Sugar (23 page)

Cole was definitely there.

His arms slipped around her, turning her over onto her back. Sarah stared up to Cole bearing down on her. This wasn’t in the script. If he meant to take her in a modified missionary position, all bets were off. The angle might be as good or better for her butt, but the semi-headstand would do a number on her neck and back.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, foolishness given they were alone.

A smile played about the corners of his mouth. “Trust me,” he whispered back, sliding down the length of her.

Gentle hands pushed apart her thighs, his head disappearing between them. Firm fingers spread her. A hungry tongue laved her, starting at her slit.

“Hmm,” she murmured, lifting her hips to meet his mouth. “I don’t remember this being in the script.” Cunnilingus wasn’t part of the plan, not that she was complaining.

“Shut up and enjoy it.” Lifting his head, he grinned up at her.

Sarah obeyed, giving herself over to the surprise pleasure. In the past, a man’s surprises invariably had amounted to misfortune, whether it was her Dad’s draining her college fund or Danny raiding her dresser for money for booze. But being with Cole was showing her that surprises could be good things, very good . . .

By now he knew her body as well as she did. He licked and kissed and stroked her in all the ways she especially liked, steering her steadily toward climax. Sarah let herself drop over the edge. Shudders racked her, leaving her fevered yet chilled, sated yet wanting.

Cole flipped her over so that she sprawled on her stomach, landing on liquid limbs. She’d always enjoyed making love doggie style. Being taken from behind appealed to her submissive side. Now that she’d agreed to give anal another try, knowing her partner would enter her there—
there
—amped up the turn on.

Over the past weeks, they’d experimented with butt plugs of various dimensions. By now he knew her limits, as well as what she liked and didn’t. Even so, she tensed, bracing herself for an intrusion she remembered only as pain.

But instead of a director barking orders, she had Cole crooning words of praise and endearment. “You have a beautiful ass,” he said, shaping her buttocks with his big, gentle hand, his voice not barking at all but low and sensual, his hot breath striking her most intimate places.

He ran a light finger along the cleft as he’d done that day in the kitchen. Sarah shivered. Inching up onto her knees, she took hold of the metal bedrails. As always, they’d discussed the details in advance. Unlike in
Kink Ass
, she wouldn’t be bound. Pairing bondage with an act that bore bad memories would be too much, too terrifying.

“Not only beautiful but responsive,” he said, circling the puckered flesh.

Sarah started, her ass twitching. The simple stroking felt amazing and not only because of the taboo aspect. Beyond any head gaming, being touched there felt really good.

Teasing fingertips traced the curve of her buttocks. Hands, firm but gentle, urged her legs apart. With a start, she realized it was no longer his finger tracing her but his tongue. Fluttering kisses firmed to deeper ones. Light licks and gentle lapping segued to rhythmic sucking. A tongue’s tip probed her.

This was new. This was different. Sarah might be an international porn star of one hundred films, but never—never—had she felt anything quite like . . . this. She moaned, bucking back against him. Her hands fisted around the bed rails. Perspiration filmed the backs of her knees. Not only her ass but all the rest of her seemed engulfed by a beautiful, budding ache.

Cole drew back. He reached across to the night table for the lubricant and one of the condom packets. She heard the foil tear. Stealing a backwards glance, she saw him cover himself with the condom, then slather it with lube, especially the tip. He squeezed more lube onto his fingers. Raising his hand to his mouth, he blew several fast, warming breaths.

Sarah turned away, anchoring her gaze to the rail. Slippery fingers found her, retracing the circles earlier mapped with fingers and tongue. Sarah ground her fingers into her palms, loving the feel of him there. If they went no farther than this, she’d gladly let him inspect her for hours.

But the scene called for penetration, not play. He slid his finger inside her, the entry so smooth she scarcely felt it. Sarah shifted on her knees. Compared to the dildos with which she’d experimented, one lubricated finger was nothing. He sank into her again, the pressure sharper but in no way unpleasant.

“Oh, Cole,” she breathed, pushing back against him as he worked in a second digit, forgetting to call him by his scripted name or at least forgetting to care.

