Chapter Two

"He was an angel," I tell a disbelieving Emery as we sip white wine on the deck and watch the sun set over the Pacific.

Said "angel" is curled up on the outdoor sofa, his thumb in his mouth and his duck-covered blanket spread over him.

"A really rambunctious, adorable angel," I amend, making her laugh.

"They don't call them the terrible twos for nothing. I owe you big-time."

I wave the words away, then top off our glasses. "Seriously, it wasn't any trouble." The weird part is that I'm actually telling the truth. And, yes, I may be a bit wiped out—and definitely not ready for one of my own—but little David and I'd both had a good time. Especially when Ryan joined us in the shallow end of the pool, and we indulged in a rambunctious game of Splash Ryan.

"I'm really glad to hear it. I'd hate to feel guilty about one of the best days I've had in a long, long time."

"Oh, really?" I settle back against my seat cushion. "Do tell."

Even in the dimming light, I can see color rise on her cheeks. Emery's a natural redhead, and she wears her hair cut short in the same pixie style Natalie Portman sported for a while. She's got the face to pull it off, too. A rather pale face now dotted with freckles backlit by the glow of her blush.

"Well, now you really have to tell me," I say.

"You're so evil."

I lift my glass. "It's only been a couple of months, but it's like you've known me forever. Come on. Don't leave me hanging."

"Let's just say that you did me a serious solid. It's hard to—um—scratch certain itches when you have a toddler."

"So you no longer need Benadryl?"

She tilts her head and gives me one of those looks.

"Fine," I say. "That was lame. But it's not my fault." I extend my hand in greeting. "Jamie Archer Hunter. I'm the girl who doesn't do euphemisms for sex." Despite that speech, I lower my voice on the last word. Just in case the kid is playing possum.

Emery leans forward, propping her elbows on the glass top of the table. "In that case, let me rephrase. "I haven't been fucked that thoroughly since long before David was born. So, yes, I owe you one."

"Interesting," I say, swirling my wine. "So is this going to be a thing?"

She shrugs. "I'm not sure. FWB, maybe, but I don't think he's permanent. Honestly, I'm not even looking for permanent." She nods toward David. "He's my priority now. That and the secondary priority of giving my vibrator a break every month or so."

"Cheers to that," I say, raising my glass.

She glances toward the house where Ryan is working inside. "Really?"

"Oh, not like that," I say. "I mean giving Ryan a break by dusting off the vibrator."

She almost spits out the wine she'd just sipped as she tries to choke back a laugh. "I can't believe we're having this conversation. My only excuse is that I drank too much today."

"As good an excuse as any." I lean forward. "Listen, I think it's great that you're not just out there auditioning daddies for David. You're a good mom with a solid job and friends who can help you out. And being a mom is a full-time job, too, so grab the fun when you can. And if you find a permanent guy along the way, then great. But you don't have to go looking for him."

"Thanks."

"And we'll babysit most anytime."

"Really? Don't get me wrong, I'll definitely take you up on that. But I see you with the Stark kids and their cousins often enough that I didn't think you'd want to add another regular into the mix. Didn't you tell me you aren't on the mommy track?"

"The babysitting thing is like spending other people's money. All the fun without the responsibility and angst and hormones. And one more's not that much trouble. But let's be clear." I point my finger for emphasis. "It's only an offer for when Ryan's home, too."

"Got it. Basically, you're planning to pawn the duty off on your husband."

"Well, duh. I'm not stupid."

She grins. "You really aren't. But be careful." There's a tease in her voice when she says, "That man's already got the fever."

I shake my head, not understanding.

"Oh, come on, Jamie. He's got babies on the brain."

"No," I say automatically. Then, "Okay, yes, he wants one. So do I. Eventually. But not now. We even talked about it this morning. And we've agreed that the whole baby thing is for later." Much later.

"Gotcha," she says. "I guess I had the impression he wanted—never mind."

"What?"

"It's just that I see him on the beach sometimes when I'm out playing with David. And, well, I'm no Jamie Archer, but I can pull off a bikini."

"Not really understanding where you're going with this."

"Just that Ryan's never once looked my way other than a polite wave or greeting. But—" she continues before I can ask her what that has to do with anything, "—my little guy? Ryan's got puppy-dog eyes for him. I'm talking serious daddy lust."

"Oh," I say. "Well, like I said—eventually we want kids. But not right now."

She nods slowly. "And you two are on the same page about that?"

