in the feel of him over me. It’s almost as though I’m aware of every inch of our joined skins. And he watches me. Sees me. Enjoys the tilt of my body as it matches the rhythms of his. Our sighs layer, feminine over rough as his velvety whispers possess their own filthy kind of reverence as he tells me how tight I feel and how beautifully I take him.
A dark captivating ache begins to build as my body gives in to his masterful thrusts, everything ceasing to exist beyond this, beyond him, beyond how I feel and the ancient bed squeaking beneath us.
I could let him fuck me forever.
It’s my last sentient thought as I reach the peak and fall over the edge into the blissful abyss.
“I can feel you,” he rasps. “Sweet girl, I can feel you coming around my cock.” With those last words of encouragement and one more driving thrust, his body follows the rhythms of my own.
My body mourns the loss of his almost immediately as he collapses onto his back, the motion making a veil of my hair. Moments pass when neither of us speaks. Whether we don’t want to break the spell or we lack the energy, I’m not sure.
But eventually, I turn on my side to face him.
“You’re a man of many, many talents.” I sound like a heavy smoker as I slide my hand to the centre of his chest.
“Take it from me,” he says with a grin, “I fuck better than I fix cars.”
“You’re spoiling the fantasy.”
“Oh, yeah? What fantasy is that?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a fantasy,” I answer with a saucy tap to his chest.
“Not for long, it wouldn’t.” Lifting my hand, he brings it to his lips. His eyes gleam dark, his look lingering, the kind of expression that turns my insides molten once again. A look that leads to a kiss, and a kiss that leads to other things.
Without complaint from me.
I don’t even complain in the morning when I lift my arm to shield my eyes from the early morning sun and find that, despite being a fitness instructor by day, I lack nocturnal activity muscle tone. Ow, that shizz hurts. Why the heck do my triceps hurt? I twist a little to find myself stifling a groan. My whole body aches—I feel like I’ve spent the night doing ab crunches interspaced by squats. It’s a pity someone couldn’t figure out how to make a fitness class out of sex because it has to be the ultimate aerobic workout with a little endurance training thrown in. Or at least it is with him. I try not to look at the him in question.
Try and fail.
He’s so lovely this morning, sleep rumpled and mussed. Sunkissed skin and messy hair.
He was a really excellent instructor.
The most gorgeous man I’ve ever . . . worked out with.
Who am I kidding?
Last night was the best sex of my life. And I really ought to leave before I decide I want to do it all over again.
Oops! Too late.
But I won’t give in.
I roll my lips inward as I attempt to roll to my side, desperate not to disturb the sleeping beauty lying on his stomach next to me. His other hand reaches out suddenly, fingers splaying across my ribs as though he knows what I’m about to do. I lift his hand gingerly and slide out from the bed. As stealthily as I’ve ever been, despite the muscle twinges and niggles, I slip back into my underwear and dress. My body aches to shower, I so need to pee, and I’m pretty sure I reek of sex, but righting any one of these risks waking him. I can’t take that chance.
It had seemed so simple last night. But in the cold light of day, everything is different. Real.
I slide my purse from the dresser, startling at the sight of myself in the mirror. It hardly looks like me; my hair looks like an abandoned bird’s nest, and my dress looks like a used floral hanky. I trace my fingers over a mark on my neck as something dark and delicious blooms deep inside. I close my eyes at a wash of sensory memory. I’d felt him everywhere, at my neck and between my legs, his entire presence enveloping.
The woman in the mirror is wantonly dark-eyed, her body begging for a repeat. I could creep back to bed. Kiss him awake. Make love by daylight . . .
Until