Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
SOPHIE
When we enter Noah’s room after a half-hour power hike, both of us need a shower.
So we take it together with a condom for company.
As soon as we’ve washed the sweat and sand off each other, Noah puts the condom on and backs me against the tiled wall. I moan from the joy of having his body pressed to mine. He kisses me gently, then harder, and then applies himself to getting me to the point of arousal I was at on the beach.
It doesn’t take long.
Truth is, I think I could get there just by looking at his wet muscled chest or peering into his blue eyes I could drown in—have drowned in.
I’m beyond salvation.
He murmurs my name as he fondles my breasts and sucks my stiff nipples. His hands roam my body, rubbing, gripping, squeezing.
When he bends his knees to hoist me high against him, I throw my arms around his neck and bracket his waist with my legs.
My body tenses with need as he devours my mouth.
All I can think of is the thickness at my opening and how much I want it.
My core is heavy, aching, pulling, begging for the feel of it.
I’m ready.
So ready I’m on the verge of exploding.
And that’s exactly what I do, seconds after he buries himself in me hilt-deep.
The orgasm is shockingly, achingly sweet. It pushes everything else outside of the confines of my world. It connects my core with my mind in a profound, almost supernatural way, stealing my breath.
When it ebbs, leaving me both sated and hungry for more, I realize I’ve just experienced pleasure like nothing I’ve ever known before.
I want this again—I need this again—as many times and as often as Noah can handle.
“Did you just…?” he asks, not daring to utter the word.
I nod.
“Good girl.” His face expands into a smug grin.
I grin back. “Wouldn’t mind another one.”
He stops smiling and slams into me. This thrust is sharp and rough, unlike the long stroke he used to enter me, but it’s so exquisitely erotic I gasp.
He begins to hammer, and all I can do is grip his neck and cling to him, letting the pleasure build inside me. My fingers dig into his flesh as he pounds, fierce, abandoning himself to his own need. Our bodies strain together, muscles taut, blood rushing, hearts throbbing.
With every withdrawal, I feel emptier than before. With every push, I’m propelled closer to another climax.
When it ripples through me, making me cry out, Noah growls and lets himself come, too. Our voices mingle as our bodies quake with pleasure.
Afterward, we towel each other off and climb into the bed.
“Another one?” he asks, looking keen and awfully pleased with himself.
“Enough for tonight, I’m wasted.”
He cups my cheek. “Tomorrow morning, then.”
“First thing,” I promise.
He strokes my face, when I notice a small crease between his eyebrows. “Something wrong?”
“Your life plan.” He frowns. “What about your dream of becoming your dad’s associate and the biggest realtor in Florida?”
I touch the hollow above his collarbone and rest my hand on his strong neck. “Every good plan allows for adjustments. I’ll launch my conquest of the world from Paris.”
He stares into my eyes for a long moment. “How about launching it from Burgundy?”
“Are you asking me to run the estate so you can keep playing pro water polo?”
“Yes.”
“I’d love to,” I say, “but that would make you my boss, which would be—”
He presses a finger against my lips, shushing me. “I’m not asking you to run my estate as a manager. I’m asking if you’d do me the honor of running our estate, as my wife.”