Page 54 of Flirting with 40

“Christ.” It’s part hiss, part moan, and it’s all fucking bliss as I bottom out within her and give her a moment to adjust to me. My vision goes hazy as every goddamn nerve within me bears the burden of restraint.

And then I begin to move.

A slow slide out that has her pussy clinging to my cock. There’s something about the sight that can bring any man to his knees. Her gasped moan as my thumb circles over her clit before I delve back into her warm, wet heat again.

The slow seduction of our hips becomes a little more urgent with each and every drive in.

The jiggle of her tits when our hips slap.

The ache in my balls as the pressure builds.

The bow of her back every time I grind against her.

“Slade.” Pull out. “God, yes.” A mewl. A slide of her hands between her thighs to help push her over the edge. “I’m almost there.” Her wetness coats my balls.

As her cry fills the room, it’s loud and laced with abandon. She arches her neck, her lips falling lax with each wave of bliss that hits her.

If the feel of her isn’t enough to pull me over the edge, the sight of her—hair wild across the sheets, fingers tightened, body taut with pleasure—sure as hell does.

And I do. I crash over the cusp with my hips pumping and my thoughts on her and this and how fucking incredible she feels.

How fucking amazing she is.

My lips meet hers one more time before I rest my forehead on hers as a million thoughts fight for attention, but the biggest of all of them is wow.

Just wow.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Blakely

Oh. My. God.

I slept with Slade.

Well, more than slept with him, but yeah. I did. And now, in the early morning hours as it sounds like a damn Snow White sing-along of forest animals outside the cabin, I’m laying here with his leg slung over me while not freaking out.

Maybe I’m freaking out a little, but it’s because it really happened—every slow slide in and out of his glorious cock—and not because I don’t know what to do or say when he wakes up.

Should I be freaking out? Should I be worried that he’s going to go into that I’ve-had-her-now-I-don’t-want-her mode Paul went into after the first time we had sex.

But I’m not.

Instead, I keep my eyes closed and relive every moment from last night in my head. Of course, there is a smile on my face, because how can there not be?

Kelsie would be proud.

It’s stupid to think, but that doesn’t make it untrue.

I stretch some and feel the glorious ache of a night well spent in all the right places.

So, this is what a rebound feels like. Carefree. Hassle-free. Fun. Satisfying.

Slade shifts behind me, and when I feel his obvious erection against my back, I jerk away out of reflex.

Slade chuckles. “Why are you so scared of it now when last night you were singing its praises,” he murmurs in that half-asleep, husky tone that does funny things to my insides. He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him before he props his head on a hand and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Uh-uh. You don’t get to blush. Not after last night. Not after what you did to me.”

What I did to him?