“Eyes on me, baby. Please.” Alex’s lips press against my temple. “I wanna see your gorgeous face when you come for me.”
Despite the blur of monochromatic fireworks clouding my vision, I can’t deny him when he’s being so polite.
I’m caught in the fire of his gaze. His fingers tighten on my hips as he thrusts hard. There’s no break in the spiral of sensation. It’s a blessing and a curse; once I’ve come, I’m like a leaky faucet—I just keep coming. The waning orgasm reignites, returning to a full force burn.
“Violet, you’re gonna make me—”
I’m so out of it I scream, “I love you,” hastily tacking on, “monster cock,” at the end.
Shitballs. Where the hell’s my filter when I need it the most?
VIOLET
Orgasm high or not, I sure as shit know I said something I shouldn’t have.
Thankfully, Alex is currently riding his own rocket into orgasm outer space. I hope it’s enough of a distraction that he missed my accidental declaration. His jaw is clenched tight, lips curled in an almost-sneer, eyes cloudy, lids at half-mast. He thrusts one last time and then all the tension evaporates and his body goes lax.
He blinks slowly, his hands resting loosely on my hips. “What’d you say?”
So much for being distracted. “Nothing.” I draw a circle around his nipple with my nail.
“Bullshit.”
I’m not in love with him. This is only our first official date. Aside from almost a month’s worth of emails, texts, and a few interesting phone calls, plus a slew of unexpected gifts, I don’t know him well. I am inclined, however, to erect a shrine to his amazing super cock. I may even take up pottery or glass blowing so I can create perfect replicas and showcase them like he does his trophies.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I bite his shoulder to avoid eye contact. I’m sure my face is a blotchy shade of bright red.
“Oh no?” He’s still moving me over him. It’s slow and torturous and oh so delicious. Every slow circle of his hips hits my special spot from the inside. A tiny, baby-size orgasm prevents speech. Sagging against him, I shudder with the sensation. How he’s magically hard after coming is beyond me.
“You’re an orgasm machine.”
“That’s why I was thanking the monster cock. It’s all him.”
“You do realize my dick is attached to me, eh?”
“This from a man who addressed a gift certificate to my boobs?”
“Can you blame me?” He cups them gently. “They’re pretty damn fantastic.”
“They appreciate the compliment.”
I can’t believe I’ve managed to talk my way out of my own stupidity.
Alex chuckles but then grows serious. “Will you stay the night?”
I want to. Definitely. My only worry? I have to work in the morning. I look at my dress that lies in a rumpled heap on the floor.
He follows my eyes but misinterprets my lack of response. “You don’t have to. I thought maybe—”
“I’d like to, but I don’t have my car.” I duck my head, feeling all shy. It’s absurd. He’s still inside me, and I’ve been making my come face at him for the last half hour.
“I’ll drive you to work in the morning.”
“I also don’t have a change of clothes.”
“We can wash them, or I’ll take you home first to change.”
“Or I could call a cab in the morning—”
“Nope.” Alex shakes his head. “Not happening. I’ll take you home. Either tonight or tomorrow, whichever you prefer, but it’ll be me driving you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His hopefulness is as endearing as it is sexy.
“You can drive me to work in the morning.”
Alex post-sex is a hungry man. He stands in the kitchen—which is surprisingly clean for a bachelor—wearing only his pants, with the door to the fridge wide open. After pouring me a glass of orange juice, he chugs the rest straight from the jug. Hydration is sexy.
Then he proceeds to empty half the contents of the fridge onto a plate and shove it in the microwave. I’m not hungry, so I sit on his lap while he inhales a plateful of carbs. I’m only wearing his T-shirt. My dress is in the wash with my bra and panties. Alex struggled with the whole delicate cycle thing and admitted he has a housekeeper who does the bulk of his cleaning, including his laundry.
When the plate is empty, he grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and leads me upstairs.
His room is huge and simply furnished. The bed is rustic, crafted out of solid wood. The dark sheets are rumpled, as if he was in a rush this morning, or this evening.
“Your bed is huge.”
“I told you it would’ve been more comfortable. I’m sure there’ll be other opportunities.”