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“Shit,” he growls. “You’re just as tight, Lou. So fucking tight around me.”
He must have already been on the edge, because he begins to pound into me quicker, harder, as if he’s also losing control, and fast.
His kiss becomes painful, and I welcome it, hoping it will detract from the growing need to come again. But it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me ache more. Want more.
As a second orgasm overtakes me, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and dig my nails into his ass.
Rowan tenses as he succumbs to his release, his cock swelling inside me as he fills me.
When my trembling ebbs and he’s relaxed, he pushes himself up. Then, his eyes glittering, he takes in my disheveled state.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Especially when I’m inside you like this.” He reaches between us and slides his thumb across my overly sensitized sex and I shiver. “Such a sweet little cunt. I’m happy to see how much you still want me.”
“Don’t confuse things, Rowan. Physical attraction doesn’t change the fact that I despise you.”
“No, you don’t.” He pulls out of me, and warm liquid spills from my entrance. His expression grows further pleased as watches himself flow from me. “So fucking beautiful.”
God help me, the way he looks at me there turns me the fuck on. And that gives me yet another reason to hate him.
10
ROWAN
I’ve been lying awake for hours, unwilling to drift off when, after years of waiting, Lou is finally back in my bed where she fucking belongs.
Moonlight spills through the blinds, illuminating the room enough for me to make out the shapes of everything—the old leather chair in the corner, the lamp on my nightstand, and the figure of the woman tucked in close to me.
Lou is what I call a heat seeker. The instant she falls asleep, her feet begin to move like little antennae, searching for warmth. When they find it, the rest of her follows. It used to make for many sweaty, uncomfortable nights.
I smile in spite of it. Maybe even because of it.
I’ve missed the feel of her naked body wetly clinging to mine. In sex and in sleep.
This is why I fight to remain conscious at three in the morning. I don’t want to miss a thing. Every tiny movement, every breath, I commit to memory, afraid I might lose it again someday.
Fuck no. I won’t let that happen ever again. Every fiber of my being rages at the mere thought.
As if she can sense my sudden mood shift, her breathing accelerates, then, just as suddenly, slows. She’s awake.
I remain still, inhaling and exhaling evenly, not wanting to alert her.
It takes her a bit to move, as if she’s trying to determine if I’m sleeping. When she seems satisfied, she gently sits up. Another few seconds and she’s scooting off the bed.
Risking a glance, I crack my lids slightly and watch her as she glides through the studio. First, she goes to the window and peers out into the darkness. I can tell she’s mulling something over, her arms crossed over her chest, her nails digging into her shoulders.
Her head turns my way and I close my eyes and roll onto my stomach, clutching the pillow beneath me and sighing. I hear her footsteps as she moves away.
She walks to the kitchenette and opens the drawer in the single cabinet. There’s a clinking sound as she searches and takes an item from it.
As quietly as she went, she returns to the bed. It dips again as she climbs into it and slowly straddles me, pausing every once in a while.
Now I’m sure she’s up to no good, but something inside me wants to find out how this ends. I want to know exactly how far she’ll take it.
Her soft curves mold to my body as she straddles me, and the feel of her pubic hair on my ass has me nearly giving myself away. Instantly, I’m painfully hard as the inviting heat of her core tempts me to roll over and thrust into her. No matter that we’ve had sex four times in the course of a few hours. I need more.
But I stay immobile, torturing myself just to see what she’s up to.
That’s when I feel the steel against the side of my neck. She bends over me, her nipples grazing my back as she brings her lips to my ear.