"Of course." I say the words easily, but I know they're a lie. No matter how much I want to pretend otherwise, Ryan wants a baby right now. And from what Emery says, he wants it even more than I realized.

But he's waiting because he knows I'm not ready.

The trouble is, I'm not sure I ever will be.

* * * *

Emery and David haven't even been gone fifteen minutes when I pour myself another glass of wine, pick up my phone, and dial Nikki for no reason other than to avoid going inside and talking to my husband.

This is really not a good sign.

I mean, I love Ryan more than I could ever hope to describe. He's more than my person; he's my whole life. And I've always been able to talk to him about anything and everything under the sun.

Okay, most anything and everything. When I'm not being, well, me.

But that was the old Jamie. The new Jamie's happy in love and in marriage. She's just a little uncertain about that baby carriage.

Jamie, girl, you are really starting to lose it.

The phone rings for a third time but nobody picks up. I'm not surprised. Nikki and Damien took the kids to their cottage at The Resort At Cortez for the weekend. Which means I have to wait through one more day before I can sit her down and spew my angst all over her.

I draw a breath. I can make it. Hell, knowing me, by Monday I'll be off and running on another angst entirely. Like, say, Dead Certain.

We haven't even started filming, and already the movie has massive buzz. Not just because it's the first movie Carson Donnelly has made since his debut studio release—Rat Trap—pretty much set the world on fire. I've been a fan for years, ever since he hit the big time with his edgy and stylistic indie films that not only killed it across all the streaming services, but also blew up at the actual box office.

I'd been fortunate enough to meet him at a party, and we'd spent most of the party boring the teeth off of Ryan and Carson's then-girlfriend.

At the time, he had just started producing a series of documentaries about stars and directors. He'd seen me on air as an entertainment reporter and asked if I wanted to conduct the interviews.

Naturally, I leaped at the chance.

Not long after that, he saw me in my first—and so far only—starring role in Intercontinental, which was a massive hit. I'd been his top choice for the female lead in Dead Certain, and he'd become my new best friend.

Sorry, Nicholas.

"What did you do to Nikki?"

I had no idea I'd said that out loud, and I whirl to find Ryan standing behind me. "Eavesdropping much?"

"Damien's my best friend. If you're looking to off his wife, we're going to have words."

I smirk. "Just thinking about Carson, actually."

He settles onto the chaise closest to the hot tub. "Now you're making me jealous."

"Don't worry. I won't leave you." I move to the chaise and straddle him, so that my knees and calves are on the padding and my thighs are tight against his waist. "I'd hate for you to have to go kill such a talented director in a fit of wild jealousy."

He cups my neck and pulls me toward him until I have to put my hands out on either side of his head to keep me steady. "You're not wrong," he says. "Anyone messes with my woman…"

I brush my lips over his, then sit up and slowly unbutton my shirt. Technically, it's his. I'd taken one of his old button-downs and whacked the sleeves off to make it summer-friendly. Then I tied it at my waist for a cheap version of a halter.

Now, I untie it, then slip it off my shoulders and let it fall to the decking. I wriggle out of my shorts next, and let them fall to the ground, too.

"This is getting very interesting," he says as his eyes skim over my very ratty panties—the comfy ones with loose elastic around the thighs—and my utterly un-sexy sports bra.

"Is it? How about we make it more interesting?"

His narrowed eyes are full of heat. "I could be convinced."

Slowly, I undo the hook and eyes holding my bra together at my cleavage. I drop it on Ryan's head, making him choke back a laugh. Then I rise up a bit and start to shimmy out of the panties.

He presses his hand over mine. "Leave them."

I lean back a bit. "Oh?"

He cups my chin, then tugs me forward until I'm just slightly off balance. "Tell me, wife of mine. To what do I owe this very delightful pleasure?"

"Are you filing a complaint?"

"Hardly." He slowly looks me up and down, his gaze as potent as a caress and somehow even more intimate. I feel the warmth spread through my body, the intensity of his gaze making me feel more than a little exposed, something I never feel around Ryan.

"What?" I whisper, but he doesn't answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, he traces his fingertip along the loose thigh-band of my panties, then slips it just barely inside so that I feel the heat of his skin in that sensitive area between my thigh and my core.

A shudder runs through my body, a sensual rush, and I close my eyes, arching back just a little as his fingers stroke and tease, dancing close to my clit, but never quite close enough, and never inside me.

