SARAH HAS A TINY RUSSET freckle an inch below her navel. She has two on the inside of her elbow, and a small dotted constellation across her left shoulder blade. A thin, colorless scar traces her right shin bone, as long as my index finger, and another marks the outside of her left thigh, beneath her hip. I note every mark, each perfect imperfection, while we hide away in our room and I explore every inch of her skin. Hours later, there's not a place I haven't kissed or licked or nuzzled and caressed.
She lays on her back now, lashes low, watching me with dark, seductive eyes that make my cock throb. Again.
But . . . not yet . . . my mouth is having too much fun. I press my teeth against the tender flesh of her thigh and Sarah's legs open wider, all on their own. I press a kiss to her soft, full outer lips and a rosy flush springs up on her chest, spreading beneath her skin, all the way down to the tips of her toes.
I was right . . . she does blush everywhere.
I drag my finger up her hot slit and then through her damp brown curls to her clit, rubbing slippery, firm circles. "You're so wet." I marvel.
And she hides behind her hands, murmuring, "I know."
I tug at her wrists and her eyes flutter to me. "Don't ever, ever be embarrassed about that. It's beautiful." I slide the tip of my tongue up and down through her wetness. "Doesn't it feel beautiful? I love it. It means I get to keep fucking you, sweetheart, for hours and hours . . . for as long as I want."
Her sweet pussy gets even more slick and I chuckle deep in my chest.
"You definitely like those words, don't you?"
I take her in the shower. Her hair is longer, darker when it's wet and the steam from the water dusts Sarah's flesh with a dewy, glowing sheen. I lift her in my arms, press her back against the cold tile and pump into her in steady, measured strokes. I swivel my hips, rubbing back and forth over her stiffening, needy little clit.
Sarah runs her fingers along my jaw, gazing into my eyes, while her breasts bounce with every thrust. She traces my lips with her thumb and I nibble and suck at her fingertip.
"I love you, Henry," she says, tenderly but clear. "I just . . . I just love you."
The words make my knees turn to warm jelly and while her tone doesn't demand a response--I give her one just the same. "And I love you."
Then heated pressure streaks down my spine, gathering low in my stomach. Sarah's orgasm takes her quietly--a simple open-mouth gasp, a clamping of her pussy, driving me into my own release. I push into her one last time, her cheek against the hallow of my throat and mine pressed above her head against the dripping shower tile.
Eventually, we have to eat, and I don't want to bother the staff with requests or see anyone. So, in the middle of the night Sarah slides into her robe and I put on only my sleeping pants, and we sneak down to the kitchen and forage for food. Then we bring our loot--water, a bottle of wine, a block of cheese, a loaf of fresh bread, and a bag of Cook's biscuits--back to the room and have a picnic on the bed.
The wine makes us drowsy. She feeds me with her fingers and I lick the crumbs that fall on her lap. And we speak in hushed tones about small things--birthdays and favorites colors--the small shards of information that, while almost insignificant individually, together make up a large piece of a person.
We don't sleep fully, but steal quick naps in between vigorous rounds of love-making. I rest my head on Sarah's chest, while she sings soft, bawdy old ballads and runs her fingers through the damp strands of my hair. I can't get enough of her voice and she's a bit obsessed with my hair. Other times, she rests on me, limp-limbed and come-drunk, and the only sounds in the room are our synchronized breaths and the matched thrum of our heartbeats.
The sun rises and falls outside the window, but neither of us notice. And I'm not the only one who has fun exploring flesh.
Just after I've felt the pulse of Sarah's orgasm around my fingers, and licked her sweet honey off them for the third time, I'm on my back--and Sarah's down between my spread knees, putting her mouth to fabulous use.
She nuzzles the delicate skin of my thick cock with her nose.
"It's so soft," Sarah purrs, her breath hot against me. "How can it be so soft and hard at the same time?" She licks up and down, getting thoroughly well-acquainted and enjoying herself in the process.
She nibbles at the skin of my thigh, making me jerk. Sarah blows at the hair on my lower stomach, making me laugh. She wraps her lips around the head of my dick, suckling with her mouth and rubbing with her tongue, until there is nothing left in my brain.
