That did it.
He surged up, catching her under her arms, pulling her up his body, then tossing her to her back at his side.
He then mounted her, straddling her belly and taking his cock in hand.
“Dair,” she whispered, eyes wide and so hot, he felt the burn.
He jacked himself as she watched, her hands coming to his thighs, her nails digging in, her tongue trailing along her lower lip, her eyes sharing precisely how much she liked to watch.
Which meant, not long later, when he jetted on her chest, it seemed the long ropes of cum wouldn’t stop coming.
But naturally, they did.
And the second he could, he knelt between her legs, wrapping one around his waist. Both of them in position, it was his turn to watch.
He did as he finger fucked her and played with her clit while she squirmed. He listened to her mews, felt her clench around his fingers, and finally, with an arch and a cry, her hand flying back to fist in the bedclothes, she coated his fingers with her juices as she came.
Given the invitation, Dair dropped chest to bed and ate her clean which meant he ate her to another orgasm.
And by the time he was done, he was ready for her again, so he dragged her on top of his dick and made her ride him, his cum still drying on her creamy skin, until they both found it one last time.
Of course, this meant she collapsed to his side, limp, but this was no matter. Dair frequently got out of bed to clean her up, and this time was no exception.
When he returned after doing that, he brought her nightie with him.
“You’re going to have to put it on,” she informed him. “I’m fucked out. I can’t move. I probably won’t be able to move tomorrow. Or the next day either. You need to stop working out. You need to slow down. You’re gonna kill me.”
Chuckling, he pulled the nightie over her head, and she lifted her arms to push her hands through the straps. Then he tugged it down her body before arranging both of them under the covers and turning out the lights.
Only then did he say, “I’m not going to kill ye. Who’d I fuck if you’re dead?”
“Reanimate me, please. I don’t want you fucking anyone else.”
That would not be a problem.
A woman who could come four times and keep up with him—because it hadn’t ended on him doing the work, but her, and she put that work in deliriously.
That woman being Blake Sharp, who could pull off the hat she wore that day like she was the next queen in succession then hours later coo to a baby she was bouncing in her lap.
No.
No problem at all.
“Ye need to add some cardio to those exercises ye do,” he told her.
And, aye.
He’d walked in on her wearing sweet yoga clothes, lying on her back on the floor, doing repeated bridges with a resistance band around her thighs.
That explained a lot when it came to the power of her hips.
“I do plenty of cardio when I’m in New York. Also, here, when I’m not planning a funeral and playing host to all my friends and family, I like to take walks.”
They’d managed to squeeze a ride in, but the weather had not been cooperative for much more than that.
Even so, he was shocked.
“Ye walk the English countryside?”
