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I dropped my head back against the mattress only dimly aware of his pleased growl, as I flooded his hand, the letdown more a huge gush than a dramatic squirting.
His fingers didn’t let up a bit, still pumping me. “Good…more, slut. Keep going. I want more!”
Still more flowed out, and I could feel the growing patch of it soaking into the towel, against my buttocks, the fabric hot and wet where it touched my skin.
Finally, he relented, kneeling up, his arm back against the backs of my legs, holding me there folded, exposed, pinned. He languidly touched and caressed the tender flesh of my inner thighs, his clever fingertips painting patterns of my own wetness upon my skin.
“You soaked this bed, girl,” he murmured, but there was pure pleasure in his tone, even as he gave me an affected shake of his head. “You liked that. Didn’t you?”
I nodded, even as I was unable to meet his gaze, my belly quivering, the last remnant spasms still making me shiver and moan as they coursed through me. I wanted to curl up on my side, the sudden urge to shield myself as inexplicable as it was strong.
He didn’t let me, though, rearing up over me, working at the fly of his pants, pulling himself free, his cock hard once again. Without a single word, he pressed my thighs wide, and slid into my pussy in one slow, steady push, a long, shuddering gasp slipping from my mouth as he seated himself fully inside me, my tormented clit screaming, pleading as he ground his pubic bone against it slowly, a torturous tease we both knew I would not be able to endure for long.
“Just be still,” he murmured, pinning my hands to the bed at either side of my head, holding himself over me as he began a firm, insistent thrusting. In seconds, with each rasp of his pubic hair against my clit, I was on the knife’s edge of coming already, but in an entirely different way this time, despite how sensitive my tissues already were so soon after being forced to squirt—for the first time ever with Nick.
He stared into my eyes then as he took me, driving all the way inside with each thrust, so deep that it made my breath catch in my throat.
“Nick… Oh my god, Nick…so deep…sogood…!”
“I want you to come, Eva. Come on my cock. On yourhusband’scock.” He snapped his hips then, again and again, each thrust actually hurting a little—which only turned me on more. “Come on the cock that owns this cunt. That owns every fuckingpartof you!”
And I could hold it back no longer, wrapping my legs about his ass as I pushed back at him, my orgasm exploding through me at his last clever twist against my raging, desperate clit. I groaned, arching against the mattress, absorbing the heavy blows of his hips, his own breathing growing more and more ragged as the spasms of my pussy clamped the thick, driving shaft of him, my vision graying, pleasure bursting through every single part of my body, overwhelming me, drowning my senses in it.
He moaned then, his body jerking, hips pumping against me, his grip upon my wrists growing punishing as his semen poured into me yet again, filling me with the heat of him, the essence running out and along my cleft, tickling my ass as it joined the growing wetness soaking the towel beneath us.
Then he collapsed atop me, letting go of my hands as he breathed hard and fast. I moaned with pure pleasure, hugging him to me, wrapping my legs even tighter around the firm curves of his ass, as his full weight pressed me deep into the covers. I reveled in it, that feeling of being completely surrounded by strong, heavy, implacable maleness something I could never,ever, get enough of.
I hadn’t realized howterriblyI’d missed it.
And as he finally stirred, rolling behind me and gathering me up in his strong, muscular arms to pull me tight against him, I sighed with pure contentment.
For in that one moment, at least, nothing else mattered. Right or wrong, wise or foolish…it didn’t have to affect how good, howrightit felt.
To be in Nick’s arms once again.
I smiled then, murmuring as I pressed a kiss to his forearm, sleep swiftly taking me away.
Chapter 12
Friday
Nick
I found her in the kitchen.
Bleary-eyed, I’d stumbled toward the welcome smell of coffee, grateful to find her there, a hip poised against the side of the counter as she sipped from a mug, her dark hair long and free, wild against the white fabric of the sheet wrapped about her luscious form.
“Made you some,” she said, looking over at me, a hint of a smile just playing at the corners of her mouth.
“You’re…an angel,” I murmured, scooping up the steaming mug, sipping the hot liquid, finally almost reviving me to a semblance of consciousness.
She stared out the big window that let the light pour into the kitchen, the twin recessed lights above the big, farm-style sink shining down upon her, the morning outside just past dawn, the sky brightening, but still gray with overcast. It had rained again overnight, the concrete pad of the back patio wet, puddles sullenly reflecting the wan light of the new day.
Then I spotted the manila envelope on the kitchen counter. It definitely hadn’t been there last night.
That’s…not good.
But the dark blue envelope, not yet opened, still sat where it had been for weeks, atop the dining room table.
