“I want to. I want you inside me.”
He groans. “One sec,” he says hoarsely. I watch with interest as he shucks off his boxers.
He’s big. Very big, actually, and if I weren’t still floating in the afterglow of a spectacular orgasm, I’d be worried he wouldn’t fit.
But as it is, I’m not worried about anything. In fact, I feel like I could do anything, and Drew could do anything, and we’re going to fit perfectly.
He finds a condom in the drawer of his bedside table and covers himself, then kneels beside me on the bed.
“I think these’ll have to come off,” he says, tugging gently at the hem of my pajama shorts.
I’d forgotten I was still wearing the shorts. I nod and lift my hips so he can pull them off.
Drew goes still and stares at me. “You’re beautiful, Ally.”
His voice is rough as sandpaper, and it sends a rush of heat straight to my core. The tension builds again.
“Now, Drew. Please.”
He smiles as he slips a hand between my legs. “There, Ally?”
“Yes,” I say roughly. “Please . . .”
He positions himself between my legs, and a moment later I feel the broad head of his penis pressing at my entrance. His eyes meet mine, and I nod.
With a single, decisive thrust, he drives into me, burying himself to the hilt. I’ve never felt so stretched, or so full, or so good.
“God, you’re tight,” he mutters with a groan. “So wet . . .”
And then he starts to move, slowly at first, like he’s trying to hold himself back. His eyes are closed, his breathing is ragged, and he looks magnificent. He picks up speed, in, out, deeper than anything I’ve felt before. My hips buck to match his rhythm, faster and faster.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ally,” he says, as he drives in and out of me. He mutters sweet words, dirty words, words that are barely coherent. “Sweet . . . fuck . . . Ally . . . mine . . . mine . . .”
It’s wild and primal, and I feel claimed. Possessed. The pleasure grows again, a hot and unstoppable wave, and I come for the second time.
I’m dimly aware that Drew’s still moving, pumping in and out as I ride out the aftershocks. All of a sudden he shudders and collapses on top of me, and I revel in the feeling of his weight pressing me into the bed.
After a moment, he withdraws and rolls to the side, then pulls me into his arms and kisses my hair. His hand wanders down my ribcage to rest on my belly, and he sighs with satisfaction.
We lie quietly for a few minutes, feeling each other breathe. Then Drew finally gets up and heads to his ensuite bathroom, and I get up and walk down the hall.
I’ve slept with him, but I can’t let myself sleep in his bed.
Because he doesn’t want a relationship.
I sleep surprisingly well, and don’t wake up until ten the next morning. When I make it out to the kitchen, Drew’s sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal.
“Hey, Ally,” he says casually. “How did you sleep?”
His expression’s a little wary, and I know he’s really asking if I have any regrets.
“Good,” I admit, and I feel a blush spread across my cheeks. “I mean, well, I guess.”
“What?” Drew looks confused.
“I should’ve said I slept well, not I slept good,” I clarify. I don’t want him to think I’m an ignoramus. “Grammatically, I mean. It needs an adverb? Right?”
Drew’s expression clears. “Ah. Right. An adverb.”
