Reel (Hollywood Renaissance 1)

“Never?” I turn to look at him.

He smiles and kisses the top of my hair. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

The rest turns out to be a gourmet kitchen, fully equipped with every imaginable modern convenience, a living room with a fireplace big enough for me to hibernate in, luxurious bathrooms outfitted with sunken tubs and waterfall shower heads, and a balcony that juts out over an infinity pool and spa. The tour ends at the bedrooms, two directly across from each other, both the height of luxury.

“And there’s two bedrooms,” Canon tells me in the hall bisecting the floor.

I walk into what is obviously the main suite and sit on the bed, leaning back and letting him see that we could do this right now. “Well that seems redundant.”

He walks over and stands between my legs, nudging them wider, caressing the sides with his palms, moving to touch my inner thigh, stroking down to the curve of my knee. Even through the fabric of my pants, the contact burns. He could take me this second. I would like that very much, please and thank you. He must know by the way my breaths jerk, pushing my breasts into a rough rhythm. He’s heavy-lidded, his full lips parting as he looks down at me. My cropped top rides up, showing him my skin. He traces one index finger down the shallow valley running between the muscles of my stomach, which quiver under his touch. I gulp, trying to regulate my breathing.

“Canon.”

He steps back abruptly, taking the heat, the provocative touch with him. “You want to shower? Did you bring a dress?”

The rapid change from sensual to pragmatic gives me whiplash. “Um, I have a dress, yeah.”

“Wear it for me.” He bends to take my lips in a much-too-brief kiss. I reach up to caress his neck, but he pulls away, his smile down at me a tantalizing taunt. “I’ll go get dinner started.”

“You’re cooking?” I sit up, breathing a little easier without this big man standing between my legs.

“I’m full of surprises,” he calls from the hall. “Come down when you’re ready.”

I’m tempted to masturbate in the shower because the desire is so keen, but I want to save it all for him. I’m surprised I don’t sizzle as soon as the water hits my skin. I’m pretty sure this is the most turned on I’ve been in life.

I’m still soaked between my legs from imagination and my nipples are so tight, they’re stiff beneath the bright yellow sundress when it melts over my body. I don’t bother with a bra, tying the halter dress behind my neck and letting my breasts peak beneath the silk. I also forego panties because that just seems like a waste of time. The dress is muslin-thin, clinging to my ass and hips. I sincerely hope he can see the shadow of my pussy in the right light. I refuse to be hornier than he is, dammit.

When I come down the steps, he’s in the kitchen and dressed in a button-up and slacks.

“When did you change?” I ask, coming up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist.

He turns, leaning against the counter and splaying his hands low on my hips, brushing against my ass. He stiffens when there’s obviously nothing beneath the dress. When he looks back to me, the glow of desire in his eyes is worth all the trouble I’ve taken not only with my appearance tonight, but yesterday’s beauty triathlon. I’ve been waxed, scrubbed, and exfoliated more than a season’s worth of Bacherlorettes. If he likes to lick toes, mine have been buffed and manicured. When he wants the cat, I’m slick as a Slip ’N Slide down there. And should he feel so inclined to eat ass, nary a hair survived that Brutal Brunhilda wax-a-thon I endured on all fours at the spa. I’m ready for anything. I’ve practically been in training for this.

“When did you change?” I repeat, since he seems to have lost his train of thought as soon as he saw my nipples headlighting and realized I’m wearing zero panties.

“Oh.” He clears his throat, tightening his grip at my waist. “There’s a shower down here, so I changed while I put the food on.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.” I force myself to step out of his arms, though I could stay there all night, and look at the salad with its vividly colored vegetables on the counter.

“My mother would not send me out into the world unable to cook at least a lil’ something. I know my way around a grill.”

“Oh.” It occurs to me that we have never talked much about food. “I don’t eat red meat.”

“I know. They always make sure to have an alternative for you with our crafts foods order.”