Afterglow: Prologue

She stretched sinuously beneath him, almost purring with delight as he settled into her. Keeping most of his weight on his arms, he leaned down to kiss her, a long, lazy exchange of tongue and breath—a prelude and preparation for what was to come.

Drawing back so that he could watch her face, he began rocking his hips, savoring the faint mewling cries of pleasure that he drove from her lips. As she began to move with him, he increased the pace, dropping his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder and nipping lightly before shifting his weight to change the angle. Her loud cry of ecstasy was echoed by his muffled groan before both collapsed into the bed, respite with the aftermath of pleasure. After a moment, he lifted his head, and she smiled up at him, sloe-eyed and content. He leaned in to kiss her again, and tasted the laughter and secrets behind that smile.

“…And CUT! That was hot, people! Check the gates and break for lunch!”

Jacob Crawford froze, jarred back to reality by the director’s abrupt announcement. Beneath him, his partner stiffened.

“You can get off of me now,” she said crisply, with no hint of the sensuous purr from moments before. Almond shaped brown eyes met his gaze levelly as one shaped eyebrow rose imperiously in waiting.

“As opposed to just getting you off,” Jacob muttered under his breath before saying loudly, “Sure Princess. Your wish is my command.” Rolling off of her in one easy motion to sit up, he reached for his shirt, artfully thrown over a chair by one of the set artists before the scene began.

“Excuse me? You did not just say what I think you did.” Anastasia hissed angrily, glancing around nervously to make sure none of the crew had overheard.

Jacob paused in the act of pulling his shirt down over his stomach to glance at her over his shoulder. “What’s got your panties in a wad now?”

Two could play at this game, he thought smugly. She may have been determined to ignore what had happened, but was just as determined to get her to admit the truth. He inwardly frowned. But why was he so determined, and how did he know for sure that she had climaxed in reality instead of just acting? He didn’t know, but was determined to find out.

He couldn’t help the tiny smirk that appeared when she growled deep in her throat and threw the sheets back.

One of the crew hands whistled appreciatively, and she laughed, waving him away and turning to find her clothes as Jacob’s hands clenched with a sudden need to touch her—either to throw her back down on the bed again or to wrap that luscious little body in burlap so that no one else but him could see all of that silky skin, he didn’t know which. The flash of possessiveness surprised him—and pissed him off.

Ana was fuming. How dare he insinuate that she had behaved like a – a trollop in some sex movie! She ignored her robe on the floor in favor of  stalking over to stand in front of him.

Even sitting down, he was still bigger than her 5’6. Taller, broader, stronger…She had felt surrounded by his body as she lay underneath him, but not once did she feel smothered.

“It’s called acting, hotshot,” she snapped. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

“Lots of practice faking it, then?” he raised his brows. “Doesn’t say much about your previous-or current-boyfriends, Princess.” He titled his head in consideration, those blue eyes mocking. “Although, considering whom some of your former Romeos have been–and who you’re dating now–that does explain so much.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it Kingston!” She sputtered.

He stood up, and she instinctively took a step back. He saw her reaction, and smiled wolfishly. “Although this little confrontation has taken an intriguing—and enlightening—turn,” he murmured. “I seem to have worked up a bit of an appetite. Shall we take this someplace more private, or would you like to inspire a few more racy headlines about us that are going to pop up in the tabloids tomorrow?”

Ana gritted her teeth, before turning it into a fake smile. “You know, if anyone should know the sights and sounds of a woman faking it, it’s you.” She said sweetly. “Didn’t I just hear a rumor that your latest paramour left you for her ex-con of a boyfriend after declaring what a dud you were in bed? Ouch. That must have been a blow to your huge…ego.” She smirked, and turned her back to him, deliberately bending over to pick up her robe and keeping her legs straight, giving him a perfect view of her pert little ass in the black lacy boy shorts. “I’d love to have lunch with you,” she continued, her eyes still dark with ire. “Unfortunately, it seems that you are done for the day, while I will be staying late. Maybe some other lifetime.”

“How about tonight?” he pressed. “Dinner. You pick the location.”

She took a deep breath, praying for patience. “This is probably a word you don’t hear very often hotshot, but no.” She flipped her hair over one shoulder, and sauntered away.

 

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