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“Are you for real?” She cranes her head around to stare at me. I’m still hard, and still inside her, and dead serious. She said I was a terrible flirt and tried too hard in bed. Well, here I am, completely unattainable—if you don’t count Rory herself—and the laziest lay on Earth.
I run the tips of my fingers over her back, making her shiver all over.
“The friction is not going to create itself, darlin’.”
She turns around and starts thrusting, back and forth, her arse cheeks jiggling deliciously as she does all the work. I look down, enjoying the porn-worthy vision. She picks up the pace, and I feel my balls tightening.
I groan. Not good. I mean, very good. Too good. I can’t come after five minutes, though. Especially after she listened to my bathroom pep talk.
I pull out of her without warning to stop myself from coming, and she turns around, scrunching her nose.
“Mal!” she cries.
“Bullocks.” I tap her arse with my cock. “Guess you try too hard.”
Before she has the chance to get offended, I throw her onto the bed, headfirst, and scoot on my knees toward her. I pick her up by her stomach, so she’s on all fours, and plunge in again without warning.
“Jesus.” She sighs. “You’re lucky you’re good at that.”
Well, I try.
I feck her good, fast and deep, playing with her clit, and when I feel her thighs shaking and her breath hitching, I stop again, turning her around on her back.
She growls, “What the hell is wrong with you? Let me come!”
I’m trying here. But I’m about to blow my load before you do.
“Coming is so overrated, darlin’. Making love is about giving.” I fist my cock and tease her cunt in slow circles, not plunging in.
“In that case, give me an orgasm before I pack my suitcase and head upstairs to Ashton’s room. I’m sure he’s more generous in that department.”
I can’t help it. I start laughing. I know I’m killing the mood, but hell, it is funny. I throw her leg over my shoulder and start pumping into her again, swirling my thumb over her clit as I do. She closes her eyes—ignoring the man my cock and fingers are attached to—and whimpers softly, her tits jiggling to the rhythm of my thrusts. I love seeing her like this. At my mercy.
“Faster.” She bites on her lip.
“Too lazy.” I keep my pace, thrusting deeper and deeper, not quite satisfied unless I feel like I’m tearing her apart.
“Mal,” she begs, although she is being fucked really hard and not very pleasantly. “Just a bit more.”
I deliberately slow down, putting her through delicious torture. I can feel her legs shaking again, and know she will enjoy her climax so much more if it comes gradually. I move in and out of her, watching as her skin blossoms in goosebumps as I give her what must be the best orgasm of her life by the look of her O-shaped mouth.
Once I’m done delivering the goods, I finally let go, pump into her a few more times, and find my own release.
I collapse beside her, staring at the ceiling, enjoying the dead hum of the air conditioning and our in-sync breaths.
“Let’s stay here for the entire week.” Rory is grinning at the ceiling, her eyes glossed over.
I roll over and throw an arm over her midriff, kissing her temple.
“Can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because my pumpkin carriage turns into dust come midnight.”
“I’ll let you bum a ride in my Honda, in that case.” She laughs.
“Because I’ve got shite to take care of back in Tolka,” I amend, grinning.
“Define ‘shite’,” she presses.
I make a sizzling, steak-on-a-frying-pan sound, trying to keep it light, but I still avoid answering.
She has the right to know. I can’t deny that anymore.
“No, you’re keeping me in the dark. Again.” She removes my arm from her body ever so promptly. “What’s in Tolka, Mal? Why do you need to go back? Where do you go when you randomly disappear?”
If I thought she could handle the truth, I might consider telling her. But I know, with a clarity that makes me want to heave and throw up, that she would turn around and walk away if she found out. And I’m not ready for her to go. Not yet.
Maybe she’ll eventually leave me.
It’s an option I’m not eager to entertain, though I force myself to try to come to terms with it.
But even so, I still have a few good weeks in me—a few weeks of screwing her, picking her quirky, somewhat twisted brain, and enjoying whatever she has to give. A few weeks of remembering what it means to be alive. A hit of my favorite drug after years of being sober. Never mind what going cold turkey again might do to me.
“Answer me, Mal.”
I stand up and walk toward the bathroom, stark naked.