She's sucked every thought straight out.
Then, the sheets rustle as she moves lower and I feel the flat of her tongue, wet and hot, drag up and down the seam of my sac--and it's so fucking good my heart practically tears away from my body.
"Sarah," I groan. "Come here."
She shakes her head, shiny dark hair swaying. "I'm having fun where I am."
And then she opens that pretty mouth, and uses it to lave and suck on my balls.
"Jesus, fuck." I groan, writhing with pleasure.
My words encourage her, and while her mouth stays occupied, her hand tightly wraps around my shaft, like she knows I like it, and strokes me in long, firm pumps. When I curse again, Sarah moans and I feel the vibration down to my fucking soul.
And that's when I snap, when I decide I can't stand another second of not being inside her.
Sitting up, I grab Sarah under her arms and haul her against me. I place my hand in her hair, wrapping the strands tight around my fingers, gripping with my fist, and Sarah's palms splay against my face, fingers digging--each of us holding the other willingly captive. While our mouths devour each other, teeth clicking, tongues swirling and stabbing.
It's rough--the roughest I've let myself be with her and she releases moans of pleasure.
Then I grab her hips, drag her right over my dick, and plunge up into her, hard and full. We both moan and it's fucking gorgeous. But I notice when her brows pinch and eyes squeeze in a small, quick grimace.
With one hand against the nape of Sarah's neck and the other at her spine, I still her, making her meet my eyes.
"Are you sore?"
She smiles with a shrug. So bloody beautiful. "Only a bit."
I swallow hard, and skim my palm up over her ribcage, to her breast. "We can stop, Sarah. There's other things we can do...I don't want to hurt you."
"It doesn't hurt, not really."
I lower my head, licking at the tight berry of her nipple--bringing it to my mouth for a suck.
"Not really?" I say with my lips around her, biting just so. "What does that mean?"
Sarah's chin lifts for a moment, neck arching--giving me more of her tits. But then she reverses course, pulling her breast away with a wet pop and bringing her own mouth down to the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my neck.
And then she bites me. Really bites me. Not breaking skin but definitely leaving a bruise.
"Does that hurt?" she asks, so sweetly. Then she does it again.
I hiss, and my fingers grasp at her thighs. "Yes."
She kisses the sting, licking at her teeth marks.
"Do you want me to stop?"
This time she sucks as she bites down, and my cock twitches inside her.
"No," I pant.
Sarah lifts her head and kisses my lips. "That's what 'not really' means. That it hurts only a hint but feels so good, it doesn't matter. I want more."
And she's so hot and wet and tight around me, my eyes roll closed. She wraps her arms about my neck as I grip her hips and guide her forward and back, slowly, moving her up and down on my cock, before skimming my hands over her thighs and letting her take over.
"I don't...," she whimpers against my ear. "I don't know how."
"There's no how, love. Move however feels good. Any way you want."
She closes her eyes and bites her lip. Then she swivels her arse, testing the feel of it. And Christ, she's a quick learner. Her chin dips and her spine curls, "Oh .
. . oh that's . . . you're so deep this way, Henry."
My lips drag across Sarah's collarbone. "Yes, so fucking deep."
I drag the tip of my finger down the column of her spine, then back up again, as she rides me. Her breaths come harsher, and her hips move faster and she's lovely, wild in her passion--chasing the peak for us both.
Sarah's pelvis loses its rhythm, shuddering and jerking, thighs trembling where her knees dig into the bed.
I suck at her earlobe, craving the sound of her voice.
"Are you going to come, sweets? Come hard for me? All over me?"
A high pitched gasp escapes her throat.
"Say it," I rasp harshly. "Say it now."
Sarah's arms tighten around my shoulder and her voice floats from her mouth.
"I'm coming . . . oh, oh . . . I'm coming."
I skim my finger down her back, resting it at the top of the cleft of her arse--and then I press down--and Sarah's muscles tighten everywhere at the new sensation. And then she's flying, coming, spasming with a tight cry all around me--wrenching a deep, soul-ringing orgasm from me, along with her.
