself suck in a shuddering breath. A moment later she felt the dam break and she was surprised that her quiet groan of release was immediately echoed by a raspy sigh from Sam.

  As promised, she felt his hand give a firm squeeze on her thigh, then work its way lower over her calf to her ankle. Her eyes were still closed, but she thought his breathing sounded more labored than usual.

  He cleared his throat. “Now we talk about what we felt or experienced.”

  She laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Can I keep my eyes closed for this part? ‘Cause I just had like the fastest and most intense orgasm on record.”

  “Right, let me shut off the timer. That was pretty quick. About five minutes.”

  “You’ve got magic in that finger.” Did I really just fucking say that?

  He chuckled softly. “That wasn’t me. I felt like a conduit for your energy. Like your pussy was one of those globes with lightning inside, and when I touched your clit the bolts reached out for my fingertip.” He disengaged their legs and gently closed her thighs.

  She peeked an eye open when he set her folded pants on her lap. “So I’ve got an electric clit. Guess I should add that to my resume.”

  Sam laughed and averted his eyes as she pulled on her thong and pants. They replaced the cushions and blanket on the sofa, bickering good-naturedly over what movie to watch on TV

  What should’ve felt like a post-apocalyptic evening was oddly comfortable. Sam flipped through the channels, skipping over one of his earlier -- and cornier -- action movies. Natalie noticed that he had passed it, though, and insisted they watch the rest. Sam groaned and told her about the asshole director who had kicked the screenwriters off-set, then rewritten all the dialogue himself.

  “I hate that the first movie of mine you’re seeing is this piece of shit.”

  “Yeah, well...” She shrugged and kept her eyes on the television so he couldn’t read her face.

  What? Am I supposed to tell the man-whore I have every one of his movies? I don’t think so!

  “Natalie?” He dragged her name out, adding a few syllables. “This is the first of my movies you’ve seen, right?”

  “Quiet, I’m trying to listen...” She felt him staring at her, but he dropped the subject.

  Good thing, too, because she wasn’t at all focused on the crappy movie she’d probably seen twenty times before the day she’d torn all his posters down. No, her mind was in her pants, commiserating with her still-throbbing clit and wondering how she could still be frustrated after her sexy new buddy had given her a world-rocking orgasm.

  Asked and answered, counselor.

  “You’re a cruel woman to make me watch this. Anything else. Please. Infomercials. The Appendectomy Channel.” He ignored her laughing at him. “Your DVD player is a dinosaur. What do you watch on it? You don’t even have any DVDs.”

  Um... “I might have a few...”

  Ah, fuck it. She got up and went to the overstuffed bookcase.

  He shook his head. “Nothing there but books, Perry Mason. I’ve been holed-up here long enough to know.”

  She took down a few thick books on contracts law, reached to the back of the deep shelf and pulled out a handful of DVDs. Specifically, DVDs of popcorn action flicks starring one Sam Danmore.

  “You’re kidding.”

  Reaching in for another stack, she grumbled without looking back at him. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and laugh.”

  He took the growing pile from her hands, dark eyes twinkling with humor. “Do you see me laughing?” A chuckle escaped, which he covered with a phony cough.

  “Asshole,” she grinned.

  “We’ve only just met and you already know me so well.” He put the movies on the coffee table. “These are all mine. What else have you got?”

  She broke eye contact and felt her face heat. “Just shut up, okay?” The weight of his eyes stayed on her, but he didn’t say a word. Not for about ten seconds, anyway.

  “I haven’t been this surprised since a ninety year-old woman asked me to sign her thong.” Instead of the cockiness she expected to hear, he sounded humbled. “The house gets to choose. Which will it be?” he asked, dropping back into his spot on the sofa.

  She chose Dead Man’s Curve, her favorite of his films because it had the best story, which allowed him the opportunity to use his very real acting chops. Didn’t hurt, either, that he was nearly naked for a lengthy fight sequence. The man’s body really was a work of art, the beauty of which was rivaled only by his gorgeous face.

  As Natalie cued up the movie, Sam shared behind-the-scenes stories about the film while waiting by the microwave for popcorn to pop. She was relieved he didn’t tease her about her choice. Turned out Dead Man’s Curve was his favorite of his films, too, and one of the few that didn’t make him cringe.

  They dimmed the lights and got comfy on the couch. She found it increasingly difficult to focus on the movie when his hand kept brushing hers in the deep bowl of popcorn, and the heat of his thigh next to hers claimed almost all her attention. When the popcorn was gone he set the empty bowl on the table, then took her hand and laced their fingers together.

  Could they be any more backward? First, she fell in love with him, then she met him and hated him, then he moved into her home and gave her the orgasm of her life, and now they were holding hands like high school kids.

  Her brain short-circuited when his thumb began tracing light, lazy circles on her palm. She hoped he didn’t hear her tiny whimper... a hope which was dashed when he used their clasped hands to turn her face toward his. He moved slowly, giving her every opportunity to back away before the sculpted lips of her every teenage fantasy touched her own.

