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My teeth press into my bottom lip for a second. “I am too, and I’m on birth control.”
“We don’t have—”
Bringing my hand to palm his cheek, I whisper, “I want to,” and spread my legs in invitation.
Without another word, he pushes inside me, and I fight not to close my eyes so I can keep my gaze locked on his. He moves slowly, almost languidly, in and out of me. All the while, his lips trail over my skin. He drags his tongue from my collarbone to my neck to the shell of my ear, where he whispers how good I feel, how he can’t believe he found me, what an amazing woman I am.
The drag and pull of his cock pushes me closer to orgasm, and when he swivels his hips once he’s fully seated, a soft moan leaves my lips. He repeats the motion until I’m spilling over the edge of a waterfall, coming on a soft cry, and clinging to him.
It might not be the most intense physical orgasm I’ve ever had. But emotionally, it’s by far the most powerful.
He follows me over seconds later, then he drops some of his weight onto me. We cling to each other until he softens inside me.
Our hearts beat in tandem while I try to right my world once again. What just happened wasn’t fucking, it wasn’t sex, it was a whole lot more. We made love, and it’s hard to feel as though something hasn’t shifted between us.
He gets up off me, mumbling something about cleaning up the two of us, and I can’t help feeling nervous over what his reaction to what just happened might be.
Will his past cause him to pull away? Will he double down?
He must collect himself in the bathroom for a moment, because he takes a few minutes to return. But when he does, it’s clear he hasn’t shuttered himself off. His eyes tell me everything I need them to—he’s still in this.
Andrew brings a warm washcloth over to me and cleans me up before throwing the washcloth in my laundry bin. Then we slip under the covers, and he draws me in so I’m half lying on his chest. He strokes his fingertips along my spine while I let my own drift aimlessly over his pecs.
I’m not sure what to say about what just happened and perhaps he doesn’t know either, because for a while, neither of us speaks. When he finally does, it has nothing to do with us.
“Are you feeling ready for the firm’s party in a few days?”
“I have a few final details to button up, but I’m confident they won’t be an issue.”
I feel rather than see him nod. “It’s going to be weird seeing you there and pretending we’re acquaintances. Maybe we should—”
“Andrew, it’s fine.”
On the drive home from the resort last weekend, we talked about whether I should be his date for the party. A big part of me wants to be on his arm, but at the same time, I’m there to do a job. I’d hate for my professionalism to be questioned or for people to think I got the job because I’m sleeping with Andrew.
For his part, he doesn’t want any of his coworkers up in his personal business. I’m not sure if that’s because of his past or if he’s just the kind of guy who likes to keep business and pleasure separate, but we agreed that it’s best to act as though we have a platonic relationship at the party. It doesn’t mean that no one at his work will ever know that we’re together. It’s just easiest for now.
I tilt my head up to meet his gaze. “We agreed it’s for the best right now.”
His lips form a thin line, and he nods.
Smiling, I trail my fingers through the front of his hair where the streak of gray is. “Have you always had this?”
“Yeah.” His lips tip down a bit. “It even has a name.”
“It does?”
He nods. “It’s called a Mallen streak. God, the kids teased me endlessly about it in primary school.” The light in his eyes dims a bit as though he’s remembering how bad it was.
I shift myself up and straddle him, pushing my hand through the gray streak again. “Well, I love it. I think it’s sexy.”
Andrew’s hands settle on my hips. “You do, do you? How sexy?”
I feel his shaft grow harder beneath me.
“Super sexy,” I say, leaning in to give him a kiss.
“Well, as long as you think it’s sexy, that’s all that matters.” His hands coast up and down the sides of my body and my nipples pucker.
