Lover after dark…
By day, he's the perfect personal assistant, bodyguard, chauffeur… by when the lights go down, he's a devastating sex machine, using his hands, his lips and his breath-taking body to drive his employer to the very limits of pleasure.
Wealthy young widow Hettie Miller loved her husband, but night after night, she's tormented by desire. Lonely and confused she turns to Starr, her faultless servant, the man whose cool reserve and discretion hide the wild, hard-driving soul of a sensualist.
But does Starr really care for her, or is he simply performing his duties, as supreme between the sheets as he is elsewhere? Hettie hopes for more… because she's falling, and Starr's rocking her world.
Chapter One
The night was humid. Damp flesh slapped and smacked as belly met belly in a savage, primeval rhythm. Sweat dripped into Hettie’s eyes and coated her skin like a sheen of raw silk. It was almost a relief when the telephone trilled.
But it wasn’t really. Not when she needed to come, and come hard. She died inside as Starr paused in the middle of a thrust and looked down at her solemnly. He was the perfect servant in her bed now, his eyes cool and shuttered. The lover had gone as if he’d never existed, and a clutch of vague unspoken hopes had shattered in Hettie’s heart. Her body still burned, but she felt like wailing out in loss.
“Are you going to answer that, Ma’am?” His voice was as calm as a lake, his composure unruffled. Even the slide of his flesh pulling out of hers couldn’t disturb his complete sang-froid.
So detached. Even now, thought Hettie, swallowing her disappointment.
“I suppose so,” she replied, easing herself from beneath his long, golden body.
Why, oh why, did this have to happen? Who the hell was calling at this time? Didn’t they have anything better to do than destroy the first step in her recovery? Destroy her chance to…
Chance to do what, Hettie? To understand your feelings for Starr? And his for you? What if he doesn’t have any? Other than duty and respect and loyalty. And desire, obviously.
What if, by asking him, she screwed up what she could have with him? Which was amazing sex. On demand. Whenever she wanted it.
And tonight was the first time since Piers’ death that she had wanted it. The first time her healthy woman’s body had tingled and finally come alive again. The first time she’d wanted to feel a man’s stiffness moving inside her. The long gliding stroke of a cock to make her feel she was wholly and completely female.
It had been months, and yet somehow Starr had known that tonight she’d been ready at last. Without any word or prior indication, he’d come to her bed, then silently and gracefully, he’d slid between the sheets beside her and started touching her with his unique, almost surgical precision.
Not one word had passed his lips as he’d cupped her firm breasts and delicately kneaded them. Not one sound as he’d slid his stroking hand over her flat belly and her hips. Not a murmur had he uttered. Even as his fingers had parted the lips of her sex and played in the thick, clinging moisture they’d found there. It was only as he’d pressed open her slim thighs and entered her that he’d spoken, only as he’d possessed that he’d whispered her name. Called her “Hettie”, as he only ever had done when his cock was sheathed in her body.
Her hunger had flared, that sense of being completely alive doubling and redoubling as her sex had quickened and gripped him. She’d cried out, riding his thrusts on the crest of a great, wet wave of erotic energy.
But it had been more than just fucking, and the feelings much deeper. Her heart had leapt as her body had responded. She’d felt something fragile and beautiful unfurling that went far beyond sex. Some tenuous and unspoken emotional conduit being formed between herself and the man making love to her.
And then the bedside telephone had shattered the spell, and her fragile hopes and dreams.
“The phone, Ma’am,” he prompted.
But it wasn’t really. Not when she needed to come, and come hard. She died inside as Starr paused in the middle of a thrust and looked down at her solemnly. He was the perfect servant in her bed now, his eyes cool and shuttered. The lover had gone as if he’d never existed, and a clutch of vague unspoken hopes had shattered in Hettie’s heart. Her body still burned, but she felt like wailing out in loss.
“Are you going to answer that, Ma’am?” His voice was as calm as a lake, his composure unruffled. Even the slide of his flesh pulling out of hers couldn’t disturb his complete sang-froid.
So detached. Even now, thought Hettie, swallowing her disappointment.
“I suppose so,” she replied, easing herself from beneath his long, golden body.
Why, oh why, did this have to happen? Who the hell was calling at this time? Didn’t they have anything better to do than destroy the first step in her recovery? Destroy her chance to…
Chance to do what, Hettie? To understand your feelings for Starr? And his for you? What if he doesn’t have any? Other than duty and respect and loyalty. And desire, obviously.
What if, by asking him, she screwed up what she could have with him? Which was amazing sex. On demand. Whenever she wanted it.
And tonight was the first time since Piers’ death that she had wanted it. The first time her healthy woman’s body had tingled and finally come alive again. The first time she’d wanted to feel a man’s stiffness moving inside her. The long gliding stroke of a cock to make her feel she was wholly and completely female.
It had been months, and yet somehow Starr had known that tonight she’d been ready at last. Without any word or prior indication, he’d come to her bed, then silently and gracefully, he’d slid between the sheets beside her and started touching her with his unique, almost surgical precision.
Not one word had passed his lips as he’d cupped her firm breasts and delicately kneaded them. Not one sound as he’d slid his stroking hand over her flat belly and her hips. Not a murmur had he uttered. Even as his fingers had parted the lips of her sex and played in the thick, clinging moisture they’d found there. It was only as he’d pressed open her slim thighs and entered her that he’d spoken, only as he’d possessed that he’d whispered her name. Called her “Hettie”, as he only ever had done when his cock was sheathed in her body.
Her hunger had flared, that sense of being completely alive doubling and redoubling as her sex had quickened and gripped him. She’d cried out, riding his thrusts on the crest of a great, wet wave of erotic energy.
But it had been more than just fucking, and the feelings much deeper. Her heart had leapt as her body had responded. She’d felt something fragile and beautiful unfurling that went far beyond sex. Some tenuous and unspoken emotional conduit being formed between herself and the man making love to her.
And then the bedside telephone had shattered the spell, and her fragile hopes and dreams.
“The phone, Ma’am,” he prompted.
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