  She didn’t even bother trying to hold back the sigh.

  Chapter Ten

  Before her tongue could sweep out for a taste of him, his mouth was gone. He murmured, “Sorry,” then kissed the top of her head like she was a puppy, and tugged her to lean back against his shoulder.

  What the fuck just happened?

  “Y’know, Sam... I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do that again.” The muscles of his chest tightened against her back, and she turned to look at him. “I might even be in favor of it.”

  His dark eyes were black in the low light. “You’re a nice person and I’ve overstepped too much as it is.”

  “Hollywood people must really be assholes if you think I’m that nice.”

  “They are. Myself included.”

  “There was a time I believed that with my entire being...” She knelt, straddling his lap, and traveled her hands from his shoulders down over the hard planes of his ches
t. “But the more I get to know you, the less true that seems to be.”

  His face was so tight, he looked almost angry. “I’m trying to be respectful, here.”

  “I know. You need to cut that shit out.”

  From his groan, it sounded like he had been as starved for her as she was for him. “Fuck, Nat.” He shoved one big hand into her hair and slid the other over her jaw, holding her where he wanted her, as he finally took her mouth and gave her his tongue.

  It would have been understandable if Sam’s kiss had fallen short of expectations after she’d spent almost half her life fantasizing about it. Much less likely would have been for his kiss to exceed expectations. And yet, it did. He tasted as delicious as he looked, moving that sinful mouth over hers with skillful precision made wild with lust and need.

  So it was really fucking obnoxious when a buzz came from the television, followed by a male voice. “Hey Nat, it’s me. You there? Buzz me up, baby.”

  Oh, shit.

  Sam ripped his mouth from hers. “I thought you were single.”

  “I am single.”

  Slick and handsome, Jeff Worthington held up a six-pack of some fancy imported beer nobody’s ever heard of, and smiled into the security camera which broadcast through Natalie’s TV.

  Buzz! “I know you’re home, honey. I see your car.”

  Sam set her off his lap. “Then who the fuck is that?”

  “I work with him.”

  “Let the poor guy in. I’ll hide out in your room. Unless you two need to get in there.”

  She was glad to see the muscle in his jaw tighten when he said that. The nice thing to do would have been to let him know that Jeff had never been in her bedroom before, nor would he be in the foreseeable future, but she wasn’t feeling that nice.

  And so, instead of tangling tongues with Sam, Natalie spent the next twenty minutes arguing with her handsome nemesis.

  When she finally got rid of Jeff, she opened the bedroom door. “All clear.”

  Sam looked comfortable on her bed, leaning back against her pillows with a book in hand. One look at his face and she knew he had heard the yelling. “You two have a nice chat?”

  “Oh sure. He’s a swell guy.”

  She sat on the bed, and Sam started to get up.

  Wait, no. Stay. Please stay. “No. He’s an arrogant prick with shitty timing.”

  “I’d say his timing was almost perfect. Sounds like whatever you had going on with him is still going on.”

  “It isn’t. Not the way you’re thinking.” She followed him out of the room and chuckled. “Look at that. The prick left his beer. Let’s drink it.”

  Natalie curled up on the sofa and was more than a little disappointed when Sam sat in the facing chair. She wanted to kiss him some more. A lot more. She wanted to trace his perfectly-sculpted mouth with her tongue. There were so many perfectly-sculpted parts of him she wanted to trace with her tongue. Fuck. It was really too bad she’d hated him when he was still the man-whore. Then they would have ended up in bed for sure.

  But she didn’t want the man-whore. She wanted Sam.

  It was obvious that the only way to move past this and possibly get his mouth on hers again was to tell him her stupid fucking embarrassing secret which was so goddamn mortifying, she hadn’t told anyone, not even Lisa.

  “His name is Jeff. Actually, it’s Jeff Worthington the fourth.” She was incapable of saying that without rolling her eyes. “He’s a senior associate, same as me. He joined the firm a little over a year ago. He’s arrogant, mercenary. My dad loves him.” And damn, that hurt. “It seems a no-brainer in retrospect, but alcohol and loneliness are a bad combination. For me, anyway.” She raised her bottle in a toast to her own stupidity, then drank.

  The line between Sam’s eyebrows relaxed and his dark eyes softened. “So... what? He dropped by for a repeat performance?”

  “Yes and no. What he really wants is partnership in the firm, but there’s only one open seat at that table and I’ve been working towards that since-- um, as long as I can remember.” She fiddled with the label on her bottle. “Unfortunately, I did a dumb thing and he’s using it as leverage against me.”

  “I doubt one dumb thing would be enough to make your own father pass you over for partnership.”

  Natalie’s laugh was humorless and shrill. “Yeah, you’ll find this ironic... I let him record it. Us.” She let that sink in, and waited for Sam to unscrunch his face before continuing. “The fucked-up thing is I watched him delete it! Somehow, though, he kept a copy. He wants me to withdraw myself from consideration. I haven’t done it, yet, ‘cause I don’t see how he can show anyone the video without shooting himself in the dick. Professionally.”

