Chapter 26
twenty-six
Heaven .
Delirious, delicious perfection that can only mean I’ve died, somehow, and found my eternal reward between the thighs of the world’s most beautiful woman.
I’ve never felt any swirl of sensation as wondrous as pressing my body into Juliet’s. The way her pussy grips me, her soft skin, the image of her bountiful curves laid out under me.
I shove myself into her again and again, savoring the plush cushion of her hips against mine. Her round tits rocking with every thrust. The way she moans and whispers to me. Saying my name, begging for more, telling me how much she likes my cock.
I’m sure I say things, too. I can’t focus on what comes out of my mouth. Juliet captivates my focus completely, holding me in her thrall while our bodies screw themselves together.
It takes some time, but I finally work myself all the way in. Flames climb up my spine while pleasure radiates from my center. I fuck her hard and slow, then faster. She unravels, her sighs and whispers mixing with moans, dipping into her native language.
I stroke my cock into her melting core as she loses herself. The tight clasp tugs at the head of my dick on every thrust until I can’t take anymore. Coming with an animal roar ripping out of me, I grip her ass, tilting her just so and driving into her harder.
Juliet cries out. Her body bows off the bed as another orgasm rolls through her, a series of spasms echoing through her body, milking me until I collapse.
I manage to part her luscious legs and flick the heels off her feet before I fall forward, landing in her softness and turning my face to the jasmine-perfumed crook of her neck. Her arms float from their position over her head, banding around my shoulders.
A deep vein of contentment floods my middle. Satisfaction dulls my mind. Gratitude and awe shimmer around the edges of my consciousness like carbonation.
For a blissful moment, I feel everything and don’t think about any of it. Then I hear it.
Silence.
The shell-shocked, loud-as-hell kind. It presses down around us, underscoring everything inside of me.
Gradually, my feelings sink through the haze of ecstasy. And, for a minute, I swear I actually hear my dismay ricochet through the soundless room.
Dear God. What have I done?
I fucked Juliet Rivera.
And now I’m in love with her.
I don’t sleep for shit.
Partly because I’m too busy having Juliet every way she lets me until well after three a.m. On her back, on her front, in my lap. Come morning, I can still taste her nectar and musk.
Every time was supposed to be the last.
Just one more. Just to prove to myself that I’m not in love with her—that it’s just her wet heat and her sexy-as-fuck curves, and that is it .
And every goddamn time, the riot of foreign feelings gets stronger as soon as we finish.
Juliet finally falls asleep in the wee hours of the morning. She refuses to cuddle, of course, preferring to present me with her naked back. Which is how I normally like to sleep with a woman when I have to.
Only, this time, I spend the rest of the darkness staring at the slope of her spine and memorizing the dangerous curve of her hip, wishing I had the right to roll closer and pull her into me.
I doze off, but wake to the sunrise. More determined than ever.
Juliet and I can’t be a one-night thing.
I have to figure out a way to get her to come back.
Finding my boxers on the bedroom floor and my phone in the pocket of my abandoned pants, I trudge to the kitchen and set to work cleaning up our mess from dinner.
Moving around helps me think, so I decide to make breakfast. I figure it can’t be too hard. I have all the kitchen equipment.
And isn’t French toast just, like, bread and eggs? Easy.
Half an hour on YouTube later, I have butter browning in one pan and bacon in another. I sip my third cup of coffee and stare into the foaming fat, considering.
I can’t be in love , I reason, adding battered brioche to one pan. Maybe it’s infatuation. That’s a thing. Not a thing I’ve ever experienced after fucking someone, but I’ve heard about it happening.
It doesn’t seem likely that feelings as strong as the ones Juliet invokes could possibly die down, but perhaps that’s the point—something so brilliant can’t possibly blaze on forever. It will burn itself out eventually.
So I just have to buy myself some time. Long enough to learn her flaws and have my fill of her charms. Then, I can leave her alone.
I flip the French toast, marveling at the golden-brown crust. Well, shit . If I’d known actually cooking something would be so easy, I would have done it a long time ago.
I shake my head, appalled with myself. Why does it feel like I don’t recognize my own life anymore? One week with this woman, and I’m making French toast, starting my own business, and angling to extend a clear one-night stand.
I should be angry. Frustrated. Instead, I just feel… thoughtful.
Calm.
Jesus Christ .
I feel good .
Even with no sleep, after a night with Juliet, euphoria hums in my blood. And, even worse, cooking her damn breakfast is relaxing me. I look at my hands, disgusted and fascinated.
Is she a witch? A goddess?
I hear something over my shoulder and find Juliet hovering on the edge of the great room, wearing a lavender dress shirt she clearly pilfered from my hamper.
A slow, seductive smirk lights her features. “Good morning, pinchao .”