CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
Reaching around me, he turns off the shower and steps out. On the shelf beside the sink is a stack of towels. He grabs one and wraps it around his waist before grabbing another and turning back to me.
“Mere’, baby.” His eyes move to the white fluffy rug on the floor.
I step out, and he wraps the towel around me, then uses a third one to gently dry my hair. I’m not going to lie, after the rough sex, this tender side of him catches me completely off guard.
“Were you serious?” I ask quietly. “About wanting more children?”
His hands pause in my hair, and his eyes meet mine. “Yeah, I was.”
An image flashes in my mind—a baby with blonde hair like mine and his dark blue eyes. The thought makes my heart skip a beat.
Stop it, Cali. That’s crazy thinking.
Once I’m dry, he quickly dries himself off, then surprises me by scooping me up into his arms and carrying me bridal-style back to his bedroom.
He lays me down gently on the bed, my head on the pillow, before sliding in beside me and pulling the covers over us both.
He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at me with those intense blue eyes.
I can’t help but reach up and brush my fingers across his stubbled cheek.
“How old are you?” he asks suddenly, eyes darting between mine.
“Twenty-four,” I answer, then return the question. “You?”
His lips twitch. “Forty-three.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“I’m an old man, Angel,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.
I feel his cock twitch against my thigh and giggle. “I guess you are,” I tease.
His eyes darken at my words, and he rolls me onto my stomach in one swift move. “Think that’s funny, huh?”
He pulls my hips up, positioning me on my knees, my face still pressed against the pillow. I feel him move behind me, his large hands spreading my legs wider.
“Such a perfect ass,” he murmurs, running a palm over my cheek. “Still pink from the shower.”
I wiggle impatiently, already aching for him again. “Please, Tacoma.”
He positions himself at my entrance and sinks to the hilt in one rough thrust.
I gasp at the fullness, the slight burn of my still-sensitive flesh stretching to accommodate him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, setting a punishing pace from the start.
His hand comes down hard on my ass, and this time I cry out, burying my face in the pillow. The sting spreads delicious heat through my body.
He spanks the other cheek, and I moan, meeting him thrust for thrust. “More,” I beg. “Please, more.”
“Fuck.” He groans. “You’re perfect.”
He gives me what I want, alternating between hard slaps and deep thrusts that hit my G-spot with delicious accuracy.
The combination of pain and pleasure is intoxicating, pushing me toward another climax like a bullet train.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, his breathing ragged. “Take it all.”
I’m so close, teetering on the edge, when his phone buzzes loudly on the nightstand.
“Ignore it,” I plead, not wanting to lose this momentum.
But it buzzes again, insistent.
“Fuck,” he growls, not breaking his rhythm but reaching over to grab it.
He glances at the screen, and I feel him tense behind me. “Shit.”
“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.
“Church,” he says, his voice tight with frustration.
But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he tosses the phone aside and redoubles his efforts, his hand snaking around to find my clit.
“Come for me now, Angel,” he demands. “I need to feel you.”
His fingers work magic on my sensitive bud, and combined with his relentless thrusts, it sends me careening over the edge. I come with a scream muffled by the pillow, my body clenching around him like a vise.
He follows seconds later, his hands gripping my hips hard as he empties himself inside me with a guttural groan.
For a moment, we stay frozen, both panting, before he carefully pulls out and rolls me onto my back.
“I have to go,” he says, his expression genuinely regretful as he struggles to catch his breath. “Club business.”
I nod, trying not to show my disappointment. “I understand.”
He leans down and kisses me softly. “Stay here,” he asks. “In my bed.”
I hesitate, feeling suddenly out of my depth.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, his eyes serious. “I’ll come back to you.”
Something in his voice, in the intensity of his gaze, makes me believe him.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He kisses me once more before reluctantly climbing out of bed.
I watch as he moves around the room, collecting his clothes and getting dressed.
When he’s fully clothed, he comes back to the bed and presses a final kiss to my forehead.
“Make yourself at home,” he says. “There’s food in the kitchen if you get hungry.”
I nod, pulling the sheet up to cover myself.
“I shouldn’t be too long,” he adds, heading for the door. “Try to get some rest.”
As the door closes behind him, I flop back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
What am I doing here?
This man—this beautiful, dominant, complicated man—has somehow slipped past all my defenses in less than a day.
I’m in way over my damn head.
And the scariest part?
I don’t think I want to find my way back to the surface.