  “I wanna shoot him in the dick. Literally.” The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Christ. I’m sorry. You had all that going on and then I drop in and act like an ass.”

  “You couldn’t have known. These things happen.”

  He pointed between them and raised his eyebrows. “These things happen?”

  “Naked fugitive actors jump into random cars all the time. It couldn’t be helped.” Her attempt to lighten the mood earned her a glimpse of a dimple as he finished his beer. She tried for a full-on grin or even a laugh, but couldn’t crack his angry intensity. “Here, have another nasty eurobeer.”

  “Thanks anyway,” he said with a distracted smile, then started making his bed on the couch.

  “Sam,” she began, “You can sleep in my room. It’s a big bed and I trust you.” Fuck if she didn’t giggle again.

  Sam tucked the sheet under the couch cushions. “I’m fine out here.”

  “Oh. You sure? These drapes really don’t block much light. I fell in love with the color, but they’re shit for sun-block.” Jesus, Nat. Babble much?

  “I haven’t even noticed.” He walked to her, all lean muscle and purpose, took her face in his hands... and kissed her on the forehead. “G’night, Natalie.”

  “‘Night.”

  She threw away their empty bottles and put the rest in the fridge. Then she spent a few minutes pouring a drink she didn’t want and taking vitamins she didn’t need. Finally admitting to herself that Sam wasn’t going to initiate naked “Twister” tonight, she went to her room. Alone.

  Damn Jeff and his stubby penis and his crap timing.

  Fuck.

  Only a couple hours ago, she and Sam were making out on the couch, yet here was Natalie, getting ready to climb into an empty bed. It crossed her mind to make the first move. After all, she was responsible for her own orgasm, as she had learned by sneaking off with her mom’s copy of The Joy of Sex when she was twelve.

  And she’d gotten pretty damn great at being responsible for her own orgasm, thanks in regrettably-large part to Jeff Worthington, IV. Since their one anticlimactic (and recorded for posterity) night together, she hadn’t encountered anyone worth the hassle. Not that she wouldn’t have loved for someone else to take that responsibility from her, ‘cause she really fucking would have. She just hadn’t met anyone who seemed up to the task. Not until recently, anyway.

  As she undressed for bed, she glanced at the door.

  The door she had intentionally left ajar.

  An invitation which was presently going ignored.

  She slid under the covers nude. It was a safe choice for two reasons. First, she knew not to expect company in her bed tonight. And second, if by some miracle Sam decided to prove her wrong the only thing she wanted to be wearing was skin.

  Predictably, sleep eluded her. Her mind was filled with images of Sam catching her undressed or walking in on her shower. She toyed with various responses to each scenario...

  The Token Protest.

  The Grab-His-Shirt-And-Yank-Him-In.

  The Oh-My-God-I-Didn’t-Realize-You-Were-There performance.

  As usual, Natalie took responsibility for her own orgasm. Fantasizing was fun, but it was depressing to have to take a big dose of “Nature’s Ambien” while the subject of th
ose fantasies was in the next room.

  Chapter Eleven

  RELATIONS WERE STRAINED the next morning. Natalie was grouchy from no sleep and no sex, and Sam spent at least an hour on the phone yelling at his agent.

  He was supposed to have flown to LA that day for the red carpet premiere of Hostile Takeover 2. Apparently, despite his being a fugitive his representatives still expected him to be there. It sounded to Natalie like celebrities were expected to abide by the law only slightly less than diplomats or politicians. Even if they did arrest him, she knew he’d only be held for like five minutes.

  A week ago she would have encouraged him to go to the premiere, just to eliminate the possibility of her getting caught up in the scandal and killing her chances of partnership. Now, she couldn’t stomach the thought of him being held however briefly for something she was certain he would never do. Ain’t that some shit?

  When Sam had finally gotten the point across to his people that he would not be attending the premiere, he grabbed a book and sat in his usual reading spot on the opposite end of the couch from Natalie. She tried to focus enough to get some work done on her laptop while he read another book from her “psychology” shelf. Unfortunately, her brain was fully occupied with a looped replay of the previous evening’s embarrassments.

  Sam was agitated, too. She felt it coming off him in waves. Shit, who could blame him? He’d been a prisoner in her tiny condo for almost three weeks! A while back, Natalie had been stuck there for four hours waiting for the cable installer. By the time the guy showed up, she was ready to jump off the balcony.

  The thick silence was oppressive, and her voice sounded a little too loud when she broke it. “Why don’t you buy a book you’d actually choose to read?”

  “Nah, this is interesting.”

  “Really? Okay... Good thing I minored in Psychology. Dunno what you’d be doing with yourself if I had studied Accounting like my dad wanted.”

  He looked at her over the book. “He wanted you to be an accountant?”