I pulse inside her, over and over, like it's never going to stop.
But when it does, we're two sweaty, sticky, messy, kissing, laughing . . . loving things--all wrapped around and inside one another. I brush Sarah's damp hair back from her face, look up into her eyes and in a weak voice say the only word that's appropriate.
"Hallelujah."
EVENTUALLY, the time comes when we have to stop. And that's after two days. Most of the crew has recovered from the food poisoning and we're set to resume filming. Down at the docks. It's to be a sunset cruise, dinner and dancing--very romantic. I was an idiot to think I could go on as if nothing had changed when everything had.
And if I'd been in Sarah's position? Knowing that she was spending time--hours and hours--with other men? It wouldn't have taken me a few days to break--I would've ripped their fucking arms off within minutes.
After a hot shower, I dress and then gaze down at her sleeping form on the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek, a smile playing at her rosy lips. And this time, I just don't have the heart to wake her. I brush her forehead with my thumb and kiss her there. With a sigh, she snuggles down under the blankets, and that's how I leave her--warm and safe and happy.
It's gray skies that greet me outside, and storm clouds gathering over the water. Vanessa's already down at the docks when I arrive; I find her in the white staging tent, making notes on a clipboard. She looks up when I come in.
"Good, you're here. And early--that's a first."
She speaks quickly to one of the crew members, and then he leaves and we're alone.
Vanessa's skin is a pasty pale and she looks even thinner, sharper than when we first met. It's obvious she had food poisoning too. "How are you feeling?"
She shrugs. "I'll live. But we're on a super-tight schedule now--there's no wiggle room for screwing around, okay?"
"Yeah, about that . . ."
"And I was thinking for tonight's glass-slipper charm ceremony--you should send Penelope home."
"Why Penny?" I ask, just out of curiosity.
Her ice-blue eyes seem almost white in this lighting--devoid of any color. "Because that leaves Laura and Cordelia for the final episode. Beauty versus the Bitch. It'll be like Team Edward and Team Jacob all over again--people will eat it up."
"Penny's nice."
Vanessa shrugs noncommittedly. "She's more of a party girl. She's nice, but Laura's a fucking saint." She makes a note on the clipboard. "So you're good with that?"
I fold my arms and lean back against the table. "Vanessa, I'm not going to film any more episodes."
Her eyes snap up. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Things have changed. This isn't a good fit for me anymore."
"This is about Penelope's sister, isn't it? The quiet one." She shakes her head. "Always the fucking quiet ones. Fine, whatever--I really don't care what you do at night or who you spend your time with, but you are going to hold up your end of the agreement. I have given months of my life for this show--you're not screwing that all up for me now, Henry."
I knew she'd be pissed, so I keep my voice calm and direct. "I've already made my decision."
But then Vanessa says something that stops me cold. "For Sarah's sake, you may want to reconsider."
Slowly, I move closer to her. "What does that mean, exactly?"
She crosses her arms, elbows pointing. "It means Sarah Von Titebottum signed a release--any footage we have of her is ours to use however we like. And I have a lot of it. I could tell a very interesting story about little Sarah. How she schemed and connived her way into the show as her sister's assistant, even though we didn't want her. How she seduced and stole you, not just from the other girls but from her own sister. You'd be amazed at the picture that a little editing and some background music can paint. The other girls will back me up--at least some of them--and by the time I'm done, anyone who watches will think Sarah is a nasty, selfish, vapid, backstabbing bitch."
My jaw clenches tight enough to snap. "But none of that is true."
Vanessa shrugs. "This is reality TV, Henry. What does truth have to do with it?"
My palms go damp and anger pricks under my skin like electric sparks.
Vanessa paces the room, then looks at the ceiling and speaks almost philosophically. "I don't think that would go over well with your people, if you actually decide to marry her. And if you don't, the tabloids will have a field day. Which will probably exacerbate her 'problem'--those spells she has." She shakes her head. "It would be very difficult for her."
