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Wet and soft and tight. The eager grip of her body receiving his, her reluctant release. The hungry kiss of her spread lips against his groin when he gave her all of himself. The rippling spasms of her muscles and the bite of her nails into his shoulders as he stretched her, again and again.
“So good, Nichole.” Not baby or honey or sweetheart. She wasn’t any of those things to him, at least not while he was moving within her. Not like this. He needed to remember who she was. Remember the limit of what they were doing. He couldn’t afford to get lost in the feel of her body parting for him as he pushed deep inside of her, or how it clung to him, wet and tight, as he withdrew, or the sound of her soft mews as they moved together.
He teased her clit on each downward stroke, building the intensity of their contact until she stifled a quiet cry and the muscles of her body contracted around him, tightening toward the point of their union.
“So good, so good…” Her voice trailed off, low and breathy, stroking over his senses and bringing him closer to her. “Please…please….”
He moved inside her faster, harder. A sheen of sweat covered his body and every part of him worked to wrench out the sounds of her satisfaction, the release he would give her.
He drove into her, again and again. Her head tossed against the pillow. Harder. Her arms flung overhead to brace her against the wall. Faster. She sank her teeth into her lush bottom lip.
In and out, so wet, in and out, so close. They slammed together until her legs tightened at his waist and her scream ripped free. The viselike grip of her body seized around him, dragging him over the edge of ecstasy with her. Every one of his muscles tensed, and his focus narrowed until there was nothing but Nichole, beneath him, around him, for him, and everything he’d been holding back and fighting to restrain was in that instant, freed. Pouring out of him.
He buried his face in her hair, his cock still inside of her, and voiced the only words in his heart, “Nichole, Nichole, Nichole….”
Chapter Five
February 15th
Nichole awoke in a tangle of limbs, her body awash in the tender sensations of a night spent in the throes of ecstasy. Matt had loved her over and over, until the inky night sky washed gray and they finally, reluctantly, succumbed to sleep in each other’s arms.
Not wanting to move, she savored the feel of him next to her, his naked form against hers, holding her like he’d never let her go. His chest rose and fell in the rhythmic contentment of one deeply asleep. She wouldn’t let herself move, would barely breathe; she hoarded every second of this closeness, pretending that he loved her, until he awakened and life went back to normal.
She’d waited half a lifetime for last night, and the memory would have to sustain her through the remainder of her days. He didn’t want more. She might have b
een stupid to believe she would be satisfied with this trifling morsel of his love, but it was done—and when given the opportunity to taste his desire, she hadn’t been able to resist.
Her heart ached as she listened to the thrum of his heartbeat, felt the warmth of his skin beneath her cheek, and studied the way his muscles layered over each other to create the masterpiece of his chest.
He shifted and drew her tighter against him, until his rigid cock nudged her belly. His palm warmed as it caressed her hip and thigh.
She arched into him, rubbing as though she were merely adjusting in her sleep.
“Mmm. Nichole.”
Touch me, please.
Rocking against her, Matt groaned and rolled over her, so that his cock nestled against the slick of her sex.
He opened his eyes, and her heart stalled. She was terrified it would be a repeat of the awkward morning two months before where he’d been stunned to find her in his arms and fled the scene in a whirlwind of apologies. But as he looked down at her now, his gaze searched her face. He didn’t look startled. He knew who he was with. Knew how they’d gotten there—and he wasn’t running.
Neither was she.
Nichole’s soft blue eyes stared up at him, utterly open and trusting. After all of his resistance, the years of fighting urges and denying every need that had her name or scent wrapped around it, he’d finally given in and now here he was on top of her. If any other woman were beneath him, he’d already be reaching for a condom. But this was Nichole, and he wasn’t sure if last night’s arrangement carried over into the morning. Suddenly, standard protocol didn’t seem to apply.
She wet her lips and fixed her gaze on his mouth. “Just one more time?”
It took Matt an eternity packed into a single second to realize what she’d said and to recognize the blatant desire that burned in her eyes.
Hell, yes.
He knew that changing the rules of the game they’d agreed to last night might be dangerous, but after twelve years, just one more time seemed like a reasonable concession.
“Just one more time.” His mouth sought the long line of her neck, and her fingers wound into his hair. He closed his eyes, letting his brow skim her collarbone. She was so smooth.
Her legs wrapped around him, and her pussy dripped with a need that matched his own. She squirmed against him, trying to take him inside her, but he held her in place.
“Condom,” he rasped against her neck, damning the generations of thoughtless, reckless, promiscuous fucks who had made it a necessary courtesy for him to wait one damn second longer than was necessary to bury himself inside her.
