and plunges back into me from behind, filling me to the hilt from this delicious new angle. Then he wraps his arms tight around my stomach and chest, lifting me so we’re both on our knees on the soft mattress, our bodies plastered together. The angle changes again, and with the thick bands of his arms pinning me to him, I can’t do much but hold on and gasp for air.
I was so close… so damn close, and I’m still hanging on that precipice, needing nothing more than the slightest nudge to send me careening over the edge of my release.
“I changed my mind,” he growls softly in my ear, in the tone that first made me wet for him when he came into The Den last summer. The tone that featured in more than one of my fantasies over the winter break. “I want to do it. I want you to come on my cock and on my fingers, and I want you to scream my name when you do.”
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.
He better get busy with those damn fingers before his words alone give me the most intense orgasm of my life.
I moan something unintelligible that has the word “yes” in it somewhere, and Roman finally decides to put me out of my sweet misery. One arm stays locked around my waist, holding me upright, while the other slips down to work my clit. His thrusts are slower and deeper in this position, and I can tell he’s close too, holding off until he makes me come.
His lips drop to my ear, biting my earlobe and making me shudder. I turn my head and attack his lips with mine as the pleasure finally peaks, making white spots dance in my vision.
My body locks up, and I tear my mouth away from his to cry out, “Oh fuck! Roman!”
He grunts, slamming into me hard and grinding his hips against my ass as his cock pulses inside me and he follows me over the edge. “God, yes, Elliot.”
When the aftershocks finally stop quaking through my body, I realize I’m covered in more than a ladylike sheen of sweat by now. My whole body is sated, wrung out, and sore, like I just finished a marathon.
And I guess I did.
A sex marathon, which is the best kind, as far as I’m concerned.
Roman slowly pulls out of me, securing the condom with one hand, before we both collapse on the bed. He lands on his back and pulls me roughly into his body, draping me partway over him so our sweaty skin sticks together. He pushes my wild hair out of my face and dips his head to kiss me thoroughly, stroking his tongue against mine so skillfully that my body perks up, convinced that maybe she could handle one more round.
“Down girl,” I mutter as I break the kiss, nestling into the crook of Roman’s arm contentedly.
“I’m not a girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling against my ear. “If you haven’t figured that out by now, I’ve been doing something very wrong for the past few hours.”
I slap his chest lightly, still catching my breath. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to me. I can barely walk, and my body’s already thinking about the next round.”
He groans, a pained sound that I think is partly because he can’t even think about going again right now and partly because he really wants to.
Good. At least I’m not the only one who turns into some kind of sex-crazed maniac around the other person. It makes me feel slightly better to know that he suffers from the same insane craving I seem to have.
He gives my ass a little slap, and I roll over so he can get up. He crosses to the bathroom and disposes of the condom before returning, and I watch him stride across the room in all his naked, muscled, Tall, Dark, and Handsome glory. I feel a sudden rush of possessiveness myself and work hard to keep the emotion off my face as he crawls back into bed with me.
I curl back up against his body, breathing in the leather and whiskey scent of him.
Man, I was so damn right. Alleys and little darkened alcoves are great and all, but a guy like Roman? He needs a bed. He needs space and time to work his magic.
Not that I mind a quick and dirty fuck every now and again, but sometimes great things should be savored.