"I love the way you feel," he whispers, as I rock my hips, silently begging for more. "But that's not the way this game is played."

"Then teach me the rules."

"Tell me what you want."

"You," I whisper.

"Kitten." His voice is hard now, the soft edges buried under the weight of his own need. "Tell me all of it."

"You. Please, god, Hunter, I want more." Even the name excites me. It's what I call him when he's claiming me. Not just a nickname or a surname; it's who and what he is. "Please," I beg. "I want you touching me. Fucking me." I grind against him in a futile attempt to make his fingers dance more. Play more.

Play.

I close my eyes, thinking about the feel of his palm on my ass. Silk ties at my wrists and ankles. The pleasure of submitting completely. Of revealing myself completely. And knowing that in the moment when he takes me, he's fully revealed to me, too.

Is that what I want now? Heat? Submission?

More accurately, is that what I need?

I gasp as he thrusts his fingers inside me. The move is hard, unexpected, and I cry out as every cell in my body surrenders to him.

"That's it, Kitten," he says as I rock against him, every thrust driving his fingers deeper inside and teasing my clit just a little more against the pad of his thumb.

I open my eyes, my hips still moving, that wonderful pressure still building as my breath stutters and my body burns. Our eyes meet, and in that moment I know just how much he wants me. The knowledge humbles me, because how the hell did a wreck of a girl like me land a husband like Ryan Hunter?

"Hunter." His name is a plea, and he shakes his head, then slowly pulls his hand away. I whimper, but he only grins. "Show me," he says, sliding back so that he's sitting more upright on the chaise. "Show me exactly what you want."

"You know what I want." I glance down to where his very hard cock is not even remotely hidden under the fleece of his gray sweatpants. I untie them, then tug the loose material down, revealing what I am confident is among the top five perfect cocks of all time.

I tease him with the tip of my tongue, from the base to the tip, and am rewarded with his long, deep sigh of pleasure. Then I take him in further, but not too far. This is a dance. A tease. A courtship. And as my mouth makes promises, my hands tug the sweats further down.

I leave my ministrations for just a moment to tug them all the way off, and his low groan of protest is like the highest praise of all.

I straddle one leg, then kiss my way back up, riding his muscled calf, the brush of the silky panties like an erotic tease against my hungry core.

He's hard as stone when I take him into my mouth again, and I'm half-delirious with lust as I grind against his knee, my body getting tighter and tighter, every sensation circling down to one intense point of pleasure.

He's close, too. I know his body as well as I know my own, and I draw in a breath, anticipating an explosion that will rival the creation of the universe.

It doesn't come.

Instead, he pushes me away.

"What—"

He lifts a finger to his lips, shushing me. Then he tugs his sweatpants back up, adjusts the back of the chaise so he's sitting more upright, and casually spreads his legs before looking at me and saying, "Stand up."

I lift a brow. "Rewinding?"

The corner of his mouth quirks. "I think someone took charge without asking permission. Didn't you, Kitten?"

Oh.

I force myself not to smile. Instead, I try to stand still and stoic, but inside I'm a jittery mess of anticipation.

"Didn't you?" he repeats.

"Yes, Sir."

He doesn't smile, but I think I see a spark of approval in those gorgeous eyes.

"Stay still," he orders, and I try not to move as he gets up, goes to the outdoor bar, and pours himself a glass of wine. When he comes back, he sits in the big chair instead of the chaise, his wine on the table beside him. "Show me what you want," he orders, relaxing back in the chair, his legs slightly spread and his hands on the armrests.

I take a step toward him.

"No. Stop."

I do.

"I told you to show me."

The demand I hear in those words whips through me, lashing my insides in a way that fires all of my senses and sends heat coursing through my blood. I draw a stuttering breath, then lift my hands to cup my bare breasts, watching his face as I do.

I'm rewarded by a familiar tightness in his jaw—so very subtle, but I know it well. It's a sign that he's holding tight to control, and the knowledge sends a burst of power through me. And that one little taste makes me crave more.

I'm beyond turned on, desperate to be fucked. I'm a woman reduced to nothing but pure desire and a wild craving for the sensation of his touch.

Want. Need.

That's all I am, and though I try to remember when I've been this hungry for him, I can't. It's as if I'll die if he's not inside me soon, and yet I don't want to sacrifice this sensual dance.

