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“Harder, Rake, fuck me harder with that big cock,” I groan, struggling to speak with my face smashed into the bed.
I love this. I love it so much.
He hits me in just the right spot and brings a palm down on my ass cheek so hard I scream. I don’t know how he times it so perfectly, but I explode into another orgasm, shuddering from head to toe, my pussy milking his cock with subtle spasms.
He pounds me and pounds me like he’s lost and all he can thinking of is pleasure and release and coming, like there’s nothing else in the world at this moment except the two of us and our desperate, hungry rutting.
With a deafening roar, he plunges inside me one last time and holds himself there, emptying his cum, his body jolting and shuddering as he makes his last few thrusts. He holds himself there, catching his breath, and when he finally does pull out, my pussy is empty and I feel sad for a moment that it’s over.
Like I’m light as a feather, he scoots me up on the bed and, grabbing the comforter, pulls it over us. He wraps his arms around me from behind, one hand wandering over my heated skin, running from my thigh to my stomach and breasts, and back down my arm to start all over again. His touch is soothing, full of care and tenderness.
I snuggle my head back against him and he kisses my ear. In a few seconds, his breath is deep and steady as he relaxes into sleep. I hold still, perfectly still, because I don’t want this moment to end, this sexy feeling of his protective worship.
If there are still reporters outside, and they’re wondering what and how we’re doing, they sure as hell know the truth now.
And I seriously doubt they’ll think there’s anything fake about what’s between the two of us.
34
PETAL
“Hell of a weekyou’ve had, huh?” Mom says, planting a kiss on my forehead.
My mom is not a natural mother. It’s like she’s missing the nurturing gene that seems to drive most moms. She thinks babies are pains in the ass, toddlers are wicked little demons, and teenagers raging psychotics. I honestly don’t even think she really liked me all that much until I was eighteen and could register to vote.
That doesn’t mean she didn’t keep me clothed, fed, and safe from harm. She went through the motions. I just don’t think she got a lot of joy from it. But that was then.
This is now.
If we could spend most every waking moment together, that would not be enough for her. And as much as she can be a pain in the ass, she has my back in a way that would shame most momma bears.
“It’s been interesting, Mom,” I say.
Sometimes, you just need your mother. She wasn’t even mad to hear my marriage to Rake was a ruse to get him good publicity. She’s just glad I’m okay.
“C’mon. Let’s sit down. I had the housekeeper make lamb chops, your favorite.”
Wow. Mom doesn’t like lamb chops, and only busts them out when she thinks I need a boost.
And, I guess I do, even in the face of the incredibly sexy session I had the day before with Rake. It killed me when he got up to leave, like he took all the air in the cottage with him, but he had an early practice the next morning. Surprising the hell out of myself, I felt empty and despondent, at least until I made myself a cup of tea and turned on the latest Hallmark movie.
“How’s your dinner, honey?” Mom asks.
Her question makes me realize I’ve been stuffing my face for several minutes straight. I set down my fork to force a break. “Sorry, Mom. This is so freaking good.”
She reaches out and pats my hand. “I thought this might work some magic on you. Now tell me everything that happened at that party at the Fairmont. So far, I only know what I read in the news, and we know how inaccurate that always is.”
I take a sip of wine. She busted out the good stuff tonight, I guess in my honor. I mean, everything her winery makes is good, but she has what she calls ‘weeknight wines,’ and then the fancy stuff. In her own way, she’s doing what she can to take care of me tonight.
“It was crazy, Mom. I wish I could say the whole story the press reported was BS, but it’s not. Apparently, some locker room attendant overheard Rake talking to one of his friends, and sold his story to a sports reporter who can’t stand the team. That very reporter announced his finding at the party and it’s been a shitshow ever since.”
Setting down her fork, she stares out the window. She doesn’t look happy. “Honey, does Rake know what he’s subjected you to? How this is affecting not only his life, but also yours?”
“He does Mom. He came up to the cottage yesterday to check on me. He apologized. Told me how terrible he feels. And because there were press camping out there, he hired a couple security guards.”
She drums her perfectly manicured fingertips on the tablecloth. “You know, men like Rake are… fun. They are a treat. They are not a meal. If you get my meaning.”
She looks at me hard.
