I hiss out a breath. Feels so fucking good.
She gives me a nice, tight squeeze, then strokes up, making me shudder. “Well, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, isn’t it?” Her gaze drifts down to my cock. “This is exactly what I wanted to unwrap.”
“Then let’s make sure you enjoy your present, Isla.”
“Game on.”
“Game fucking on,” I say, as I roll on the condom, thengrab her hips and position her over my hard length. My dick jumps, so damn eager to get to know her.
And then…my brain short-circuits when Isla Marlowe lowers herself onto me. There are no words. Just groans, just grunts, just white-hot bursts of pleasure until she sinks all the way down.
Her hands curl around my shoulders. I grip her hips. We go still as our eyes meet.
This—our physical connection—has never been fake. But right now, as we hold our gazes for a heady beat, nothing feels false at all. Especially not the desire coursing through every damn cell in my body.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Show me how much I’ve driven you crazy.”
Yes, ma’am. After pushing up her sweater dress to her waist, I dig my fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, and I punch up mine. I fuck up into her, driving deep inside her as the train climbs the mountain on a cold winter’s night.
She moves with me, rocking on my dick, but mostly I drive this train, using my strength to give the woman what she wants.
The best date ever.
A date that shows her she’s the center of the world.
A date that puts her first, not last.
A date that makes her feel like this man’s the only one.
Soon, we’re sweating and grunting. Chasing and gripping. But I don’t want to take a goddamn chance. Besides, a man should never assume his dick is enough to get the job done.
“Want a little more?” I ask, as I slide my hand between her thighs, showing her what I mean.
She gasps, nodding vigorously. “Yes. Please. Do that.”
Her tone is more urgent than ever as I rub her clitwhile I thrust into her. Her fingers grip my shoulders tighter, and her mouth twists. Her eyes flutter closed, and her breathing quickens.
It’s beautiful and breathtaking watching this woman—with all her rules and organization, with all her sunshine and effort, with all her notebooks and matching scarves—lose control as she gives in to her wants.
She’s gasping and moaning, growing louder and louder still with each thrust of my hips, with each chug of the train till she cries out, “Yes, oh god yes, please, yes, yes, yes.”
She’s babbling, but that’s all I need to finish her off with my hand and my cock and my insatiable desire for my matchmaker turned fake girlfriend.
Who’s falling apart on me on the train as we reach the top of the mountain.
And I follow her there with a bitten-off grunt as pleasure rushes through me, blurring my brain, making me think only of her.
But then, that’s pretty much how it’s been lately.
37
THE LOVE SHACK
ISLA
“Did my parents send us to a love shack?” I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Don’t answer that.”
“Yes,” Rowan says, disobeying me as he sets my suitcase down by the front door of the cottage a few blocks off Main Street.
