“Shit.” She grunted and crammed her finger in her mouth, biting down on it like it was going to keep her silent.
It only served to spur him on. He fucked her harder and harder with each thrust, intent on making her come undone around his cock. He slipped his hand between them and fingered her slick clit as she bounced eagerly on his dick.
She clenched her teeth.
“Come for me, Clare.”
She shook her head. Stubborn, stubborn woman. He drove into her again and again. Slaps of bare skin meeting bare skin, and the quiet grunts and heaving breaths echoed around the small room as she inched up and down the wall.
“I said come for me.” His words came out on a low growl through gritted teeth. He was so close to just letting go in her tight, hot pussy, but as a matter of personal pride he always wanted Clare to come first.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and grinned at him. Another headshake. His fingers glided around her clit in quickening circles and her body started to tense and tremble.
He had her.
“You sure you’re not going to come for me?”
She nodded, but it was jerky and her smug smile wavered.
Keeping the pace of plunging his dick into her as well as the rhythm of rolling circles over her clit got trickier the closer he got to his own orgasm.
“Come.” Thrust. “For.” Thrust. “Me.”
She burst apart, tingling all over. Her nails squeezed into his skin through his shirt, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she had bit down on her lip so hard she’d drawn blood—but he didn’t stop.
He rode her through her orgasm, not easing off, not changing his speed, not going any more gently with her. He pounded her with every ounce of determination he had. Just as he crested the final wave into his own release, she tensed around him again. He wasn’t sure if it was still the first climax, or if she was coming again, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
He held her, pumping her until every drop of his cum was inside her, and until her body went soft. It was only when she slid down his body and planted her feet on the floor that he realized they hadn’t even kissed the whole time.
Cupping her jaw, he tipped her head back and descended on her mouth with fervor. He poured all of himself into her. Every ounce of his love, his pain, his frustration, and she met him thrust for thrust with her tongue as she gripped his shirt in a balled fist.
She flattened her palm against his chest and pushed him back before touching her fingertips to her lips. “You need to go.” She kissed him again. “Or that’s going to happen again.”
And that was a bad thing? Sure, he’d need a minute or two to recover—maybe five—but he was only too happy to fuck her again. He spoke through their sloppy kisses. “I’m totally okay with that.”
She shook her head, making their noses brush against each other. “I’m not. And I have cold jizz trickling down my thighs. I gotta clean up.” She pushed his chest again. “And you’ve gotta let me.”
He nodded, but he wasn’t convinced. He didn’t give a fuck if the whole laundry room was covered in their bodily fluids—he wanted to be inside her again, and his half-mast dick twitched in agreement.
“Are we still cooking tomorrow?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course we are. I need to learn how to make risotto.” She paused. “And the chocolate thing. I promised Mason I’d make it for him when he’s here next. Plus…I might want to see you, too.” She winked at him and the tension in his chest loosened just enough to take a deep breath.
He’d take “might.” It meant he wasn’t out of the game altogether—at least not yet.
***
The cooking class was a three-hour deal downtown in Minneapolis. And somehow in those three hours, they were going to make a three-course meal. Roasted butternut squash risotto, crusted salmon with cheesy scalloped potatoes and asparagus, and a chocolate cake thing with a molten middle for dessert.
At the time Dad had given him the gift it sounded like a great idea. But standing in the industrial kitchen with five other couples and a very attractive male instructor at the front of the room, he was starting to think perhaps it was a little overambitious—especially considering he couldn’t even boil an egg.
It didn’t help that things with Clare were still…frosty. While he’d put their spat—was that even what it was?—behind him, she seemed to still be stewing in her emotions.
She had seemed guarded when he picked her up, guiding his lips to her cheek instead of letting him kiss her on the lips. Her conversation had been polite, perfectly nice, but he knew her better than she even knew herself, and she was holding back. Did he though? He was questioning what was going on in her mind, and he’d spent the last twenty years away from her.
Was he losing her? Or was she just taking some time to adjust to the huge changes happening in her life?
“Can you pass the squash, please, Eli?” Her expectant eyes suggested he’d been in a world of his own and missed something. “I need to peel it and get it into the oven to roast.”
