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Four years ago.
I’M STILL LYING on the bed, propped up on my elbow, the white sheet wrapped around my waist, when Dayna walks out of my en-suite. I could have got ready five times, she’s been in the shower that long. Instead, I’ve been lying here with a goofy grin on my face that I just can’t shift, waiting for this moment.
She smiles as she comes back into the room, her hair wet, her skin clean, fresh, exquisite.
“Has anyone told you how gorgeous you are?”
She giggles, a sound that warms me to the core. “You need to get ready, Clark.”
“Just let me see. Just one quick look then I’ll get ready.”
Her lips curl into a lopsided smile as she slowly unhooks her towel, holding it closed with her hands. “What’s in it for me?”
“What would you like?”
She looks to the ceiling and hums, making me laugh. “A movie night. My choice. None of that boy crap. A chick flick.”
“Deal.”
“And popcorn. Copious amounts of popcorn. Made properly, in the pan, and you have to make it.”
“Okay.”
“Hmm, and ice cream, Belgian chocolate.”
“Is that everything?”
She bites her lip, and my cock hardens almost instantly. She opens her towel and lets it fall to the ground.
I dart from the bed and grab her waist, throwing her over my shoulder. “Sweet Jesus, this body.”
I place her down on the bed and hover over her, my nose almost touching hers. “You drive me crazy, Dayna Cross.”
She slips her hand between us and cups my erection. “Good crazy?”
I growl as she rubs my dick. “Fucking awesome crazy.” I grind against her and press my lips to hers, dipping my tongue inside to taste her, fresh and minty.
“We’ll be late for lunch,” she says, as breathless as I am.
“Don’t care.” I worm down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the soft plump flesh of her amazing tits.
I don’t want to be with anyone else. Since the night we met four weeks ago, all I’ve wanted to do is wrap her up and keep her all to myself. She unnerves me, messes with my head in a way I can’t control. But somehow, being with her puts me at ease. I don’t need to lash out or drink. I don’t want to score women and gamble. Being with her, this, is enough. She’s everything I need.
I try not to think about how much that worries me, and I work down past her navel. I push up her knees, lick my fingers and part the lips of her sweet cunt.
“Clark.” The way she says my name, a whispered, lustful plea, makes me desperate to be inside her. She’s the first woman I’ve ever gone bare with, and Christ, does she feel like magic, every muscle, every crease and fold.
“Why are you saying my name, baby?”
“I want you inside me.”
I crawl over her, holding my dick to position it at her entrance. I take her hands, interlacing my fingers in hers, and hold them to the mattress, looking into those deep brown eyes as I push into her. The feel of her takes over everything, every rational thought, my mind, my body. She is everything.
When we’ve taken every piece of pleasure from each other, I collapse onto her chest, and she wraps her arms around me, kissing my head, stroking my hair. My heart hammers under my ribcage, and I don’t know if it’s the workout or just being here, with her, that makes it hard to breathe.
“We’re really going to be late now,” she says.
THERE’S A FIRST time for everything. That doesn’t make me any less nervous about taking a girlfriend home to meet my family. I’m twenty-eight years old. It’s verging on ridiculous. I’ve bagged enough women, but I’ve never wanted to bring one home.
