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He is handsome from head to toe. In fact, he’s magnificent.
I realize I’m gaping, trying to decide what part of him I want to lick first.
I wait for him to climb onto the bed with me, but instead he seizes my ankles and drags me back to the edge of the mattress. His palms burn me where they settle on the tender insides of my thighs. He spreads me open. Then he lowers himself between my parted thighs and feasts on me with rough abandon.
“Oh God,” I whimper, thrashing under the skill of his mouth. It’s too much, and I’m too near the edge already. Pleasure ripples from my clit to my core. I’m breaking apart. About to shatter. “Oh, fuck. Nick, please . . . I’m going to come . . .”
“Yes,” he murmurs against my wet, quivering flesh. “Many times before we’re finished here tonight.”
True to his word, he shows me no mercy now. As I splinter in ecstasy against the ruthless stroking of his tongue, I distantly register the quiet rustle of a condom being opened. Then he’s at the soaking entrance of my body, the head of his cock pushing inside me.
He’s big and I’m long out of practice. Even primed for him by a pair of pretty amazing orgasms, I arch off the mattress on a soft cry as he thrusts inside. He stretches my tender walls, filling me completely.
“Ah, Christ, you’re tight,” he hisses beside my ear as he begins to piston above me. “Feels so fucking good. So hot and wet.”
His praise is like gasoline on the fire he’s already set inside me. I hold on to his shoulders as he drives deep, impaling me with long, breath-robbing strokes. Our tempo is fierce, frenzied. There’s no stopping the pleasure that rolls through me.
I don’t want to stop it.
I just want to feel.
For tonight, I just want to be free. From my past, and from all of the old ghosts I buried there.
I slide my hands down and sink my fingers into the firm muscle of Nick’s ass as he fucks me toward the crest of another ferocious orgasm.
I reach for it, and he gives it to me and then some.
Oh, yes. Nick Baine could very easily ruin me for anyone else.
Why that thought doesn’t terrify me, I don’t want to know.
Chapter 11
A wet, distant hiss invades my senses, drawing me out of an unusually heavy sleep. I lay curled on my side in the dark in the middle of a large, rumpled bed. Nick’s bed. I can smell him on the pillow beneath my cheek. His spicy, masculine scent lingers in my hair. On my skin.
I can feel the reminder of him in every dull, delicious ache of my spent body.
Memories of everything we did together flood in, and I can’t curb the satisfied smile that spreads over my face. I can’t deny that I’m hungry for him all over again, but when I stretch my arm out to search for his warmth, I find only cold, empty sheets. I’m alone in his bed and—
Wait. Is it . . . morning?
Startled by the thought, I lift my head, my eyelids snapping open. Yep, definitely morning. Quite early, from the look of it. Outside the windows, the muted glow of sunrise is barely a halo on the horizon behind the city skyline.
I stayed the night? I close my eyes on a groan. How the hell did I sleep so long?
Apparently, multiple orgasms and several hours of tireless sex in numerous creative positions will do that to a person. Not that I would know. Until last night, there was a lot I didn’t know. Sex with Nick has been a revelation on many levels. Each one more pleasurable than the next.
But that was last night. Now it’s the morning after, with all the discomfiture that comes with it. I never sleep over, especially with someone new. I hate the awkwardness that follows—the dread of seeing each other in broad daylight and pretending we’re not reliving the night before in a haze of embarrassment or regret. I hate feeling the need for obligatory promises to call each other or get together again soon, while one or both of us act like we’re not dying to bolt for the nearest door.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as I swing my legs off the side of the mattress.
The urge to run is strong. How bad would it be if I just slipped out while he was in the shower? Will he even care? Maybe he’ll be relieved. After all, neither one of us came here with any expectations beyond last night.
I glance around for my clothes, then remember in vivid detail that Nick stripped them off me in front of the windows in the other room. Just the thought of his hands on me—his mouth on every inch of my bare skin—ignites a wanton stirring inside me. I sigh with the all-too-pleasant memory. I have a feeling I’ll be reliving last night in my mind, and in other body parts, for a damn long time.
Scooting out of the bed while the shower continues to run in the bathroom adjacent to the massive bedroom suite, I pad quickly into the living room to locate my clothing. Apparently, Nick’s been up for a while or else he doesn’t sleep much at all because it’s obvious he’s been out here while I slept. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee emanates from the kitchen. And instead of finding my jeans and sweater on the floor where they fell as he undressed me, they’ve been neatly folded and placed on a sleek white leather Barcelona chair. My lacy bra and panties rest on top.
I grab both and hastily put them on. By accident, I catch my reflection in the window glass and see the bed-tossed tangle of my pale blond hair. God, I don’t even want to think about what my face looks like after sleeping in yesterday’s makeup. To say nothing of my breath.
