arch up towards him, and he gives a heartfelt groan of pleasure-pain as he sinks all the way inside me.
He starts to move, and I wrap my legs around him, clinging tight and pressing my fingers into his shoulders and biceps. He’ll probably have bruises, and I don’t care – I’m clinging on for dear life.
I cry out each time he thrusts inside me, driving me towards a place of blind, thoughtless pleasure.
My daisy-painted picket-fence headboard bangs against the wall with each sure stroke of his length inside me, but that’s the only way white picket fences come into it. This isn’t a future, it’s a full stop – it’s raw, animal, desperate, as though we have to drink in as much of each other as we can in this one brief night.
When I come, it’s like I’m seeing those painted stars all over again, only this time they’re going supernova behind my closed eyelids as Blake drives himself inside me, shouting his pleasure against my skin. I clench around him and groan, and we collapse together into a trembling, sweat-slick tangle, gasping for breath, limbs humming like power lines with residual pleasure.
When I can speak again, I prop myself up on one elbow. He does too, and with his free hand he smooths my wild bed-head curls. Or tries to – it’s a fool’s errand.
“Okay,” I say, “we’ve got that out of our systems.”
“Mmm,” he agrees, stealing a kiss and running his finger over my collarbone. “Completely out of our systems.” He trails his finger further down.
“So now we can have a professional relationship. No funny business.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He brushes my nipple with the pad of his thumb, and it beads under his touch. I gasp. He bends his head to kiss my throat.
I can’t do this. Being with Blake…it’s like really good chocolate ice cream, the expensive kind. Can you take just one spoonful? Sure. But if you have a second, before you know it you’re shame-gobbling the entire carton and none of your pants fit.
“Look at the time,” I say hoarsely. “You’ve got appointments all morning long. You should go.”
Is it the word “time”? He glances at his watch, and I can see him shake off the afterglow. He steals one more kiss, slow and sweet.
He lets out a heavy sigh, deep with contentment. “This was…” His voice trails off.
“I know.” I’m lying. I don’t know what this was. Incredible and beautiful? A mistake? A little bit of both?
“Yes. I guess I should go. Will we be all right? At work, I mean?”
“Of course we will.” And I pull my blanket up, covering myself, and close my eyes, pretending to fall asleep.
He stands up, and I half open my eyes, hidden behind a curtain of hair. His gaze travels over me, slow and tender like a caress. Then he rolls his shoulders back and sighs, and suddenly he’s back to being Mr. Robot. He moves swiftly, putting on his clothes, settling his collar and cinching his tie. Somehow his clothes aren’t wrinkled.
He strides out of the room without looking back, and I can’t stop myself from watching his sexy butt. Apparently Blake doesn’t do the walk of shame, he does the walk of well-dressed self-confidence. Damn him.
Well, fine. Good. This was the plan.
I shiver as I flash back to him holding himself above me, arms taut and muscled, his face a mask of pleasure as he drove into my body over and over again. We were amazing together.
When he’s gone, I let out a loud groan of frustration, then roll out of bed so I can take a quick shower before I walk and feed Xena.
In the shower stall, I blast myself with hot water and try to scrub away the memory of last night.
I didn’t screw him out of my system. Of course not. That was a lie we told ourselves, to give ourselves permission, and now I’ll have to live with the emotional aftermath. I’ll be working right down the hall from Blake, enveloped in the smell of his cologne and the rich warmth of his laughter, bombarded with his emails all day long.
It doesn’t matter. I had amazing, mind-melting sex last night after a very long dry spell. I had the best sex of my life, a new standard to hold all other men to– Nope, nope, won’t think that way. Blake was honest with me about what he could give, going in, and I was honest with him about what I’d expect. I’m not