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I tap my fingers against my thighs.
"I don’t know what your game is, Rick, but it’s not funny anymore."
It’s not supposed to be. But I know your darkest secrets, baby. I know your filthy dreams. I’ve read the scenes you’ve underlined in your spicy books, and I’m here to make them come alive. One-by-one.I roll my shoulders, and she swallows.
I move toward her, and she yelps, then turns and races away. I follow at a leisurely pace, knowing she can’t escape. I won’t let her escape. Not until I’ve made her come one last time. I may not be able to give her everlasting love. But bringing her most secret fantasies to life, I can do. Pleasuring her so she can enjoy the heights of ecstasy only I can take her to? That I can do for her.
She looks at me over her shoulder, then zig-zag’s across the room. When she realizes she can’t evade me, she turns, grabs one of her heels and throws it at me, and misses. The next one she lobs at me, I don’t duck. It hits my forehead and bounces off.
"Oh my god," she gasps. "Rick, I—"
I close the distance toward her, grab her under the backs of her thighs, lift her, and plant her against the glass wall. The momentum pulls her hair free of its bun and the golden strands pour about her face.
Her features are flushed. The color on her cheeks is fucking gorgeous. Her skirt is bunched around her waist, and she stares at me with lust and a touch of fear, which ratchets my desire up to fever pitch. I reach down and tear off her panties. She cries out.
I shove the piece of silk inside my pocket, and she swallows. Her gaze grows heavy with lust. Then she gasps when I shove my hand down my pants. I wince as I yank off the codpiece and toss it aside, then pull out my cock and position myself at her entrance. I stare into her sun kissed eyes waiting… waiting for her to indicate it’s okay. I hold her gaze and lean in until only a hair’s breadth of space separates us.
She swallows, and her pupils dilate. Then she leans in and presses her lips to where they’re painted on my mask. I feel her scented breath, can imagine the honeyed taste of her lips. She throws her arms about my neck and whispers, "Fuck me, Stone."
Before the words are out of her mouth, I kick my hips forward. I bury myself to the hilt, and she cries out against my mask-covered face. She locks her ankles about my hips as I stuff myself inside her again and again and again. I tilt my hips, balance her at the right angle. The next time I thrust into her, I hit that spot only I know about, and she cries out. She throws her head back, and her inner muscles clamp down on my cock as she orgasms. It’s so fucking hot, so perfect, with a roar of possession I empty myself inside her. When she begins to slump, I pull her close, then reach up and tear off my mask.
I push my forehead against hers, then swallow. "Goldie? We need to talk."
She shakes her head, her throat moving as she swallows. "I prefer fucking to talking any day."
"Once we talk, you might not want me to fuck you again."
She stiffens, then leans back enough to glance up into my face.
"Diana?" she whispers.
"Diana." I pull out of her and miss her warmth, the clasp of her pussy around my shaft, the feel of her curves pressed against mine. I press a kiss to her forehead, then lower her to the ground. When I know she’s steady, I tuck myself inside. I grab some napkins and clean her up. Then, I pull out a fresh pair of panties for her from my other pocket, and once she’s stepped into them, I straighten her clothes.
“I should be surprised you carried a pair of my panties on you while you were on the ice, but somehow, I’m not,” she murmurs.
“When it comes to you, I know I won't be able to control myself, so I’m Is prepared.” I ball up the napkins and flick them into a basket. I brush her hair behind her ear, then bend and pick up her hair-tie which fell off earlier and offer it to her.
I watch as she puts up her hair with practiced ease, then lowers her arms to her sides. “Your sister… Did I ever meet her?"
I take a step back, then another. I need to put distance between us. I also want to hold her while having this conversation, but that would be wrong. That wouldn’t be fair to my little sister.
I firm my shoulders, then meet her gaze. "She moved to L.A. to try to make it in Hollywood. I knew she was struggling, but I didn’t realize how much until later. My sister had a complex personality. She could be obsessive when she set her mind on something."
"Like you?" she asks in a wry voice.
"Yeah—" I half smile. "We are,weresimilar in our ability to focus. She told me she’d found her muse. She’d written a screenplay with a famous celebrity in mind. He was perfect for it. She was going to arrange to meet him and when he read the screenplay, she knew he’d want to make the movie. I didn’t hear from her for weeks after that. Then I was away on an NHL tour. When I returned, I found my sister had committed suicide."
She gasps, "I’m so sorry, Rick."
"She’d tried to meet the Hollywood star who had inspired her story. She'd tried to send him the script through his manager. When that didn’t work, she broke into his house. She was captured by the security cameras, and the cops got to her first."
Her forehead furrows. "Why are you telling me this? Did I know her?"
"You were the assistant to the manager she tried to contact."
She shakes her head. "Do you know how many calls I’d get every day from hopefuls who wanted to get through to my boss? It was my job to be the gatekeeper.”
"You did your job well. When she realized there was no hope of getting through to you, she stalked the star’s social media and ended up breaking into his house. She was hoping to meet him and get him to read her script. Instead—"
