I like Des and I like Simone neither are what they pretend to be especially Simone. These two had an instant attraction and I liked that the author switched it up and had the woman the bread-winner. I do wish it were a bit longer.
Romance on the Go
Desmond O’Neill arrives in Los Angeles from his native Ireland ready to make a new life. Although he doesn’t have a job or plan, Des is confident he’ll find his way. After all, he’d gotten this far in life with good looks and charm. Fate smiles on him when he meets a major movie star, Simone Sage. Better yet, she invites him home—and into her bed.
They share lust, not love, but soon their relationship reaches a new level. Neither uses the L-word—yet. Des knows he’s falling in love for the first time but he likes the high life so he’s in no hurry. When he nets a movie role of his own, life is sweet. A near tragedy brings out their true feelings and leads them to a future neither one expected when they met.
The huge bed must be an antique and could’ve belonged to Henry VIII or some other monarch. Beneath his feet, soft carpeting the color of springtime softened the noise. A fireplace commanded the center of one wall, inlaid with brick and laid ready for use. Two doors in addition to the one they’d entered through opened into other spaces, but any curiosity he might’ve summoned vanished when Simone stepped out of her zebra-striped dress.
Beneath it, she wore nothing but skin. Her gorgeous breasts hung ripe and full, nipples as pink as roses in bloom. Simone’s flat belly stretched downward to her pussy, where the curls above her mound were as platinum as her hair. Impressed with a woman who would dye her pubic hair to match her hair color, Desmond unbuttoned his shirt with haste, although his eyes remained riveted on Simone’s body. Lean, long legs tapered down to small feet and her hair rippled over it all. Every ounce of blood departed from Des’ brain and headed down to his cock, which sprang to attention like a soldier reporting for duty. He grew hard so fast it hurt and his jeans against his erection created agony. Desmond stripped off the pants and removed his underwear, feeling old-fashioned and prim to have worn any at all.
As he approached her, Des thought it must be a dream. Maybe he remained on the plane, somewhere over the United States but when he touched her, he knew it was happening in real time. His hands circled her waist and pulled her closer, her scent filling his senses. “Come here, woman,” he growled. “Kiss me or I’ll die.”
“Talk to me,” she begged. “I want to hear your voice, the Irish way you talk.”
“Aye, then I’ll talk,” he told her. And he murmured every endearment he knew, some in Irish Gaelic, others in English. Desmond quoted poetry snippets he remembered, snatches of songs as his hands caressed her body. Like silk, her skin felt soft beneath his large fingers and he touched her with reverence, the way he’d handle anything fair and fragile. He whispered compliments as he touched her breasts and reached between her legs to find her twat wet.
Then he put his mouth on hers and forgot to think. He couldn’t speak, not when his lips met hers in an explosion of heat. God, but the woman could kiss. The way she mouthed him back made his hard cock want to explode but he savored the sensations coursing through his body. He burned hot, his body a flame ready to consume Simone. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he thought he’d come from it alone. Her hands stroked him and then found his dick. She used her long fingernails to tease it and Des could bear no more.
He forgot her movie star status. His posh surroundings faded to black, as age-old lust became the force driving his actions. Like any man with any woman, Des yielded to need. He picked her up in his arms, amazed at how light her body was, and carried her to the bed. His shoulders shoved the velvet draperies aside and he tossed her onto the comforter, his hand parting her legs to prepare for his imminent entry.
Simone moaned with want as he reared back and came into her, his cock sliding deep into her shaft as if it’d been custom made to fit. Exquisite physical delights echoed as her pussy walls stroked him, tightened on purpose to caress. Des hammered her with force, working in and out with skill and propelled by urgent need. He banged her without remorse, screwed her with the same reckless spirit he would any woman: cocktail waitress, teacher, whore or movie star. If he’d been coherent enough to think, he might not have been so cavalier, so heedless in lust. Had he recalled he’d seen her movies play across the theater screens, her picture in magazines, and remembered millions all but worshipped her, he might have taken care, or used more finesse.
But he didn’t. He fucked her every way he could, used her without remorse, and took his pleasure even as he gave her delight. As they connected, his cock lacked conscience and had little caring in his consuming urgency. Still, Des loved the way her pussy sucked at his dick, enveloping it with warmth and moisture. He adored how she pushed her body toward him, greedy for more, and he delivered all he could until she milked him dry. He felt the rising tension, the growing power and release coming. Des gave into it and they rode the wild, crazy spasms of sheer delight together. Their sweat-soaked bodies impacted one another and when he came down, breathing hard and spent as if he’d run two miles or more without stopping, her hair tangled around them both like a web. Her cum and his mingled together. Even so soon after, Des caught the unmistakable reek of their sex, the joining. His throat felt raw as if he’d hollered until he became hoarse.
Simone cuddled against him, her arms clinging to him as she made small noises. At first he thought she wept and as sense slipped back into his mind, Des realized how hard he’d used her. ‘Twas fucking for sure and love be damned. “Mo chroi,” he whispered and stroked her matted hair. “How was it for you?”
Certain she’d lift her tear-stained face and scream at him, he steeled himself for rejection. He made a mental search to remember where his discarded garments lay so he could retrieve them and tried to recall how to get outside. Maybe she wouldn’t recall his name, he thought, and he wondered if he should try another city, San Francisco, maybe until she could forget.
“Fucking awesome,” Simone Sage said, her voice the delicious version fans would recognize anywhere. “You’re an amazing lover, Desmond O’Neill.”