Her sounds vibrated across my lips. Such a simple word.
I pushed into her in a slow, controlled slide, but I wasn’t stopping until I was balls deep. Jesus, she was so fucking tight. I gasped, letting go of my breath.
I wanted to be fast, to find my climax in the next thirty seconds, but at the same time I liked how we were connected, every part of my body touching every part of hers. I groaned at the thought.
She twisted beneath me.
“You like that, Princess?” I whispered. “You like being pinned to the ground with my body, my dick right up inside you like that?”
Of course she liked it; how could she not?
She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me closer, her legs hugging my waist. She felt this connection like I did. I could tell, couldn’t I?
I began to make small, isolated movements, keeping our bodies tight against each other while shifting my cock up and down, not too far out—I didn’t want to lose her warmth—just enough to. Be. Fucking. Perfect.
Everything was just so intense, the pleasure so concentrated. I licked the underside of her top lip. Cherries. The taste went straight to my groin, threatening to push me over as she tipped her head back. “Fuck,” I groaned, my words spilling directly into her open mouth.
Her fingernails bit into my shoulder. “Don’t stop.”
“Not ever,” I replied. Our bodies were so tightly pressed against each other it was as if we shared every breath, as if we were merging into one. I reached beneath her butt cheek, wanting her closer still.
“Stay there,” she said, breathless. “I like you over me. On me. So heavy.” She groaned and arched her back off the ground, turned on by her own words. Fuck me, that was nearly too much. I almost let go, but I refused to go before her. I pushed harder and deeper, keeping my movements small, squeezing into her.
My tongue reached for her mouth again in a desperate attempt to have more of her, to give her more of me. This time our tongues crashed together as she gasped. Her fingers on my arms froze and I felt her pulling me into her, her orgasm igniting mine.
It didn’t need much encouragement. I managed to pull back just a few inches to see her beautiful face. Her eyes were glassy, but she was looking straight at me as if she knew everything.
“Fuck,” I cried out as I spilled into her, bowing my head, my cheek resting against hers.
It was just sex, just fucking, but it seemed like so much more than I’d ever felt before. As if she’d pricked my skin with that final look and I’d unraveled before her.
Our breaths were uneven, pushing and pulling against each other’s necks.
“Jesus, Grace.” I hadn’t expected that.
She didn’t reply, but shifted underneath me.
I moved to her side, discarded the condom and then rolled onto my back, my breath still stuttering.
Eventually, Grace sat up, giving me a view of her back. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Why don’t you have any furniture?” she asked, her voice unsteady, still recovering from the exertion. It puffed up my ego. I did that to her. “Is it in storage?”
“How long have you been waiting to ask me that?” I missed her warm, soft body beneath mine. And I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. I wanted to feel her surrounding me again. And I still had to make her come with my tongue. So much to do.
She raised her eyebrows. “Have you noticed how often you answer one of my questions with a question of your own?”
“You do it, too,” I replied.
She settled back into the crook of my shoulder, respecting the fact I didn’t want to answer her question. Which only made me want to tell her everything. “There’s nothing in storage. I rented until I bought this place.”
“You didn’t collect anything on the way?”
“I told you I’m not a collector of things. Or of people. I’m not sentimental that way.”
She didn’t respond and we lay there marinating in what had just passed between us—the words, the touch, the way she fit so comfortably against my body.
I might not be sentimental, but for the first time ever, I knew there had to be something after the fucking.
Chapter Eight
Grace
“You’re not sentimental at all?” I asked after a few minutes. Why was I still lying here, against his hard, delicious body? I needed to get the hell out of there, not be in his arms. If only my muscles just had a little bit more power in them. It was as if Sam had drained me of all my energy.
It always took my body a while to open up to a new guy, and I never had an orgasm the first time I slept with a man. I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d ever felt anything so intense. My climax had rumbled low and deep, in wave after wave. This man, who could have any woman he wanted with his sure smile and easy confidence, had waited for me to come first. It was only after me that he’d come, as if he’d finally been allowed to do the one thing he wanted to do most.
I shuddered.
“Hey, are you cold?” he asked.
I wasn’t, but I couldn’t tell him it was thoughts of him, of what we’d done together, that had made me shiver. “Maybe, a little.”
He pulled his shirt over me like a crisp cotton sheet.
“I’m not ready for you to put on clothes yet. We have plenty to do first.”
He couldn’t see the grin trying to escape my pursed lips, but I couldn’t stay here. My desire to bury thoughts of Steve had made me weak. Momentarily. But, as comfortable as the crook of his shoulder was, I shouldn’t settle here. “I can’t believe I fucked my first client,” I said, then wished I hadn’t said that out loud.
He pulled me closer and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “I think you’ll find I fucked you.”
I wasn’t going to argue. He was right. I’d had little say in the how, and I found I liked that. I squeezed my thighs together as I remembered his hot breath on my pussy. I rarely let a man go down on me, but as much as part of me hated to admit it, I was pretty sure if Sam Shaw suggested it again, I’d say yes.
His cock pulsed against his belly, as if he was getting hard again. Jesus. I needed to go. I should have left already. Like he’d said, nothing came after the sex, so what was I doing lying here, basking in postcoital glow?
“I need to leave,” I said.
“Not yet. Soon. I want to come again. Make you come again.”
It was what I wanted, too. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that I hadn’t imagined he’d made my body sing the way I thought he had. Even now, just a few minutes later, I was sure it couldn’t have been quite as . . . overwhelming . . . different . . . or as good as I thought it had been.
“And you haven’t agreed to be my art consultant yet.”
I groaned. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t mention the art consultant thing again. Now I wouldn’t make any money from Steve’s earlier work, I needed the cash.
I couldn’t say no.
Even though I wasn’t qualified.
Even though I didn’t have enough contacts.