“I’m leaving—” I start at the same time he says, “I don’t do relationships,” and then we leap on each other again.
Not that there’s room for leaping.
He’s sitting with his back against the couch. I’m straddling him.
We’re attached at the mouth, and I’m thrusting my hands under his shirt while he palms my breast and squeezes.
Oooh, yes.
I tug his shirt off.
He slides his hands under mine and unhooks my bra, then cradles both of my breasts, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and channeling electric jolts of pleasure from my chest to my pussy.
I rock against his erection.
He grunts once, and then he’s shifting, pushing me onto my back.
My elbow smacks the coffee table. There’s a distant clattering. The game box has flipped and pieces are scattering on the wood floor around the rug. When he lays me on the rug, something sharp pokes me in my shoulder blade.
“Car,” I gasp.
“We can do it in my car later. Any car. All of my cars.” He lifts my shirt and presses his mouth to my sternum, andoh my holy god.
But also—“Game. Piece. Back. Stab.”
He lifts that heavy-lidded gaze, lips plump and wet, blinks once, and then mutters a solidfuckas he pulls back.
He grunts once more. Rises a little. Something pops. His knee?
And then he’s hauling me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Fletcher?”
“I’m too old for this floor shit.”
The world bounces. The rug disappears, replaced with gray wood floors. We go through a doorway.
Clothes litter the floor.
Oh, there’s Sweet Pea! She’s sleeping in a doggie bed.
Everything shifts and I’m once again on my back, but this time, I’m on satiny sheets on a bed.
My shirt and bra have disappeared.
Fletcher shucks his pants and crawls onto the bed too, his cock standing thick and hard and proud against dark curls.
My vagina clenches.
“I’ve been fantasizing about this for an eternity,” he murmurs while I reach for his penis and stroke the hot, rigid length. His eyes cross, then drift shut. “Fuck, Goldie.”
“We’re going to have fun tonight.”
“Yes, we are.”
“Condoms?”
“Whole fucking box. Nightstand.”
“I’m on top.”
