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I dismiss the wonder as simply a gut reaction to bedding a man I’ve lusted over for so long. He can touch me anywhere.
Especially when his hair is mussed from the pillows, and his lazy hands and mischievous smirk transmit all sorts of filthy ideas.
He is doing crazy things to my head.
My cheeks heat as I correct him. “I don’t think what we’re doing here can be classified as nothing.”
He laughs. “Touché, mon amour.”
It’s just an expression. I’m not his love. He doesn’t love me.
And I don’t love-him-love-him, I’m simply aroused by every little thing about him. Except when he opens his mouth and says the exact wrong thing. But today, he’s saying all the right things.
“But,” he continues, tracing a lazy path from my navel down to my thigh, then around to cup one cheek of my rump. “It’s less strenuous on the brain than reading. And burns more calories than your morning run.”
I hoot with laughter. “Sex most certainly does not burn even close to the same amount of calories as running.”
“The way I do it does,” he says.
“Braggart.” I playfully tweak his nipple—more gently than the last time.
“Madam,” he growls, fisting my wrists together and pinning them above my head on the pillows. “You keep doing that to correct me, but it only makes me harder for you.”
Indeed, I can feel it.
I smirk up at him. “I would wager you were already hard before I did that.”
“I wouldn’t want to take that bet,” he says, then ends the conversation by slanting his face over mine in a dominating kiss. My toes curl when he licks into my mouth like a wild thing, not caring one bit about letting me kiss back. His mouth owns mine as his erection presses into my pelvis.
I’d rather have that thing between my thighs.
Automatically, I slide my legs around him, noticing his energy shift once he comes in contact with my wetness.
“What a naughty girl,” he muses, kissing down to the base of my throat, which only makes me hotter, wetter.
To my frustration, he pulls back, letting go of my wrists.
“What are you going to do with your naughty girl?” I ask, getting myself to get used to dirty talk.
Kissing his way down my body with loud, wet, slow smacks, he answers, “Give her a good tongue lashing.”
My laughter is short-lived, because soon, Etienne is no longer kissing but parting me with his thumbs and worshiping my clit so furiously that I come almost instantly.
“Such a good girl. You come so good and hard for me,” he murmurs, still tonguing me beyond what I can handle, his words wringing out surge after surge of pleasure from my body.
What I really want is for him to wreck me completely. Drive into me with his cock.
Fuck me, fill me, explode in me until I’m so full that your cum flows down my legs.Don’t stop until you put a baby in me.
But that’s not what we’re doing here. We’re messing around, and we’re absolutely not going to bring a baby into a fake marriage.
Now that my head’s on straight again, I keep my mouth shut and enjoy the ride.
25
Etienne
Kala may have lost a bet, but she does surprisingly little complaining about it.
