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I arched, letting out a stuttering breath, riding the pleasure while being ridden in return. His thrusts never stopped as I contracted on his length. He was so hard and deep inside me. My orgasm vibrated with intensity before it ebbed into a wrung-out bliss. I curled my fingers around his hands, feeling his grip slacken as his own climax arrived. He let go of one wrist and grabbed my ass instead, pressing my pelvis to his, drilling me with brutal force. It triggered another orgasm for me, my body caught up in passion and sensation. Our bodies hit a heightened note together, both of us straining through a gasping finale.
He came to rest, but his hands grew taut again. One held my ass, keeping me close, while the other slid around my fingers and closed tight.
“I can’t move,” I whispered.
“You’re not allowed to move.”
He was still inside me, his cock buried deep. When I squeezed on him, he groaned and pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was voracious, and I kissed him back, transported by our closeness.
“I never want to move,” I said when he let me take a breath. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”
His hazy gaze sharpened, fixing on mine. All the softness, the connection of the moment before disintegrated. I realized too late that there had been too much love in my voice, too much need and affection.
“I’m sorry,” I said, which made his expression darken even more.
“What are you sorry for? Don’t be sorry.” He stroked my forehead, his voice pitched to distance, rather than the need I’d communicated. “Are you okay?” he asked after a moment.
I wasn’t sure what he meant by “okay.” Was my body okay after his forceful fucking? Was my mind okay? Was I okay with the aftermath of The Gallery? Maybe he meant all of that.
“I’m okay,” I said, but it might have been a lie. “I feel a little tired, even though you were doing most of the work just now.”
“I like working you over. And if you’re tired, that’s a good thing, because I’m sure you’re ready for bed.”
I sighed as he withdrew. “You can stay here if you like. If you’re tired too.”
He didn’t look at me as he moved away, sitting back on his haunches. “Thanks for the invitation, but I have to go.”
“Oh.”
“I would stay, but I’m flying somewhere with Devin in the morning. I’ll be gone until Friday.”
“Where are you going?”
He hesitated just a moment too long. “Morocco.” He caressed my cheek, then busied himself buttoning up his jeans. “You should get some rest, some quality sleep after those orgasms.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll try.”
He wasn’t going to Morocco. I knew him well enough now to know when he told a lie. I’d royally fucked up with myI wish we could stay like this forever.He’d obviously only wanted to see me tonight to get his rocks off. I flushed, thinking about how excited I’d been when he called me, how thrilled I was that hecared about me. As usual, my understanding of my relationship with someone was way off. Pathetically off. Embarrassingly off.
I reached to collect my yoga pants and pull them on, wondering if this was it, if I would ever see him again.
“So, have fun on your trip,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I bet it’s beautiful in Morocco.”
“Yeah, I’ve been a lot of times.” He turned away, heading to my door, then turned back again. “Do you want to go to The Gallery with me next Saturday?”
“Oh. Sure, if you want to,” I said.
It doesn’t mean anything,I scolded myself silently.It only means he wants to get off again.
He gave me a quick kiss and strode to the door, ready to go. No tea, no cuddles, no insistence on my company tonight.
It didn’t escape me that he’d allowed me to stay with him after the regimented, public experience of The Gallery, but after what had just happened between us—the comfortable intimacy we’d just experienced—he was anxious to leave. It was so easy for me to forget that he preferred distance to intimacy. Whenever we were face to face…
What we’d just done felt like love, but it wasn’t love. From the way he kissed me on the forehead and retreated, it felt more like an impulsive mistake.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Fort
Dev, I need to go somewhere
