“Ride my hand, honey.”
I don’t give myself enough time to be self-conscious. I do as he suggests and lift myself up, then down again. It’s not the right spot yet, so I twirl my hips around as he moves in and out. I feel an impending orgasm. “Nate.” Apparently, I’m only able to say one thing, his name.
“That’s right, beautiful, get yourself off on my hand. Let me see you come.”
I move faster, chasing it. When he does something with his finger, like a tickle at the front of my channel, I can’t hold it any longer. Throwing my head back, I moan long and hard. On a sigh, I add, “Best orgasm I’ve ever had.”
“Let’s see if we can top that.” Nate’s got his penis in his hand, holding it still for me. I raise myself up onto my knees, and once I’m lined up, I sink onto him. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve got the strength in me to do the work this time. Either Nate senses that, or he just knows. He places his hands on my waist and thrusts up into me. “We’ll work together.”
“Okay.” I pant at the sensation.
“Bounce on me, honey.”
He wants my, erm, boobs to jiggle. Good thing because they’re going to. That can’t be avoided. The thing is, it feels amazing with him inside of me and his eyes watching my body. He likes all of it. Heck, I think he loves it. The more I bounce, the faster he thrusts.
I’ve read about things like this, about men who love everything about their partners, but I’ve never experienced it firsthand. It gives me a confidence I’ve never known. Like I can do anything. Throwing my head back, I raise my arms and release the band from my hair. I shake it free all while rising up on down on my man.
My man.
I like the sound of that a whole flucking lot.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Nate
I just came deep insideof Prudence, and for the first time in years, I wish I wasn’t snipped. Call it Neanderthal or whatever you like, but I desperately wanted to plant my seed inside her, claim her forever. Sure, it’s the heat of the moment and all that, but part of it is true. I want Prudence. All of her.
We’re in her bed now, with snacks. She’s referring to it as a bed picnic. I’ll call it that if she wants me to. After the couch sex, we moved into her bedroom. She rummaged through her fridge for sustenance. Before us, we’ve got cheese sticks, whole wheat crackers, grapes, and some turkey. She’s still sipping the same glass of wine from earlier. It’s got to be warm by now, while I’ve got a beer. The television is on low in the background. She’s snuggled up against my side, and my arm is around her. I sigh with contentment. It can’t be helped. It gives me the impulse to plan ahead. To contemplate a future. Not wanting to frighten her, I start with tomorrow. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”
Might as well be positive.
“I’m going home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah. Celeste’s funeral.”
I stiffen at her words. “You’re going to that bitch’s funeral?” I mean, I only met her once, and that’s the impression I got.
“Travis called and…”
I sit up in bed, essentially bumping her out of our comfortable situation. “You talked to him?”
Her eyes turn steely, and I know I did it again. Holding up my palm, I start with a retraction. “No. Don’t get pissed. I can’t help it. That guy is bad news.” I reach for her, but she doesn’t move. “I’m going with you.”
Finally, she’s not glaring. “You’re going with me? To my ex-husband’s mother’s funeral?”
“Yep.”
“My parents will be there.”
“Good.”
“You want to meet my parents?” She looks to her right. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. It’s just––”
