Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
H is mind reeled at the knowledge she wasn’t afraid to say anything to him. He loved that she gave him choices.
Then he climbed between her legs, pulling her thighs over his, as he sat back on his haunches. “First, I’ll ride.”
“I like that.” Her eyes glittered, and he wanted to fall into her seductive smile.
Rolling on the condom, he sat for a moment, hard and high between her legs, his heart beating fast at the gorgeous sight.
Then he entered her. Slowly. She closed her eyes, groaned, and he loved the look of pure satisfaction on her face.
He didn’t thrust deep, but rocked gently, playing that hot button between her legs as he moved.
Grabbing the brass rails of the headboard, she arched and wrapped her legs around him, trying to take him deeper.
He resisted, sliding over her G-spot, relishing the tight grip of her body.
She moaned, opened her eyes to look at him. “Oh God, Clay. Please. More.”
He shook his head. “I want you to be coming hard when I drive deep inside you.”
She threw her head back, and her muscles clamped down on him. He growled, groaned, barely held off—but he needed her to be coming when he filled her.
Her legs began to shake, tremors shuddering through her body. She was close, and he circled faster around that hot little bead of pleasure between her legs. Then he felt the sharp, tight spasm around him, and she cried out.
He thrust into her in that perfect moment, ground against her.
She gripped his butt, pulled him deeper and deeper still.
He rode out her climax, taking her hard and fast, relishing every exquisite contraction of her body.
Until a pulse rose from deep within him, and with her next spasm, he shot like a rocket inside her, losing his mind with the sensation of her body clutching him and her nails digging into his bare butt.
He lost himself completely inside her.
Clay woke to full dark, a warm bed, and her mouth on him.
Christ, the feel of her lips, her tongue, her skin against his. This must be what heaven was like. His body rocked to her rhythm as he pushed himself deeper, the action involuntary.
He whispered, “You’re driving me crazy.” He was so damn thankful no one had climbed the stairs all evening to interrupt them.
She laughed, the sound vibrating through him, ratcheting his need one rung higher on the ladder of desire.
Squeezing his shaft in her hand, she rose to suckle on the tip. Not only was his mind blown, but everything else was too. He gasped out the words a moment before he lost it. “Don’t make me come now. I want to come inside you.”
She raised her head to look at him, her hand working him, keeping him just short of the edge.
“Then you’d better get busy. Because I am so ready for you.
” Her voice dropped to a husky drawl that strummed every nerve ending in his body.
Then she handed him a condom. “This time,” she added, “I want to ride.”
In a swift, graceful move, she climbed over him. He was so hard that sliding the condom on was easy, her touch turning him to steel. On her knees, she straddled him, her womanhood on display, droplets of her desire shining.
He wet his lips, but he didn’t beg. Her hand wrapped around him once more, she whispered, “Are you ready?”
His words came out in a feral curse. “I’m so freaking ready that I might just come before you even get me inside you.”
She laughed. “No, you won’t.”
Then she lowered onto him, so maddeningly slowly that his eyes damn near rolled back in his head. She allowed him to penetrate her inch by slow inch until his erection was buried deep inside her. Then she clenched around him.
He growled. “You’re not just driving me crazy. I’m already there. I’ll never get my sanity back.”
He savored the laughter falling from her lips. “You’re not crazy yet. But I’m working on it.”
Leaning forward, she braced her hands by his shoulders, moving in that crazy-making rhythm. The quiver of her sex around him told him how good it was for her too. She liked it slow over her G-spot, and he put his finger on her, rubbing that sweet button between her legs.
She gasped, closed her eyes, relishing the sensation the way he relished the feel of her clutching him.
They played the game, him trying to push her over into climax, her trying to keep that slow, steady rhythm even as her body began to quake.
Her arms shook on the bed, and he knew she had to be close.
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.
He didn’t want to lie. “Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve done this a few times. But?—”
She held up her hand. “You don’t need to explain.
Straight-up sex without emotional ties is clearly working for us.
” She fluttered a hand between them. “So far, at least.” A beat of silence fell before she said, “What if we agree that when one of us wants out of whatever it is we’re doing, we just say so and it’s done?
We won’t let it affect our working relationship. ”
Last night, she’d said two or three times . His heart bloomed with the idea that she was offering more. Except that he didn’t want straight-up, unemotional sex. Not with her. It was insta-lust, of course, because they’d known each other only two days.
But his gut, maybe even his heart, was telling him it could be so much more.
If only she gave it a chance.
Even after all her emotions of last night, when morning came, Saskia knew it had to be just sex and nothing else. It was the only way she could work. Yet a tiny part of her heart lurched. Especially since she was lying to him about who she was.
The thought wrapped her insides up in a neat, guilty bow. How could she keep on lying to him? But how could she tell him the truth? She’d just offered him a casual relationship. It was that word. Relationship . It didn’t imply straight-up sex with no emotional entanglements.
The worst was that she actually liked him.
A part of her—tiny but growing—felt she needed to tell him the truth.
But the bigger part shouted that the only way to keep a secret was by telling no one.
If she even hinted to Clay that she was San Holo, she’d have to explain why she worked this way.
She’d have to tell him about her parents, about the intervening years, about Hugo and how much trust she’d put in a man who hadn’t deserved it.
She just couldn’t admit it all and see the regard Clay had for her drain from his gaze.
Wrapping her hands around the coffee mug, she sipped gratefully, then took a croissant.
When she bit into it, it felt almost as though she were biting into Eve’s apple.