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She squirms, shrieking, looking like she wants me off. But then she sighs—which I know is a plea for me to keep going. I’m toying with her, and I love how she responds. As she bucks, her boobs bounce in an enticing rhythm, hypnotizing me into ecstasy that I have no hope of resisting. While my tongue keeps glossing her opening, I reach for those magnificent curves. Cupping them, squeezing them, rubbing them. When they spill out, I greedily scoop them back.
The flavor of her sex is like raw honey at harvest time, and it consumes me, shredding my self-control.
“God, Isabelle…”
I’ve got to have her now, or I’m gonna waste this erection on myself.
20
ISABELLE
Clayton scrambles to find a condom. Perhaps the foreplay has gone on a little too long considering the urgency he’s trying to contain. His pants and underwear are still hanging on his knees when he starts penetrating me.
But the man can do no wrong. Just by witnessing his impatience, I’m aroused. I’ve seduced this might of a man to his limits, and I’ve never felt so sexy and powerful—and beautiful.
His cock strains me. This is only the second time I’ve been with him, but my body seems to recognize the sensation as if we had been partners for a long time. I’m sore, but I’m home.
He changes the angle of his thrusts, exploring a new place inside me.
Against my intention, I let out an obscene scream as his growing hard-on punishes me. But thanks to his earlier hustle to make my pussy generously drenched, his oversized flesh punishes me with pleasure.
“Baby, I’m almost there,” he grunts.
He should’ve been there ages ago, but he has the presence of mind—actually, more than that, it’s his affection—to hold and stay with my pace.
Now, his pace is my pace. I take him as he comes with a howl.
We both pant, lying next to each other.
“This turns out to be some outing,” he sighs, freeing his ankles off his rumpled pants.
I study him, recalling the way we’ve made love just now—or rather, how he started our lovemaking. So, it’s not the nurse uniform, as I thought, but his ‘thing’ turns out to be a female pilot?
Clayton's gaze cruises my figure, his fingers stroking the contour of my hip. “Today meant a lot to me.”
“It meant a lot to me, too, baby.” I swipe his unruly fringe. I want to see his eyes—and the kindness behind them. “You’re so good with Raffi.”
He places a finger on my lips. I nibble it.
A carnal moan leaves his mouth. Is he about to fuck me again?
But he lets go of a breath, murmuring, “Can I tell you my wish?”
“Fire away.”
“To one day be his dad.”
Dead silence.
Until he shuffles his position as if wanting to start again. “Was I too abrupt?”
I trail a finger along his jaw, feeling his dark scruff. “No. It’s a wonderful wish.” No one else deserves to be Raffi’s dad more than Clayton. Raffi himself would agree—hell, he said it once, that he wanted Clayton to be his dad.
A relief smile plasters his face. “And have more kids with you.”
His eyes are filled with intrigue, perhaps gauging my reaction. I don’t even want to speculate what he’s noticing in me because right now, a tsunami of despair is swallowing me whole.
Not getting any response, he says, “Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m not saying we procreate now.”
