Epic by Ginger Voight Page B

had been able to find… hidden far below the shame and insecurities that plagued my sexual identity.
    Every kiss… every touch… liberated me. At the tips of his fingers I was perfected.
    The orgasm was so explosive I couldn’t help but cry out. My body trembled underneath him until it tipped him blissfully over the edge. He was breathless as he collapsed against me with a lopsided smile. “Welcome home,” he quipped before he kissed me long and slow.
    I closed my arms and legs around him as I kept him deep inside my body. “This is the only home I need,” I whispered. “You’re my home, Jace.”
    He brushed the side of my face with his finger. “You’re my life, Jordi.”
    A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I pulled him down for another kiss.
    While our first tussle was raw, hungry and explosive, we took our time with round two. We kissed slowly and deeply, our fingers freed to trail along our sweaty, bare bodies as we redisc overed one another. I never let him slip from my body; instead I squeezed and caressed him until he grew hard for me again. We luxuriated in every sensation, big or small, as night fell over our darkened living room. The Los Angeles night life sparkled just down the hill, but there was no world for us outside of the sacred embrace that we shared. I knew nothing beyond the taste of his kiss or the silky softness of his touch. It was nearly nine o’clock before we untangled ourselves. We ordered Chinese, we shared a bath, and we continued our reunion in our king-sized bed he had also covered in rose petals.
    “You make me feel like a queen,” I told him as I stroked his hip with the tips of my fingers.
    “You are my queen,” he said softly, before he pushed me back on the bed and slid down my body until he disappeared between my thighs.
    By morning I was reluctant to let him go. I had enjoyed our little cocoon , but it was far from self-sustaining. Fame demanded hustle. The more you had of it, the more you had to do to hold onto it. He was preparing for his tour now, auditioning musicians and dancers to bring to life his vision for his first solo concert. He urged me to come with him, but I was still browbeaten over the last tour. I remembered all too well how it felt to be the opening act the audience endured to get to the headliner they really wanted to see.
    I didn’t think I could do that again.
    The people who loved Jace didn’t necessarily love me. And I had to learn to be OK with that.
    So I sent him on his way and concentrated on my own career. A stylist for Tempestuous arrived with another full wardrobe of clothes I could wear to the different store openings I was booked to attend. I checked in with Gwen Perry, my west coast agent with Schuster and Beckweth, who ticked off any new offers I had. The diet industry was gunning in force to get their mitts on me, which I figured had to do with my high-profile image. They wanted to take the unhappy, highly public failure I had been while fat and turn me into their triumphant before-and-after story, and they were willing to offer me millions to do it. Even Pilar Forrester, who had made quite a name for herself trashing me in the press, had extended a public “olive branch” to start over because she “genuinely cared about me.”
    Gwen talked me down from telling Pilar where she could shove her offer.
    Even if I wanted to pursue such an endeavor, where would I fit it all? Between the public appearances, pimping my album scheduled to drop by my birthday in August, and the new animated film, “ Black-Eyed Pete ,” that began filming shortly before that, my plate was full. I had music to record for my movie, commitments to juggle with the new season of Fierce , and Vanni wanted me to record a duet with him for his new album. Even if I wanted to join Jace on tour, there wasn’t any time. Between Gwen and Iris, I was booked solid. It was going to be hard enough to put Maya and Diego in the mix, much less publicly commit to a