It was beautiful.
Dimly, she felt his hands leave her as one slid into her hair, cupping her head, pulling her torso to his. He switched positions, moving her to her back, coming over her and then slamming deep inside.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders and held on.
She watched him move over her, her eyes barely open, glorying in the feel of Prentice driving deep inside her.
His hand went to the side of her face.
“Christ,” he bit out, his breath coming fast, his strokes coming faster, pounding harder, thrusting deeper, “You’re so f**king beautiful.”
She gazed at him for a mere moment, feeling all the magnificence that was Prentice wrapped in her limbs, pressing her to the couch, slamming deep inside her, before his head came down and he kissed her.
She accepted his groan in her mouth as he reared one last time, plunging so deep it felt like he pierced her heart.
His lips slid from her mouth, down her cheek and he buried his face in her neck.
He pressed his h*ps into hers. Her limbs tensed, holding him tighter.
She loved every inch of him.
At that thought, her turbulent mind settled and reason intruded.
She stiffened.
The instant she did, he felt it.
His face came out of her neck as she whispered, “Pren –”
She didn’t finish his name. He kissed her.
Her mind descended back into beautiful chaos.
His mouth released hers and he pulled out, lifted up, tugging her up with him until they were on their feet.
He’d unzipped her knit jacket and pulled it down her arms and had his hands in her camisole when her thoughts yet again cleared.
“Prentice, we shouldn’t –”
He whipped off her camisole and before her arms settled down to her sides and his swift actions settled through her brain, she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers again.
He kept her mind jumbled with his kisses as he disrobed, turned out the light in the sitting room and then carried her to the bed.
When he had her on her back, the covers pulled over them, his heavy warmth pressed down the length of her side, his elbow in the pillow, head in his hand, other hand resting at her neck, eyes resting on her face… only then did he speak.
“Now you can talk.”
“I –” she began to tell him that she was sorry, she shouldn’t have started this, this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
And selfish.
And stupid.
And a million other things.
But he interrupted her, “Tell me about the dream.”
Her mouth snapped shut.