“Bedroom,” he said, in a guttural tone, distracting herfrom her plans to world tour his upper torso, and she placed her hand in his, happy to comply. Their foreplay had lasted weeks now. She wanted his body driving inside hers.
They could forget, like they’d forgotten for that night in Cayucos. Forget about who she was and who he was and all of the baggage that made up Rhiannon Hunter and Samson Lima.
He tugged her into the bedroom. The sun was setting outside, but the blinds were pulled in this room, making it dark and cool, the only light spilling in from the living room. She shoved the comforter down and got in the bed while he undressed.
She might actually break her final rule and solicit pics of this dick. Pretty indeed.
Rhiannon tried not to lick her lips for fear it might come across as too lascivious, but her mouth watered when he walked over to the nightstand. He pulled a fresh box of condoms out of the drawer and ripped it open.
He donned the condom, pushing the latex over his curved, thick cock and turned to her. She’d hoped to lick him, play with him, take him in her mouth, but he moved over her so quickly, his body sliding over hers.
“Can this time be quick?” he asked, his voice rough.
This time. This time implied more times, and she squelched the surge of happiness that came with that possibility.
None of that dangerous hope nonsense. Not now, not ever.
But she didn’t want to explain that to him now, when hewas so close, his body heat alone making her ache. He bent his head when she didn’t respond immediately and licked her nipple.
She gasped. “Yes. Quick. Do it.”
He pushed her leg aside and sank inside her. She groaned and arched, forcing him to speed up to a faster pace. His fingers clenched over her thigh and he moved harder, deeper, shafting her in long, fast strokes.
Delicious.
She slid her hands down over his back, slick with sweat, and grasped his pumping buttocks. He pressed his mouth against her neck and kissed her, his tongue working over her sensitive skin. “Fuck,” he moaned.
Rhiannon wound her leg over his hips. “Harder.”
He took her request, his body slamming into hers. The coil of passion inside her belly went tighter, but that sliver of a peak remained out of reach.
Until he put some space between them and his fingers went searching between her legs. He rubbed a slow seductive circle around her clit, his delicate fingers at odds with the furious pace of his cock. Again. And again. She broke, the climax washing over her.
He groaned, his body tensed for a long moment as he came. His arms caught his body weight before he could collapse on her.
Fool. Didn’t he know?
Of course not, how could he. She pressed down on his shoulders. “Rest on me. I like it.”
His breath panted against her neck. “I’m too heavy.”
“No such thing.” She tugged at him, and he finally complied, relaxing on top of her, shoving her into the expensive mattress.
Ah yes. She felt completely covered and hugged and smushed. She loved it. Like one giant sweatshirt covering her whole body, only this one was made of muscle, not fleece.
She didn’t realize she’d made the comment out loud, until he turned his head, a puzzled smile on his soft face. “I’m a hoodie?”
“It’s the same feeling, like I’m being hugged,” she tried to explain, though she wasn’t sure how. She felt loopy and punch-drunk, like a balloon that had had half the air leached out of it. “Never mind. I’m tired.”
“Me too.” He pressed a kiss against her neck. “Stay here and keep warm.” He rolled off her and she admired his back and that stupendous butt as he moved away.
Seriously, that butt could launch a thousand ships.
She lay there for a second or two as he did whatever he needed to do in the bathroom, but relaxing wasn’t her style, even if she was in a postcoital glow. She sat up. This room was as impersonal as the rest of the apartment, but there were more signs of Samson here. He was neat, she was happy to note, his open closet showing her his clothes hung up and organized by style and color.
The only mess were his jeans on the floor. She rose from the bed and picked them up, tossing them and his boxers on the armchair. A slip of paper fell out of one of the pockets.
She didn’t mean to look at it when she picked it up, butthe phone number, smiley face, and words scrawled on the napkin were impossible to miss.Janet. Call me.
