Rapturous (4 page)

“I’m happy to think of her that way, as long as I’m not thinking of her as a woman with Hayden.”

“He’s your
best friend, Flynn.”

“And I love him. He’s a great friend and business partner, a talented filmmaker and a better son than his parents deserve.”

“But?”

“I worry that he’ll hurt her.”

“So you’d stand in the way of her happiness? It’ll matter to her if you don’t approve.”

“She’s all light and love and joy. He’s dark and broody and broken. As much as I want them both to be happy, I fear it would
turn into a match made in hell for her.” He curves a hand around my ass. “And now I don’t want to talk about them. I want to talk about us and how we’re going to celebrate my big win.”

“How do you want to celebrate?”

His hand slides down my leg to dip under the hem of my red Givenchy gown. With his palm flat against my inner leg, he drags it up to find I followed his earlier directions and left
my panties at home.
 

“Ahhh, fuck,” he whispers. “How is it possible that I have you four times a day, and it’s still not enough?”

I spread my legs to encourage him, but he isn’t in any rush. “It’s not enough for me either, but we can’t keep this up forever. Can we?”

“I can if you can.”

I laugh nervously. I’ve learned not to challenge him on these things. “Touch me, Flynn.”

“Are you giving
the orders now?”

“
Please?
”

“Mmm, you know just what to say to me, don’t you?”

Before I can come up with a witty reply, he renders me speechless when he pushes his fingers into me. No preliminaries, no playful teasing…
Oh God
. “Flynn.”

“What, baby?”

“I—” He curls his fingers and finds my G-spot, and as if he’s flipped a switch inside me, he makes me come hard. Like always, he plays my body
like a maestro. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

Laughing softly, he continues to stroke me with his fingers. “Whose idea was it to go home tonight?”

“Yours. We could’ve been in a hotel room by now.”

“Who needs a hotel room?” Punch drunk from the champagne and the powerful orgasm, I’m unprepared for him to abruptly withdraw his fingers. He deals with his clothes and arranges me on top of
him, bringing me down onto his hard cock, making me moan from the incredibly tight fit. It’s always like this with him, so hot and so tight. I’m never sure whether to scream or sigh from the pleasure. Usually I scream, but with the driver behind a thin screen, I contain that urge tonight.

With his hands tightly gripping my bottom, I drop my head to his shoulder, adrift in a sea of sensation.
I shift ever so slightly, and he gets bigger and harder, making me groan from the tight squeeze. “That’s
enough
.”

His low chuckle draws a smile from me. We have this “argument” frequently. Just when I think he can’t get any bigger, he does. Every time.
 

“It’s your fault,” he says. “It’s all you.”

“From my perspective, it’s all
you
.”

“It’s all
us
. We’re perfection together.”

I can’t deny that,
so I don’t bother to try.
 

“I wish you could feel what it’s like to be inside you, the way your muscles ripple and squeeze me. It’s all I can do not to come the second I feel the first squeeze.”

His gruff words, spoken directly into my ear, make me tremble.
 

“Ride me, sweetheart. Make me come.”

Next to him on the seat, his two Oscar statues lie abandoned, almost an afterthought to what’s happening
now. That makes me giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his teeth gritted from the effort it takes not to come when I’m riding him. I know this is a challenge for him because he’s told me so many times before.

“Poor Oscar one and Oscar two, discarded in the heat of passion.”

“Who the fuck cares about Oscar when I’m fucking my sweet Natalie?”

Part of me wants to be appalled by his language,
but I can’t deny that his blunt words turn me on.

He throws his head back and groans. “I love how you get wetter when I say things like that. I fucking
love
it.”

And I love him. Desperately. I’m so proud of those two gold statuettes that validate my belief that he’s the most talented actor of our generation, and he’s all mine. Tonight he deserves to be worshipped, and I can tell I shock him
when I lift myself up and off him, dropping to my knees in front of him.

“Nat… What the
fuck
?”

“Shhh. Just enjoy.” He’s taught me how to do this the way he likes it best. I tightly grasp the thick base and suck the wide tip into my mouth, flicking him with my tongue as I ease him into the back of my throat.

“
Fucking hell
,” he says on a hiss. The tight pull of his fingers in my hair and the
surge of heat in his hard cock let me know I’ve got his full attention. I take him up, nearly to the point of climax before backing off and doing it again and again until he’s all but begging me to end the torment.

“Nat.
Christ
, Nat.
Baby
.”

He’s warning me as he always does, giving me the choice as to where and how he comes. I want him in my mouth, so I tuck my finger in tight against the spot
under his balls that sets him off every time, and he comes with a fierce growl, thrusting into my throat with wild abandon. I love him this way. I love him every way, but watching my controlled, dominant husband lose control because of something I did to him is an incredible high.

