Chapter 22 #3
He lifts his hips, lifting me too. He undoes his button and zipper, then reaches into his jeans pocket and withdraws his wallet.
He digs out a condom before tossing the wallet onto the bedside table.
He lifts again, pushing his jeans and boxers down.
I shift, helping pull them down his legs.
He toes off his shoes, and I hear them hit the floor, but I’m suddenly focused on the fact that he’s now naked.
Gloriously naked.
He’s seriously spectacular.
And huge. He’s very huge. So huge that the feeling him for a month seems very realistic.
And this will be the best time I’ve ever had.
We haven’t even done it yet, and I know this is going to be the best time.
That is possibly cause for concern. It will never get better than right now with this man. I already know that.
How fair is that to my future whoever? To future me?
Still… I’m not stopping this. Not for anything.
He rolls the condom on, then reaches for me. Those big hands on my hips make me hot and needy all over again.
“Come here,” he says gruffly.
He doesn’t mean me on his cock. He pulls me into a deep, hot kiss.
It’s leisurely. It’s definitely lusty, but he takes his time.
His fingers are in my hair, our bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh, our heartbeats are pounding.
And he takes long minutes just kissing me, letting me just feel him.
Finally, he rests his forehead against mine. “Fuck me, Nora.”
Nora. Not Wildflower. Why does that make this feel so serious?
I shrug that off and push myself up, bracing my hands on his chest, then slide back.
His cock nudges my entrance, and heat floods through me.
“Take me slow and deep, Wildflower,” he says, gripping my hips. “Let’s make you come again so when I flip you over, you can take me fucking you hard and deep.”
Oh, yeah, that’s good. That’s what I need.
“You’re a big talker,” I tell him.
“Yes. I am.” He presses up against me, and big is all I can think. “Let me in.”
I reach back and take his cock in hand. I squeeze.
His breath hisses out between his teeth.
Then I shift, position him, and sink down over his cock, my gaze locked on the spot where his length is disappearing as he fills me up.
I moan as he slides deep.
God. That’s…so damned good.
His hands squeeze my hips hard. “Jesus. Christ. Nora.”
I look up quickly. “What?”
“Stop squeezing me so fucking hard. I’m not going to last.”
“I’m not squeezing.” I squeeze my pelvic muscles to prove it.
He swears. “You’re.” He sucks in a breath as he’s finally fully inside. “Tight as fuck.”
I smile and squeeze again.
He swats my ass.
I laugh. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
“You want to be flipped over and just railed?”
I suck in a breath. “I…” I press my lips together.
He gives me a knowing smile. “Naughty girl.”
I grin. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure that would be amazing.”
He swats me again. “Ride me. Come hard on my cock again, and I’ll happily make this gorgeous pussy sorer than it’s ever been.”
I lift and lower on his cock. We both moan. So I do it again. And again.
Alex makes me do my share of the work. He encourages me, though, with lots of dirty words and with his hands on my breasts and nipples, on my ass, on my clit, and then sitting up and resting a big, hot, possessive hand on the front of my throat as my climax starts building.
“Goddammit, Wildflower, how am I supposed to ever survive without this pussy?” he growls in my ear as I ride him faster, grinding my clit against him on every down thrust.
“I…I…” I can’t form words.
“I’m going to jack off every damned night thinking of you,” he promises. His other hand presses against my lower back, making the thrusts even harder. “How am I supposed to kick this addiction?”
The idea of him thinking of me after this, of his hand around his cock and remembering all of this, winds my orgasm tight.
“I need you to come. I want to feel—”
I come before he completes the sentence.
“God, Alex! Yes! Yes!”
I sag against him, my arms around his neck, resting my face against his throat.
But he doesn’t let me rest. He tips me back, pulls out, rolls me to my stomach, then pulls my hips back. “Hands and knees.”
I shift back, my arms shaky but willing to give him anything.
He strokes his big hand over my ass, then parts my ass cheeks. “Fuck. I’m fucking never getting over you.” He lowers his head, and I feel his tongue against my still tingling pussy.
“Alex.” I’m so sensitive. I’ve come three times. I really don’t think I can come again.
He licks a few times, as if he simply needs to lap up as much as he can. Then he positions himself.
“Hold on, Nora,” he says gruffly.
