“Never.” His voice was wrecked. “I’m never stopping, Agnes. I’m never letting you go.”
He reached between us and found the spot that had my eyes rolling back in my head, and rubbed in tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much—the fullness of him inside me, the pressure building, the weight of him above me.
I shattered.
Pleasure crashed over me in waves, pulling me under. I cried out his name, or maybe just screamed, I couldn’t be sure, and felt myself clench around him, my body shaking with the force of it.
Graham followed a moment later, burying himself deep and groaning my name like it was being torn out of him.
We lay there afterward, tangled together, breathing hard. Graham’s weight pressed me into the mattress, but I didn’t want him to move. I wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in him, safe and warm and finally,finallywhere I belonged. He shifted, but I tightened my arms around him, needing to hold him close.
“So,” he said eventually, his voice muffled against my neck. “That was...”
“Yeah.”
“Worth the wait?”
I laughed, threading my fingers through his sweat-damp hair. Or maybe from the rain. It mattered not. “I’m going to need more data before I can make a definitive assessment.”
He lifted his head to look at me, mock offended. “More data? After all that?”
“A thorough researcher never draws conclusions from a single data point.”
“Is that so?” He shifted, pulling out of me slowly—we both hissed at the sensation—and disposed of the condom before settling beside me, propped up on one elbow. His free hand traced lazy patterns on my stomach.
“I suppose I’ll have to provide additional data, then.”
“For the sake of scientific rigor.”
“Obviously.” His hand drifted lower. “How many data points do you think you’ll need?”
“Hard to say.” My breath caught as his fingers found me, still sensitive from before. “Probably... extensive testing...”
“As I mentioned before, I do find it important to be thorough.”
He stroked me slowly, gently, rebuilding the pleasure that had barely faded. His mouth found my breast again, tongue circling my nipple, and I arched into his touch.
“Graham—”
“I’ve got you.” He slid one finger inside me, then two, curling them just right. “I’ve always got you, Agnes.”
This orgasm built slower than the first, a gradual tide rather than a sudden crash. Graham seemed to know exactly what I needed, when to push, when to change therhythm, and I came apart, again, under his hands with a soft cry.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, watching my face. “You’re so beautiful when you come.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re trying to get lucky again.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He leaned over to kiss me. “Also because I’m absolutely trying to get lucky again.”
I pulled him over me, needing to feel the weight of him against me again. “How are you already hard again?” My eyes widened as I looked up at him.
“Years of pent-up frustration that you’ve put me through.” He settled between my thighs, and I could feel him pressing against me, ready. “Also, you’re naked in my bed. It would take a stronger man than me to not be affected by that.”
“Uh-huh.” I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t exactly what one would call a temptress.
“Agnes. I still don’t think you understand the spell you hold over me.”
“I’m hardly?—”
