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"Christ!" he shouted, his gaze riveted on her. "That's so fucking hot."
Shivers racked her body at his words. Knowing she pleased him increased her own pleasure ten fold. "I'm going to come soon," she rasped, knowing she couldn't hold out much longer. Between his encouragement and watching him furiously stroke his shaft, she couldn't hold back.
"Yeah," he said. "Come on baby, show me how you do it. Make yourself come for me."
She felt the first tingling waves of her orgasm and adjusted her fingers to hit that sensitive spot on her clit that would drive her over. Keeping her eyes focused on Michael, she let out a low moan that grew into a howl of pleasure with her rising orgasm.
Michael shifted back and let loose a stream of come that shot clear across the room. She'd never seen a man make himself come, and vowed this wouldn't be the only time it happened.
Instead of dwindling in intensity, it increased. The waves of her orgasm still pulsed against her questing fingers, creamy come pouring between the cheeks of her ass, soaking the chair. She panted in an effort to suck in oxygen, trying to slow down the pummeling heartbeats that pounded her body.
Eventually, they both slowed their movements and watched each other breathe. Ropes of come lined the floor between them, and Serena smiled in satisfaction as if she'd personally stroked that streaming jet of jism out of him.
Still, neither of them seemed in a hurry to move. Michael continued to slowly massage his shaft while Serena trailed her fingers lightly over her now sensitive lips.
He smiled at her. "Did you enjoy that?"
She nodded and returned the smile, not the least bit embarrassed. "I enjoyed it very much. Do you think we could do it again sometime?"
His eyes darkened like storm clouds. "Definitely. You're incredible, Serena."
"You're not too bad yourself," she replied. Which was a lie. He was fantastic. Everything she'd ever wanted in a lover. And at that, they hadn't even fucked yet.
"I'm going to fuck you good tomorrow," he said, his voice husky with promise.
"Yes, I know."
Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for her. Tomorrow was the day she'd finally feel that big cock stuffed inside her, stretching her, hitting that sensitive G-spot inside her until she came in roaring waves all over his shaft.
If these past few days had been an indicator of what it would be like to fuck Michael, she wasn't sure she'd survive the pleasure.
But she'd certainly be willing to die trying.
They both adjusted their clothes. Serena was aware of the silence between them. Though not uncomfortable, she always wondered what he was thinking when he went silent like that.
He was such an amazing man. So full of life and adventure, so smart, so creative, and so willing to accommodate her.
She felt the stirrings in her heart when she looked at him, the warning signals blasting at her from all directions.
No. She couldn't let it happen, couldn't allow herself to feel anything for him other than physical pleasure.
But as he smiled at her, she knew it was already too late.
*
Michael cursed inwardly. What the fuck had he just done?
Oh sure, he was all about keeping things between them impersonal, making sure their sex stayed within the parameters of the scheduled adventures.
So, what was the first thing he did? Suggested a little mutual masturbation in the living room. Was it a scheduled event? Not even fucking close.
How much more personal could that get?
And the worst thing was, he'd enjoyed the hell out of it. More than enjoyed it--it had damn near killed him. Never had he gotten off so hard and so fast. Serena was the hottest woman he'd ever met. Whatever he suggested, she was game for.
He hadn't thought a woman like her existed. Unfortunately, he'd been wrong.
She was so perfect for him it was scary. Beautiful, intelligent, sexy and erotic as hell.
Shit. He was fucked. Fucked, fucked, fucked. In the matter of a few short days, he'd let her wriggle under his radar and blindside him with a shot the size of a two thousand pound bomb.
"Would you like to sit on the couch with me? Watch some television or work on your book?"
She looked at him with such a hopeful expression, everything vulnerable about her so clearly written on her face, he felt like packing and heading home right that moment.
But he wouldn't. He might be an asshole, but even he wasn't that big an asshole.
"Sure. I've got a little work left to do anyway. Maybe you could help me with it."
Ah, hell. Her face brightened, tingeing pink along her tanned cheeks, and she smiled so wide one would think he'd just gifted her with the Hope Diamond. And all he'd done was agree to sit next to her.
Damn, she was easy to live with. And damn if he didn't feel the stirrings of emotion across his scarred old heart.
This wasn't his fault. He'd come to Paradise Resort to relax and research, maybe get in a little hot sex with Ginny. No entanglements, pleasure and work combined-- it was supposed to be perfect.
Instead, this plain little blonde had showed up on his doorstep in need of a little help. No big deal, right? Yeah, right. Then she'd turned into Wonder Sex Woman while he wasn't looking and proceeded to twist his balls in a knot until he walked behind her drooling.
And if that wasn't bad enough, she batted those innocent green eyes at him and made him feel. He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to enjoy being around her. He didn't want to think about how much he enjoyed both fucking her and talking to her.
This week would end. They'd go their separate ways, and whatever fun they'd had together would be over.
He knew it, but it sure as hell seemed like she didn't. He mentally cursed at the nagging feeling of guilt worming its way inside him.
Well, fuck it. She was a big girl, she knew what she was getting into. He'd warned her there could be no emotional involvement, and she'd agreed. So if she got hurt, that was her problem, not his.
And if he got hurt? Then that's what he'd deserve for allowing feelings to get in the way of fucking.
Chapter Eight
"Your female character had to have something horrible happen in her past to make her act in such an evil way," Serena pointed out, smiling at Michael's frown.
"Why? Couldn't she just have been born that way?"
"Hardly. No one kills without reason. Even insanity has a cause. Fami
lial, psychological trauma--"
He waved his hand at her. "Bullshit. She's always been a vicious bitch from hell, and nothing's going to change that."
Serena sat cross-legged on the sofa, Michael's notes spread out on her lap. They'd been at this ever since last night, when they'd talked for hours until neither could stay awake. Then they'd gotten on it right after breakfast again, brainstorming and throwing out ideas for his new book.
She loved that he'd asked for her opinion. After having read all his books, she considered herself somewhat of an expert on his characters. Funny how he wasn't taking all that well to her suggestions, though.
But instead of irritating her, his disgruntled reaction both amused and invigorated her. For all intents and purposes, Michael wrote erotica. He could call it erotic criminal fiction, but it was erotica.
Right up her literary alley.
"Michael, look," she said, pulling off her glasses and placing them gently on top of the pile of papers. "This woman, Victoria as you've named her, wasn't brought up to kill and dismember men. Something had to serve as a catalyst to make her kill the first time. One doesn't go through life perfectly happy for twenty-five years, then one day wake up and decide to go on a serial killing spree and lop off every man's penis who gets in her way."
"I realize that," he said, his face buried in the laptop. "What I'm saying is you want her to have experienced a psychological trauma, when all it would really take is a loose screw in her head to pop."
Serena smiled. "Yes, it's true that could happen. The point I'm trying to get across is that your readers will be more enticed if you lay a little background on her--make something happen to her in the past that gives her the impetus to kill."
He glanced up, his gaze meeting hers. God his eyes were blue. She lost herself in them every time he looked at her.
"You might have a point," he said, still considering her.
She warmed under his gaze, feeling as if she'd actually been helpful. "I've done quite a bit of research into psychoses and triggers for violent crimes."
"Why?"
With a shrug, she said, "Nothing better to do on a Saturday night. Besides, one of the psychology professors at the college had asked for my help."
He quirked a brow. "Someone you dated?"
