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The urge to touch him, to run my hands over every inch of that delicious body to make sure he’s not permanently maimed is overwhelming. Slowly, I lower myself next to his hip and sift my fingers through his hair. A muffled sigh greets me. His eyes slow blink open and take me in, his expression so serious it checks me.
“Come here.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, or act. He wraps those game winning hands around my arms and pulls me down, rolling us over until I’m on my back and he’s in-between my thighs. And good heavens does my body approve. His hips press into mine and it’s my turn to sigh. How the heck can he be this hard already?
This is happening. I don’t give a single shit what the consequences are. It’s a given my heart is getting broken, therefore, I might as well enjoy the hot sex that goes with it. Because it will be hot––there’s absolutely no doubt about it.
“How much longer are you going to torture me?” I whisper. His lazy smile and bedroom eyes lay waste to every coherent thought in my head. I think my eggs just got fertilized by that look alone.
“Until tomorrow. As soon as the people in the next two rooms get the hell out of my house. Then you’re mine.”
There goes my heart again, doing backflips like a dolphin at Sea World.
“Now be real quiet while I get a taste.”
“What?”
I don’t have time to say anything else. He sinks down and kisses a path down my neck, over my collarbone, headed straight for my breasts. In one swift move, he rips my tank top over my head. Then he comes up on his elbows and stares. The expression on his face is…pained. He looks like he’s in pain.
“How are your ribs? Maybe we should wait until you heal?”
“Honey, there’s only one way to make this pain go away.” He lowers himself back down and cups my breasts. Fastening his mouth onto my nipple, he licks and pulls. His other hand quickly covers my mouth before the scream can leave my lips. Sweet Baby Jezuz. That feels so good I may die of pleasure. “They’re even better than I imagined.”
His hand leaves my mouth and skates down my body, caressing everywhere it travels. Those hands that know how to measure and calibrate the millimeters it takes to win a championship are busy learning me. A burning need pulses between my thighs. “Calvin…Calvin.”
He shifts, rocking his erection against my aching lady parts and I have to bite my lip to stop from crying out. I’m being teased into madness while his discipline could rival that of a buddhist monk. His big warm hand slips inside my shorts and underwear. One hand teases and tugs at my nipple while the other plays between my thighs. He kisses the corners of my mouth, my lips as I whimper and beg for more.
“Shhhh.” He covers my mouth again with his palm. Skilled fingers pet and stroke me, push inside of me until I’m nearly dying with the need to come. Until I fall into an orgasm that has me bowing off the bed and digging my nails into his massive biceps. Keeping the pressure steady, he eases me down gently, expertly. The feel of his his soft lips on my neck makes me shiver, makes me yearn for more, keeps me in a suspended state of longing and lust. This isn’t sex. He’s making love to me, showing me how he feels, proving how important my pleasure is to him.
My eyes blink open to find his face inches from mine, watching me with total fascination. The pressure in my throat intensifies. Swallowing does nothing to get rid of it. I can’t hide from him any longer. What’s the point? It is, what it is––and nothing’s going to change that. I’m in love with a man I can’t have. The quicker I come to terms with that, the quicker the recovery. Cupping his face, I let everything that’s in my heart shine openly in my eyes.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs.
My hand falls between us, measuring the shape of him over his boxer briefs. He’s so hard it has got to be painful. His brow furrows. I scrape my short nails up and down his erection and he groans harshly.
“Let me take care of you.”
Calvin plants a heartfelt kiss on my mouth, lingering awhile to taste me, brushing his lips back and forth on mine. Pulling back, he holds my gaze, the gravity of the moment apparent in his expression.
“I haven’t made love in a very long time. If I get started, I’m not gonna be able to stop.”
Made love? Good Lord, I’m dead. Or something like it. I’m official dying of love for this man.
