Erica Spindler - Red

“Your dad left?”

“A couple years ago. He’s living in Laguna now with his girlfriend.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Mom says it’s a case of arrested development. Sharla isn’t much older than I am.” Gina shuddered. “I have friends older than she is.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gina shrugged and plopped down onto a big couch. She patted the seat next to her. “Sit by me.”

He swallowed, his throat dry, and realized he was nervous. He berated himself silently. He would bet Carlo was never nervous. He would bet that by now, Carlo would have already gotten his hand in her pants.

Disgusted with himself, Jack crossed and sat on the couch. He turned to face her, and threaded his fingers through her silky blond hair. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

She flushed, pleased. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her toward him and kissed her, slowly and deeply. She sighed and wound her fingers in his hair.

He ended the kiss, but didn’t release her or move away. “I’ve been fantasizing about doing that since the last time.”

Her lips curved up. “Then why don’t you do it again?”

Jack didn’t have to be asked twice. He caught her mouth, then her tongue. Gina didn’t waste any time. Their lips pressed together, she unbuttoned his shirt. When she’d pushed it off his shoulders, she started unbuttoning her own.

He pushed her hands away, and with shaking fingers did it for her. Within moments, she was nude from the waist up. Jack gazed at her perfect breasts, at their soft fullness, at her nipples, standing straight out, begging for his mouth, and he struggled to get his breath. He thought he might explode just looking at her.

“You can touch them,” she whispered, straddling his lap.

With a groan, he cupped her breasts, then buried his face in them. She smelled like flowers and felt like heaven. He breathed deeply, his heart thundering in his chest, the pulse in his head.

She rocked against him, her soft pelvis to his hard one, his arousal painfully evident. He sucked in a ragged breath and shifted his hips. “Oh, God, Gina…” He groaned and moved against her again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nipped his earlobe. “Did you bring a rubber?”

His heart stopped, then started again with a vengeance. He’d blown it! Shit, shit… How could he have been such an idiot?

Groaning, he dropped his head against the couch back. “I didn’t…uh…think that we were—”

“Going to do it?”

“Yeah.”

She rested her hands on his shoulders. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Jack flushed, thought about lying, but figured he wouldn’t get away with it. He nodded. “Are you?”

“Nope. Lost it at fourteen. To my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” Jack repeated, swallowing hard. “Did he, you know?”

“Rape me?” She shook her head. “Nothing like that. And it’s not as bad as it sounds. He’s my father’s brother by his father’s second marriage. He was only twenty-four.”

She leaned into him and her breasts pressed against his chest. It felt so incredible, he thought he was going to die. “Does that bother you?” she asked.

“That you did it with your uncle?”

“No.” She rocked her pelvis against his once more. “That I’m not a virgin.”

Jack couldn’t see why it would bother a guy. After all, the two of them fumbling their way through the act couldn’t be nearly as pleasurable as her guiding him would be. He shook his head. “Does it bother you that I am?”

“I think it’s sweet. I’ve never been anybody’s first before.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “I liked the way you stood up to The Great One today.”

He smiled. “Yeah?”

“It was a real turn-on. I never saw anybody stand up to him before.”

“Maybe more people should.” He slipped his arms around her and stroked her back. “He’s an arrogant asshole.”

“So, do you want to do it?”

He wanted to do it so bad, he felt as if he were going to explode. He forced back the frenzy building inside him. “What about…protection?”

She thought for a moment, then grinned. “We’re safe. No way am I getting pregnant tonight.”

Thank God. He had waited so long for this.

They came together in a frenzy of mutual excitement. Jack moved his hands, then his mouth, over her. Her skin was soft and warm and white. And so smooth. He cupped and kneaded and stroked her breasts. He nipped and licked her nipples, liking the way they drew into tight buds, not able to get enough.

She fell onto her back, dragging him with her. He ran his fingers over her curves and valleys, he slipped his hand under the waistband of her jeans, not stopping until he reached the crisp curls at the apex of her thighs. He dipped his hand in, touching a woman for the first time. She was unbelievably hot there, and wet. He slipped his fingers into her and she cried out, throbbing against his hand.

He almost came in his pants. He took his hands away from her long enough to strip out of his clothes, his jeans almost impossible to get off because of his erection. She wiggled out of her jeans, too, and after she kicked them aside, she drew him on top of her, then inside her.

She was hot and wet and tight. The breath hissed from his lungs. So this is what it’s all about, he thought, amazed, stunned. No wonder…no wonder…

He would never be the same, he knew. In the space of a heartbeat, his life was changed forever. This thing, this act, was more powerful than anything he had ever experienced or felt, with the exception of his hatred for Giovanni. And where his hatred for Giovanni ate at him, this released him. He suddenly understood things he hadn’t before—why his mother had done what she’d done, why she had gotten involved with a man who didn’t love her, why men and women hurt each other, why they clung to each other.

With understanding, some of his anger slipped away. His mother hadn’t had a choice, this pull was too strong to deny.

He didn’t know how he had lived so long without this. He knew he would never be able to live without it again.

Her body caressed his, stroked his. He moved instinctively, racing toward release, too involved in his own pleasure, and wonder, to think about hers. And then it was over, quicker than he would have liked. Much quicker.

He ran his fingers over her face, already thinking about doing it again, wondering if she would. Wondering now, too late, if she had been satisfied, worrying that she hadn’t.

He had read things, had heard the models talk about which guys were the best lovers, which ones took the time to make them happy. He wanted Gina to be happy. He wanted to be one of the photographers they whispered about and called a fantastic lover. The way they whispered about Giovanni.

Her eyes were closed. He cleared his throat, and she looked at him. “Was it…okay for you? I…hope it was.”

She smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “Yeah. Thanks for asking. Nobody has before.”

He frowned and threaded his fingers through her hair. “Nobody?”

“Uh-uh. We were always more rushed.” She slipped her hands behind his neck, her expression somehow sad. “Except for the first time, it was always on location. So we had to hurry. And be careful not to muss my face and hair.”

He wanted to ask who she had made it with. The question pushed at him, but he fought it back. He rolled onto his side so they faced each other. He wasn’t surprised, not really. He knew what went on between models, photographers and about everyone else associated with the business.

It was just that Gina was so young and that until this year—as was industry practice—her mother had accompanied her to every go-see, every shoot. He asked her about it.