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“Shit… god… yeah…”
We both laugh.
He circles my clit with his thumb and I jump my hips only fractionally, another orgasm shunting through me, making him cringe as I squeeze so hard, no doubt it hurts.
He sits up and we switch the positioning of our legs so mine are wrapped around the back of him. Albie bands his arms around me, cupping my buttocks, and thoroughly sucks my abused breasts as we rock together.
“Ah god,” I cry, as something new begins to build inside me.
“Yeah,” he groans.
“Yeah,” I echo.
I grip his hair and lick the length of his throat, dragging a growl from his chest that emboldens me. Leaning my body back slightly, I allow him take more of my weight and control the tempo of my rocking over his cock, him never once slipping out because of the perfect fit.
With one hand around his neck and my other on my clit, that leaves him to focus on his own pleasure and throw me rampantly up and down on his cock.
It is as if I wake from a dream once it’s over, unable to remember the sheer euphoria of sharing a climax with Albie Hart. The sheets are barely still on the mattress and as we lie down in the pillows, we’re surrounded by loosened bedding and damp spots we only just manage to avoid.
I bury my face in his throat, drape my body on top of his and chuckle when he tosses a leg around me. With his hands in my hair, mine in his, I want to cry but by sheer force of will, I stop myself.
Though as the dreaded post-coital hormones kick in, all sorts of emotions rush through me, and I can’t help but be overwhelmed by it all.
“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” I whisper, desperate not to cry. I have to pinch my bottom lip really hard between my teeth.
He strokes my hair and lifts my face to his, raining tender kisses on my cheeks, forehead, then my mouth. We kiss like silly lovesick fools for a while, then he pulls back again.
“I meant it.” He gulps, lips trembling. “I love you, Mira.”
“I know. I love you, too.” I can’t help the confession, having sensed it’d break his heart not to reciprocate, especially when I know how difficult it is for him to show any emotion that’s even remotely real.
Especially when it’s true.
I love him. I love him so much, I’m on fire with it.
I’ve always loved him—and I know that he loves me.
“I’ve loved you forever,” I whisper, then the tears begin to flow.
My sex fiend rears his head, growling in response, and I’m swiftly entered once again, my howls of joy eviscerating all those sad thoughts I ever had before.
Chapter Nine
Having slept the afternoon away, and then made dinner together, it’s now late evening and we’re in the bath. Albie’s legs are so long, his knees are ludicrously above water. My feet are placed on his chest and he keeps biting my toes like a terrorist. Most of the bubbles have gone overboard and the few that remain have been comically piled on top of his head or spread across his chest hair. I feel even more naked in here than I did earlier—when we made love in broad daylight. In here, I can’t help but feel like there’s no hiding myself, not with him. He’s so confident of his naked body while I feel deeply inadequate in comparison and still keep thinking this is all a joke.
“What’s that frown for?” he says, scowling dramatically. “Why is my lady unhappy?”
“I’m not, I’m just…”
“What?” he demands.
“I’m just… processing, that’s all.”
“Right, no, we’re not having this.”
He yanks himself up and I’m sure half the water goes with him, sploshing over the sides. I yell at him for being so bloody ridiculous! Thank god for all my bathmats! He stands in the water, between my legs, his hairy body sopping wet—rivers pouring off him. I have to look right up and at his big bollocks and that generous shlong.
“Shift forward, I’m coming in behind you. Not having my woman with a frown on her face.”
