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CLARA
Iwoke up to the sound of light snores. Tatum? I shifted my head on the warm plane of his broad chest where I’d conked out the night before and looked up. Yup, it was him. Wait, the most perfect man I knew snored? This was the first time I’d ever woken up before him. Usually, he’d showered by the time I opened my eyes. Real sex must have worn him out in a way fooling around didn’t.
How very human of him, considering he otherwise acted like a relentless machine. I don’t think the man slept more than five hours a night. He certainly fucked like a machine, all that strength, those muscles and sinews shifting above me as he worked his hard cock inside me. A shiver swept through me at the memory.
Now that I knew what it felt like getting fucked by him, I was almost angry with myself for depriving myself these past few weeks. I could’ve been having this kind of out-of-body experience sex this whole time. What had I been thinking?
Not wanting to wake him, I carefully lifted my head and found myself curled up on top of him like a cat on its owner’s lap. Only this owner had his hand possessively stamped on my ass.
Long, tawny eyelashes shadowed the perfect shelf of his sharply edged cheekbones. He had a strong straight nose, which was unusual in our world. Most men have had their noses broken once or twice. It spoke to the fact that he was either wise to get out of senseless scuffles, or he was such a dirty—I mean good—fighter he rarely got his ass whipped.
Lightly scraping my nails over the bristles of his square jaw reminded me of the abrasion he’d left on my inner thighs only hours before. His golden mane was a riot of messy curls, no remnants of the hair product he used to bring them under control.
He took my breath away.
His heavy-lidded bedroom eyes dragged open. Dark pools of shiny onyx stared back at me.
Busted.
I was caught checking him out.
One side of his sculpted, lush lips ticked up.
A cocky smirk.
“My queen,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and unused.
My tummy dipped at his greeting. His queen. God, did I want that label to be true.
He bent down and slanted his mouth over mine for a kiss. I felt his hard shaft near my hip and pressed down, my way of signaling I wanted more.
He broke off our kiss and said, “Uh-uh, we missed dinner last night, and I’m certain you’re sore this morning. Plus, we need to shower since you fell asleep with my come painted on you.”
My pussy clenched. Who spoke that way? I mean, seriously. It was impossible to not melt over words like those.
“Oooo…a shower,” I said, perking up as I rubbed myself against him again. I was shameless, but I didn’t much care if it got him between my thighs again.
“Not together,” he growled. “I just finished saying you’re sore. If we take a shower together, there’s not a chance in hell I won’t fuck you again. Getting inside you after weeks of restraint, I’m not going to be able to hold back, so off you go… alone.”
I gave him a forlorn look.
“Don’t pout at me, girl, not unless you want to be taught a lesson. I assumed it was a little early for that, but I can accommodate you.”
“Ugh, you’re such a taskmaster,” I said as I rolled over to the end of the bed and jumped down.
I winced and he was on me in an instant.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” he scolded.
“Well, it didn’t hurt until I stood up,” I argued.
His face turned to stone. “It hurts?” he asked, in a low dangerous tone.
“No, it twinges. It was a twinge,” I insisted. “Just a twinge.”
“Uh-huh,” he replied in a disbelieving tone, sweeping me up into his arms and striding into a huge bathroom decorated in elegant white and gray tones.
Placing me gently on the marble counter, he bent over and twisted open the knob of a sleek, vintage clawfoot soaking tub, set against an accent wall of white marble with gray veining.