I bring him down the same way I took him up—slowly. And then I venture a glance at his face and find him watching
me with fire in his gorgeous eyes. “Congratulations,” I whisper as I smile at him.

“I need to win a couple of Oscars every day if that’s how you congratulate me.” He’s slumped in the seat, but the casual pose is deceiving. I know him well enough by now to surmise that I’m witnessing the calm before the storm that will strike when we get home. I can’t wait. His outstretched arms draw me up and
back into his lap. He holds me close, stroking my hair and kissing my swollen lips. “My wife is the sexiest, most incredible wife in the whole world.”

“I don’t know about the whole world.”

“She’s my whole world.”

And that’s way more than enough for me.

Chapter 3

I’m not the only one who wants a piece of Hayden tonight, and it takes nearly an hour to break free of the party. Men and women alike fawn over him, hoping he’ll remember their platitudes when casting his next film. However, I can tell that most of their insincerity goes in one ear and out the other with him.
He’s never been one to play the Hollywood game, and he isn’t about to start now that he’s scored directing and producing Oscars.

When he reaches his breaking point, he grabs my hand and half walks, half drags me to the main entrance where our driver is waiting along with at least half the Hollywood press corps. Exploding flashes blind me as he sees me into the car ahead of him and then joins
me, muttering curse words under his breath.

“How anyone can make a living stalking celebrities is beyond me.” He cracks open the bottle of bourbon that’s waiting for him in the minibar. Filling a glass, he offers it to me, and I take it, needing additional liquid courage to see my plan through to fruition.
 

The first sip burns me from the inside, stealing my breath and bringing tears to my
eyes. I look out the window so he won’t see my reaction to the potent liquor. I want him to find me sophisticated, not untried with things that are commonplace to him. And bourbon is an everyday presence in his life. I’ve never seen him completely wasted, but he does love his Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve. The twenty-year-old whiskey sells for fifteen hundred bucks a bottle, and I know this because
I order it in bulk for him. Keeping Hayden Roth in bourbon—and making sure the car is stocked with his favorite brand tonight—is one of my duties at Quantum, but I’ve never actually tried it until now.

“You don’t like it, do you?”

I realize he’s been watching me far more closely than I thought he would after refusing to make eye contact for the last three hours. “It’s okay.” I bravely take another
sip, though I honestly don’t want it.

His bark of laughter surprises me. “Don’t waste my Pappy if you don’t like it. The stuff is like liquid gold.” He takes my glass and pours the remaining liquid into his glass. “What would you rather have?”

“There should be champagne.”

“It’s Oscar night in Hollywood. Of course there’s champagne.” He uncorks a bottle of Cristal, pours it for me and hands
me the glass, stashing the bottle in an ice bucket.
 

I take a sip of the cool, refreshing wine that’s much more my pace than the bourbon will ever be.
 

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“No, thank you for coming with me tonight and for seeing to things like having Pappy in the car for me.”

“Just doing my job.”

“You’re very good at your job.”

“That’s nice to hear.” I’m on fire from the inside,
glowing with pleasure at the rare compliment from him. I would’ve guessed he had no idea how Pappy found his way into every chauffeured vehicle Hayden steps foot into. To know he pays attention is the kind of validation that assistants to the rich and famous dream about.

 
The traffic is hideous, and for once, I’m thankful for that. It buys me some time to calm my nerves and flesh out my plan.
The number-one secret to my success as the assistant to the biggest movie star in the world is that I have backup plans for my backup plans. That’s what I need now—plans on top of plans. When we get to my place, he’ll walk me to the door because he’s too much of a gentleman not to.

That’s when I’ll make my move.
 

Unaware of my impending attack, he makes himself comfortable for the ride to Santa
Monica, his feet up on the other seat and his tuxedo jacket discarded. I watch as he tugs at his bow tie until the knot gives way. The shirt buttons are next. I’m riveted watching the movements of his big hands. His moan of relief at having the top button released travels directly to my clit. I cross my legs against the painful surge of desire.

What would he do if I straddled his lap and kissed
him?

I wish I had the guts to find out. But the thought of him rejecting me or pushing me away has me rooted to my seat. No, I’ll wait until I’m on my turf to put Operation Nail Hayden Roth into motion. In the meantime, he’s a foot from me, but that foot may as well be a mile. He keeps his hands and every other part of him to himself, as much as I wish he wouldn’t.

How can he be so calm, cool
and collected when I’m about to spontaneously combust over here? I’ve never been so uncertain around a man before. Why, when it’s never been more important, am I unable to get a read on
this
man?
What
does he want?
Who
does he want? Until tonight, I would’ve said I had no idea. But when he kissed me, spontaneously and very, very publicly, well, that made a statement, didn’t it?

Except it was
followed by… nothing. After what felt like forever waiting for
something
, no way am I going to let him off the hook without something
more
. I keep telling myself that on the interminable ride to Santa Monica.