A Million Guilty Pleasures: Million Dollar Duet (30 page)

“Are you going to fuck me, or are we going to stay here all day like two dogs knotted up?”

His hand came down hard on my ass with a loud smack and a tinge of pain. If he hadn’t been holding me in place, it could have been disastrous, considering the precarious position we were in.

“That was a warning, Delaine. Now hold still or I might decide not to be so easy with you.”

I turned my face into the armrest of the couch to hide my grin, because yeah, that was hot as sin.

Going back to his business, Noah spread the cheeks of my ass and I imagined the look of concentration that must have been on his face as he ogled the sight, trying for all his worth not to let his control slip. He pulled back a little bit only to roll his hips forward a fraction further than where he had been before. His groans and my moans intermingled in the air between us and had a little make-out party of their own. He repeated the movements until the muscles in my body, rigid at first, relaxed, giving him the cue he was waiting for before moving more freely.

“Goddamnit, that feels so good.” His voice was breathless, tightly controlled, as he moved in and out of my ass.

With one hand on my hip and the other slipping around to manipulate my clit, his pace quickened. Deep, throaty grunts echoed throughout the room and his thrusts became more insistent. The sound of skin slapping skin joined in on the party, making an orgy out of our sexcapade, even though we were the only two invited. I was moaning and keening like a seasoned porn star, and the Cooch was getting it all on tape.

“Right there, kitten,” he groaned when he found an angle that was preferable.

But I was on the edge again, and even though I’d already come once, it just wasn’t right for him to dangle the proverbial carrot in front of my face without letting me have a little nip of it. “Don’t you dare stop,” I said, and Noah kept going, pinching my clit between his fingers even as the telltale moans of his impending orgasm built in his chest.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t … stop …,” I called out as I came yet again.

I should have known he wouldn’t leave me hanging. That was not Noah Crawford’s style at all. He
always
satisfied.

I hadn’t even reached the peak of my orgasm before the rumble that had been percolating to the surface within Noah’s chest reached its boiling point, forced its way up his throat, and exploded from his lips in a string of profanities. His thrusts were uneven, jerky, and insistent as he held me immobile and used my body to milk himself dry of his semen.

My body, numb and devoid of energy, collapsed onto the couch. I struggled to catch my breath. Every muscle coiled in preparation when I felt Noah’s movement behind me and I knew he was about to pull out, which I never found to be all that pleasant. He made fast work of it, though, and then his body was covering mine. Always the attentive lover, he showered every inch of skin within the vicinity of his lips with chaste kisses.

“I really fucking love you,” Noah said between gulps of air. “I’m so glad I didn’t bail out on that auction and leave you to Jabba the Hutt.”

I giggled and smacked at his bare thigh. He laughed at my halfhearted attempt.

“You were worth every penny I spent for you and more. Happy anniversary, Delaine.”

“Yeah, right back atcha,” I managed to say playfully between labored breaths.

Double Agent Coochie and the rest of her filming crew—the Assterpiece, Ridonkabutt, and the Wonder Peen—gave us a standing ovation. No, the film wasn’t real, but what Noah
and I had just done was yet another memory reel to add to the collection that made up our lives together. I was lucky enough to be able to cue them up for instant replay anytime I wanted, and I did so often.

What started out as a woman’s desperate attempt to save her dying mother had turned into a love story for the ages. Hollywood wasn’t likely to buy the rights to our story, and we would never find our names in lights, but we were a smash hit in our own world. And that was all that mattered.

This book is dedicated to my baby sister, Brittnie Day, who possesses an extraordinary talent of her own. Some days, I think she forgets that. Britt, it’s impossible to be in anybody’s shadow when you’re casting a light of your own. The world is yours. All you have to do is take it by storm.

My decision to publish the
Million Dollar Duet
did not come quickly or easily, but I’m glad I did it. Obviously, this page is dedicated to acknowledging those people who gave a little bit of their blood, sweat, and tears to help me make that happen. So let’s get on with it, shall we?

First and foremost, I simply must thank my incredibly talented friend and mentor, Darynda Jones. If it hadn’t been for you, this adventure would have taken an entirely different direction. I am convinced people are put into our lives for a reason. Lady, you were put in mine to help make my dreams come true. I love your luscious face.

I still can’t believe how lucky I am to have scored my very remarkable agent, Alexandra Machinist, and my extraordinary editor, Shauna Summers. You are two of my most favorite people in the world. Thank you for taking a chance on me.

Huge thanks to my prereaders: Patricia Dechant, Melanie Edwards, Maureen Morgan, and Janell Ramos. You are my anchors, my sounding boards, and my biggest cheerleaders. Love you. Mean it.

A special shout-out to my street team, Parker’s Pimpin’ Posse, and most important, my loyal readers, thank you. I wish
I could call you all out by name because it is your support that keeps me doing what I’m doing.

Last, but not least, I must thank Abyrne Mostyn, because diamonds may be a girl’s best friend, but pearls are so much more fun.

Thank you all. FLYAS!

By C. L. Parker

A Million Guilty Pleasures
A Million Dirty Secrets

C. L. P
ARKER
is a romance author who writes stories that sizzle. She’s a small-town girl with big-city dreams and enough tenacity to see them come to fruition. Having been the outgoing sort all her life—which translates to “she just wouldn’t shut the hell up”—it’s no wonder Parker eventually turned to writing as a way to let her voice, and those of the people living inside her head, be heard. She loves hard, laughs until it hurts, and lives like there’s no tomorrow. In her world, everything truly does happen for a reason.

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