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I yank his hair and he growls, finally pinning his mouth on me and licking with enough speed and pressure to build my orgasm to a peak. My back arches off the couch and my head falls back. I see nothing but blackness behind my closed lids as I moan his name again and again.
The climax rushes through me with such force, such power, that I feel invigorated when it’s over. It’s like a jolt of caffeine to the system, a powerful surge of energy that makes me hungry for more. Without warning, I sit up and leap onto him. We fall back onto the floor of the living room and our nearly naked bodies collide for the first time. Soft curves meet hard muscle. My dark hair fans out around us. He reaches up and cups my breasts, and the feeling is so intoxicating that I give in completely to the kiss he presses against my lips. We’re impatient, hot. Weeks and weeks of anticipation built this moment.
His hands grip my ass and he pulls me down hard against him, rolling his hips in a maddening pace. I moan and fist my hands into his hair, hating the fact that our underwear separates us. The friction is teasing and suggestive, but I want to feel his smooth hardness against me, in me.
His hands dig into my flesh as his hips roll and grind, teasing me until I’m close to a second orgasm. Just like this, high school-style, over-the-clothes grinding—no. I deserve better. I deserve the real thing. I reach down and yank my panties aside, barely noticing the sound of lace gently tearing. He would have to stand to allow me to pull his boxer briefs all the way down, so I make do. I lift my hips just enough and tug until he’s exposed enough for me to pull his hard length out of the material. The sound he makes when I sit back down on him, flesh to flesh, is nothing short of a growl.
We are animals.
Hungry.
Impatient.
Wild.
“Brooke,” he groans as I roll back and forth across him.
Teasing.
Taunting.
So damn close to letting him slide into me.
I’m reminded of our talk so many weeks ago, and it hits me: we need a condom, NOW. I’m about to tell him that, but he’s quicker than me, reaching back for his pants with one hand. He hangs them upside down, shaking them out until his wallet falls to the floor with a heavy thunk.
I laugh.
He finds a thin packet, tears it open with his mouth, and then I reluctantly lift off him so he can slide it on with smooth confidence.
My body is shaking with desire and excitement. I know he’s going as fast as he possibly can, but it’s still not quick enough. My fingers dig into flesh. He groans and rolls the condom all the way down. We don’t wait, don’t take a breath. I angle him just right with my hand and then he pushes into me with one sumptuous thrust.
“JAMES.”
My second orgasm tears through me as I cry out. His mouth covers mine with passionate kisses, and then he picks me up and flips us over so I’m on bottom. The smooth rug cushions me from below as James hovers over me, cast in neon light. God, he’s sexy. The way he moves. The way he holds himself up on one arm and stares down at where we’re connected, where he drags out of me slowly before thrusting back in. I shudder.
There’s too much to focus on: the muscles jumping in his sharp jaw, his abs flexing and straining under the effort when he pulses in and out of me. I reach up and drag my palm across his chest and then I move lower, hooking my hands around his hips and making sure he pushes in as deep as he can possibly go. My eyes squeeze closed as I try to keep up with his unyielding rhythm. He starts moving so fast that pleasure brushes against the boundary of pain.
He tells me he’s going to come, and it’s such a sexy, bold declaration that I know I’ll soon follow. I’m panting. He’s groaning. We’re so in sync, I feel myself clench around him as his body starts to heave and shake. I look up and watch as his orgasm contorts his features into a mask of ecstasy.
When it’s over, he collapses on top of me and I stare up at the ceiling, relishing what it feels like to have his weight stealing my breath. It’s just enough to keep me in the present moment, to keep my brain from overthinking every move, every kiss.
“Brooke,” he whispers.
I hum.
“I promise I won’t miss dinner ever again.”CHAPTER SEVENTEENI lie awake in James’ bed for hours trying to convince my body to give in to sleep. I should be exhausted after what we’ve done, but now that the hotel room is quiet and dark, I have nothing to focus on but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It settled there a few hours ago for no good reason. I can’t pin it down to anything said or done. The night went off without a hitch: we had sex (twice) then showered, ordered room service, and eventually succumbed to sleep—or at least James did. I’m wide awake, fruitlessly willing this feeling to fade, and I remain that way until sometime in the early morning hours.
