“Yes,” I whispered.
“Then the poor bastard knows what he’s missing. How wonderful you taste. Soapy. And sweet.”
His tongue became more insistent, harder. Flatter. Then demanding again. I pushed my forehead into the mattress, welcoming each flick that brought me closer to where I wanted to be.
He stood up and closed himself over my back. His cock sank into me from behind, a perfect fit. I moaned into the bed, my teeth biting the comforter. I felt his hand in my long hair, wrapping it around his wrist, urging me backward. His lips sought mine, so I turned my head to give him what he wanted. His hips rammed faster into me, my hair still firm in his grip.
“I’m going to pull your hair, and you’re going to come,” he said, barely moving his mouth from mine.
“Yes,” I said.
He kissed me again, the corner of my mouth, snaking his tongue along my teeth. He pulled my hair hard so my head flew back in the same moment his thrusts became relentless.
“That’s good, Alexandra,” he said. It wasn’t just the drive of his hard cock that ignited my orgasm but the way he controlled my body. “Come for me. Fuck, I’m about to come too.”
My orgasm was less intense than the one before, but it lasted longer. I was still shuddering under him as he emptied himself in me. He lay heavy on top of me as we caught our breath.
“Dean,” I breathed. “Mr. Brittany.”
“Yes, Alex?” He kissed my cheek, then over my hair. “Miss James?”
“I can’t believe you fingered me in front of my parents.”
He laughed in a burst of air against my cheek. “It was just a sample. God, and I was so fucking hard.”
I smiled. “Yes, I know.”
He lifted himself up and drew back the sheets of the bed. I crawled in beside him, melting when he pulled my body securely to his side. I placed my cheek on his chest. Heard his heartbeat. I was sated, but there was a hole growing in me as I thought of leaving him the next day. And it diminished my satisfaction. The more I got, the more I needed, as if Dean were my personal brand of drug.
“Earlier in the bathtub,” I said, “you sounded angry when I asked if you were seeing anyone.”
He hummed, his chest vibrating. “Yeah. What was with the questions about other women?”
“I just—I know you divorced from Amy a few years ago—”
“Five.”
“Okay, five. Why haven’t you remarried? Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
His torso rose and fell with a sigh. “Amy cheated on me.”
I grimaced. Cheating on someone like Dean seemed inherently wrong—and a little scary. He wasn’t the type to take that lying down. “I’m sorry. Dad never mentioned that.”
“Since then, I haven’t really had the desire to fully commit to anyone else.”
My lips pressed into a line. “That’s not really fair. You shouldn’t let her ruin love for you like that.”
“That’s a good attitude,” he said as if he were trying not to laugh. “Naïve, but a good one nonetheless.”
“Naïve?” I balked.
“Marriage doesn’t run solely on love. There are many other things that factor in.”
“But you and Amy seemed happy. At least I remember it that way.”
“We were. I loved her, and when I found out what was going on, it hurt. But we went through therapy, and I learned the reasons behind it. I worked too much, didn’t pay enough attention to her or anything in our lives. I was in the city five days a week for work, and some nights I wouldn’t even have the energy to make the drive home, so I got this apartment. She felt neglected. She thought maybe I saw other women when I slept here—I never did. We finally started communicating.”
“Then why’d you divorce?”
