Her arms gracefully fell to the bed, a show of utter surrender and beauty. “I want the real you, Rhett. If you cross a line, I’ll let you know. But until then…hold nothing back.”
He stilled and swallowed. This was a very dangerous game they were playing. Too dangerous.
His conscience beseeched him to reconsider his request, but her body felt too damn good, tightly wrapped around his, clenching and milking the last of his logic away.
He pulled out and jumped off the bed. She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could form a single word he caught her ankles and dragged her ass to the edge, wrenched her legs wide. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.”
He plunged into her wet sex, angling his body deeper and thrusting hard. He lost himself in the following moments, drunk on lust and pushing with unquenchable need, greedy for every comfort she could offer, every comfort he could steal.
Her body trembled in his arms and he sensed her close to finishing. He pushed her, wringing out every ounce of her pleasure until the last moment when she shattered.
He held her through the storm, cradled her close, sheltered her in his strength, and once he knew she was done, he let himself go.
No experience came close to what they just shared. He was in uncharted territory, and when the final chills of his release vibrated every muscle in his body, dancing wildly along his spine, he found himself compelled to do something else he’d never done. He pulled her close and held her in his arms.
14
Skylar trembled as he clutched her shaken body to his. He was strength and heat and fire, and she was tender uncertainty and inexperience, gifted with trusting consent. She hoped she’d done everything the way she was supposed to.
When his body pulled out of hers, it seemed to steal a layer of her soul with it. She expected it to end after he finished, but he held her for a long time, stroking her arms with the soft side of his fingers and pressing kisses into her temple and hair.
A vacant ache filled her core. Swollen folds were tender and over sensitized, sore but satisfied. The tender muscle aches she anticipated were already setting in, but as he continued to caress her, she found her aching limbs an easy inconvenience to ignore.
She shivered, her body cooling as she came down from the rush. He pulled the covers over them, cradling her to the hard plane of his chest.
His hands traveled her body as he laid claim to parts of her no man had touched before. She drew comfort from the steady beat of his heart.
The room was dark, and her limbs ached with a gentle throb she feared would grow in the hours ahead. He warned her she’d be sore in the morning, but at the time she hadn’t cared. Now she wondered how sore. She wondered what it said about her that, despite her discomfort, she still wanted him again.
His breathing kept a steady rhythm in the silence, and her mind sung with every rise and fall of his chest. Safe. Sheltered. Desired. She’d never existed as the center of someone’s attention before. It was heaven.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked, voice a low, delicious timbre from more than an hour of masculine moans.
She was thirsty, but she’d rather die a painful death of dehydration and hunger than ever leave the sanctuary of his arms. “I just want to stay here, like this.”
He chuckled, sounding as relaxed as she felt. “Me too.”
The tension in his muscles gave way to ease, and his body softened beneath her. She had no basis for comparison, but she had a strange hunch they just had really good sex. Maybe she was just being cocky. She smirked at her corny pun.
“What’s that smile for?”
She cleared her throat, too embarrassed by her juvenile train of thought to share it. “Did you like it?”
He groaned, the sound rich with male satisfaction. “You’re incredible. I’m convinced there isn’t a single thing you don’t do well.”
Her lips curved into a full grin. Though she’d been rather shy in the beginning, his praise bolstered her confidence and she pressed a kiss to his chest. “I loved it.”
His easy expression faltered as his face blanked.
Silence.
Chilly, frigid silence.
She should have chosen her words more carefully. She knew better than to casually toss out the L word to a man early on in the relationship, even if she had only been applying the adjective to the act. She’d seen enough spoiled plotlines to know that word was poison to anything concerning casual sex.
Although, they hadn’t fully defined how casual this was. He’d mentioned not seeing other people, but that wasn’t exactly a testament of affection as much as it had been a hot and sweaty, grunting display of territorial male ego.