Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,60

once again.

But it’s like I can’t kiss him and come at the same time, and I’ve always prided myself on my multitasking skills. I break away from his lips and avert my head from his, my breaths coming in short puffs, my entire body growing tense. I’m hanging right on the precipice, about to fall over that sweetly sharp edge when his fingers settle on my clit, rubbing and pressing. Driving me out of my mind.

Just like that, I’m coming. Hard. My entire body is shaking as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. I cling to him, my inner walls milking his cock, and his thrusts turn chaotic. Out of control. Our sweaty skin makes a slapping noise and I’ve never been so grateful for loud music to mask how noisy we are. Because Mitch is coming too. He’s shouting, groaning as he shudders and trembles. I open my eyes to witness him straining against me, his muscles standing out in stark relief as he props himself above me on his hands, a ragged sound escaping from his chest.

Holy shit, I’m impressed.

“Oh God.” That’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth when it’s over and he’s lying beside me on the bed. I can’t catch my breath. I’m overwhelmed. I blink my eyes open, staring up at the ceiling as I try to find my voice, but it’s gone.

“You okay?” His grumbly deep voice does something to me. Twists me up. Makes me immediately want more.

I turn on my side to face him, finding that he’s already looking at me. There’s a warmth to his eyes that wasn’t there before, and a look of complete and utter satisfaction on his face. It’s a good look for him.

“I’m okay,” I say. I am more than okay. I am fantastic, thank you very much. “How about you?”

“I feel like I’m about to fall off the bed,” he answers truthfully, and I realize we’re lying on the end of the mattress.

“Let’s move then,” I say brightly as I climb off the bed.

He watches me in silent fascination, his gaze roaming hungrily over my naked body while he still lies there. “Come here.”

“Move first.” I twirl my finger around, indicating I want his head at the top of the bed. “Come on.”

Reluctantly he rolls off the mattress, grabbing hold of my waist and giving me a kiss before he murmurs against my lips, “I gotta get rid of the condom.”

He heads for the bathroom and I watch his perfectly muscular butt the entire time, disappointed when he shuts the door. Sighing wistfully, I grab my phone out of my bar purse to check the time—dang, it’s late—and set it on the bedside table before I climb under the covers. By the time I’ve settled in, Mitch is back, very comfortable in his glorious nakedness as he approaches the bed, his cock in a semi-erect state already.

I wonder if he always walks around like this. Primed and ready. A girl could grow to appreciate that real quick.

The mattress dips when he joins me, yanking the sheet and duvet cover up to his waist as he rests his head on the pillow, turning so he’s facing me. He reaches out, resting his hand upon my cheek and caressing my skin as he stares into my eyes.

This feels like a moment. I can’t quite put my finger on why exactly, but this entire night, this entire weekend feels pivotal. Life changing.

Overwhelming.

Oh no. I can feel them. Tears are stinging the corner of my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to banish them. He will freak if I start crying. Why wouldn’t he? Women who cry after sex scare men on a daily basis. And I’m not one who even cries after sex. Maybe in frustration. One time in anger—the guy was a complete asshole, I don’t even want to talk about him. That one’s best left firmly in the past.

But I’ve never cried because I’m so overwhelmed with all the good feelings swirling inside of me. Yes, Mitch and I just had dirty, filthy sex, but he also made me feel so…cared for. He tended to my every need. Even if he was a giant tease who tried to torture me to death, he still made sure I got mine.

And he definitely got his too.

“Eleanor.” His voice is soft, carrying a tinge of agony. “Are you crying right now?”

“No,” I croak, reaching up to swipe at my eyes with frustration. Stupid, leaking eyes.