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He sounded as shocked as she felt. But the concern on his face was unsettling.
She let go of the bunk head to grab hold of tight muscular buns. “It feels marvelous. Now don’t you dare stop or I may have to castrate you.”
He gave a strained laugh and the moment of tenderness was gone. Thank goodness.
He pulled out, surged back, going even deeper, then established a devastating rhythm. The pressure built again slowly, surely, her sex clenching ’round the thick intrusion as his cock rocked against the perfect spot. Sweat slicked their bodies, dripping off him, his heavy testicles slapping against her bottom as his hips pistoned. The rhythm became faster, harder, more frantic.
She let go of his butt to find her clit, and stroke herself, desperate to come again ’round that thick girth before he climaxed. He sped up, his gaze locked on hers, in a furious race to the finish line.
“That’s it,” he said. “Make yourself come for me.”
She cried out, the sound echoing against the thin walls of the barge as sensation burst up from her core at his command. He grunted, then yelled, as he followed her over moments later, and collapsed on top of her.
Chapter Five
‡
Shit, shit, and double shit.
Ty dropped his forehead against Zelda’s shoulder, inhaled the light subtle flavor of her perfume—bergamot and citrus—over the scent of OJ, cilantro, and sweat-soaked sex, as his heartbeat punched his collarbone.
He slipped out of her, his body aching from the turbo-charged ejaculation, but kept his face buried in her neck as the last of the afterglow faded to be replaced by aftershock. The short strands of her hair tickled his nostrils as he struggled to bite back the groan of dismay.
Jesus H Christ. Had he actually just banged his little sister’s fancy friend from here to next week? Not to mention slung food around his place like a five-year-old on a sugar rush?
He hadn’t laughed so hard since he was a kid and his brother, Ronan, had managed to wedge his head in an empty whiskey barrel. There had been hell to pay when his mom had found them and all five of them had ended up going to bed with no supper and stinging butts, even his little sister, Faith. But he’d taken the brunt of the punishment, because he was the oldest and his mother expected him to be responsible and not let his brother stick his head in a whisky barrel on a bet.
Thoughts of his mother had the mortification slamming into him full force. He got up and grabbed his pants off the floor, tugging them on as a hefty dose of shame helped smother the last of the endorphin rush.
He’d lost control and banged a woman he barely knew. A woman who, until about fifteen minutes ago, he would have sworn he didn’t even like.
He hadn’t felt this guilty since he was twelve and he’d been caught by his pop paying Mary Jane Calhoun five dollars to look at her breasts behind the bandstand at the Fourth of July picnic.
Standing stiffly, he whipped off the condom before fastening his pants and heading to the bathroom, being careful not to look back at the object of his desire still lounging full length on the bunk.
He washed his hands and face, scrubbed a washcloth over his chest and picked the last of the pimentos out of his hair.
What the hell had he just done? Ever since the afternoon his mom had made him apologize to Mary Jane, he’d always tried to behave like a gentleman with women. But he’d just behaved like an animal with Zelda. Not to mention like a judgmental asshole.
He’d dedicated his career to helping the most vulnerable members of his society, and because of that, he’d
thought he was a better person than Zelda could ever be. He’d decreed Zelda was wild and reckless and shallow, that her problems were down to the bad choices she’d made in her charmed life. And because of that, he’d persuaded himself she didn’t rate his respect.
But he could see now his assumptions about her weren’t the whole truth. In fact, he was beginning to wonder now if they were even half of the truth. How many supermodels spent the day shoveling out someone else’s shit? Or looked just as stunning in a guy’s T-shirt as they did in a designer gown? Or were totally cool about letting a Brooklyn barber lose on the signature, golden locks that had made them a fortune?
And if Zelda Madison wasn’t vain or useless or a snob, how many other ways had he misjudged her?
He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, forced to finally acknowledge the worst of it. He’d judged and criticized Zelda for her willful behavior—right back to that day ten years ago when his palm had itched to give her a spanking he’d decided she richly deserved—because the truth was her wild behavior had turned him on.
He returned to the living room intending to survey the damage. And apologize to Zelda, not just for jumping her but for being such a damn hypocrite.
Contrary to his expectations though, Zelda still lay on the bunk, naked and relaxed and watching him—and not looking at all shocked by his dickish behavior. What she looked was satisfied.
With one slim arm stretched above her head and the neatly trimmed curls covering her sex, proving she was a natural blond, she was a golden Salome, her slender body unashamedly displayed like a smorgasbord of carnal delights.
Despite his guilt, his cock perked right up again.
He tried to get it to behave. But the insolent look in Zelda’s heavy-lidded eyes, bold and uninhibited, only made him recall how good it had felt to have her muscles milking him dry as she came.
