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He needed to make her come one more time before—
“Chris?” she said, her breathy voice crashing over him like a tidal wave.
He shifted his hips, driving inside her again. After she moaned, he asked, “Yeah?”
“Fuck. Me. Hard.” She cradled his face tenderly, and she dug her heels into the sides of his ass hard at the same time, mixing pleasure with almost pain. “Now.”
Something inside him snapped, and he stopped holding back, stopped trying to take his time. He just fucking lost it, slammed his mouth down on hers, and moved inside her with an animalistic need that he couldn’t fight or deny even if he wanted to.
She clung to him, her hands roaming lightly over him like she was trying to memorize him by touch, driving him insane with her almost non-existent strokes. He did the same, since this would be their only night together. Her hips. Her thigh. The soft swell of her breast. She was so smooth and soft, where he was hard and rough. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Every thrust, every drive, sent him closer to the edge. It had been so long, too long, since he’d been like this with a woman, and he wanted to bring her with him one last time. Lifting her up slightly, tilting her just right, he slammed into her again, and again, and again, until she came, her walls squeezing him torturously tight. Groaning, he thrust into her one last time, his own climax hitting him like a bullet, sending him flying into the sky and back.
Letting out a soft groan, he collapsed on top of her, making sure to keep the bulk of his weight off her. Her damp flesh clung to his, her nails were still buried in his back, and her breaths rose and fell in tandem with his own. That was…Jesus.
That had been fucking amazing.
She let out a shattered breath. “Wow.”
“Yeah.” He rose up on his elbows, smiling down at her. She looked so damn beautiful, lying there underneath him with red lips and rosy cheeks. “Wow.”
She swallowed hard and shifted underneath him. “So…” Tapping his arm, she gave him a shy smile. “That was fun.”
“Oh. Right.” Here he’d been thinking about how nice it would be to stay there, buried inside her, and maybe go for a round two…and she was wondering when he’d get the hell off her. Wincing, he pulled out of her body, rolled off the bed, and stood, all in one fluid motion. Dragging his hands down his face, he stared at her. She was perfection in the human form. Soft skin. Rosy nipples. Skinny waist. Generous hips. But more importantly, she’d reminded him what it felt li
ke to be alive. She’d given him that. He’d fucked a lot of women. He had no idea how many. He didn’t keep count. But he’d never forget this. Never forget his Scarlett. It was a strange feeling. “That was…I…”
She sat up, tugging the blanket up and biting her lower lip. It was a shy thing, a modest pose, even, but on her…it looked sexy as hell. Especially since her red hair was a wild, untamed mess around her head. “I know. Me, too.”
At a loss for words—what the hell was he supposed to say after that—he smiled and pointed over his shoulder. “I’m going to wash up, and then I’ll go.”
She stared at him blankly. “Okay.”
Was it just him, or did she look disappointed when he mentioned leaving?
He rubbed the back of his neck, shot her another smile, and headed for the bathroom. Quietly, he shut the door behind him and let out a few choice curses under his breath. He was out of his comfort zone tonight. Normally, he would have found nothing wrong with fucking Scarlett and leaving her naked in her bed alone, because that’s what he did.
But he didn’t want just one time with Scarlett.
He wanted another taste of her, and the magic she wove to make him forget why he wasn’t supposed to be falling for some girl in a damn hotel bar. He wasn’t free to take risks on women who might not want to date a guy with a kid, and he wasn’t the type of guy to be okay with a girl not wanting to be a part of his kid’s life.
Ginny was fucking amazing.
Any woman would be lucky to meet her.
Scarlett, as much fun as she was, would probably run in the opposite direction if he told her he was the single father of a three-year-old girl. He’d seen it happen enough times to know how that conversation would end. It was why he’d stopped trying to actually date and stuck to casual sex. First, she’d smile. Then she’d say how cute it was that he was raising a daughter on his own. And how sad she was for his loss. Then she’d mention how brave he was to embark on that world of pink bows and braids—which he could fucking rock, thank you very much—without a wife by his side. And then…
He’d never hear from her again.
She’d ghost him.
They had to keep it as it was, with fake names and no real details about one another, so they didn’t ruin what they had with one another with reality. After taking care of the condom and chucking it in the trash, he washed up. Hands on the edges of the sink, he stared at himself in the mirror, breathing unevenly, and thought of the woman back in her bed, waiting for him to leave. He would go. He’d walk away without giving her his name, or anything real about him.
But, damn it, he didn’t want to.
He shut off the water, dried his face, tossed the towel on the floor under the sink, and opened the door slowly. The lights were off, and she lay on her side, facing away from him. He bent down and searched the floor in the darkness for his boxers, trying his best to be quiet so he didn’t wake her. If he could just get enough of his shit together to—
“Stay the night?” she asked softly. So softly he thought he might have imagined it at first. “Hold me close? I don’t want to be alone right now.”
