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That’s what she’d wanted. What she’d needed. To be given permission to let go and come. Throwing her head back, feeling her hair move down her back, she screamed as she came.
As soon as those first few trembles of her orgasm began, he grabbed hold of her hips and started driving himself into her. He was relentless. There was nothing soft or slow.
He was fucking her.
He rolled them and she found herself on her back with her hands above her head, her wrists trapped in his large hand. With his other hand, he held himself up, so she wasn’t taking all of his weight.
Then he started fucking her again. She wrapped her legs around his hips as best she could, holding on for the ride.
When he came, she was so close to the edge once again that a whimper of need escaped her. He released her hands, kissing her hungrily as he remained settled inside her. She loved having him inside her. It made her feel connected to him.
“I need to go clean up,” she said.
“No.”
“Um. There’s a wet patch.”
He shifted them over so he was on his back and she was lying on his chest once more. Somehow, he kept them connected. His dick was still semi-hard inside her.
“Now, there’s no wet patch.”
“We can’t sleep like this.”
With a yawn, he turned out the bedside lamp, wrapping one arm around her tight. “Yes. We can.”
There was no way. She needed to clean up. He was still inside her.
Not . . . happening . . .
She kept thinking that even as she drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER6
APRIL
April was in a crabby mood the next day.
She had a low level headache and everything was irritating her. From the feel of the clothes against her skin to the food options in the pantry and fridge. The coffee she’d had this morning didn’t taste right and everything around her was so freaking annoying!
Logically, she knew it was a lack of sleep as well as the stress of yesterday and probably a bit of an adrenaline drop, causing her to feel this way.
But the logical part of her brain wasn’t really working today.
“Urgh!” She slammed the pantry door closed. Unfortunately, it was one of those soft-close doors, so it didn’t make a satisfying noise as it shut.
And that irritated her too!
“What did the pantry door do to you, baby?” Trent asked as he walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a red and black flannel shirt and a pair of worn jeans.
God. He looked good enough to eat.
He’d just been on the phone to his brothers, explaining everything. He should be there, having fun. Not putting up with her and her bad mood.
“Nothing,” she muttered, trying to push her bad mood to one side. “Is Ben good? Not mad at me?”
He frowned, staring at her for a long moment. Then he drew a stool out from under the kitchen island and crooked a finger at her.
“Come here.”
