Chapter Seventeen #2
Even if this wasn’t quite real, in that moment, it was everything.
It was as if, with him, she was everything she’d secretly wanted to be—lively and entertaining and pleasing and beautiful—even if those qualities were inconsequential, and someone like her wishing to possess them was foolish.
It just felt so… good. So, so good. Just like he said.
Her orgasm didn’t ripple over her; it exploded, causing her to scream, her hips bucking against his mouth.
“There we go,” he whispered, gently repositioning her on the bed, then bending and kissing her clitoris. He rose onto his elbows, a smug expression spreading over his handsome features. “How was that?”
“I…” was all she managed to say. She could barely form words.
“Are you going to answer me, or do I need another way to get the information out of you?” he asked in that stern tone, which somehow reignited what she’d believed a few moments ago was spent desire.
“What did you have in mind?” she whispered, spent but also somehow craving more.
“I was thinking of using that prophylactic you so generously readied,” he said, reaching for the jar and pulling out the condom sinking back on the bed.
Suddenly, her languid muscles had new life.
“Yes, please,” she said, rising on her elbows to watch him slide it over his still erect, proud penis, licking her lips once more. He met her gaze, that knowing, naughty little smile playing on his lips.
“I mean, you’re going to have to work for my responses.” She leaned back once more, opening her legs for him.
“With pleasure,” he said, a delightfully wicked grin spreading over his lips.
She expected him to ease himself on top of her, but instead, he stayed upon his knees and pulled her up by her wrists, taking her lips once more.
If she’d thought their former kisses were intense, she had not known the meaning of the word.
Slow and lingering, he nearly devoured her, his fingers twisting in her hair, holding her head in place as he plundered her mouth.
The kiss was too much and not enough at the same time. And for once, her brain completely stopped working. No thoughts, no arguments, no logic. Just feeling.
Closing her eyes, she let herself just be—lost in it and him. So much so that she’d barely noticed anything but the absence of his lips when he broke the kiss and leaned back so she was sitting astride his body.
“You want me to take charge?” she squeaked.
“I want you to be in this position,” he told her. “It’s rather adorable that you believe I’m going to cede ground to you without a full battle.” He ran his thumbs over her hip bones, widening her legs a touch with every stroke. Her head dipped back as she groaned once more. “Wrong but adorable.”
Adorable. No one had ever described her that way. She opened her mouth to say so but could only moan as he grabbed her hips and guided her onto him and up again with a diabolical slowness.
“The advantage of being a man, not a boy,” he said, with a dark chuckle, like he could read her mind. As if to demonstrate, he thrust upward in slow, deep, deliberate strokes, filling her and releasing her, the vibration and pressure driving her near mad.
“What is?” she managed to gasp.
“Control,” he told her, his hands digging into her hips, before filling her again, so completely that she nearly saw stars. “This should teach you to denigrate my advanced age.”
“Berab,” she gasped.
“Roger,” he corrected, his voice stern.
“Roger,” she repeated, throwing her head back.
“Yes, say my name again,” he told her, pulling out and thrusting once more, this time increasing the speed as he reached a long finger up, circling her hard, aching nipple before pinching it between his fingers, flooding her body again with a new wave of heat.
“Roger,” she repeated between pants.
“Who makes you feel this good?” He thrusted up another time, hot and intense.
“You,” she moaned. “Roger,” she added as he swatted her behind.
“Who do you want?” he asked, his voice hard and demanding but with an odd thread of need beneath it, as if her response truly mattered. As if he needed it, almost the way he seemed to need her body.
“I want you,” she told him. “I want you, Roger,” she repeated. “Only you.” Not only because he demanded it, but because, she realized in that moment, it was true. It had been since that first night.
“Damned straight,” he finally said with a growl, flipping her onto her back and pounding into her with near abandon, each stroke going deeper, as if he was trying to embed himself in her.
“Roger,” she whispered, reaching up with her good hand to stroke his cheek.
“I have you,” he told her, slipping a hand between them and rubbing his thumb, first in soft and then firm circles around her clitoris, winding her up once more.
And suddenly, she was at the verge of another precipice.
She cried out as he gave another long thrust while pressing down with that thumb, sending her hurtling over the edge once more.
She threw her head back, reveling in the shudders, somehow trusting his hold as he released, his body pumping from below.
Before she knew it, he’d eased her down next to him, wrapping his arms around her, holding her to his body. His chin on her shoulder.
It was too much.
And not necessary. Not in the slightest. After all, it was getting quite late. She glanced toward the clock on the mantel.
“Just stay a few more minutes,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll let you go soon, I promise, but for now, just let me do this.”
“All right,” she acquiesced. “Just for a few minutes.” She yawned. “Just remember, it’s Big Red, no matter what you say,” she continued, closing her eyes. “And don’t you forget it.”
Nor would she forget. Nor who she was or that this was temporary.
Not even for a moment.