With my eyes locked on his, I slide one hand down my belly until my fingers reach the band of my panties. Deliberately, I hold his eyes, then slowly draw my gaze down, down, down in time with the motion of my hands, so that as I slide my fingers into my slick cunt, I'm looking straight at his cock. Watching it grow harder as I grow wetter. Knowing he's watching me, watching him.

But he doesn't move, and there's something about the battle we're in now that's wildly erotic. My nipples ache, my skin is on fire, and I think I might just die if he's not inside me soon.

When he lowers his hand and starts to stroke his cock through the fleece, I have to fight back a whimper as I rock my hips against my hand, finger-fucking myself as he watches. Wanting to take him to the edge.

I know I'm supposed to wait, but I can't. I give the band a tug, then wiggle my hips, using my free hand to help slide them down until they fall to the ground, and I'm standing naked in front of him, one hand on my breast, the other teasing my G-spot as I struggle to stand up when all I want to do is straddle and ride this man.

I expect him to call me over. To order me onto him. Or for him to stand, then throw me down onto the chaise and pound himself inside of me.

But he doesn't. He stays perfectly still.

So that's the game.

I stop, then slowly ease my hand out from between my legs.

"Don't."

I lift my chin, but I don't put my hand back, even though I'm so damn close that all I want is to go over.

"Kitten…"

I shake my head. "I want you. Your hand. Your cock."

He raises a single brow. "Did I say you could talk?"

I force myself not to smile and instead lower my eyes. I want to push back. To say that he should probably punish me. But I won't. I can't. Because I'm quite certain I know what that punishment would be. And I'm far too turned-on tonight to go the self-sacrifice route simply to score a win.

I'd rather lose and score an orgasm. Or ten.

"More," he says.

"Yes, Sir." I slide my fingers down between my legs, my body so sensitive a tremor immediately cuts through me, and I gasp, my knees going week. I meet his eyes and see the heat there reflected back at me. "Tell me what you want me to do."

For a moment, he says nothing, and I fear he's punishing me for speaking. For not continuing with more until I came in front of him. His grin holds a hint of victory as he stands, then lets his sweats fall to the ground. He nods to the chaise, and I walk there obediently, then look back over my shoulder for instructions.

"Get on."

I start to sit, but he shakes his head. "Hands and knees, Kitten."

A shiver runs through me. Lust. Desire. Anticipation. It all pools within me, warming me. Making my cunt throb with need and my nipples so damn sensitive. I swallow, then do as he says so that I'm facing the back rest and he's facing my ass.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" His hands cup my ass cheeks. "How much I want to bury myself inside you."

"Please." The word is heavy with desire. "Hunter, please."

The words have barely passed my lips when I feel the sting of his palm against my rear. Pleasure. Pain. Surprise. They all mingle together to form one single sensation: need.

"Shoulders on the cushion," he orders. "That beautiful ass in the air." I comply immediately, feeling wonderfully exposed and knowing he's just as turned on as I am. "Touch yourself," and I close my eyes, stroking my clit, then gasping when he spreads my cheeks and his fingertip teases my ass. I whimper, then cry out when the tip of his cock finds my core. And in one violent, fabulous thrust, he pounds deep inside me, his fingers playing with my rear while his cock fucks me hard and deep.

I close my eyes, relishing the sensation of belonging to him so completely. Of surrender to this man I love.

Of being used.

And of knowing that he needs this as much as I do.

"Jamie." My name sounds hard, like a command. But also soft, like a prayer. He bends forward and puts his hand around my throat, making me fully his. He has all the control now. I'm his. Only his, and he has the power destroy me. To claim me completely.

The thought is wildly erotic, and I feel the tremor in my body as I come closer and closer to the edge. He tightens his hand, whispering for me to come with him, then eases back and uses that same hand to spank me. Once. Twice. And each time I cry out in both pleasure and pain, almost unable to bear the insanity of the sensations that course through my body.

On the third smack, I let go. I have no choice. I'm nothing now except sensation. Need and greed. And him.

Ryan.

My body shudders and trembles, my cunt throbbing around his cock, claiming him as he claimed me while he thrusts harder and deeper until I feel his entire body go tense. He comes inside me, then whispers my name, and that simple caress of his voice against my shoulder sends me over again with him, this unexpected orgasm hitting me so hard, it's a wonder I don't black out as I collapse forward, taking Ryan with me. He rolls off, then pulls me into the circle of his arms. "Kitten," he whispers, those two syllables conveying so much passion and heat it's dizzying.

I sigh, feeling limp and wonderfully, deliciously used.

