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But, then again, what about thiswasn’tpersonal?
“Say it,” he demanded, voice rough.
“Move, Cato,” I said, watching the heat slice across his pretty green eyes.
But then he was moving, and that was all there was in the world. Our bodies connected, the pleasure building.
I built slowly, almost painfully too.
But when the orgasm moved through me, it was at an unhurried pace as well. Deep, slow pulsations of pleasure that had me crying out and arching into it, into him.
His lips were on mine after, soft and coaxing, like his still-hard cock inside of me.
It wasn’t until I was whimpering and writhing again that he started to move more, fucking me harder and faster, driving me up once again.
But before I could come, he was grabbing me and flipping me onto my belly. His hands dug into my hips, yanking them up and back toward him while my front stayed on the bed.
He surged back inside of me, the position intensifying the sensation as he fucked me harder still, his hand slapping my ass, then the other going down to wrap my hair around his hand, doing little tugs, the little pains making the pleasure multiply until I was on the precipice again.
His hand slapped, my hair got tugged, and his cock surged deep.
And I fucking… shattered.
And I was pretty sure I cried outhis name.
“That’s a good fucking girl,” he ground out as he fucked me hard for another moment before slamming deep, and coming with a groan.
I came back slowly, collapsing onto my side, looking off at the room, trying to ground myself, get my head on right.
It was a surprisingly roomy space with deep green walls that, as someone who liked all things dark, I approved of.
The bedding was all black, and I had to give the guy props. He not only had extra pillows, but an actualheadboard.
God, what was it with guys not having headboards and only one pillow?
The bar was on the floor, I swear.
But this guy—Cato, I reminded myself—was raising it with his great color scheme, good quality bed, dressers, and nightstands, and the fact that the place was reasonably clean.
I needed to stop finding reasons to appreciate a man I was just using for sex.
It couldn’t be anything more than that.
I wanted to say that Ididn’t want it to be more than that. But I wasn’t sure that was exactly true anymore.
The fact remained, though, that I couldn’t have more.
So I just had to get over that desire.
“Be right back,” Cato said, giving my ass a little slap, then climbing off the bed, finding his pants, dragging them mostly up, then walking out of the room.
Presumably to the bathroom.
I didn’t hesitate.
I rolled off the bed, yanking up my skirt, and throwing on my shirt, then fisting my bra and panties, shoving my feet in my shoes, and rushing the fuck out of the room, trying to creep over the floorboards as I heard water running in a bathroom.
Then fuckingbooking itdown the stairs, through the front of the house, out into the driveway, and into my car.
