“Look at you—fucking playing with yourself like that. So ready to come for me.”
“Yes. Yes, Don—please—please—”
“That’s it. Let me feel this pussy squeeze me.” I stroke harder, faster, deeper.
She breaks with a strangled cry—her body clenching so hard and fast around me it nearly breaks my self-control.
Her pussy grips me like a vice, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm, and I don't stop moving. I fuck her through every last wave of it, holding her face, watching her unravel beneath me.
The second she goes limp in my arms, I let myself go too—thrusting in fast uneven strokes, feeling the tightening in my balls, chasing my release. Then one last thrust before I groan her name against her throat and explode hard inside the condom, shuddering as I spill into her tight heat.
And then we stay like that, my arms braced on either side of her head, lockedtogether in a mess of sweat, breath, and tangled sheets. Her fingers curled at the back of my neck. My mouth is still pressed to her skin.
And all I can think, as I fight to catch my breath, is that one night with her is never going to be enough.
Not even close.
Afterward, we stay curled together in the sheets, the ocean glittering through the glass.
Her fingers trace idle circles on my chest, and I kiss her breasts, her collarbone, her hair—breathing her in.
Every salty, citrus-y, sinful inch.
“Still think this was a terrible idea?” I murmur against the column of her throat.
She hums sleepily, and with the faintest of whispers, utters: “The best terrible idea I’ve ever had.”
Pulling the blanket over both of us, I tug Em closer.
The last thing I feel before sleep claims me is her fingers brushing lightly over mine—twining them together in the dark.
The buzzing penetrates my consciousness slowly, dragging me from sleep with the persistence of a mosquito.
I crack one eye open as morning light floods the room, bright and accusatory.
My phone is having a complete meltdown on the nightstand.
Buzz. Buzz.
I reach for it blindly, squinting at the screen.
LOGAN: Where the hell are you?
LOGAN: Breakfast meeting started 10 minutes ago
LOGAN: Thane's spiraling and ordering everything on the menu again
THANE: Are you alive?
LOGAN: If you're dead in a ditch, text me so I can start updating the press releases
THANE: Logan thinks you got mugged. I think you're avoiding us. Either way, GET HERE.
Shit.
I sit up too fast, and the room spins slightly. The breakfast meeting. The one I'd completely forgotten about when I walked into a bar last night and met—
I turn, my lips already forming an apology.
