Nooooo! I mentally cursed him for not finishing me off first. And I was so close, too.

But instead, Ryan grabbed my thigh and shifted my hip so I was on my side, his chest warming my back, replacing the void with something much longer, thicker. I reached back, running my hand into his hair, feeling his groans, his breath on my neck as he pressed tenderly, allowing my body to adjust around him.

“Oh God you feel good.” His forearm squeezed my rib cage and his hand palmed my breast, stroking into me with renewed force, returning me dangerously close to that edge again.

His left hand twined with mine, unifying us as one as he made love to me. Just when I thought he would slip out and roll me somewhere else on the bed, he pressed back in. Slowly, methodically, from tip to total; over and over again, driving me crazy.

His moistened fingers returned and splayed me open, rolling swirls over my sensitive skin with each thrust.

As he picked up the pace, I held the breath in my lungs, unable to breathe at any normal rate, feeling the intense sensations of my orgasm rolling to a peak.

“That’s it. Let it go. Come on baby . . .”

I was giving myself a headache from squeezing my eyes so hard, feeling the crescendo of orgasm. His deep thrusts were unrelenting, pounding into me over and over again. I cried out from the sensations breaking over me in waves, practically choking myself as they hit. I coughed out onto the comforter as I

buried my face into the bed.

Ryan’s presses slowed; his fingers continued to rub, milking additional shudders out of me.

“Ah . . . good one,” he crooned softly, proudly, still swirling gently inside of me. He kissed my shoulder softly.

I turned back to him, receiving a long kiss before he slipped out and relocated my body to the edge of the bed.

“You have no idea how incredibly beautiful you look right now,” Ryan growled. His hands gripped my legs below the crease of my knees, pressing my thighs back, staring down at me with both admiration and lust. He rocked my legs, lifting my rear and raking my insides at different glorifying angles.

But the clock on the wall told another story, one of him being out of time. Sure enough, a few minutes later someone rapped loudly on the outside door. I watched the pleasure on his face harden as he slammed into me with more vigor.

“Hang on!” Ryan yelled out over his shoulder. “Son of a . . . I just need five more minutes,” he breathed out, pumping harder. His hands hit the mattress, pressing my thighs back as far as they could go, practically bending me in half to climb up inside of me. A light sweat beaded on his forehead. “Can you go again?” he asked, breathing hard, clasping one hand around my ankle.

I couldn’t believe his question! We were in the midst of filming a multimillion-dollar movie, someone was banging their fist on his trailer door to escort him to set, and his greatest concern was whether I could achieve another orgasm? God love the man for trying.

I pushed his hand away and flipped over onto my knees. “Don’t worry about me. It’s your turn.”

Ryan’s voice cracked and pitched when he yelled again, “Give me five minutes!” over his shoulder toward the door. His hands palmed my rear, digging fingertips into my flesh. I squeezed down on him with everything I had left, tightening my grip like a vise. Just as I started touching myself, Ryan moved my hand out of the way, replacing it with his own.

“That’s mine,” he growled, rubbing me with demanding ownership, bringing a second orgasm on like wildfire. My body bucked and shook while he continued to punish me with each thrust. His soft whimpers and grunts turned into one deep, guttural groan as his body released and stuttered everything he had into me.

Even behind Mike’s dark sunglasses and stoic face, I could still see the hint of guy smugness on his lips as he walked us to makeup. He didn’t need to utter a word to Ryan to congratulate him on getting laid mid-afternoon; the hard pat on Ryan’s shoulder spoke volumes.

Ryan chose this time to tease me, casually drifting his fingers under his nose as if he still wore my scent. I chuckled at our private joke when he licked his finger and raised his brows, savoring a phantom taste of me.

One of the male makeup artists, a slightly pudgy and excessively hairy man we had been introduced to before by the name of Buckley, was busy fashioning a “cup,” for lack of a better word, over Ryan’s exposed privates.

“It’s called a merkin.” Ryan answered my questioning gaze, pressing the sides of the cup into his skin to assure its adhesion.

I envisioned him popping that thing off like a tent way too small for its support pole. The adhesive would surely, painfully rip a few hairs from his skin. Ouch.

Nicole might get to touch his body intimately, but there was one flesh-toned package she’d never get to see—lesbian or not. Unfortunately, his nudity meant that those totally sexy muscular indentations in his incredible ass might get some screen time. That would definitely cause a few million “Charles Conroy” fans to blow a gasket for sure. Even more hype for Seaside III, which wouldn’t start filming until the fall.

Ryan turned to face me with his fists on his hips, looking like a life-sized, naked Ken doll with obscured genitalia. “So, what do you think?”

He was so adorable, smirkin’ in his merkin.

“And it’s not even my birthday!” I laughed. “I’m wondering how painful it will be when you have to take that thing off.”

“Just like a Band-Aid,” Buckley mumbled. “Grit and pull.”

Ryan blew out a tense breath and slipped a gray flannel robe on, tying the belt securely like a boxer headed for a fight.

It was time for him to go pretend with another woman below him and I was going to watch.

Chapter 10

React

“Cut. Ryan, you need to drop your arm a bit. You’re casting a shadow on Nicole,” Jonathan instructed, sounding irritated. “No, that’s still not working. We need to adjust the lighting. She’s got a dark shadow running right across her face.”

I watched the gaffer make a slight adjustment to one of the towering lights near the large bed, and was thankful for the momentary reprieve.

An hour ago, that naked body was between my thighs, loving me. Now Ryan was carefully seated between Nicole’s bare legs, nothing but flesh-toned merkins keeping their bodies from actually touching.

Ryan and Nicole were holding light conversation while the lights were adjusted around them, but the sight of him lying on top of her was almost too much for me to take in. Like a sick, masochistic voyeur, I stood there, watching. Watching my fiancé slip his lips over another woman’s body every time the director called “Action!”

I knew it was fake, completely staged, but still.

Ryan pressed Nicole’s hair back from her face, gazing at her before crushing his lips down on hers. She gasped and the sheet that barely covered them rose and fell with the roll of his hips.

Slight tremors vibrated up through my shoulders. Instantly I was torn from the spot and pulled back in time, recalling every ounce of pain I felt when I walked in on my ex-fiancé, Thomas, grinding his naked ass into that emaciated slut, Cheryl Regan, with painful clarity. The overwhelming anguish blasted uncontrollably like lightning into my chest.

I had sworn to myself that day I had caught Thomas, made the most sacred of vows to the sanctity of my own soul, that I would never, ever allow myself to be hurt like that again. To step anywhere near a man who was capable of eviscerating my heart.

Loving someone should never end in all-consuming devastation.

But time and time again I set myself up to be ripped to shreds. And here I stood, torturing myself all over again watching this charade.

Certain moments were tolerable: those when filming had halted and Ryan and Nicole weren’t all over each other. But the moment the cameras were rolling, my hands tightened into fists and I wanted to puke craziness.