Being with her in a bed was unreal. She was leisurely riding me, grinding in tiny movements. She kissed along every inch of the right side of my neck, sucking and pulling at my skin. Short utterances punctuated every circuit of her hips.

“. . . like being on top of you,” she breathed. “Feel how deep you are? Feel that?”

“Yeah.”

“Want faster?”

I shook my head, absolutely lost. “No. God, no.”

For a while, she stayed slow, tiny circles, teeth all up and down my neck. But then she shifted closer, whispering, “I’m gonna come, Bennett,” and instead of releasing a string of curse words to describe what hearing that did to me, I bit her shoulder, sucked a bruise into her skin.

Working me harder now, she began to talk. Words I could barely process. Words about my body inside her, her need for me. Words about my taste and how wet she was. Words about wanting me to come, needing me to come.

With each swivel of her hips, the pressure began to build. I gripped her tighter, fearing briefly that I would leave bruises every time I moved my hands, and quickened my thrusts. She moaned and writhed above me and just when I thought I couldn’t hold out anymore, she called my name again and I felt her begin to spasm around me. The intensity of her orgasm brought on my own, and I moved my face to her neck, pressing a loud groan into her skin.

She collapsed against me and I lowered us both to the bed. We were sweaty and panting and utterly exhausted, and she looked f**king perfect.

I pulled her to me, her back pressed against my chest, and wrapped my arms around her, entangling my legs with hers. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out but was asleep before I could ask her.

Something had shifted tonight, and my last thought as my eyes closed was that there would be plenty of time to talk tomorrow. But as the early morning sunlight began to creep under the dark curtain, I realized with an uneasy feeling that tomorrow was already here.

    Fourteen

Consciousness fluttered on the edge of my sleep-filled mind, and I tried to force it away. I didn’t want to wake up. I was warm and comfortable and content.

Vague visions of my dream passed behind my closed eyes as I snuggled into the warmest, best-smelling blanket I’d ever slept in. It snuggled back.

Something warm pressed against me, and my eyes fluttered open to see a head of familiar messy hair inches from my face. A hundred images flashed through my mind in that second as the reality of last night came crashing down on my muddled brain.

Holy shit.

It was real.

My heart rate quickened as I lifted my head slightly to see the beautiful man wrapped around me. His head lay on my chest, his perfect mouth parted slightly, releasing puffs of warm air across my bare br**sts. His long body lay flush against mine, our legs tangled together and his strong arms wrapped tightly around my torso.

He stayed.

The intimacy of our position hit with a crushing force that actually took my breath away. He didn’t just stay, he clung to me.

I struggled to find my breath and not panic. I was keenly aware of each inch of where our skin touched. I felt the powerful thump of his heartbeat against my chest. His c**k was pressed against my thigh, semihard in his sleep. My fingers burned to touch him. My lips ached to press against his hair. It was too much. He was too much.

Something changed last night and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with it. I didn’t know what that change entailed, but it was there. In every move, every touch, every word, and every kiss, we had been together. Nobody had ever made me feel that way, as if my body were made to fit his.

I’d been with other men, but with him I felt as if I was being carried away by a hidden undertow, completely unable to change the course. I closed my eyes, trying to quell the sense of panic that was building. I didn’t regret what happened. It was—as always—intense and easily the best sex I’d ever had. I just needed a few minutes alone before I could face him.

Placing one hand into his hair and the other on his back, I managed to roll him off me. He began to stir and I froze, holding him close and silently willing him to go back to sleep. He mumbled my name before his breathing evened out again, and I slipped out from underneath him.

I watched him sleep for a moment, the panic receding somewhat, and was once again struck by just how gorgeous he was. Stilled by sleep, his features were tranquil and peaceful, and so very different from any expression he ever wore around me. A thick curl had fallen down across his forehead, and my fingers itched to brush it back. Long lashes, perfect cheekbones, full pouty lips, and a stubble-covered jaw.

Christ on a cracker, he’s pretty.