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“I don’t have any condoms,” she whispered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. He didn’t either. Not even back in his room. Because she was right. This was not supposed to happen. He let out a howl of frustration as she rubbed herself over the tip of his cock. She was impossibly wet already.
“Have you been tested for everything?” she whispered. “Are you clean?”
“Yes, but—”
“I am, too.” She plunged down on him.
“Oh, fuck!” he shouted, his head nearly exploding as she took him in, nothing between them but flesh on fire.
“My period is due any day,” she whispered.
She must be implying that she wasn’t fertile at the moment. Even so, this was a mistake. For so many reasons. He tried to say they should stop, to push her off. What came out, though, was “I’ll pull out.”
She nodded and pushed herself up onto her knees and then plunged back down.
Oh my God. Jack had always been a religious user of condoms. Aside from a few fumbling attempts with high school girlfriends who’d been on the pill, there was always—always—a layer of latex between him and anyone else in his bed. He would call it a rule, but it was so much common sense it didn’t even rate rule status. He couldn’t afford any mistakes. So he made sure he never made any.
But Jesus fucking Christ, how was he ever going to go back? Cassie rode him, and at the bottom of every stroke she ground into him, tipping forward and circling her hips a little so her clit ground against him.
He reached up and pulled her head down for a kiss, needing to slow the pace so things didn’t end just as they were beginning. From this angle, she couldn’t lever her hips up as effectively. He’d been aiming for a little mercy, but when she opened her mouth over his, it was just as bad as when she was riding him. Tangling his fingers in her damp hair, he plunged his tongue into her mouth, wanting to gobble up her cinnamon lips. He couldn’t get enough. There would never be enough.
He pushed her away, and she whimpered in protest. He had to get on top so he could pull out when the time came.
“Come back,” she breathed. He flipped her and paused for a moment to control his audible panting.
She must have thought he was reconsidering, because her brow furrowed and she said, “Please.”
“Say my name,” he whispered. Suddenly he needed to hear it on her lips, like he had the last time they were together at his house. If this was the last time, he needed to memorize what it sounded like when she breathed his name, voice shaky with desire.
She didn’t hesitate. “Jack,” she said. “Jack, please.”
It almost undid him. He thrust into her, and she threw her head back and bit her lip. It wasn’t going to be long, the feeling of her heat directly on his skin nearly blistering him. He pressed a thumb down on her clit, not wanting to get too far ahead of her.
“Oh my God!” she gasped, and he needn’t have worried about pacing, because suddenly she was contracting around him, shuddering all around his cock, her whole body quaking in his arms.
“Unnnh,” he groaned, using all his willpower to press himself back up onto his elbows.
“Don’t pull out,” she whispered. “You don’t have to.”
It was like there was an unbreakable magnetic force keeping their hips together. Moving an inch out of her felt like moving lead. But he had to, before he got utterly lost in the waves of pleasure tearing through him.
“Jesus,” he bit out. It was going to be too late. He heaved, rearing back and spilling on her belly—mostly.
Shit.
…
Cassie couldn’t bring herself to regret it. How could you regret the best sex of your life? She did regret that they had only been sprawled out on the bed, silent and breathing heavily, for two minutes before there was a rap on the door, effectively dashing her hopes that there would be a round two in the hot tub. Maybe real regrets would come later, but right now she wanted to throttle whoever was at the door.
Another rap, more insistent this time. She let loose a giggle when Jack responded by diving off the far side of the bed and hiding behind it. Throwing a bed sheet around herself, she opened the door an inch and peeked out so that only her eyes were visible.
“Yes?” Crapola. It was Junior.
She bit back a nervous giggle. It was just that the contrast was kind of amusing. On the other side of the door was a lazy, entitled man-boy who assumed people were going to give him what he wanted as he rotted away, oblivious, in a fantasyland. On the other side of the bed was a capital-M Man who knew what he wanted and worked hard to get it. And who had a knack for making fantasy into reality.
