My hands slid across this skin of his chest, his arms, until they found their way into his hair. I gripped the strands and pulled his mouth closer to mine as the initial sensations of my orgasm started to course through my veins. “Thatch, I’m there. I’m there,” I chanted. My lips brushed against his as panting breaths started to fall from my lungs.
He growled. “God, you’re gripping my cock so tight, honey.” His rhythm turned wild and reckless as he followed my lead, but he wasn’t taking any chances. As my release pulsed inside of me and my eyes wanted to roll closed, he slapped my ass hard. The sting faded straight to pleasure and rolled into another orgasm. I had to admit it was a smart move. Even I couldn’t fall asleep while his big hand was reddening my ass.
“Yes. Fuck,” he groaned as his long-awaited orgasm finally came to fruition. He wrapped both arms around my body, holding me tightly to his chest, as he rode out his climax inside me.
The sound of ragged air overwhelmed the space for several long moments.
Once we caught our breath, Thatch lay back on the bed, stretching out and maneuvering my body so that I was sprawled across his chest.
Holy hell. I was convinced this man had the stamina of a fucking superhero. Every past sexual experience paled in comparison to the workout he had given me. I had been fucked in every position possible. I glanced at the clock, and my eyes nearly bugged out. For three hours straight, my body had been flipped, turned, and sexed on just about every surface of his apartment.
He had taken me slow and deep in his bed. Rough and quick against the tile wall of his shower. Spread out across his kitchen table, where he literally ate me for breakfast.
He’d even fucked me against the terrace doors, with the sounds of the city below us.
But he’d brought it home in his bed, and goddamn, I had to admire the confidence it took to bring me there, to the scene of the crime, after putting me through the paces for hours on end. But then, maybe proving he could do it was the whole point.
His fingers ran through my damp hair. “You still awake, honey?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
I rested my chin on his chest and gazed into his big, brown eyes. “As a matter of fact, I am.” The corners of his mouth nearly touched his ears. “You’re looking awfully pleased with yourself right now.”
“Oh, believe me, I am. You were offering up some pretty sweet declarations of love for my cock.”
I shook my head in denial. “I can’t be held accountable for anything I say during sex.”
But he was right. I had pretty much waxed poetic for his penis. At one point, I’d told him I was going to buy a bigger purse so I could carry it around with me all day, every day. Even announced that I would find a new TSA-approved carry-on for air travel.
Honestly, I don’t normally have the urge to carry dudes’ dicks around in my bag.
But in my defense, Thatch is a fucking fantasy in the sack.
His good points?
1. Insatiable endurance.
2. Sexy as fuck body.
3. Huge and thick schlong.
4. Delicious dirty-talker.
5. His PhD in oral.
See what I mean?
You’d be trolling Amazon for a dick carry-on too.
“It was definitely the first time someone has offered to carry my dick in a bouquet as they walked down the aisle. Honestly, I’m flattered,” he teased.
I shrugged. “Well, he does send me flowers. I’d say it’s a normal progression for him to become the flowers.”
And motivate you to marry him, my pussy screamed.
Whoa. Slow down there, Pussy Promiser.
He chuckled in response, causing his chest to vibrate against mine.
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling and laughing along with him. Hands down, Thatch had the best laugh. It was husky and deep and downright infectious.
To his core, he was a happy, carefree guy. He went with the flow, and most importantly, he enjoyed his life. He wasn’t the type of man who would spend his weekends holed up in his apartment. No. Thatch lived. He experienced. He was more alive than anyone I had ever met.
He was a bright light I wanted to reach out and catch in my hands.
And I found myself craving more of him—his laughter, his smiles, his stupid winks, and witty retorts. I couldn’t deny that I genuinely wanted to get lost in all of it.
He tapped my nose with his index finger. “You know, when you’re not going narcoleptic after getting off, you’re a bit wild, honey.”
I quirked a brow. “A bit wild?”
“Real fucking wild.” He smirked and pressed a flirty kiss to my mouth. “I’m a fan of your brand of wild,” his whispered against my lips.
“I’m a fan of your stamina.”
“And my cock,” he added, and one of his signature winks followed suit.
I laughed. “Yeah, that too.”
“Rule number ten,” he announced. “Don’t hold back your girlish giggles.”
At some point, we’d started a list of ridiculous roommate rules. Most of them were so outlandish, I had to keep a list in the notes on my phone to remember what they were.
I know I’d be fucking curious if I were you.
Here’s the rundown of The Rules of Thatch & Cass thus far.
#1. If someone forgets to run the dishwasher, they have to walk around the apartment shirtless for one hour.