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He stays seated deep inside as we slide down from our high. I press my lips to his collarbone, luxuriating in the salty taste of his skin. I may have just given him a piece of me, but he’s given me something in return: freedom.
Plus, two amazing orgasms I’ll never forget.
He lifts his head and touches his nose to mine. “You okay?”
“Mmm-hmm. You?”
“More than okay.” His grin is positively deadly. It should be illegal for someone to have a smile like his.
Fireflies do a break dance in my stomach; a warm flush spreads over my skin even though I try not to read too much into those words. He can’t possibly mean I rocked his world like he just rocked mine.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have to warn you, I could get addicted to your pussy. Touching it. Kissing it. Fucking it.” His lips find a vulnerable spot by the corner of my mouth. “How much touching, kissing, and fucking do you think it can take?”
Oh my God, his words alone are going to make me come. I open my mouth to say something equally sexy, like, I can take as much touching, kissing, and fucking as he can dole out, and then…
His stomach growls. “Ignore that,” he says between kisses to my neck. “I have more important appetites to satisfy.”
“Hey now.” I tip my head to give his lips free range. “Did you or did you not invite me over for dinner and sex?”
“You’re right. I did. Can you eat while I touch, kiss, and fuck you?”
“I don’t know…” I trail off when his mouth roams into a ticklish zone. “It might present a choking hazard.”
“Fair point.” He straightens and gives me a raised eyebrow and a smile made for temptation. “Sure you want dinner now?” As he asks, he moves inside me once—as if he really is addicted and hates to abandon his new favorite thing—but before he can do anything more, his stomach rumbles again. Loud.
We both laugh, then I say firmly, “Dinner. Afterward we’ll see about more touching, kissing, and fucking.”
“Promise?” He phrases it as a question, but his smirk is too much. He’s a bad, bad boy, and he knows it. With one hand holding the base of the condom and one pressed almost protectively against my body, he gently pulls out. I miss his warmth immediately.
He picks up my dress and panties. When he hands them to me, his knuckles brush mine. Electricity skitters up my arm. Our gazes collide. I break eye contact first so we can right ourselves before sitting back down at the table. I’m pleasantly sore and have a hard time hiding my happiness, the corners of my mouth pulling up no matter how hard I try to keep my face neutral.
What just happened between us was magical. I’ve had years to imagine what it would be like to lose my virginity, and this far exceeded my dreams. Vaughn’s touch, his taste, his smell, flooded my senses, keeping me rooted in the single most intimate moment of my life. That we talked while we moved with each other heightened our connection. We may have just fucked, but it was more than a simple fuck. For that, I’ll always be grateful he was my first.
Vaughn steps over to the barbecue island to wash his hands in the small sink. He returns as I finish dressing and laces our fingers to lead me back to the sectional. He motions for me to sit first then takes the spot beside me. Energy continues to crackle between us as I spread some cheese on a slice of bread and take a bite. Wipe a crumb off my lip. Catch him watching me.
“I have some exciting news,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“I got a summer job.”
He makes a face in surprise, still managing to look incredibly hot. My body temperature spikes for a second, remembering the feel of him inside me.
“You’re looking at the assistant coordinator for Art In Progress, it’s this fantastic…” I babble for several minutes about the organization and what I’ve been up to since starting work there two days ago.
When I finally stop to take a breath, Vaughn leans over and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “You’re amazing. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“You said the art exhibit is on Wednesday. Are you doing anything Thursday night?”
I pop a cheese square into my mouth. “Are you asking me out on another date?”
“I am. I’ve got passes to Laney Albright’s album release party, and I’m hoping you’ll go with me.”
My stomach tightens. A public date with the next possible host of America Rocks to celebrate last season’s winner is like walking down the street with a boa constrictor around my neck. All eyes will be on us. I twist the stem of my glass and try for a smile. “That’s really nice of you to ask, but I can’t.”
“You have plans already?”
