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Each smooth, sinuous stroke drove me further over the edge. He kissed me, dragging his lips to my jaw to rain tiny kisses down my throat. His slight stubble rasped against my skin; the sound mingled with our gasps and pounding heartbeats. He smoothed the sweaty strands of hair from my cheek and dropped his head to my shoulder.
“There are so many things I want to do to you,” he groaned. “But I need to come inside you now.”
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. “Well, we still have a whole box of those things,” I said, nodding toward the floor.
He laughed, his thrusts gaining intensity and speed. I screamed again when he slid his hand between us and found my slick, swollen nub. The sound echoed with his own roar as he pounded into me, finally slowing and falling on top of me. His breathing was as ragged as mine and our hearts hammered in our chests.
“I can’t move,” he murmured into my hair.
“I don’t want you to,” I said, wracked by aftershocks and the feeling of him still inside me.
I locked my arms around his neck and breathed in his scent, hanging on to the moment for as long as I could.
Chapter 11 - Roman
I finally rolled to the side after laying, obliterated, on top of Karine for several long minutes. I was shocked by the intensity of our first time together, her first time ever, and shaken to the core by it. How was it possible that someone so inexperienced had been so perfect?
As I came back to my senses, I tucked my arm under her head and pulled her close to my chest, not wanting to lose the moment. For the first time, I got a good look at the room we’d ended up in, in some seedy roadside tourist trap. The curtains were a dark green palm frond pattern and the wall sconces were beige ceramic seashells. A large wooden pelican sat on the pale, fiberboard desk, and a scuffed flat screen tv shared the wall opposite the bed with a painting of a lighthouse that looked like it would be more at home in Maine than Miami.
“What a dump this place is,” I said, feeling like I should apologize for bringing her there.
“I kind of like it,” she said. “I mean, how many four-star hotels will give you this kind of ambiance?”
“None, or they wouldn’t have four stars,” I said, liking the sound of her giggles and joining in.
When was the last time I had so much fun? Not just the amazing sex, which was phenomenal, but when had I laughed so much? I couldn’t remember. I hugged her closer, not wanting reality to intrude yet.
“It’s your turn to pick again,” I told her. “What do you want to do next?”
She made a big show of thinking it over, her answer shocking me more than the request to skydive.
“I want to go home and cook my husband his favorite meal,” she said.
Once again I thought she was joking, but she wasn’t and I was touched. She dragged herself out of my embrace and started getting dressed, asking what I wanted her to cook. It was good she was loosening up, maybe even falling for me already, which was exactly what I wanted. She kept adorably guessing my favorite meal and I kept telling her she was wrong just to see her screw up her pretty face and keep thinking. There was no way I was going to fall for her just because she was being so sweet. It would only take one wrong word and she’d turn back into the ice princess again.
I got dressed and we headed home, stopping at a grocery store where I finally admitted I wanted plain old pasta and meatballs. She made me swear up and down I wasn’t picking something easy, assuring me she could cook anything. But that was what I wanted, so we pushed the cart side by side, putting ingredients in and, mildly quarreling about different brands and pretending to be shocked by the high prices. Just like a real married couple.
I should have felt stupid, but I didn’t. I was having a great time. And what was so wrong with enjoying myself as long as I got the job done?
At home, I insisted on helping and she gave me some little chores to do that wouldn’t interfere with her culinary magic, as she called it. I chopped the vegetables for a salad and set the table, then when there was nothing left to do, I just sat at the kitchen table and watched her.
Once we got home, she had changed back into her green sundress and padded back and forth from counter to stove on her bare feet. Her shiny blonde hair was piled into a bun on top of her head, a few strands dancing around her cheeks that she kept blowing out of her eyes now and then. It was better than any TV show.
Pretty soon I was eating the most delicious spaghetti and meatballs in my entire life, maybe the best meal, hands down. I gobbled it up, starving after the eventful day. When she finally huffed, wanting to know what I thought, I sat back and made a big show of loosening my belt.
“You can throw a punch, fly through the air like a paratrooper, and cook like a Michelin chef. What else can you do?”
Her joyful grin was worth the extravagant compliment, and the mischievous look in her eyes made my blood race.
“Why don’t you wait and see,” she said, pushing aside her plate and the serving dish and crawling onto the table.
Reaching for me, she slid her hand behind my head and pulled me close for a kiss that rocked me forward to tangle my fingers in her bun. After another second, she was on my lap, tugging at the buttons on my shirt that I’d changed into.
“Pop them,” I growled, unzipping her dress and shoving it down her shoulders.
Once her pert tits were free, I leaned down to nuzzle each one, enjoying her soft moan as much as I’d enjoyed the dinner. Who was I kidding? Much more than that. Nothing could be more tasty than Karine. She straddled my lap, nearly tipping the kitchen chair backwards, but I hurriedly grabbed the table to keep us upright.
With frenzied hands, she hoisted her skirt up around her hips and ground against my stiff cock, about to burst out of my jeans.
