My (Mostly) Secret Baby - Penelope Bloom Page 0,48

it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. One of his hands gripped my breast almost hard enough to hurt and the other was behind me squeezing my ass up into himself.

God, it felt too good to be safe.

Just when the sensations were reaching a crescendo, he angled his body and with a single motion, he stopped sliding along my pussy and slipped into my entrance.

I reached across his broad back, squeezing him tight. He was so warm and hard. There was a sensation of inevitability somehow—like Damon was more machine than man in this moment, and I’d set something into motion that I couldn’t dream of stopping.

Maybe that should’ve scared me, but all I felt was fascination.

He was big, and still bigger than I remembered. I didn’t care what people wanted to believe about childbirth stretching women out down there. Because either I’d gotten tighter—thank you Kegel exercises—or he’d gotten bigger.

I was desperate to be full with him, like the emptiness inside me was suddenly offensive. I needed every inch he could give. “I want all of it,” I whispered.

“You can’t handle all of it.”

“Try me.”

Damon grunted, pressing himself harder against me. I felt him slide deeper than I thought he could go.

I squeezed him tighter, breathing hard. “Fuck me. Please.”

My words lit some kind of fuse in him, and everything went into overdrive. He gripped me tighter, moved faster, kissed me more fiercely.

Nothing about it was calculated.

I wasn’t the latest in his line of conquests. I wasn’t getting a clinical trial in the art of perfect sex.

I was getting him.

Damon.

I was getting my first real glimpse at him. Damon wanted this, and he wasn’t hiding from it. He was embracing it.

I cried out when a sudden orgasm split me through my core. One minute, I’d been thinking about how good he felt and looked as he drove himself into me again and again, the next my eyes were rolling back and I was gasping for breath.

He entwined his fingers with mine above my head. Damon kissed my neck, then my mouth. His pace slowed, and our eyes met.

This wasn’t just sex anymore.

He slid into me. Out. In.

It was wet, warm, and absofuckinglutely glorious.

I reached one hand up and felt his lower lip with the pad of my thumb.

He kissed my finger, then my palm, grinning even as he drove me closer to another orgasm.

It was just sex. Just sex. Nothing personal. Nothing real.

Damon’s hand made a path up from my shoulder to my cheek. His eyes burned into mine and his brows creased. I could feel him tensing—nearing his own climax.

I arched my body into him, driving him deeper as much as I could from below his body.

“You feel so good,” I gasped.

Damon’s eyes twitched shut and I felt his cock pulse inside me. He braced himself against the bed and finally collapsed when he was done. I was surprised when his hand slid between my legs. He was still inside me and on top of me, but he moved his hand down to my clit and started rubbing me there. “Come for me, Chelsea. I want you to come all over my cock.”

“I already did,” I said, smirking.

“Then do it again.”

It only took another minute for me to follow his command, and it was several more minutes before he rolled off me.

“That was just sex,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was definitely just sex.”

I couldn’t help thinking about how as we both lay there on our backs, staring at the ceiling, we were giving new meaning to the term “lying on your back.”

Shit. I was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

23

Damon

Fuck.

Of all the worlds in the English language, I wasn’t sure if any summed up my situation more accurately.

I’d had it figured out just fine. Life. The secrets of the universe. Existence.

I’d figured every damn thing out.

The secret to the game was that you didn’t play. Happiness? No. People who chased happiness were only inviting pain. If you weren’t greedy, you could settle for a perfect neutral existence. Wake up, work, rinse repeat. No drama, no problems.

But there she was. The wrinkle in my perfectly boring, sterile life. And she was currently sitting across from me with a sandwich the size of her head in her hands. She twisted it one way, then another, as if trying to decide how to avoid getting condiments all over her face. With a little shrug, she decided to dive in, messiness be damned.

I prodded at my burger, feeling like