I grip the duvet and press back.
He enters me with one long, hard thrust.
I cry out. I’m sore, but it feels amazing at the same time.
He stretches me, going deeper than anyone ever has. He pulls out and thrusts again, hard. And fast.
Hard and fast become the only words I can think of for the next few minutes.
Our bodies slap together. He only says single words at a time, and they’re dirty and gruff.
My entire world has narrowed to this man and our bodies.
I feel him grip my hips hard, and suddenly he roars my name as he stiffens.
“Nora!”
He comes hard, filling the condom, gripping my body tightly against his.
Then he just stays like that, breathing hard, holding me firmly.
Finally, what seems like five minutes later, he says, “Jesus Christ, Nora.”
He lets go of me, and I sag onto the mattress. But I smile and roll to my back. “What?”
He pulls the condom off and ties the top before dropping it to the floor. Then he stretches out next to me. He runs a hand up my side to my throat.
“Sweet women who smell like flowers and who plan weddings for turtles should not have magical pussies.”
I stare at him.
Then suddenly I’m giggling. “Who told you about the turtle wedding?”
He grins. “I know so much about you. Everyone here loves to talk about you.”
“I’m not sure that’s good.” I did plan a wedding for turtles, but there’s a lot more to that story. Like the owner of one of the turtles having a terminal illness, and it making her really happy.
“Well, it definitely did not prepare me for how fantastic fucking you would be,” he says.
I laugh again. “You thought it would be bad?”
“I thought it would be great,” he assures me. “But I thought it would be…”
I lift a brow.
“Not the end of my world as I knew it.”
I really like this.
“Sorry,” I say.
He shakes his head, tracing his finger over my collarbone. “I don’t think you are.”
I’m not actually. The idea of Alex in his fancy Portland apartment, in his huge fancy shower after a hockey game, jerking off and thinking of me because he can’t get over tonight is amazing.
Ridiculous. But amazing.
That’s maybe not nice of me.
“I’ll let you have a few more ‘hits’ of your new addiction,” I say.
He runs his hand down, over my breast to my ass, and pulls me in. “Oh, will you?”
“For sure.”
He starts to nuzzle my neck, but I decide to tease a little more. He’s a good time.
“But…” I say.
“But?”
“I need to refuel.”
He lifts his head quickly. “Do you have more banana pudding?” he asks hopefully.
I laugh. “I don’t.”
“Dammit.”
“But I have bananas.”
“Okay.” But he’s disappointed.
I have definitely messed up this guy’s habits and expectations.
I like it.
I get up and go to my closet to grab my robe.
Alex props up and watches me unabashedly.
“How long does banana pudding take to make?”
“A while.” I turn back as I tie the robe around me. I take in the way he looks in my bed, muscles bunched, chest bare. “And I have to confess. The one I make isn’t classic banana pudding.”
His eyes widen. “There are different recipes?”
“Yep. There’s the usual one, and then there are lots of variations. I use rum, coconut, and some different spices in mine. And it takes a few hours to set up.”
He sits all the way up, seemingly oblivious to the fact he’s totally naked. “Do other people in town make different varieties?”
“Yeah. We actually had a banana pudding taste-off a couple of years ago.” I grin. “I won.”
He swings his legs over the side of the bed. “One, never make the pudding for anyone else ever again.”
I laugh. “What? People love my banana pudding.”
He strides over to me, crowding close. “Your banana pudding is now all mine. You can make a different one for everyone else.”
Wow, that’s possessive. And makes me stupidly melty. Especially now that I know he doesn’t like banana things.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“And two, how long does regular banana pudding take?”
I laugh. “The pudding has to set up, so it still takes a couple of hours.”
“Dammit.”
I pick up his boxers and hand them to him. “But I might have some pudding cups that we can make a mock-banana pudding out of. But you have to promise not to tell anyone I did that.”
“That sounds…”
“Terrible?” I supply.
He sighs. “Addictive.”
I grin.
Poor hot, rich, pro hockey player who has particular tastes and people who cater to them all the time.
But I just can’t quite bring myself to be sorry that I’m “ruining” some of his preconceived notions about banana things. And hockey. And small-town Louisiana. And plans in general.
Who knows what else I might make him rethink?