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She smiled at that, for in spite of it all, he’d tried to please her, tried to be what he thought she wanted. Her fingers found his belt. “None of them wear their jeans quite like this.”
He ground against her. “Liar. We both know that half the chumps you date are pretty-boy models.”
She gave a husky laugh and tilted her head back to give him access to her neck. “And they screw like them too.”
He paused for half a beat, processing what she had said. Then he pulled back and stared at her, looking oddly pleased by her statement. “Well then, let’s get you properly fucked.”
And then she was on her back on the middle of her bed, Mitchell’s hard body on top of her. Two fingers snaked inside before she’d even realized that he’d removed her thong, and she let out a low, keening cry as he rubbed her with his thumb.
She let him tease and play but pushed him away before she got too close. If she was going to die from sexual exhaustion, she’d take him with her. His hands reached for his belt buckle and she ran her hands over his chest, scraping lightly with her nails. But Mitchell was done with teasing, and as soon as he’d gotten the pants past his hips, he grabbed her wrists in one hand and shoved her back onto the bed, pinning her arms above her head.
She shook her head slightly, trying to reconcile the fierce, pagan lover on top of her with the calm, bespectacled suit of that first night. “Wall Street?”
In response he shoved inside her, setting a fast and furious pace as she met him thrust for thrust. It had never been like this. Never been so rough and hard and right. She relished the animalistic sound of two sweaty bodies slamming together over and over, his fierce rhythm driving her up into the headboard.
“Come,” he ordered, his mouth wet against her breast.
But she was already exploding, her nails digging into his back as she shuddered around him. His own release followed, and he shouted her name as he came in long, shuddering jerks.
Neither moved for several minutes, the air filled with the smell of sex and sweat and the sounds of their gasping breath. It took him longer than usual to lift his weight off her, and the delay was reassuring. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t fathom the idea of moving.
When he finally lifted his body off hers, Julie quickly rolled to her side, facing away from him. She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh, scream, or cry, but she was leaning toward the last of those.
Mitchell moved behind her, and she expected him to begin gathering his clothes. They were both angry. That had been evident from the way they’d just set the sheets on fire. He probably needed space just as much as she did. Especially after what she’d told him: I’m tired of being the short-term girl.
Julie jumped in surprise when she felt a hand stroke her waist. The touch was gentle, not at all resembling the way he’d just ravaged her moments before.
“Julie,” he whispered.
She turned to face him, and for several minutes they did nothing but look.
“What now?” she asked, feeling tired and broken.
In response he reached for her hand, uncurling her fingers and planting a warm, sweet kiss on her palm. After the ferocity of their lovemaking, the gesture was gentle. Unexpected. Too much.
She felt a suspicious tickle behind her eyelids and she rolled away. His hand found her waist again, and then his arm wrapped around her, pulling her against him.
Julie didn’t know how long they lay there, not speaking. But when she finally heard his breath ease into the slow rhythm of sleep, she let the first tears fall.
It was never supposed to be like this.
Chapter Eleven
As if Mitchell needed another reminder that Julie wasn’t the woman for him, fate delivered.
Julie snored.
Not a cute little snuffle either, but snorts worthy of an overweight truck driver named Bubba.
Neither was she a cuddler. They’d fallen asleep tangled together. But at some point during the night, the indelicate little tank had rolled onto her back and splayed all limbs as far as she could reach.
Mitchell reached out and toyed with a silky strand of mussed hair. He couldn’t help it. He was charmed.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was completely bare-ass naked and that she had love bites on the side of her breast. A naked sleeper could snore in bed any old time she wanted.
As long as the naked sleeper was Julie.
Mitchell frowned at the sentimental thought, rolling over and planting his feet on the bed as he tried to orient himself to Julie’s dark bedroom. He hadn’t meant to sleep over. He should be back on the Upper East Side, halfway through his Saturday morning run by now, after which he’d tackle personal email while watching whatever sports game he’d recorded last night. A sports game he would have missed because he would have been doing whatever Evelyn had scheduled for them. A fund-raiser, the latest dreary Broadway drama … movie night.
