Hollywood Dirt (Hollywood Dirt, #1)(51)

He didn’t push aside my panties; he didn’t rip them off; he just moved, with slow and patient strokes, from my ass to my taint, back and forth, and I pushed my hips higher in the air, my face buried against my fitted sheet, any composure lost as I begged him to go lower, begged him for more.

“Jesus, Summer, I want to taste you so badly,” he whispered, his head dropping, his teeth softly biting into my left butt cheek. “I want to flip you over and bury my face in between your legs and f*ck you with my mouth. I want to make you scream my name and come underneath my mouth and taste the moment you fall apart for me.”

“Then do it,” I challenged. “Shut up and do it.” I may have told him to shut up, but I had coveted every word, every sentence—words uttered to me, about me, from him. I could hate this man, curse him to hell, but there had never been a question on this earth that the man was beautiful, that his body was sin, that his sexuality was addicting. And now he was here, in my bed, his hands on my skin. Skin that hadn’t been touched in so long. Skin that begged for more, raw need pulsing through me.

“I can’t.” His voice broke on the two words, his fingers frantic as they pulled at my hips, pulled them up, his fingers skimming my soaked panties down, and I was suddenly bare before him, bent over, the hum of the fan brushing air over my most sensitive place. “Where’s your condoms?” he rasped, and I tried to find reason and came up short. Condoms weren’t an item I had ever stocked, and I couldn’t think of anything right then but having him.

“I don’t… please. Just please…”

He didn’t ask questions; he didn’t do anything but yank at his shorts, and push, bare and beautiful, inside of me. In that moment, that push, I lost every hold I had on myself and became his. He shuddered out my name, pressed himself fully inside, and waited for one long breath.

“Are you okay?” His words were painful and tight, gritted out between his teeth, and I nodded, unable to form words, unable to do anything but worship at the altar of Cole Masten from that moment forth.

“Good,” he moaned. “Because I’m about to unleash hell.”

He was wrong. It wasn’t hell. It wasn’t anything close to hell. It was beautiful, f*cking heaven, his hands tight on my ass, his pumps fast and quick and barely controlled, the perfect, rapid rhythm pushing me to a place I had never been from just sex, a completion that took me completely by surprise and caused my body to tighten, my breath to gasp out, my fingers to dig into the mattress, and my world broke, around his heaven and to my hell. I came, screamed his name as I did it, and his arms came around me, pulling me up against his chest, his final thrusts done with his mouth on my neck and his hands up my shirt and tight on my breasts.

He pulled out at the last moment, his hand fast, his body rolling, taking me onto my back against him, his orgasm hot and wet against my back, and he moaned my name as if he was breaking. I rolled over, for no sane reason, straddling his body, and pushed down, taking him in me, my mouth covering his as I filled myself with his cock and rode out the last tingles of my orgasm, his hands gripping me down, hugging me to his hard chest as he gasped against my mouth, his kiss desperate, hard and needy, his hands moving with manic need, squeezing, gripping, sliding over me as he feasted on my mouth.

He was hell. But his body, his cock, what he did to me? It was heaven. And I wasn’t sure, in the moment that I finally pulled away from his mouth and rolled off him, how I would handle that. I wrapped the sheet around me, stared at the ceiling, and felt the push of a thousand questions welling in my throat. Why was he there? Why had he touched me? Had it been anything other than a basic need fulfillment? What did he think of me now and how would this change our dynamic?

I was a Southern girl. We were all born to go to heaven. Even if it was the last place I belonged.





CHAPTER 56


Brad DeLuca would kill him. Of that, Cole was certain. He would fly up there, wrap those big hands around Cole’s over-privileged neck, and strangle him.

And Cole would die with a smile. A second fact he was certain of. Because what just happened made his prior obsession with Summer look like an adolescent crush. What just happened was a game changer and one that’d be worth going to the chopping block for. What just happened validated any curiosity he’d had about Summer and increased it tenfold. Being inside her had been completely different than Nadia… than anyone else. He looked up to the ceiling and tried to put his finger on what had made it so different. Tried to figure out how a woman so frustrating could have a body that felt so perfectly in tune with his.

She rolled off him and sat up on the bed, the worn, white undershirt riding up her back, and he reached over, pulling it down carefully, his fingers caressing the skin of her back, missing the touch when she pulled away and stood.

“That was a mistake.” She found her panties—those damn red panties—and bent over to pull them on, his eyes dropping to her skin, her ass, the arch of her back.

“You need fresh ones.” He reached down for his shorts, feeling suddenly naked on the bed. “Those are a little wet.” He smiled, and she seemed to miss the joke, standing up and turning to him, her arms crossing over her beautiful breasts. He suddenly realized the comment that he’d ignored. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“It was. It was—” She threw up her hands. “Stupid.”