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“Please make me come, Nash. I need it. I need you. I need you to fuck me with that huge cock until I come.”
The pure masculine growl fills the room as he fucks me so hard I can’t breathe. The slap of our bodies, the sweat forming on our skin, the banging of the headboard on the wall—we’re both taken over by this savage lust as his big body moves over mine. My orgasm washes over me in long, crushing waves but Nash doesn’t stop moving. “Take me, take me, take all of me,” he yells until he stiffens. I feel him swell even bigger somehow, and then his body convulses as his hands tighten on me, squeezing me too hard. I love it. He groans into my neck, nearly sobbing my name as he comes, and I hold him as tight as I can, wishing there was no condom, wishing I could be sticky and covered and filled with his cum.
He stays there on top of me, gasping, slowly pulling and pushing his cock in and out of me, wringing out every last drop of our pleasure. He murmurs my name and rolls us over, still inside me, so that my face is on his chest.
My body is trembling with aftershocks. I am deliciously bruised and will be so sore tomorrow. “I’m not really frigid, am I?” I ask into the dark when my heart slows and breath returns to my lungs.
“No, Gertrude. I’m certain of it.”
I smile into his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. He takes care of the condom, brings me water, and slides into bed. I intend to go to my own room, but sleep steals my ambition.
When I wake up, it’s to Nash rearranging my limbs and trying to sneak out of bed without waking me up.
Chapter Seven
Nash
THE COMPLICATED MANEUVERSof getting out of bed without waking the other person up are completely new to me. I haven’t woken up with someone in my bed before. I don’t bring women to my bed. I only accept invitations to bed when my partner knows I’m not staying after.
It was a mistake to sleep with Tru. The sex was off the charts, but the post-cuddle should never have happened. She’s in a vulnerable place, and she’s going to equate orgasms with deeper meaning. If I’d have gently returned her to her own bed last night, she’d know where we stand, but no, I did everything exactly wrong and now I have to extricate myself from my own bed.
I manage to roll her over onto her own side in a move I’m ashamed to admit I learned from Chandler Bing. I’m moving as slowly and gently as I can when her voice stops me cold.
“Where are you going?”
I feel like I’m in the spotlight. Maybe not on stage, more like a police flashlight—caught red-handed. “Bathroom,” I manage.
“Then why are you sneaking out of bed?”
She props her chin on her hand and studies me, not saying a word.
“I’m not sneaking. It’s my house, my bed, and my bladder. If I want to go the bathroom, I don’t need to run it by you first.”
Her eyes widen in surprise and then she laughs. “You’re a little touchy. Usually you’re in a much better mood in the mornings.” She stretches indulgently, the sheets riding low enough for me to catch the tops of her rosy breasts.
Morning wood just became a fucking Redwood tree.
