Pitch Imperfect Read Online Free Page A

pain make her pleasure more intense?
    Anjuli bucked her hips to dislodge him, making him penetrate her more deeply. Her mind was screaming but her pussy didn’t care. It was a liquid pool of greedy selfishness. She bucked harder and Rob upped the delicious friction, increasing the ripples of delight. His voice vibrated in her ears, resonating with every particle of her that longed to immerse itself in his frantic need.
    The chasm in her heart grew deeper as the rapture increased. She had to give him up, convince him to walk away, but his gaze was intent on her eyes, her lips, her body, his expression intense and determined. She recognised that look, the one that said he’d made up his mind and was planning, calculating the logistics of a London-Heaverlock relationship.
    She could say this was a mistake, explain she couldn’t love him and why. Another man might walk away, then, but not Rob. Holding her tightly, thrusting into her mind and body he seemed a part of her. The man she’d almost married—a man who would give her compassion when all she deserved was condemnation. The thought strengthened Anjuli’s resolve even as her traitorous body followed his insistent rhythm.
    Hands on her thighs, Rob pulled her legs around his hips, lifting her off the bed. At this angle her enjoyment was excruciating and she clung to him, unable to stop her reason melting away.
    “God, I want you,” he said. “I want
this
. Tell me you want it too.”
    Anjuli wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him tighter, showing him with her body what her mind could no longer deny. Rob withdrew and she whimpered, moaned as he paused, then drove into her with a long, commanding thrust.
    “Come with me.”
    No!
She had to stop, but, oh God, the tidal wave inside her was going to break. Angering Rob wouldn’t be enough; she had to make him
despise
her. She clutched his buttocks, squeezed his shaft.
    “Anjuli,” he groaned, teeth grazing her neck.
    Goosebumps spread under her palms as his orgasm ripped through him, and she catapulted into bliss. With her climax came her answer. She was a singer not an actress, but she would put on the performance of her life.
    “Brendan,” she shouted, scrunching her eyes shut. “Harder, Brendan.”
    Rob jerked to a halt. He lifted his head from her neck and stared at her. “Brendan?”
    Anjuli grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him back. “Don’t stop, Brendan. You’re making me come.”
    Rob tore himself from her body, his breathing ragged. Orange street lights showed the shock on his face and the tension in his body; the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His erection. “Who the hell is Brendan?”
    Anjuli pulled up the duvet and covered herself, cleared her throat and aimed for nonchalance. “Does it matter?”
    A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It matters to me.”
    “Do you interrogate every woman you screw?” she forced herself to ask.
    His voice dropped so low she could barely hear. “Is that what this is to you? A
screw
?”
    “Shit.” The tremor in her voice was unfeigned. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s bad form to have sex with one man while thinking about another, but I couldn’t help it. Brendan’s the best I’ve ever had and I wanted to recapture how it felt to be with him.”
    “You used me?”
    “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t think you’d mind getting laid.”
    Rob unpeeled his condom, his movements short and jerky. “I’m glad I could be of service.”
    Anjuli clutched the duvet, twisting it in her hands. “Service? You talked so much I had to block out your voice.”
    If looks could kill she would be drawn, hung and quartered.
    “You dragged me into your flat,” he reminded her. “You said you missed me and that you wanted me.”
    Anjuli tried to shrug but her shoulder refused to obey. “I...I say a lot of things to get what I want, especially when I’ve had a few too many. I’m a celebrity, Rob. I constantly fake how I really feel. This time I faked that