The writing conference in sunny Cannes was fantastical, a dream. Back at home, reality catches up with author Andrea Johnson and the sexy cover model of her book, Yushka. With tough working schedules, challenging family relations, and seductive temptation from all sides, the couple’s explosive romance is put to the test.
Will their love be strong enough to have a future?
While Yushka gets his duffel bag in the back seat, I lean against the side of the Corolla and stretch my arms on top of its roof. “You got everything?”
“Yeah.” He lifts the bag over his shoulder and tilts his head in the direction of the front door. “We good to go?”
My pulse beats a little faster at the thought of him dropping that bag on my bedroom floor and lifting me in his arms instead. I’m so excited to be with him, I simmer inside, aching to touch and hold him. I want to have all of him at once, right now.
A spark of amusement plays in his eyes as he waits for me to make a move. “What’s on your mind, Princess?”
Holding his gaze, I smile, my fingers tapping a beat on the car hood to buy some time because I don’t know what to reply. I have a feeling whatever might come out of my mouth now, like I can’t wait to rip those clothes off you or I’m going to make you scream, will sound too cheesy. Why do we need to put our attraction into words, anyway? Once we’re home, there’ll be no reason to talk that much. We’ll do the talking with our more-than-capable hands and … um … mouths.
I tap a quick rap before stepping back from the car. “Come on.”
“Okay.” Widening his smile, he follows me to the front entrance.
I unlock and push the wood door open. “I hope your bag’s not too heavy. The elevator doesn’t work.”
“When are they gonna fix it?”
“Huh, good question.” I step forward, but when in the doorway, I spin to hold the door open for him. “I have no idea.”
“No?” With a raised brow, he passes me.
Just then, I move toward him, chest-to-chest, blocking him and his thick bag between myself and the doorframe.
“Oh!” He laughs.
As the door pushes into my back, squeezing me tighter against him, I put my hands on his waist. First above his clothes––the thick leather jacket and his shirt––then sneaking underneath both of them, my fingers splaying on his warm skin and stroking him.
Completely stuck, he tilts his head and stares into my eyes, his own sparkling with playfulness. “What are you up to?”
“You have a problem?” I move my hands out from beneath his shirt and go downward to palm his tight ass cheeks, pulling his crotch to me. My lower stomach and increasingly heating inner thighs seek to meet his. I want to be so near him he’ll feel my lust, and I want his lust to grow, too. I need us to join and be a match, a melting pot of desire, irresistible and untamable.
“I have to bribe you?” he asks, voice lower, and leans down to kiss me.
How did he guess? At the warm touch of his parted lips, delight rushes through me as if I’d had a shot of alcohol.
He retreats his face a few inches, enough to have a view of what he just kissed. “This good enough for you?” His voice comes out husky, a bit short of breath. With his free hand, he strokes and kneads my butt.
“One more,” I mouth with the next exhale of air. Though the door bores painfully into my back, I don’t want to move, loving the feel ofbeing so close to Yushka, so intimate. It’s amazing how instantaneous and intense our connection is. Just wait till we get our clothes off.
Again, his warm lips land on mine, and we kiss greedily, nose-to-nose, wet tongues playing with each other. My inner pussy muscles clench, remembering too well what it’s like to have his cock inside. I breathe faster. A growing hardness in his crotch presses against me, provoking more tightening. Oh, God. Hot wetness glides down my pussy, wetting my panties. So ready, so soon… I mew into his mouth, and he rewards me with a guttural response, our mouths practically eating each other.
But this isn’t the right place. We need to move and play this torturous game and its grand finale somewhere else.
Releasing his lips, I gasp from our separation, but still manage to pull away.
“Fuck, you’re hot.” He inhales deeply and looks up, feverish eyes widening and trying to refocus.
As I step backward, forcing the door to open again, cold evening air sneaks between our heated bodies. “Let’s go,” I say with a croak, my chest heaving.
He gives a small nod and steps inside the low-lit lobby.