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And this barely reined-in control when it comes to being with me… I love it, too.
“Micah,” I whisper and reach down between us to touch his erection. He’s throbbing through the thin rubber, and he gasps when I guide him inside me.
Oh God, he feels amazing, stretching me, filling me. His stomach muscles contract. His hips roll, and I cry out at the waves of pleasure washing through me. I never knew I’d be so vocal in sex—never was before. His face dips down for a kiss, silencing me, and for a fleeting second, I wonder if he thinks someone will hear, if he lives alone in this apartment or not—but he grabs my hips, lifting me, entering me deeper, and all thought is erased in another riptide of unbearable pleasure that borders on pain.
Holy crap. I can’t stop myself from crying out again as my orgasm starts, rising in me like a flame, making me thrash under him and sob for breath. His mouth is on mine again, stealing the sounds, his tongue thrusting just as he snaps his hips faster.
Isn’t this a sign of addiction—wanting something—someone—more and more every time?
His cock swells bigger inside me, sending new waves of pleasure down my spine. I draw back and force my eyes to remain open, fixed on his face, to see the moment he tips over the edge.
And he does. A grimace contorts his features, and he drives deep inside me, stilling, then rolls his hips again.
“Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly, “oh shit, Ev…”
His arms give out, and he rolls next to me, panting harshly, pulling me to his chest. Cradled like that, I listen to his pounding heart, and it hits me that he always says my name when he comes.
For some reason, it makes me smile.
***
Going back to work, to normal life, feels like a slap in the face. I feel I’m still dreaming. Then again, the guy watching from across the street is back. He’s smoking and staring holes into me. Jesus.
Well, if this is Blake’s doing, posting a lookout man to watch me, he’ll be disappointed. Not doing anything of interest anyway, and hey, watching isn’t hurting anyone.
It only makes me feel like shit.
Cassie takes a look at me, and her eyes widen. “Oh. My. God.” She squeals, grabs my hand and drags me to the changing rooms and closes the door. “Who is it?”
“Whoa.” I take a step back, torn between giggling and having a mini breakdown. “Who is what?”
“You got some.” She plants her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side. “So who is it?”
The breakdown threatens again. Oh God, do I have a hickey? I lift my hand to my neck, hoping to hide any evidence of what happened last night. And this morning. Twice.
Crap. My face heats. “How do you know I got some? Is it written on my face? Am I walking funny? What?”
“That.” She points a finger at me. “That flush, and that self-satisfied smile. I can read you, girl.”
I bite my lip and can’t help but grin when I think of Micah. “That obvious, huh?”
“Yep. So who’s the lucky guy?”
I shake my head and try to side-step her to escape the interrogation. I am a bit torn. I do want to share my big news with Cassie, but on the other hand it’s all so new, so shiny that I want it to myself for a while
longer.
“Do I know him?” She taps a finger on her lips. “Have I seen him with you before? Wait.” She’s watching my face like a hawk. How can she read me so well? “Is it that blond guy who was staring at you from across the street at the donut shop?”
My face is now burning. I guess the clues she needs are not so subtle. “Yeah. Micah.”
“Micah.” She winks. “Stayed over at his place?”
“Okay, how do you know that?”
“Same clothes you wore yesterday.”
Crap. I stayed at Micah’s, and we had sex, and he held me and told me things about himself I don’t think he often talks about and… What does it all mean? Will he want to see me again? Am I special to him, or does he often take girls home?
