Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
But he let her keep taking him at that slow, agonizing pace.
Her skin grew hot against his, and her moans grew louder, cascading from her lips. Then he felt that suddenly tight grip as she convulsed around him. Hands on her hips, he drove up into her, going deep, their bodies pounding. It should have been agony, but nothing had ever felt so good. They worked each other, with cries and unintelligible words, their bodies slick, melded together.
Until he felt that orgasmic pulse inside, and a deep throb shot up his shaft. He growled, he groaned, then he pulled her down one last time, holding her still, grinding against her, giving them both one last glorious blast of pleasure.
Then she collapsed on him.
He held her tight, their hearts pounding against each other, and wondered if he could ever let her go.
She wanted to tell herself it was only this good because she’d gone so long without sex. Because nothing could be this good. Better than anything she’d ever known. Better even than the high she got as she stepped back from a piece of her art and knew it was remarkable.
Nothing could feel like the pulse of him inside her. Nothing like his arms enveloping her. Nothing like the musky scent of him, of her, of their sex.
She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to free him from her tight grip.
Of course, by morning, she’d see it for what it was. Good sex. Nothing wrong with good sex or coming back for more good sex. But in the morning, she would see it was nothing miraculous.
Yet she let the miracle of it wash over her now. Especially when he whispered against her hair, “That was so freaking good.” His guttural tone set her cells vibrating.
“We’ve got the whole night,” she murmured. Morning was hours away.
Beneath her, he laughed, and she felt it purr through her.
“We can do it all night long,” he agreed. “But we need sustenance first.”
When she sat up on him, the night air cooled the perspiration on her skin, and she ran her hand over his chest, feeling that same delicious sweat. There was a part of her that didn’t want to let him go.
But she couldn’t admit that. “There’s all that leftover Japanese food.” Climbing off the bed, she strolled naked out of his bedroom, feeling his eyes on her the entire way.
In the living area, she grabbed his shirt off the floor and tugged it on. There was still one button left. Then she pulled everything out of the refrigerator. She already had the microwave whirring when he came in, wearing a pair of sweats.
Standing behind her, he blanketed her back with his bare chest as he enfolded her in his arms. When the microwave beeped, they ate while standing at the counter, feeding each other, stealing kisses between bites and sips of beer.
He made love to her twice more in the night.
In the morning, she would call it good sex. But for now, she’d never known lovemaking like this in her life.
Saskia lay sleeping in his bed, the morning rays bathing her body in jewel tones. Clay jogged out for croissants from the corner bakery, returning to hear the shower running. More than anything—certainly more than was good for him—he wanted to step under the spray with her and make love to her again, with his hands, his tongue, his lips, his body.
But maybe she needed a rest. He brewed coffee, using perfectly roasted beans imported from Kenya by Will Franconi, Maverick importer extraordinaire.
He smelled her then, scented with his manly shampoo.
It wasn’t the rich coffee aroma or the croissants that made him salivate. It was her.
He turned to find her dressed in the same outfit she’d worn yesterday, though he wished she were still wearing his shirt, as if she’d claimed it and him. With a quick glance at the sofa, he saw his clothes were now neatly folded.
“Thank you,” she said with an exaggerated groan. “Coffee. Just what I need.”
He poured her a mug, pushing it toward her along with the cream.
She poured liberally while he took his black.
She didn’t meet his eyes, which was unusual for her. When discussing her boss and his artwork, even when talking to all the artists downstairs, she’d watched with rapt attention, listening to every word.
“I don’t normally do this,” she said. “Keep jumping into the bed of a man I barely know.” Just as he thought, she felt a little awkward with him. “Not even once, let alone twice.” Her lips curved with the slightest hint of the beautiful smile that always did him in.
She gestured to the coffee and breakfast before them. “But you do, don’t you?”
Busted. He was the furthest thing from a monk. Although he didn’t jump into every bed. Nor did he flit from woman to woman, one right after the other. That would be just plain rude.