I knew I shouldn’t have given it up over some damn pasta and the last piece of calamari.
“Fuck, Travis!” I pant out.
“Keep calling my name like that and I’m never letting you go, baby.”
I cry out again, but this time I can’t tell if it’s from his words or the way he’s just hit my G-spot again. Possibly both.
I know he’s just talking in the heat of the moment, but I’ll be damned if his words don’t have my pussy fluttering.
Common sense is replaced by the moans spilling from my lips, the caress of Travis’ breath against my sweaty skin, and rippling sensations of pleasure that fill me with each downstroke.
“This pussy is so fucking good. Do you know that?”
God, his voice.
It’s a farce. It has to be.But why does he sound like my sex is the only one he ever wants to be inside of again?
Worse, why does that thought have liquid heat gushing from the very core he’s still pummeling?
“Travis, oh shit,” I call out. “Make me come. Please. Make me come!”
“Fuck, exactly, baby! I know what you need.”
And he does.
He angles his hips just right and applies the exact amount of pressure against my clit to have me screaming down the walls of this suite.
I don’t know how long or how loud I call out, my orgasm having its way with me. But by the time I’m done, my voice is hoarse, throat is dry, and every muscle in my body is weak.
So spent, in fact, that if it weren’t for Travis’ arms and hands supporting me, I’d collapse to the bed like a boneless heap.
Instead, Travis steadies me, positioning our bodies so that I float down to his chest soft as a feather as he lays back against the pillows.
We’re breathless, glistening with sweat, and utterly satiated.
Though his breathing is heavier than normal, the rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek doesn’t appear elevated. Nowhere near as rapid as mine.
“Breathe, baby,” he coaches.
I follow the sound of his voice until my breathing stabilizes. Thank God for my three days a week workout sessions. Without it I’m not sure I could keep up with this man.
I run the tip of my pointer finger down the line of muscle that creates a six pack. My smile forms when they ripple beneath my touch.
A sigh parts me when Travis begins tracing circles over my shoulder.
“You like roses.”
My eyes, that I didn’t realize started to close, pop open. I sit up, dislodging his hand from the rose tattoo that covers three quarters of my left shoulder. For a beat, I wonder if he felt the jagged skin beneath the rose.
“I should get going,” I say, beginning to look around for my clothing.
He shakes his head, surprising me. “The night is still young.” His hand makes its way to my hip, squeezing. “And I’m not done with you.”
The promise in his voice already has my body heating up for more.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
The glint in his eyes can only be described in one way … wicked.
