The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,204

say. I don’t have time to be sweet, and let’s face it, this little exchange between us has nothing to do with romance.

Ayla rises, wiping the corners of her mouth as I grab another greedy handful of her plump breasts, pressing my body against hers. Her soft curves against my hard edges should make for a dynamite combination between the sheets, but we’re not going to make it that far because I’m fucking her right here, right now, and then I’m sending her on her way.

“Turn around.” I slip the rubber over my cock, gripping the base as she turns her back toward me. Her elbows rest against the island, and she bends as I grab a handful of her peach-shaped ass. Not too hard, not too soft.

Ayla spreads her stance, and I reach between her thighs, gliding my fingers along her damp seam before coating them in her wetness and wondering if she always gets this turned on.

Replacing my fingers with the tip of my cock, I slide it against her, teasing her before I plunge the rest of the length deep inside.

Ayla moans, letting her head fall back between her shoulder blades. I hook a hand over her shoulder, steadying myself as I fuck her tight, clenched pussy.

This is it.

This is the life.

No girlfriend. No commitment. No cheating whore fiancée who gets herself killed all because she secretly wanted my best friend’s dick in her pussy.

Just this.

Eight

Ayla

* * *

I can’t breathe when it’s over.

I can’t speak either.

“Jesus, Ayla.” Rhett’s just as breathless as I am when he pulls his spent cock from me. My body is peppered in goose bumps from his ice-cold apartment, and I turn to gather my clothes from ... everywhere.

What. The hell. Did I just do?

Taking deep breaths as casually as possible and trying to gather any ounce of calm I can find, I do what any normal girl would do in this situation and slap a big old satisfied smile on my face.

I mean, I am satisfied. Abundantly. The sex—and everything else we did—was amazing.

But something tells me this is going to end very badly for me.

Sliding my leggings on and slipping my bra over my shoulders, I give him a wink when I catch him watching.

“I should probably get your number,” I say.

He wrinkles his nose. “Why?”

“I don’t know. In case I wind up pregnant or something. You came a lot. And condoms aren’t always one hundred percent.”

His expression turns to ash until he realizes I’m kidding.

“Anyway.” I pull my blouse over my head and fluff my hair around my shoulders. “Thanks for that.”

I’m halfway to the door with my purse over my shoulder when he says, “Thanks for that? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just an expression. What am I supposed to say?” I shrug. If I tell him it was amazing and we should do it again, then it’s going to turn into a thing. A big, ugly, complicated thing that I won’t be able to explain my way out of.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just say nothing. You don’t have to make it all awkward by thanking me for sex. Who does that?”

“I’m sorry. Does that make you feel used?” I hide my chuckle with my hand, and he comes at me with a giant smirk on his face, pressing his hard-as-steel chest against my body until my back’s against the door.

“God, you have a smart mouth.” His hand lifts to my face, and he drags his thumb along my lower lip, his eyes fixated there as if he’s replaying the last thirty minutes in his head.

I’m painfully aware of the fact that our mouths are inches, maybe even mere centimeters apart. If he wanted to kiss me again, I’d let him. I wouldn’t say no. I wouldn’t protest or try to stop him, even though it’d be the right thing to do.

Kissing Rhett feels different from any other man, and I’m not sure if it’s because of his powerful, complicated aura—or the fact that something so morally, ethically wrong could feel so dangerously good.

I want to ask what he’s doing when our gazes catch. I want to know what this is. And why me? But I know this can never be anything, so asking would be pointless. Besides, more than likely he’s just a horny guy who saw a girl in a bar and decided to go in for the kill.

In my heart of hearts, I know our time together was more about convenience than poetics.

“I should