Then she slides forward, her voice lightening. "Or, you can finish the last two episodes." She gestures toward the boat. "A few hours on the boat with Laura, dinner in front of the fireplace with Cordelia, and then the finale. No one will be surprised if, after the finale, you part ways amicably with whoever gets the diamond tiara--it happens more often than not in this business. You'll honor the agreements you signed, and we both get what we want. And then, you and Sarah will be free to ride off into the sunset. Happy endings all around."
My fists clench with frustration, the way a cornered animal coils before striking. But more than that, there's an overwhelming drive to keep Sarah safe. To protect her--always--at any cost, especially from the problems I've brought on myself. I don't want anyone to suffer because of my shitty choices--not Nicholas or Granny or Wessco--but especially not her.
Never her.
"So . . . what's it gonna be, Your Highness?"
Two hours later, I'm on the boat, out on the water with Laura. We sit at a perfectly set table, having brunch with the cameras rolling. I tried calling Sarah--I keep trying--but the mobile reception is rubbish. Before we set off, I told Vanessa to explain, to tell Sarah that I'll speak to her as soon as I'm back this evening. But I trust Vanessa as much as I'd trust a boa constrictor that promises to play nice with a kitten.
"What are you doing here, Henry?"
I sip my orange juice and Champagne, wishing for something stronger. Because this all feels so fucking wrong. "What do you mean? I'm having brunch with you."
Laura's head tilts and her lips curve with sympathy.
"But you're in love with Sarah."
I glance sharply at the camera. We're miked, and this isn't part of the script. It's not the way the show is supposed to play out and I don't know if it will end up blowing back on Sarah.
"I . . ."
"I've been in love, Henry. I know what it looks like."
"It's complicated."
Laura's face shines with kindness and understanding. "No, it's the simplest thing in the world. The sky is blue, the earth is round . . . Henry loves Sarah. Isn't that right?"
And it finally hits me what she's doing. From the beginning this was Vanessa's show--the story she wanted to tell. The rest of us were just pieces on the chessboard. But Laura is giving it back to me. Giving me the chance to tell the story--
our story, Sarah's and mine--even if just this once. They might edit it out, but at least it will be said.
"Yes. I love her."
Laura's eyes well with tears. "Good."
I cover her hands with mine. "I'm sorry." And I don't even know what I'm apologizing for.
She wipes under her eyes, then waves me off. "Don't be silly, I'll be okay."
"Yes, you will be." And for the first time since this whole thing began, I forget all about the cameras--and it's just me and a friend, chatting. "One day, you're going to find a man who worships the ground you walk on, who makes you so happy. He's out there, right now somewhere, just waiting to meet you."
She shrugs. "I had that. Maybe we only get it once."
I squeeze her hands. "Horseshit." I think of Sarah and all she's been through, how strong she is, how she makes her own happiness. "Sometimes life is unfair, Laura. But you can't give up. You need to just keep moving forward and happiness will find you again. I believe that."
She smiles. And then a gust of wind blows hits us, knocking the flowers and glasses over on the table.
"We'll have to move this inside," the cameraman tells us.
The cameras get lowered and Laura and I stand up. Without warning, the boat tilts and Laura crashes into my chest. I hold onto her, bracing my back against the outer wall of the cabin to keep from falling over.
She looks up into my eyes. "Henry . . ."
Her expression is blank and her face pale. She swallows hard. "Henry, I . . ."
"Yes?"
That's when she opens her mouth . . . and throws up all over me.
Well . . . fuck.
I'M NOT CONCERNED WHEN I wake up alone. I run my hand over the empty spot in the bed--Henry must have left early this morning to find Vanessa and decided to let me sleep in.
I've earned it over the last few days.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling, replaying those days in my head again and again. The way his hands skimmed and grasped at my skin--possessive and desperate. The words he gasped and promises he whispered.
He loves me.
Henry Pembrook loves me.
And what I feel for him, I can't even put into words, it's so huge. Excitement bubbles under my skin and warmth heats in my belly. Nothing will ever be the same. I was happy with myself before--with my little life. But this is different. It feels like I'm on the edge of a mountain cliff, the wind whipping my hair, the sun blinding--but there is no fear. Only exhilaration, pure and right. I'm not going to fall. I can't.