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The constant slap of skin sounded like music, the increasing tempo coming to a crescendo, and without warning, I screamed out, every part of my body splintering apart as I clenched down on him, milking him until my knees nearly gave out. John grabbed me and held me still as he roared with his orgasm.
ChapterEighteen
Rayna
The crickets had gone silent by the time I roused from my sudden sexual blackout, and I found myself wrapped around a still-sleeping John, instinctively nestling into his body heat to chase away the cool air inside. I had left a window open.
Through the fluttering curtain, the full moon shone brightly through the window, telling me it was well past midnight, and I wished I didn’t have to think about anything but this man and this moment—but sadly, I did.
That orgasm he gave me defined the term earth-shattering, and I wondered if it had also shifted something inside him. It was clear I hadn’t had any idea of the size of the can of worms I’d been steadily opening when he had asked me to agree to the arrangement, and now I had no idea how to get the lid back on.
I knew we were only two lonely souls seeking comfort from each other…but now, it was more than that. I was involved in his life and engaged with his kids. I even knew about the man’s enemy, for God’s sake. Granted, there were still things I didn’t know, but I didn’t realize the extent of the life he had lived before he’d made his millions. I didn’t know anything about his extended family—if he had any, that was, nor did I know what made him tick.
Well, aside from my body.
He was the epitome of a sexy cowboy. Long, lean limbs that I knew were corded with muscle and sinew. As he was still sleeping, I trailed my fingers idly along the hard contours of his chest and smiled when the flat nipples hardened under my touch. Light brown furring covered his chest, the hair narrowing into a line over his abdomen, dipping over eight-pack abs leading…down…down…to the still sizable bulge of his quiescent manhood.
I lifted my gaze up, tracing the broad span of his shoulders and past the granite edge of his jaw to meet his eyes—opened eyes. He had been watching me all this time.
“Like what you see?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.
“Isn’t it obvious,” I replied, shoving my worries to the back of my head and hoping they would stay buried for a long while. “You’re a handsome man.”
“Tell that to my eighty-pound ten-year-old self.” He smiled, sliding a hand up my arm. “Or my buck twenty-fourteen-year-old self.”
“You were slender as a kid?” I frowned.
“Don’t believe me? Remind me to show you the pictures someday,” he replied, his fingertips trailing over my skin. “Life was messing with me for a very long time. I was a skinny, wisp of a kid, like a grass blade. I got all the nicknames, was teased within an inch of my life, got the stuffing knocked out of me for years until I was sixteen and then fate decided to change its mind. I shot up six inches in a year, got heavy, got some muscles on me, and soon I was standing taller than my bullies. Needless to say, they got real quiet and respectful around me all of a sudden.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You didn’t dish it back out to them?”
“No,” he grinned. “But they expected it every time I passed them by. That was more satisfying than stomping a mud hole up their assess.”
“Do you whisper such lovely sonnets to all the girls?” I teased.
“No,” he replied. “My mouth is better useful in dirty-talking lovely women to an orgasm.”
Reaching up, I kissed him softly, even though the sensation made my already sensitive nerves raw. I loved the rough rasp of his beard growth against my cheek and the calluses on his fingertips.
“I know,” I replied. “But right now, I want to learn more about you.”
His left eye squinted. “You want to learn more about my childhood? Why?”
“Why not?” I asked. “I want to know about the mettle that made you into the man you are now.”
An oddly sounding laugh left his mouth as he flopped on his back. “This is the strangest pillow talk I’ve ever had.”
“Humor me,” I said, resting my head on his arm.
“It’s not pretty,” John sighed, his arm skating under me to grip my opposing shoulder and pull me forward. His fingertips drummed on the crook of my collarbone and shoulder.
He told me stories about his childhood, a history that crossed the line between tragic and heartbreaking.
“My mom was a city girl who left to find a slower pace of life, but soon enough, that slow pace began creeping up on her, so she left my dad just after I was born. Never heard from her again. The last time I think I heard something about her, I was about eleven or twelve and heard she had made a big break somewhere, but when that movie bombed for its blatant sexism, she disappeared for a couple years.”
“That happens to many stars,” I said. “At least she didn’t start doing porn.”
“You spoke too fast,” he snorted. “That is exactly what she did, but it didn’t matter; she was out of our lives, and we were never in hers. My father raised me to never give up, even when times were slim. Then, I married my high-school sweetheart, and Emily stuck with me through the worst years. It’s a shame she didn’t see what came after that. When she died—"
