“No,” I pant.

Sarah lifts her head and kisses my lips. “That’s what ‘not really’ means. That it hurts only a hint but feels so good, it doesn’t matter. I want more.”

And she’s so hot and wet and tight around me, my eyes roll closed. She wraps her arms about my neck as I grip her hips and guide her forward and back, slowly, moving her up and down on my cock, before skimming my hands over her thighs and letting her take over.

“I don’t…,” she whimpers against my ear. “I don’t know how.”

“There’s no how, love. Move however feels good. Any way you want.”

She closes her eyes and bites her lip. Then she swivels her arse, testing the feel of it. And Christ, she’s a quick learner. Her chin dips and her spine curls, “Oh . . . oh that’s . . . you’re so deep this way, Henry.”

My lips drag across Sarah’s collarbone. “Yes, so fucking deep.”

I drag the tip of my finger down the column of her spine, then back up again, as she rides me. Her breaths come harsher, and her hips move faster and she’s lovely, wild in her passion—chasing the peak for us both.

Sarah’s pelvis loses its rhythm, shuddering and jerking, thighs trembling where her knees dig into the bed.

I suck at her earlobe, craving the sound of her voice.

“Are you going to come, sweets? Come hard for me? All over me?”

A high pitched gasp escapes her throat.

“Say it,” I rasp harshly. “Say it now.”

Sarah’s arms tighten around my shoulder and her voice floats from her mouth.

“I’m coming . . . oh, oh . . . I’m coming.”

I skim my finger down her back, resting it at the top of the cleft of her arse—and then I press down—and Sarah’s muscles tighten everywhere at the new sensation. And then she’s flying, coming, spasming with a tight cry all around me—wrenching a deep, soul-ringing orgasm from me, along with her.

I pulse inside her, over and over, like it’s never going to stop.

But when it does, we’re two sweaty, sticky, messy, kissing, laughing . . . loving things—all wrapped around and inside one another. I brush Sarah’s damp hair back from her face, look up into her eyes and in a weak voice say the only word that’s appropriate.

“Hallelujah.”

EVENTUALLY, the time comes when we have to stop. And that’s after two days. Most of the crew has recovered from the food poisoning and we’re set to resume filming. Down at the docks. It’s to be a sunset cruise, dinner and dancing—very romantic. I was an idiot to think I could go on as if nothing had changed when everything had.

And if I’d been in Sarah’s position? Knowing that she was spending time—hours and hours—with other men? It wouldn’t have taken me a few days to break—I would’ve ripped their fucking arms off within minutes.

After a hot shower, I dress and then gaze down at her sleeping form on the bed, her hands tucked under her cheek, a smile playing at her rosy lips. And this time, I just don’t have the heart to wake her. I brush her forehead with my thumb and kiss her there. With a sigh, she snuggles down under the blankets, and that’s how I leave her—warm and safe and happy.

It’s gray skies that greet me outside, and storm clouds gathering over the water. Vanessa’s already down at the docks when I arrive; I find her in the white staging tent, making notes on a clipboard. She looks up when I come in.

“Good, you’re here. And early—that’s a first.”

She speaks quickly to one of the crew members, and then he leaves and we’re alone.

Vanessa’s skin is a pasty pale and she looks even thinner, sharper than when we first met. It’s obvious she had food poisoning too. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugs. “I’ll live. But we’re on a super-tight schedule now—there’s no wiggle room for screwing around, okay?”

“Yeah, about that . . .”

“And I was thinking for tonight’s glass-slipper charm ceremony—you should send Penelope home.”

“Why Penny?” I ask, just out of curiosity.

Her ice-blue eyes seem almost white in this lighting—devoid of any color. “Because that leaves Laura and Cordelia for the final episode. Beauty versus the Bitch. It’ll be like Team Edward and Team Jacob all over again—people will eat it up.”

“Penny’s nice.”

Vanessa shrugs noncommittedly. “She’s more of a party girl. She’s nice, but Laura’s a fucking saint.” She makes a note on the clipboard. “So you’re good with that?”

I fold my arms and lean back against the table. “Vanessa, I’m not going to film any more episodes.”

Her eyes snap up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Things have changed. This isn’t a good fit for me anymore.”

“This is about Penelope’s sister, isn’t it? The quiet one.” She shakes her head. “Always the fucking quiet ones. Fine, whatever—I really don’t care what you do at night or who you spend your time with, but you are going to hold up your end of the agreement. I have given months of my life for this show—you’re not screwing that all up for me now, Henry.”

I knew she’d be pissed, so I keep my voice calm and direct. “I’ve already made my decision.”

But then Vanessa says something that stops me cold. “For Sarah’s sake, you may want to reconsider.”