"I love you," he murmurs, and those sweet, simple words hit me with the same force as that insane orgasm.

"I know. I love you, too."

He strokes my hair, and the moment is perfect. At least until I destroy it by saying, "We wouldn't be able to do this."

The moment I say the words, I want to call them back. Especially when I feel the tension in his body.

He knows exactly what I'm talking about, even though he says, very casually, "Do what?"

I consider telling him to forget it, but he already knows what I mean, and my brain is sex-addled enough to loosen my tongue. "Fool around like this outside. Or anywhere not behind closed doors."

"Is that so?"

I frown. I know him so well, and yet I can't read the tone in his voice right now.

"There's playing, too," I add.

"Is there?"

I prop myself up on an elbow so I can see his face better. "Now you're just being dense. You know what I mean. The collar you bought me. The way we play." I tease my finger over his chest. "I don't want to give that up."

"Why would you?"

I don't answer. Just lay my head on his chest. We stay like that for what feels like an eternity until he gets up, goes to the poolside chest, and returns with a blanket. He gets back on the chaise, this time facing me. He covers us both with the fleece, then brushes a kiss across my forehead, loving and gentle

I sigh, thinking about this man of mine. A man who can turn pain into pleasure, then three seconds later be the most gentle human on the planet. And though I don't intend to say it, I know that somehow that combination of thoughts is what makes me murmur, "Emery said you have baby lust."

He doesn't move, but I'm certain I feel a shift inside him. "Did she?"

"Yeah." I quirk my mouth, the facial equivalent of a shrug. "It's not like I didn't already know it. But maybe I wasn't paying attention to just how much you—"

"Shhh. I get it." He replaces his fingertips with his lips, the kiss as soft as a whisper. "I fell in love with an ambitious woman. We have time. I'm not going to push you if you're not ready."

My heart swells, and right then, I know exactly how the Grinch felt before sledding into Whoville.

"It's not about being ready," I tell him. Then immediately take it back. "Okay, it's a little about it."

He chuckles. "In other words, you're fucking terrified."

"And that's why I love you. You get me."

"Yes." His eyes meet mine, and it's a wonder I don't melt right then. "I do."

I snuggle closer. "I won't say the idea gives me panic attacks, but I also won't say it doesn't."

"I get that, Kitten. I really do."

"It's just that I know I'm the best aunt in the history of the universe, but having one around twenty-four seven? That's…well, terrifying."

"Maybe you're confusing excitement with terror."

I hit him with my best deadpan stare. "Yeah, no." I swallow, start to speak, then close my mouth.

"What?"

"Nothing. Really."

He stays totally silent for at least a full minute. So naturally, I give in.

"I don't like us not being on the same page."

"Neither do I. But think how boring life would be if we were always in agreement?"

"True. And I'd have to fight you for the cookie dough ice cream. And your manhood would be seriously wounded when I beat you every time. Never underestimate a woman fighting for her ice cream."

"I never would." He brushes his fingertips over my lips. "Seriously, we're on the same page."

I study his face, thinking about baby lust and who in this family has that particular malady.

"We are," he repeats. "I know how hard you worked to get where you are. I want to support you. Not sabotage you. I would never want that."

My heart swells. Could I love him any more?

I squeeze his hand. "I know. I do. And if I weren't right on the cusp, things might be different right now. But Dead Certain is perfect. A huge film with a huge director, and I know I'll be great in the role. I mean, not to sound like a total egomaniac, but it's perfect for me."

"It is." The pride I see on his face just about melts me. "And you're going to shine."

"I need that. I need to prove that the success of Intercontinental wasn't because the book was already so popular or because Damien paid off reviewers to praise me since I'm Nikki's best friend."

"No one's saying that."

I grimace. "Okay, maybe not. I'll concede that I might be a little paranoid and prone to conspiracy theories. But knowing Damien really has opened doors for me, and—"

"I know. I get it. You want to establish your career first. And I meant it when I said I'd wait. But I also meant it when I said I don't want to wait forever."

I sigh, relieved. "I know. I just—I don't know. Maybe I am doubting myself."

"Everyone does. But I promise you this—you're an amazing actress, and anyone in the world who hasn't already figured that out will know for certain once the movie comes out. And," he continues before I can interrupt, "you'll be a wonderful mom, too. When it happens."

I sigh, then snuggle closer, wrapping his words around me like a warm blanket. "I really do love you."

"Yeah." He kisses my forehead. "I kind of thought you did."