Fran Lee - Out of Her Dreams

The week flew by, with the men and divas rehearsing moves and working-out days while the wives and girlfriends shopped and played cards in their hotel suites, or pigged out at the sushi bars that seemed to line every street with neon. And after the evenings’ events, she found herself helplessly entangled with the man of her dreams, making love and thrilling to his body as if every night would be their last together.

She hated knowing that she was so damn madly in love with a man who she worried felt nothing but a momentary heat for her, who would move on with his life after another three months and would never look back. And she knew that others were simply waiting. Waiting and watching for her temporary mate to lose interest and start casting his eye about for the next sexual conquest.

She did have to give him credit on his acting ability, though, because if she was not completely aware of the nature of their relationship, she might have been fooled herself, by his constant, ardent attention and his ability to make her forget her own name in bed. But after six months, he would quietly sign the release documents and she would be alone again.

They lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s exhausted, sweat-slicked bodies as David ran his fingertips slowly over her whisker-burned breast, his eyes closed in sated relaxation. He felt her draw a deep sigh and he murmured huskily, “Spill it, Sam. You’ve wanted to say something since we left the arena. Is something wrong?” His eyes opened and met hers.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Just thinking about the party Vic wants us to attend tonight. I think I would just prefer to stay here and have room service sent up.” She shivered at the touch of his lips on her erect nipple as he replaced his fingertips with a gentle tug of his warm mouth. “I feel totally drained after a full week of parties and matches and everyone shoving champagne or a cocktail into my hand every time I turn around. You go ahead. I think I’ll try to write a little.”

David drew back, his eyes concerned. “This is a really big deal tonight, Sam. Vic says you have to be there. We can cut it short if you want. But I can’t go without you.”

She gazed up into his dark eyes and wondered what he would say if she blatantly refused to go. But then, her presence here was payback for what he believed was a wrong she’d done to him and her needs and wants were not involved. Another huge sigh lifted her chest and she closed her eyes wearily. “I need to shower. And find something to wear. And I can’t if you’re lying over me like a fur rug.”

David frowned at the tone in her voice. Had he done something wrong? She had seemed to enjoy the time they’d just spent in bed. Was he losing his touch? Or was she getting tired of him? No. She still responded instantly to every caress, every gentle kiss. It must be his imagination.

He was so fucking pathetic the way he followed her around, feeling lost unless he was touching her, feeling her breath warm on his skin, seeing her face at ringside when he had a match. He knew how people were laughing at him but he didn’t give a damn. He only had three more months-three fucking short months-before she would quietly move on with her life and he would just go back to his own pitiful existence. He was like a drowning man. He felt totally lost without her by his side or under him in his bed.

He pressed his mouth over the throbbing vein in her neck and pulled her over his chest to straddle his hips once more, watching her face flush and her eyes darken to a hunter green. He caught her face between his hands as she lifted herself to slide down over his cock, taking him into her channel with a soft moan of pleasure. He panted raggedly as he watched her sinfully curved little body undulate on his, stroking so erotically as she rode him.

He needed to be deeper, buried so deep he would feel her very soul. He shoved his body sideways on the bed until his upper body hung off the mattress and he dragged her legs off to plant her feet on the floor beside his shoulders. She gasped at the feel of him angled so that his cock was pressed against her G-spot. He dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his hips to drive his cock deep and hard, as he pressed her back to rest against his legs.

He pumped upward with hard, gasping strokes. His arms held him up as his cock moved in and out of her body like a jackhammer, driving him closer and closer to ejaculation with every little whimpering moan and every little twitch of her ass against his thighs. He took one hand off the carpet and slid his fingers into the wet curls where his cock was moving in and out of her body. He found her engorged little clit, tweaking it gently between finger and thumb and feeling her sheath clench around his cock in the throes of a massive, screaming orgasm as he pounded into her several more times before releasing and sliding weakly to the carpet, with her sitting impaled on his cock, his calves still resting on the rumpled mattress.

She stared down into his perspiring face, her eyes wide with shock. “My God. That was…different. That was amazing,” she panted.

“That was one hell of a workout.” His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “I think I’ll incorporate that into my toning exercises from now on.” He was so tired he could barely breathe and when she rose from him to go take her shower, he closed his eyes and almost whimpered as his cock slid from her sheath to flop on his belly. He was so fucking addicted.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived half an hour later than expected. Victor saw them and called out from across the room, waving them over to the group he was standing with and as he introduced them, he laughed, “I don’t think I have to introduce Chance Braza. His face is plastered all over the known world these days. But I want you to meet the little lady who is responsible for that.” He placed a hand on her nape and grinned down into her flushed face. “Samantha Hastings, I want you to meet Hector Ramirez, president of LABS Broadcasting in Los Angeles, and this is his wife, Juliette.”

She smiled and shook hands with the tall, dark-haired man in his mid-fifties before turning to smile at the wife. The wife was, of course, blonde but petite and with brown eyes and a supercilious smile. She noted the woman’s expensive designer gown and she said, “I envy you. I wish I had the figure to wear that fabulous dress.”

The supercilious smile changed imperceptibly. Dark brown eyes seemed to flicker over her and Juliette Ramirez lifted one golden brow thoughtfully. The woman extended a manicured hand sporting several massive diamond rings and she replied lazily, “And I envy you . I wish I had a man who was as obviously crazy about me as yours is about you.”

Sam blinked and blushed, glancing at the smiling Ramirez, who simply laughed softly at his wife’s outrageous comment. “My lovely wife was quite taken with the way Braza ran you to earth in front of a few million fans. She is a great fan of your novels and is an incurable romantic.”

“I was wondering if you were interested in writing a screenplay for us, Ms. Hastings?” Juliette turned a petulant shoulder to her husband and smiled brilliantly at Sam. Startled by that statement, Sam blinked and floundered for a response.

“Me? Write a screenplay? About what?”

“Well, Hector and I are negotiating with your business manager and publisher for rights to make a film out of your fantasy romance series, The Lost King of Balterra . If they and you decide to accept our offer, you stand to be a wealthier woman by far. And we already have someone in mind to play the male lead.” Her eyes slid to David, who was still deep in conversation with Hector Ramirez.