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Her climax burst over her, so hard and sharp and hot it was painful. She rocked through the waves while her inner muscles clenched and gripped Alex. She cried out his name and dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders until they ached.
He gripped her hips and thrust hard a couple of times and then he was off, shuddering with her, their bodies synced in unison while their climaxes crashed over them. He was hot inside of her, his cock throbbing and pulsing and kicking in her tight passage. She matched him there too, her muscles clenching around him over and over again and shudder after shudder, shiver after shiver, spasm after spasm, gripped her and wrung her out.
“That was… holy crap,” she gasped when she could finally breathe again. The extra oxygen helped banish the bright spots dancing behind her eyes, even when they weren’t closed.
She stared down at Alex’s face and he had a funny look. One she couldn’t define. His brow was wrinkled up and he had this sheen in his eyes when he looked at her. He looked satisfied, so that was good, but there was something in his eyes. Something she couldn’t decipher because it looked perilously close to regret or guilt, but then he blinked, and it was gone. A slow, lazy smile replaced it.
“Geez,” he said huskily. “I think I need to marry you.”
“That good, huh?” She couldn’t believe it. Most guys were trying so hard to sneak around on her or run in the other direction that they’d never actually say something like that, even as a joke.
“It was amazing. I think I even lasted longer than a minute. A new record for me.”
Muffy giggled. She carefully slid off of Alex and landed on the bed beside him. She didn’t sprawl out right away and he stared up at her cautiously.
“Why does that look frighten me? You look like you want to tie me up and have your way with me for the rest of the night. A guy has to rest once in a while you know.”
Muffy glanced down, at Alex’s still very hard cock. She slowly met his eyes and the grin on his face dazzled her to the point of stupidity. “Uhh- I don’t know about tying you up, but I was going to say that I’d go get that whipped cream now and we could see if we could make it to two minutes. Or maybe even five.”
“I don’t think that if I look at you or touch you or feel you in any way, that I’ll make it.”
Muffy laughed as she slid off the bed. She really was going for the whipped cream. She really did want to lick Alex all over including the balls. She really did want to take her time with him.
People said there was a first time for everything, and now that she was actually naked with an equally naked sex god of a man, there was no way she was not going to take full advantage of the situation. She stalked to the fridge and smiled when she pulled open the door and the cold air hit her overheated skin. There was a container of margarine in the fridge, a loaf of bread with two pieces left in it, a bag of apples, and a can of whipped cream.
Which, lucky her, just happened to be full.
She felt like she was riding on clouds the entire walk back to the bedroom.
And when she found Alex there, stretched out on the bed, cleaned up and ready to go again, she was pretty sure she was having some crazy out of body experience. Maybe she’d been abducted by aliens. Maybe Alex belonged to another species and that’s why he was built the way he was. Maybe she really was having the best dream in history.
Or maybe, just maybe, this was real.
Alex cocked a dark brow. “Well, what are you waiting for? Shake that up and let’s get rolling.”
It was all the encouragement she needed.
Whatever he else he was, inexplicably enough, Alex was hers.
CHAPTER 20
Muffy
Muffy nearly died of shock the next morning when she walked into the apartment and found Carla in the kitchen. Saturday mornings for Carla were for sleeping in, grocery shopping, going for walks, hitting the gym, thrifting, antiquing, all manner of activities. Saturday mornings did not involve her BFF cooking some kind of eggs, which actually smelled divine. Saturday mornings did not involve coffee percolating in their maker or bacon frying in a pan beside the eggs. They did not involve freshly chopped tomatoes or peppers or onions going into that egg mix.
Saturday mornings did not involve Carla cooking. No mornings involved Carla cooking. Ever. Period.
“Uhhh…” Muffy slipped off her jacket and kicked out of her boots. She hung her jacket up in the closet and rearranged her shoes onto the mat so that they wouldn’t leave squishy wet marks on the floor. She straightened and turned back to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
