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I’d never felt so deliciously full in my entire life.
“You like my cock inside of you, sweetheart?” he whispered. I moaned and nodded as he thrust his hips forward, once, twice, three mind-blowingly deep times.
“Yes,” I panted, feeling like the nod and moan needed—no, deserved—the verbal confirmation. He smirked at my enthusiasm just before taking my mouth in another hot and heady kiss, our tongues entwined in an erotic dance.
“Fuck,” he muttered and picked up the pace. Each drive forward of his cock timed with that of his tongue inside my mouth. His hands were in constant motion—touching me, feeling me, caressing me.
My breathing turned erratic and my head swirled deliriously, and it didn’t take long before I felt my climax build and build and build.
But Leo knew what the fuck he was doing because he didn’t let me orgasm right away. No. He prolonged it. Slowed it the fuck down and held me right at the glorious edge until I was damn near begging him for release.
I had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been five minutes, or it could have been five hours for all I knew.
But time didn’t matter when Leo Landry was fucking your brains out.
When I finally jumped off the proverbial cliff and my orgasm took hold, all rational thought went out the window, and all sorts of incomprehensible moans and words and just fucking sounds left my lips as I felt that orgasm inside every cell of my body.
Leo wasn’t far behind me, and when he drove himself in as deep as he could go, a deep, raw, guttural groan escaped his lungs as he emptied himself inside of me.
The world turned fuzzy as my mind reeled over what had just happened, and all I could do was lie in my bed, sex-drunk and still panting to catching my breath.
Fuck, that was the best sex I’d had in God knows how long.
Forever, my mind whispered. Forever is the word you’re looking for.
A few quiet moments later, I giggled when he rubbed his nose against mine. “Best fucking midnight cup of coffee I’ve ever had,” he teased, and I couldn’t not grin. I wasn’t a Colombian roast, but apparently I’d hit the spot all the same.
We were mushy and glowing and bound by each other in the connection we still held bodily.
But the rubber band of intimacy snapped with a pop.
Several pops in succession, in fact.
Fucking clapping, for fuck’s sake. Raucous and unchecked, it filled my ears from the other side of my door and totally robbed me of my opportunity for an orgasm-fogged witty retort.
“Bravo!” the voice yelled from the hallway. “Brav-fucking-o, you guys!”
It only took two words for me to realize it was Abby.
My not-my-roommate-roommate.
“Seriously!” Abby shouted from what I assumed was the living room. “Great job! I give that sex a ten!”
Leo looked at me with a quirked brow, and I lived in the bloom of the fire-like blush spreading across my skin. After all, with Leo on top of me—with Leo inside me—there wasn’t exactly a place to hide my head. “I thought you said you didn’t have any roommates?”
“I don’t.” God, Abby. My voice was shaky, from both the embarrassment and the orgasm as I tried to explain. “But I do have a best friend who seems to keep forgetting this isn’t her apartment.”
Leo took it in stride—really, the way he seemed to take everything—a small smile playing at the corner of his lips as he pulled some loose hair out of my face and ran a soft thumb over the flush on my cheek.
I leaned into his touch like a cat preening for pets, and he indulged me.
“Is this the same friend who sent us to Drag on our first date?”
I nodded. “One and the same.”
Leo chuckled and rubbed the tip of his nose against mine before speaking a literal breath away from my lips. “Makes sense.” I smiled at his easygoing acceptance and melted a little farther into his arms. With a wink and kiss, he spoke against my lips one last time. “I’m just glad she wasn’t in your bedroom.”
And then he took my mouth in the kind of distraction that would last for a lifetime.
Glad she wasn’t in my bedroom? Me fucking too.
Maybe, if I was really lucky, she’d rate us even higher for round two.
The cursor blinked on the screen in the answer box for the fourth time in a half an hour, and I sighed heavily.
I’d been working on this practice quiz for longer than I cared to admit, and the more time that passed, the less I seemed to know.
Graduate-level classes at Rochester Institute of Technology had been more than a whim. In fact, they’d been a careful part of the discussion my parents and I’d had about taking on a career in football.
