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Popping onto his forearms, he hovers over me, basking in the reflection of my eyes like he can see the sunshine in them. Lowering his hand between us, he positions himself at my entrance. This will be good. Just like every other time with him. “Do we go slow?” I hate that I even ask. Just flow with my instincts, I remind myself.
“I don’t want slow with you, Story.” Our mouths mold together as he pushes forward. The pressure strikes, and my body burns as I acclimate. But I’ll burn in hell if it always feels this great.
Tipping my head back, I try to regulate my breathing and debate if I should try some technique. “Story?”
“Yes?” My eyes bolt open. I realize that he’s staring at me. Cooper Haywood is inside me. I inhale deeply and calm my racing thoughts.
“All good?”
“Yes, so good.”
Comfort warms the concern on his face, and he says, “You feel amazing.” Dropping his head to my shoulder, he starts moving slowly at first, but like his promise, he speeds up, plunging deep within me. His breath is hot on my neck, and his hands are gliding over my skin. He’s on top of me, in me, and everywhere all at once.
Spreading my legs wider, I rock my hips against each of his thrusts, meeting him hard in the middle. My body takes over, and as sweat starts to coat our bodies, sliding slick against each other, he whispers words of beauty and praise, sensual and naughty things. I should cling to each one in case I’m never privy to the inner workings of this man’s mind, but one captures my attention, causing me to slow down—orange tights.
I have to smile from the obscure things Cooper remembers, but I’m also flattered he noticed. I begin to relax and enjoy the act of being together. Running my hand into his hair, I say, “I never want this to end.” Spoken the moment before his fingers find my clit, lightning strikes, and I’m quick to fall apart.
While my body is suspended in crushing bliss, his thrusts become erratic. Pushing up with his hands, he stares into my eyes as he makes love to me. And then his own release seizes to the edges of his psyche. His breathing deepens, then accelerates as his body fucks mine—kissing me, fucking me, biting and licking my neck until he groans, “Fuck.”
The weight of the universe fills his sated body as he lies on top of me, our bodies still bonded, our breathing still unsteady. When my own breathing is ragged, he rolls off me, one arm falling wide and half hanging off the bed. The other rests between us, and he holds my hand.
Bringing it to his mouth, he kisses the back of my hand and then waits until I look at him. I ask, “What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a virgin?”
15
Story
“Why didn’t you tell me that Haywood Hall is the same Haywood as your family tree?”
I ask, holding the sheet up to my neck as we stare at each other.
The silent standoff extends until he rubs his eyes and sighs heavily. Nothing in his expression tells me he wants to broach this subject. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to toss that out of nowhere, but my defenses kicked into gear. He says, “Long story.”
“A long history as well. I’ve walked through the doors of that building a thousand times over the years and seen the plaque proudly displayed beside them. It dates back to 1902.”
Anger has never entered his eyes, but I see a heaviness clouding them. I start regretting bringing it up after we just had such an amazing time. “I wouldn’t have known other than how much you avoided the subject every time it was brought up.”
“And now I just confirmed it.” Resolve fills in the line between his brows, and he looks at the ceiling.
I’ve lost the heat of his closeness and the touch of his hand. The cold air from outside starts to sneak in through the crevices of the old brick building, and a chill runs up my spine. Not wanting to lose what we just shared, I try to go back in time, and say, “I thought you could tell.”
He looks at me again. “Tell what?”
“That I was a virgin.”
His eyes widen. “By looking at you?” Turning his body toward me again, he strokes his temple. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Or touching me down there.”
“It was . . .” He struggles to find the words when he searches for them above my head. His mood softens his expression, and the right side of his mouth tilts up. “You felt amazing, but I don’t know what tipped me off. I think just how you reacted when I first entered . . . you know.” He closes his eyes. For a moment, he’s so peaceful that I consider closing mine, seeking the same. “I promise we’ll talk about Haywood Hall, but let’s have this conversation first. Is that okay?”
