A few minutes later, the director and the crew left, leaving Peter and Isabella alone in the office.
Isabella was in her late twenties, the age where a woman is like a wolf, or a tiger. And after the audition, she realized Peter had it all: good looks, incredible skills, and excellent… hardware. He had even made her feel like she was dreaming of her first love again. For a boy-next-door type like Peter, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't impressed.
"A truly compelling read, Peter," she said, her voice a low, smooth purr that seemed to vibrate through the plush carpet. "Your interpretation of the character's… desire… was particularly insightful."
He smiled, a charming, practiced flash of teeth. "Thank you, Isabella. That means a lot, coming from you."
"Does it?" She rose, a slow, deliberate uncoiling of power and elegance. Her stilettos made no sound as she circled the desk, a predator assessing its territory. "I wonder if you truly understand what that kind of desire feels like."
Peter stood a little straighter, his actor's charm faltering under the intensity of her scrutiny. "I like to think I can embody it."
"Embodying it and surrendering to it are two very different things." She was in front of him now, so close he could smell her perfume—a costly, intoxicating blend of night-blooming jasmine and musk. Her forefinger, tipped with a blood-red nail, traced a line from his temple down to his jaw. He shuddered, a full-body tremor he couldn't suppress.
"Isabella, I…"
"Shhh." Her finger pressed against his lips, silencing him. Her dark eyes held his, and in their depths, he saw a raw, unvarnished hunger that stole the breath from his lungs. "All day, watching you in that audition, I had a single thought. A single, consuming thought."
He could only stare, his heart hammering against his ribs like a frantic bird.
"It was that I needed to feel if that passion was real."
Her hand slid behind his neck, her grip surprisingly strong, and she pulled him down into a kiss. It wasn't an invitation; it was a claim. Her mouth was hot and demanding, her tongue sweeping past his lips with a possessive urgency that left no room for hesitation. A low groan escaped him, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and burgeoning need. His own hands, which had been hanging uselessly at his sides, came up to her waist, gripping the sleek fabric of her dress.Their hands roamed each other's bodies, exploring and teasing. Peter's hands found their way to her firm, round ass, giving it a squeeze as he pulled her closer.
She broke the kiss, her breath warm against his cheek."I've wanted to see that composure of yours shatter."
Before he could form a coherent thought, she was on her knees, her hands working his belt buckle with an expert, furious efficiency. The rasp of the zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet room. He watched, mesmerized, as she freed his cock, which was already achingly hard, straining upward.
"Oh, Peter," she murmured, a wicked smile playing on her swollen lips. "So very convincing."
Then her mouth was on him.
It was not a gentle exploration. It was a masterclass in erotic gluttony. Her lips formed a perfect, wet seal around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling and pressing against the sensitive slit. A strangled cry tore from his throat as his head fell back, his fingers tangling in her perfectly styled hair. God, the heat… It was an all-consuming furnace of sensation. She took him deeper, her head moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm that was both punishing and exquisite. He could feel the back of her throat, the gentle, yielding pressure as she took all of him. Isabella sucked him, her head bobbing up and down as she took him deeper and deeper. She could feel him growing harder in her mouth.
His thighs trembled. "Isabella… fuck… I can't…"
She pulled off with a soft, wet pop, looking up at him through her lashes. "You can," she stated, her voice dripping with authority and lust. "You will." Her hands went to the hem of her dress, and in one fluid motion, she pulled it over her head. She was bare beneath, her body a stunning curve of white skin and dark, peaked nipples. "Now, get these off," she commanded, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.
They fumbled together, a frantic dance of shedding clothes until they were both gloriously, completely naked on the expensive Persian rug. The cool air on his skin was a stark contrast to the inferno raging inside him. She pushed him down onto the rug, straddling his hips, her weight a delicious anchor.
Leaning forward, she captured his mouth again, her breasts crushing against his chest. He could feel her heart beating in a wild syncopation with his own. One of her hands slid between their bodies, her fingers finding her own core, stroking herself as she ground against his length. The sight of her, lost in her own pleasure above him, was the most potent aphrodisiac he'd ever known.
"I need you inside me," she panted, her eyes glazed with need. "Now."
She positioned him, her hand guiding his cock to her entrance. Then she sank down onto him in one slow, devastating motion.
They both cried out. For Peter, it was a feeling of being enveloped in pure, slick velvet, a tight, clutching heat that threatened to undo him instantly. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as she began to move. She set a relentless, powerful pace, riding him with a primal confidence that left him utterly at her mercy. He could only watch, transfixed, as her body undulated above him, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
"You feel… insane," he groaned, arching his hips to meet her downward thrust.
She opened her eyes, a feral grin on her face. "This is just the first scene, Peter."
After what felt like an eternity of her glorious, dominating rhythm, she rolled them over, pinning herself beneath him. "Your turn," she whispered, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist. "Show me that passion I saw in your audition."
He needed no further encouragement. He drove into her, again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The room filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the slick slap of their bodies meeting, the soft moans she couldn't suppress. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, drowning in the scent of her. His hands were everywhere—cupping her breast, pinching her nipple, sliding down to where their bodies joined to feel himself moving in and out of her.
"Isabella," he gasped, his control fraying, the coil of pleasure in his gut winding impossibly tight.
"Yes," she hissed, her nails scoring his back. "Yes. Don't you dare hold back. I want to feel all of it."
Her words were the final permission he needed. With a guttural cry, he plunged into her one last, deep time, his whole body seizing as his orgasm exploded through him. Wave after wave of intense, blinding release poured from him, filling her, his vision spotting at the edges. Beneath him, Isabella clenched around him, milking every last drop as her own climax washed over her, a silent, shuddering wave that left her breathless and trembling.
He collapsed onto her, spent, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together. For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing slowly returning to normal. His mind was blissfully, utterly empty.
Isabella's hand came up, her fingers gently tracing the line of his spine. She turned her head, her lips brushing his ear.
"So," she whispered, her voice rich with satisfaction and a hint of something darker, something more.
Peter turned sideways and walked towards the door. Just as he reached it, Isabella called out to his back, her voice laced with amusement, "If you don't pay back the money, I might really have to 'rule' you."
Peter made an OK gesture without turning around and walked out.
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES.