Star-Crossed Letters (Falling for Famous #1)

“No-strings sex? Yay?” I say, trying for jovial and failing. I blow out a breath. “I chose you. Now it’s your turn to choose me.”

“Oh hell, Olivia.” And he kisses me. Swoops down and just kisses the shit out of me. He ravishes me, takes me hostage—not that I’m putting up a fight.

I want every hot, panting second of it.

Thanks, Nanna.

When we come up for air, his voice is ragged. “You have no clue how much I want you. But there’s more I need to tell you.”

I shake my head to clear it, but only one thought keeps repeating. “Later,” I say.

He lowers his head, resting his forehead against mine, and our breaths meld. Everything about him overwhelms me. His hard arms engulf me. I want to dissolve into his embrace until we aren’t two separate people, until my atoms and his atoms combine.

What I feel is raw, overpowering. It scares me, how much I can feel with just one embrace from him, not even a kiss. Only one other person had the power to make me yearn like this, but that man hadn’t even been real. Remington only lived in my imagination. Chase is a flesh-and-blood man, and I’m ready to surrender.

I shift my hands from his face to his shoulders and down to his jeans. I rest my fingers on the button for a moment before lifting his T-shirt. His skin is hot, firm underneath. My hands continue their journey up, this time unencumbered by cloth, nothing standing in the way between me and his strong muscles and smooth skin, just a sprinkling of hair as I reach his chest.

“You need to kiss me. And you need to keep kissing me.” The insecure, tentative parts of me have left the building, and all that’s left are instinct and want.

I press my mouth to his. He freezes for a few seconds, seconds where my boldness almost collapses. Almost. But somewhere, I gather the courage to open my mouth on his, and my tongue slicks across his bottom lip, to suck and gently bite it.

His reaction is immediate. He gives a rough groan, and it’s as if his control is a dam that reached its limit and cracked apart. Suddenly, everything shifts, and his self-control crumbles to rubble as we both get swept away in the current of sheer desire.

With a muffled, “Fuck it. We’ll talk in the morning,” he takes charge of the kiss, his tongue invading, plundering, capturing.

I make some sort of noise, an assent that I can’t hold back.

It may have been the word yes. It may have been his name. Or it may have just been a sigh. All I can do is hold on to him as waves of feeling crash through me, dragging me underwater where it’s just him and me and this explosive thing between us.

We devour each other, and then suddenly, I’m lifted into his arms. He continues to kiss me as he walks me into the house and into the bedroom.

He sets me gently on my feet as we stand in front of the bed.

He looks down at me with such intensity. Hair hangs in his face as he breathes heavily, and my heart skips a beat. This beautiful man is mine, at least for the night.

He reaches for the sweater he gave me earlier. He pulls it up and over me. I reflexively hide myself with my arms, my dark hair a black shroud against the milky skin of my breasts.

He pulls my arms away from my body until they rest at my sides.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I look up, and that gaze makes everything else fall away.

“You.” He takes a step to close the distance between us. “Are.” He walks us backward another step. “Beautiful.”

He gently pushes, and my knees buckle against the bed and I fall onto it, hair splaying around me, everything bared to him.

My breath comes out in a gasp at the hard planes and muscles of his chest and his full six-pack of abs.

His body is both familiar yet achingly new. I’ve seen this chest. I know his smile. The whole world does. But up close, there’s so much more.

There are the sensory details. The sound of his breath. The contrast between his smooth skin and rough hair. And then there are the surprises. He has a mole on his side, under his left arm. He has laugh lines that only crinkle when he’s really amused at something. They don’t activate in his Hollywood smile, and I’m so utterly grateful about that.

When I rub my hand on the side of his waist, he flinches, and the way he grimaces, I realize something else. Something that’s just for me, not for those other million women.

“You’re ticklish,” I say in wonder.

“No, I’m not.” He frowns.

I caress the same spot, and there it is. The flinch. The face.

“You are.”

And then I launch a full-scale attack to get him to admit it, and he launches a counterattack, and we’re rolling and wrestling.

I end up under him, laughing, until I’m not laughing anymore. We both pant as he hovers over me, his hands holding mine above my head, our bodies aligned perfectly so I feel his hard-on through his jeans, and again that liquid heat pools between my legs.

He moves. Just a little. And, oh shit, I need more.

He leans over me, arms bracing on either side, taking me in.

“You are so lovely. I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”

He reaches out and plays with a strand of hair that rests against my breast, teasing it across my nipple. I squirm. Every part of me is on fire. At that moment, I feel lovely. And powerful.

He captures my mouth again, and we kiss like that for long minutes, alternating between soft and gentle and sweet to frenzied and back again. Even as our kisses remind me of that night we made out in his hotel room, it’s also completely different.

Our hands are everywhere. There’s a purpose to this, but he’s letting me set the pace, holding back even now. I know, without him saying it, that it’s up to me to take this further, that if I don’t, he’ll kiss me all night until our lips bruise from it.

But he already knows I want him.

I awkwardly undo the first button of his jeans.

He exhales sharply.

My breath is ragged. Chase overwhelms me in every way possible. His words, his kisses, his gentleness target that soft center of me and turn me inside out.

I unzip his pants as our mouths claim each other.

He makes his way to my breast, sucking on my nipple long and deep, nipping it and causing me to gasp before lavishing attention on my other breast.

I grind myself against the huge, hard ridge of him. I can’t get close enough.

“I want to make you come.”

“Yay,” is all I can manage. I mean, does the man expect me to argue?

I lie there, bare to him, proof that I had indeed gotten rid of my wet underwear earlier.

One talented finger slowly teases my clit until my hips are moving against his hand.

“You’re torturing me,” I moan, shifting restlessly. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

“You know how many times I’ve pleasured myself, imagining you like this?”

I can’t answer because just thinking about him with his dick in his hand short-circuits my brain and takes me even higher.

His mouth tracks down my body, kissing each nipple, and then down to my stomach and continuing on. If I weren’t so mad with lust, I’d stop him. The act seems too intimate, embarrassing even, to have a man tasting me, smelling me, feeling the evidence of just how wet I am.

But the way he whispers my name with such reverence and hunger and licks me like I’m his favorite flavor of ice cream is incredible. I’m dissolving into pure sensation.

My hands go to his hair, pulling at the strands, pulling him closer.

He licks and sucks until I go higher and higher, until it’s all too much, and I explode.

Shattered, I finally settle back into the world. He’s there next to me. It’s cute how proud he looks. He brushes the hair out of my eyes as I try to get my breathing under control, aftershocks still working their way through my body. I smile shyly back, feeling my full body blush.

“Um…thank you?” I say.

“My pleasure,” he murmurs.

I shake my head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“I fucking loved eating you out. Your taste makes me crazy.”

He grasps my hand and tugs it down to the front of his jeans. “Proof I enjoyed it.”

Warmth flows through me at the feel of him. I cup him through his jeans, dying to feel him naked.

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