“Do you like that, baby?” he asked, again not from the script, his buried fingers softly scissoring.

Sarah answered with a groan. Fuck the script, this felt too exciting, too good to sweat six-year-old lines.

He withdrew again. Another telltale squishing announced he was squeezing out more lube. This time when he entered her, Sarah knew it wouldn’t be with fingers.

Cole fitted himself against her. Unlike the clumsy actor, he didn’t tear into her. He didn’t rush in any way. He teased his sheathed cockhead around her opening, and then slid along her crack, again and again, until Sarah was no longer bracing herself to be breached. She longed for it.

Sarah wiggled her bottom, feeling as though she’d grown a second clit. “Please,” she whimpered, bucking back only to have him pull away yet again.

By the time he fitted himself to her again, she was so relaxed, so turned on, so insanely horny she would have gladly had him ram her. Only Cole didn’t ram. What felt like the very tip of him pressed into her, raising not the renting pain she remembered but only a slight resistance.

A warm hand reached around, smoothing over her belly. “Okay?”

Sarah nodded. “Y-yes.”

He pushed deeper, his torso molding to her back. Sarah tightened her hold on the bars. She pressed her damp forehead into her forearm and focused on expanding to accommodate his invasion.

Stilling inside her, he gently bit the back of her neck. “Being inside you feels even better than I imagined,” he said. “How’s my girl?” he added, the question yet another unscripted one.

“Good,” she answered, warmed by the unexpected endearment, wishing she were his girl in truth and not only in play.

A sharper thrust brought them thigh to ass. A dull pain, a shadow of what she’d felt six years ago, struck. Impaled, Sarah could do little more than lay there, her invaded body curling over her knees. Cole stilled again. Reaching around her, he cupped her right breast. Deft fingers played with her nipple, pulling and pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger exactly as she liked. Sarah let out a low moan as pain ebbed and new pleasure scratched its way to the surface. He slid his hand downward over her belly and lower, threading his fingers through her bush, playing in her pussy. Glancing down, she realized she was wet. Even though she’d already come, she felt a fresh climax building. She relaxed back into him. A moment before, she’d felt too full to do much more than breath but now she seemed to fit his big, broad cock easily. Cole began slowly moving, sliding back and forth. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel later, but for the moment her ass felt not only full but warm and wet and . . . tingly. She experimented, clenching and unclenching her inner muscles, as she’d long ago learned to do with her pelvis. Doing so felt good, really good, and not only to her. Cole’s deep-throated groan reverberated throughout the small room. He quickened his pace, his thrusts still gentle but regular and rhythmic.

Oh. My. God
. Was it possible to come simultaneously in two orifices? Despite all the double penetrations she’d watched other actresses undergo, until now she’d assumed any orgasm was an act. Feeling herself closing in on climax, Sarah was no longer so sure they’d all been faking it.

Dropping one hand from the bedpost, she reached for her vibrator. She flicked the switch with her thumb and brought the buzzing wand to her front. She was close, so close . . . Just another few thrusts from Cole and—

Cole ground against her. “God. Jesus. Fuck. Sarah!”

The sensation of his penis pumping inside her put to shame all the butt plugs and ass masters she’d tried. Clutching the bedrails like a drowning woman, Sarah surrendered, screaming her pleasure into the pillows.

Lying in her bed with her bare backside molded against Cole’s front, Sarah sighed into the pillow. This was nice, really nice. She wouldn’t have figured him for a spooner. Ordinarily she wasn’t one herself. Having a man hang on her post-sex had been one of her pet peeves. With Danny she’d popped out of bed as soon as she could without starting a fight, and then expended whatever post-coital energy boost she’d got on vacuuming or doing the laundry. But with Cole, she felt too deliciously languid to want to go anywhere or do much of anything beyond lazing about—especially as staying in bed often led to a bonus round.

“How are you doing?” He lifted his head and kissed the top of her shoulder. For a tough former soldier, he was a surprisingly affectionate man.

“I’m good.” Sarah was glad he couldn’t see the sappy smile she no doubt wore.

