“Light,” she panted. “Light, to start.”
“Love when you get bossy,” he teased, hips punishing.
He gave her exactly what she needed—the barest whisper of friction at first, then a little quicker, a little more pressure as her nerves recovered. She got lost in the feel of his body owning hers—his hard belly against her ass, the filthy, exquisite intrusion of his cock. Got lost in the mean tug of his grip in her hair and the deft caresses of his fingers on her clit.
She came hard and deep, groaning. His fingers kept on stroking, cock still pounding, and just when she thought the sensation was going to rip her apart, another climax tore through her. She came down from it reeling and sweating and shaking, feeling high. Feeling crazed. She dropped to her hands and knees, muscles spent.
“Now,” he murmured, sounding full of himself, “it’s my turn.”
Those cruel hands claimed her hips, holding her in place as he took his pleasure. She craned her neck for a glimpse of his face. She wanted to drown in that expression, so determined and haughty but desperate behind it all.
This sex felt different. She hadn’t been in her head the way she usually was. Hadn’t needed any tangible thoughts to spur her pleasure, hadn’t wasted a second on insecurities. She’d been a thousand percent locked in her body and connected to his. Possibly the most primal sex of her life.
And why wouldn’t it be? Fraught as their situation was, the biological fact of his would-be child inside her coursed like a drug, like the madness of ovulation times ten.
Behind her, he was coming undone. His thrusts raced and their rhythm faltered; she felt his hands trembling on her hips.
“Fuck, honey.” One palm left her, only to come down on her ass, making her jump and gasp. The spot flared hot and then he was rubbing at it, easing the sting. He pushed her down with his weight and Laurel lay flat on her belly with one cheek on the covers, brought her legs tight together when his knees urged her to. He braced his forearms beside her shoulders, his frantic body spilling heat and sound, feeling like the entire world.
He came with a thundering moan, pressing close, driving deep, falling still and silent after three long, clenching thrusts.
She listened to his breathing, the delicious rush and gasp of his disbelief and satisfaction. She hummed a happy sound, smiling.
“Mm.” He kissed her cheek, squeezed her tightly with his arms and legs. His cock was going soft, slipping from her along with the warm spoils of their sex.
“Turn over,” he said again.
Laurel rolled onto her back and he grabbed a washcloth from the little plastic bin on the shelf where the lube—and formerly the condoms—lived. She tidied herself and he lay beside her. She watched his ribs rise and fall, rise and fall, and breathed them both in.
“No cramps, huh?”
She dropped the towel over the edge of the bed. “Nope.”
He turned onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Is it just me, or was that fucking intense?”
“It’s not just you.” She glowed to know he’d felt the same way. Pleased to imagine it had felt even a fraction as mind-altering to him as it had to her. “That was like… I was going to say an out-of-body experience, but actually I mean the opposite. Like my brain checked out and my body was… I dunno, but it was crazy. Crazy hot. Crazy good.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“Maybe your pheromones are, like, turbo-charged, because of…you know.”
“Maybe I’m just fuckin’ great in the sack.”
She rolled her eyes and tapped his chin and lips with a clumsy finger. He kissed it, then caught it between his lips, suckling. She smiled, charmed and spent and blissed out beyond reason.
“I propose we fall asleep ASAP,” she said, “to maximize the orgasm haze and minimize the chance of lying awake and thinking too hard about stuff.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow.”
She nodded, mushing her hair into the tangled covers. “My thoughts exactly.”
“You go first,” he said, meaning the bathroom.
She took the invitation, padding naked through the apartment. Strangely, she didn’t feel cold at all. At least not until she stepped into the bright and whirring bathroom, only to spot the fateful pee-wand on the sink’s edge.
Still a plus sign. Still a hell of a question, demanding a fuck of an answer. Just like that, the haze was gone, sucked away by the shower fan. And Laurel knew she’d be lucky to sleep a single wink, tonight.
6
“Now you’re definitely sure about this?”
Flynn glanced at the girl in his passenger seat—a year or two younger than Laurel, plump, with a plain, expressive face and a vinyl purse shaped like a cheeseburger.
“Positive,” he said.