Billy stared at her. He'd heard of her legendary appetite for her costars. Did she want him? God knew he wanted her. He’d walked into the room with a damned hard on. Just thinking about Drea O’Neal kicked his blood pressure to the ceiling. He leaned on the doorframe of her dressing room. She hadn’t answered him yet—not in words—but the hunger in her eyes was undeniable.

“Do you have a problem with the lighting? I can change it to flatter your,” he swept his gaze over her body, “curves.” The robe obscured his view and he yearned to shove the damned thing out of the way. He refrained. Part of what he liked about Drea was definitely her looks, but the bigger part was the way she took control. He wanted her to pick him for her next conquest.

Drea stepped forward and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. She tugged him into the dressing room.

"You know what I want.” She nudged him onto her couch, then clicked the lock on the door. “You.” She raked her fingers down her chest to the knot in her robe, then untied the pesky sash. The deep blue satin slipped off her shoulders, revealing her ample curves inch by inch. “I want you to make me come three times before the shoot starts. Think you can manage? Or am I too much woman for you?”

“I’ll give you my best try.” His mouth watered. He’d seen plenty of her pictures and had a collection of her work on his computer, but none of that held a candle to the real woman. The cups of her corset top barely contained her breasts and the round outline of her nipples showed just below the lace. She strode toward him on spindly high heels, then settled on his lap. Oh Christ.

Billy slid his hand up her deep brown thighs, delighted by her soft skin. The tiny thong covered the thinnest strip of her pussy. She scooted forward and rubbed her damp cunt on the bulge in his pants.

“Do you like what you see?”