One of his hands slipped from hers. Slid between them. Spread her vulva so each lunge of his hips scraped him over her clit, and holyshit, she’d never, ever felt like this in bed with anyone before. By the time he’d entwined their fingers again, she was already squeezing her eyes shut, already climbing toward a cataclysmic orgasm.
His cock stretched her open again and again, his hot mouth latched onto her neck and pulled hard, and she clutched at him desperately as the swelling ache between her legs built into intolerable pressure and blinding white heat.
With a powerful twist of his ass and hips, he ground into her firmly with his next stroke, and she detonated with a harsh cry, her body clamping down on his dick as she bucked futilely against his immovable mass. He kept fucking her steadily through the orgasm exploding fever-bright behind her scrunched-closed eyelids, claiming every twitch of response her body offered, raising his head to sip her moans straight from her tongue.
She didn’t have to work for any of it. Didn’t have to do anything but relax and feel. He gave her what she wanted, exactly as he’d promised, and she took it all. Wallowed in the pleasure and let it come to her, pulse by pulse, as she gasped and arched.
By the time she finally finished coming and opened her eyes again, she was already halfway to another orgasm. Above her, though, Karl’s flushed face had twisted, his rhythm turning fast and choppy for the first time. He was still holding back his own orgasm, and while part of her wanted to encourage that—because another couple minutes of this would make her climax again—the rest of her wanted to watch his pleasure. Wanted him to feel as amazing as she did.
“Karl...” She met his gaze. Held it. Squeezed her inner muscles as tightly as she could. “Come for me. Now.”
The sound rumbling from his chest could’ve been the earth tearing apart. Fault lines appearing and groaning into open chasms. His right hand let go of hers, then reached down and gripped her thigh, pushing it higher. He powered into her in deep, desperate lunges, and she scraped her short nails down his back and spread her legs even wider.
“Molly...” He groaned. “Fuck, Molly. You’reperfect.”
With one final, rough thrust, he shoved himself deep, froze above her, and shook, growling in agonized pleasure as he released inside her at last.
She held him tight, inside and out, while he came. And when he collapsed on her for a fleeting moment, she cushioned him gladly. Stroked a hand down his trembling upper arm, over his sweaty shoulder, as he panted and recovered.
Far too soon, he scrambled back onto his elbows with a muttered obscenity and an apology. Then he shook his head and toldher breathlessly, “Holy shit, woman. Never come that hard in my goddamnlife.”
She smiled at him, pleased. “That makes two of us.”
“Fuckin’ A.” He grinned back, sounding as happy as she’d ever heard him. “Got some unfinished business, though.”
Her brow crinkled, and she stared up at him in confusion.
“Think I didn’t notice you squirming beneath me right before I came?” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Hold on tight, Dearborn. You’re not done yet.”
He eased himself out of her and heaved himself onto his side with a heartfelt, exhausted groan, took care of the condom, and then slid his hand back between her legs, where she ached. From hard use, yes, but also lingering arousal. His fingers parted her swollen vulva once more, and he rubbed his thumb over her clit. Watched her legs drop open for his touch. Rubbed again and listened to her breath stutter in her chest.
“Yeah.” Smug pride radiated from every inch of his newly relaxed face, and she couldn’t even blame him. “That’s what I thought.”
Five minutes later, she was coming for the second time that afternoon. This time, around his thick, twisting knuckles as his thumb worried and teased her clit, his stare studied every involuntary clench of her muscles, and her sharp cry rang in her own ears. Through her tear-blurred eyes, the rosy light drifting through the half-open window lit each dust mote like a firework, and she’d never experienced anything so beautiful before.
This was unlike any sex she’d ever had. In her entire freaking life.
Yet again, he’d given her more than he’d taken. As much as she could handle. Without her asking, and without asking anything inreturn. All while she’d lain beneath his hands, beneath his body, like a woman with complete confidence in his ability to please her and his unwillingness to take advantage of her vulnerability.
And maybe that wasn’t the type of trust he seemed to want from her. But it was far from nothing—and more than enough to scare her to the marrow of her rag-limp, pleasure-soaked bones.
20
Just past dawn the next morning, repeated rings of the doorbell dragged Karl out of bed.
Normally, he was up way earlier. Normally, he wasn’t fucking the woman of his goddamn dreams or cuddling with her in his bed, though. Much less lying wide awake most of the night, either basking in the glory or worrying the whole thing might be a once-in-a-lifetime event.
He’d slept four hours, max. But he knew who was at the door, so he fumbled in the shadowed bedroom for his clothing, didn’t let himself look at Molly’s still-resting form under his covers, and closed the door silently behind himself.
Sure enough, one glance through his peephole showed Mrs. Carter and her walker stationed on his front porch. Wincing, he swung open the door.
“Sorry, Mrs. C,” he said before the sharp-tongued, bent-backed harridan could lay into him. “Planned to come by later than usual. Should’ve let you know.”
“Yes. You certainly should have.” Her crackly voice wavered, and she glared at him above her bifocals, gray curls hidden beneath her pink silk bonnet. “I was worried about you, young man.”
“Sorry,” he repeated, and meant it. Getting around was hard for his neighbor these days, and he didn’t like that she’d climbed up his front steps alone. “I’ll help you home. Then give me an hour,all right?” He pictured Molly upstairs, wrapped in nothing but his family quilt. “Maybe two. I’ll be over and ready to go.”
On Sunday mornings, he mowed Mrs. C’s lawn early. Everyone on their block hated it, but none of them was brave enough to defy her. Neither was he. If the woman wanted her yard clipped low and tight as a golf course, all before the sunrise service at her church? Her yard would look like hole fucking eighteen before the Deemer family’s damn roosters quit crowing, and no other creature on the block would utter a single peep.
