Meet Cute (Love, Camera, Action #5) - Elise Faber Page 0,23

to nudge her over the precipice.

I pressed the flat of my tongue to her clit, slipped another finger inside, and I put every single trick I’d garnered over the years, everything I’d learned about her body over the last minutes to good use.

To good benefit.

Because her breathing sped up, the movement of her hips increased, her moans rose in volume, and then . . . she crumpled.

Her moans softened. Her thighs went limp. Her fingers loosened their grip.

I slowed my strokes, slipped my fingers free, gently dragged my lips from her, brushing them light over either thigh, pressing a light kiss to each before moving up her body and lying on her uninjured side.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” I murmured, stroking my thumb over the swathe of pink on her cheeks.

She tilted her head to look at me, and I couldn’t read what was in her eyes. But when she spoke, her words were light. They were also sexy as hell, and complete confidence, just a glimpse of that chip on her shoulder—in the form of one arched brow. “Is there a reason you’re not inside me yet?”

My cock twitched. But—

“Yeah, about that,” I began.

Her expression changed, and I hated that there was a glimpse of embarrassment in her eyes before they darted away, and she started to sit up. That sliver of insecurity had me quickly cupping her cheeks.

“Hey, that’s—”

“It’s okay,” she said, propping herself on one elbow and pushing up. “I get it.” A chuckle that sounded completely different from the few natural ones I’d managed to coax from her sounded completely wrong.

“You don’t get it.” I shifted my hips close, letting her feel the hard length of my cock. “I want you, baby,” I murmured. “Certainly more than any other woman I’ve ever wanted”—she scoffed—“It’s true. I just . . . I’m not convinced that you won’t regret doing this when not under the influence of narcotics. And you were hurting, baby. I don’t want you to be in more pain because of me. I—”

One swift move, and I found myself on my back, beautiful, naked woman crawling on top of me, her fingers circling my cock.

Chapter Ten

Tammy

I probably should be getting up, running from the room, yanking that T-shirt and sweats back on.

I certainly shouldn’t be reaching for the condom, tearing it open with my teeth, rolling it down the length of his hard cock.

I definitely shouldn’t be ignoring the protesting stitches on my upper arm as I positioned him between my thighs, dropped down enough to take the tip of his erection inside.

But . . . it had been so long.

I wanted this man, my need bordering on desperately wanting him. He was sweet and he’d slept in the chair next to me, watching over me (in a non-creepy way—or at least, that was how I was taking it). He’d called in a doctor to take care of me. He’d helped me with the pain pills and getting changed and to the bathroom. Sweet. Lovely. So freaking out of my league.

But for the moment, he was with me.

He was looking hotly at me, at my body, at my face like I was beautiful and feminine, seeing my strength as an asset instead of as something that took away.

And his cock was hard for me.

I knew this couldn’t last; fairy tales didn’t come in the form of Hollywood hunks falling for small-town female police officers. Those spheres didn’t cross. Except . . . for today, they did. Today I could have that fantasy, soak up the kind, nice man, enjoy the hard lines of his muscles, the scrape of his stubble, his talented fingers and tongue.

I could enjoy his hard cock inside me.

And that would be enough.

Because I’d have lived out a fantasy.

I paused, my hips desperate to slide down, to take him deeper, but just as he’d needed to confirm I was with him, I needed to do the same.

I could live out my fantasy, but only if I knew that he was with me in it.

“Tal?” I whispered, statue still, the blunt head of him stretching me wide, promising more pleasure if I . . . just . . . sank . . . lower.

His eyes were liquid metal.

Then his hands came to my waist and slowly, inexorably tugged me down the length of his erection.

And I know that people always said that their man had a big dick, that romance heroes were built like freaking elephants, that every dude had a nine-inch cock. But I’d