I don’t want the fantasy to end, not when the moment is so perfect.
There will be other moments, I promise myself.This isn’t the end. Flying back to Toronto, that won’t be the fucking end, either. I’ll figure out how to get Pippa to let me do this to her again and again.
Her pussy throbs around me, and I know she’s close again. This time, I want her to take me with her.
“Come on, baby,” I grunt. I kiss her ear, her jaw, her cheek. “Come for me. Show me how much you love this.”
I hold her tight while she does what I ask. I wrap my arms as tightly around her as I dare, because I don’t want to let her go. Her inner muscles grip me tightly, and my body feels electric as I release myself inside her. I press my nose against her hair and pray this moment will last for hours. For days. For fucking years.
Then Pippa giggles. “Holy shit, that was good,” she says, her voice light and shimmering.
I grin down at her. “You’re welcome.”
“Hey, I did at least some of the work.” She splashes me playfully.
“Hell yeah you did.” I kiss her temple. “You were the best part.”
29
PIPPA
If there’s a better way to wake up than in a luxury hotel room swathed in gazillion thread count sheets, then I don’t know about it.
The tropical sun is bright enough that it burns through the thick curtains, casting the bedroom in a warm hazy light. I’m sprawled out so wide, I’ve taken over the entire king-sized bed. Ryan is nowhere to be seen.
I’m deciding whether to drift back to sleep when I spot a Post-it stuck to the door. In Ryan’s sloppy handwriting, I can make out the words “open me” with an arrow pointing to the door handle.
I snatch the T-shirt he threw on the floor and pull it over my head in a half-hearted attempt at decency, just in case I accidentally flash housekeeping.
In the living room, I find another Post-it on the wet bar. There are two arrows, one pointing to the full coffeepot and another pointing to a plate of pastries and grapes—as if I could miss that. Ryan also left another note, which, with his messy writing, sprawls across three of the little pieces of paper.
Working out in the hotel gym. Keeping it tight, you’re welcome ;) Going for a walk on the beach after, if you want to join.
He could have just texted me that. For some reason, it makes my pulse flutter that he wrote me a note instead. It’s something physical, personal. Some sappy part of my head wants to grab the Post-its and shove them in my purse to look at later.
I pour a cup of mercifully still-hot coffee and shove a cherry danish into my mouth. I groan as the flaky pastry melts on my tongue, and my stomach lets out a grumble that sayshurry up, more bites.I’m starving, especially after everything we got up to last night.
Ryan got back late from the tournament last night—so late that I’d already fallen asleep watching old episodes ofGolden Girlsin bed. Apparently, Puerto Ricans areGolden Girlsfans,because there were marathons on more than one channel.
I woke up to soft lips moving up my neck and a hand curving over my hip. The TV was off, leaving only the distant sounds of waves crashing on the ocean and warm wind ruffling the palm trees. Ryan’s heated body curled around mine.
“Wake up, Pips,” he murmured.
“Did you win?” I asked blearily, suddenly remembering where he’d been. The final round of the tournament, the whole reason we came here in the first place.
“Second place,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” When it comes to poker, Ryan’s expectations of himself are sky-high. I’ve seen him sit sullenly in his room for days after a second-place finish.
Last night, though, he just chuckled. “I’ll live. Besides, I’ve got one thing that the first-place dude will never get to touch.”
His hand curled around my jaw, directing my lips to his. The kiss was soft, slow, almost reverent. Ryan slowly stripped my clothes off and kissed me everywhere—across my stomach, onthe palm of my hand, my forehead, even my ankles. There wasn’t a single inch of my skin untouched by his lips.
When he guided his cock inside me, he gazed down at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His eyes didn’t leave mine as he rolled his hips in careful, gentle strokes. It was so intimate, I almost wanted to look away. It was too much, but nothing in the world could have made me ask him to stop.
Ryan coaxed two orgasms from me with his hand on my clit, but making me come didn’t feel like the goal.
It felt like he wanted to worship me. No man has ever made love to me like that.