He trailed his fingers along the length of her bare arm. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She rolled over to face him. “I’m a little . . . sore, but not because you hurt me.”

She’d used muscles and body parts she didn’t ordinarily, at least not in that way. The soaking bath they’d taken together afterward had helped, as had cuddling.

“Just . . . nice?” He fell back, pantomiming stabbing himself in the heart.

Laughing, she tapped her forefinger atop his nose. “Okay, really nice.”

Dark eyebrows lifted, creating that little forehead furrow she loved to kiss. “Nice enough to do again?”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll want to make it a regular thing, but once in a while, sure.”

“You mean like for special occasions?” he said, grinning. “’Honey, I just got a raise, so bend over and give me your ass.’”

Sarah held onto her smile, although she felt her happiness slipping. His reference to a future they wouldn’t ever have seemed anything but funny. It was, however, a reminder.

Grabbing hold of the sheet, Sarah sat up. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Suddenly it was junior prom all over again, only this time she wasn’t wearing clothes or braces. Steeling herself for a letdown or worse, humiliation, Sarah bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you’d want to come to Peter’s wedding with me?”

Cole sat up beside her. “That depends. Are you asking?”

“I am,” she said quickly, threading her fingers to cover any shaking. “I’d make it clear to everyone that we’re not, you know, together.”

Was it her imagination, or did his face fall?

“Sure. It’s the thirtieth, right?”

“Yes,” she answered, amazed that he’d remembered. Then again, he had gotten them the venue, so that’s maybe how he knew.

“Great, then it’s a date.” His casual tone sent Sarah’s heart twisting.

Seizing on the possibility of more sex as a mood booster, she settled back against the headboard, deliberately letting the sheet slide. “Do you remember that scene in
Wet Dream
where the male lead eats me out until I squirt?”

In reality, she hadn’t come at all, let alone squirted. A body double had had to be brought in for the pussy close-up, but Cole didn’t need to know that.

He turned to her, his smile spreading. “Yeah, I do.”

Holding his gaze, she asked, “Think you can make me squirt like that?”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t think, I know. I
have
,” he added, reminding her.

In one swift motion, he shifted to cover her with his body. He ducked beneath the covers and glided downward. Lifting her hips, he brought her pelvis to meet his mouth.

Watching his grin disappear between her thighs, Sarah melted back against the banked pillows. So long as she remembered that none of it was real, that Cole wasn’t hers for keeps, where was the harm in pretending?

U
nlike The Boat House in Central Park or The Plaza Hotel, Alger House on Downing Street in the West Village wasn’t on the general public’s radar screen for weddings, but Cole had known a guy who’d known a guy who’d gotten them in. The private townhouse exuded a vibe that was at once stately and serene. Its loft garden room proved perfect for a smaller wedding such as Peter and Pol’s. Booking close to the date had actually been a bonus so far as keeping costs down as had slating their celebration for a Saturday afternoon rather than evening. Afterward the newlyweds would spend their nuptial night at the nearby Washington Square Hotel. The splurge stay would serve as a holdover honeymoon until they could afford the trip to Ireland they were saving toward.

Wedding Saturday arrived with a sprinkling of showers that sent everyone into a panic—everyone but Sarah. On standby to help her manage the mayhem, Cole ushered both grooms to the waiting limo, handing them matching grey silk umbrellas she’d purchased “just in case.”

Once arrived at Alger House, guests deposited sodden umbrellas and damp wraps at the entry level coat check, and then followed the silver calligraphy signage up to the great room. The latter was set up for the reception with several long buffet tables, a grand piano, and cloth covered four tops festooned with vases of white tulips banded by silver ribbon. An open staircase led to the loft where the ceremony and cocktail hour would take place. A harpist’s soft strumming announced the entre to the garden room, an intimate space of white-painted brick walls, gently worn antique furnishings, and marbles and potted palms interspersed throughout. A few minutes before the ceremony was set to begin, the sun burst forth, beaming through the skylight to bathe the bridal party and guests in a mellow midday glow.