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I feel his hands seize my hips even harder as he drives himself in my pussy one last time. His thick cock jerks against my heat as he unloads his passion inside of me, branding me and it feels almost as good as my own orgasm just did.
With a final convulsive jolt of his body and a groan, he lets his powerful frame cover mine completely, his arms tightening around me possessively. “Oh, Lynn…”
My name escapes his lips like a prayer.
He grasps me to him and turns us on our sides so that my body is no longer pressed onto the mattress, and one of my hands slides down to cover his trembling arm.
We both remain silent for a while, waiting for our ragged breathing to return to normal, his heart thumping like mad against my back, its rhythm matching the one beating in my own chest.
A strange feeling of contentment envelops me, and, for a moment, I let myself bask in the warmth of it. Then Devon starts to trail soft kisses on my shoulder, back, and neck, and he does it in such a loving, almost devoted fashion that I feel tears pricking at my eyes.
I've never felt more treasured in my life than I do at this moment with him, and I really wish I could stay in it forever, but I know reality will intrude soon.
I try to keep it at a distance for a few more minutes, focusing on the loving feeling of his arms embracing me so protectively, his hot, now relaxed breath on the back of my neck, our skin glued together, the smell of our passion clinging to the air, whiffs of his unique manly scent and the delicious cologne he uses reaching my nostrils.
I’ve often mocked him for it, asking him more than once to refrain from throwing a bucket of the stuff on his head after each shower, claiming it gave me allergies and I could not stand it, going as far as opening a window or two to drive the smell of the cologne away from the room.
Now I know I was lying about it to him and to myself. That’s why Jane always shook her head when I mentioned it, laughing indulgently. The damn fragrance is fucking mouth-watering on him. I hope they keep on producing and selling it for the next fifty years.
This recollection is enough to burst the bubble of my euphoria. I hate the man so much that I invented a freaking allergy to his scent because I could not let myself admit how fucking hot he smelled, and now, somehow, I'm in bed with him, enjoying amazing sex with him like it's no big deal?
"You are so very beautiful, my love," he croons sweetly. I never knew this guy could be sweet.
A ruthless businessman?
A pain in the ass?
Yes…
But sweet?
Sweet doesn't fit Devon. Not the Devon I know, at least.
He moves from behind me, helping me to lie on my back, the coolness of the sheets posing such a contrast to my hot skin that the contact makes me sigh and shiver.
He lets himself drop alongside me, one of his hands caressing my jaw, his aqua-green eyes gazing down at me, his dark hair, slightly in need of a trim, disheveled, a lazy grin spreading on his full lips.
“Good morning, love,” he says, his voice full of softness, his thumb gently running down the side of my face.
I feel myself flush red, suddenly conscious as never before of our nakedness, of the intimacy of what we're sharing. An intimacy that followed something that he clearly remembers. Something that I completely forgot.
I stare at him wide-eyed for a long moment, searching my mind for words that could make sense, and in the meantime, I reply to his playful greeting with more than a tinge of uneasiness in my voice. “Devon… good… good morning.”
Almost like in a trance, I see myself reaching a hand up to his face, my fingertips brushing the little locks of black hair that the sweat of our exertion has plastered to his forehead.
His eyes drift closed for a moment as he enjoys my caress, and then he turns his mouth toward my palm and kisses it a couple of times, grinning at me again, his amazing eyes searching my features for something, reassurance, maybe.
I must be going crazy.
Reassurance is the last thing a man like Devon Welton needs or wants.
Right?
As he looks at me, I spot something else in those amazingly bright green pools of his.
But what is it?
“Love?” he calls for me, his lips pressing to my forehead. “Love, are you okay?”
