“Ready to beg yet?” he teased, though the words sounded labored, like he was waging his own battle to keep it together.
“No.”
He rocked back and slid deep again, groaning. “Fuck.”
Her body trembled, the need for release nearly breaking her. “I lied. Please. I need you.”
His grip tightened and he reached down to click the vibrator to a higher speed. “Come with me, gorgeous. Let me feel you fall apart.”
He picked up the pace of his thrusts, but didn’t get too rough—just smooth, long, and deep—as if he sensed exactly how precarious the pleasure/pain balance was. But everything inside her hummed with the anticipation of oblivion. So close. So close. Then Lane whispered her name like it was the most sacred word in the English language, and the blackness behind her eyelids broke into a thousand fragments of light. Her orgasm swept over her, blurring all the sensations together and making her cry out in a pitch she didn’t even know she was capable of.
Lane’s thrusts became quicker and more fervent as he pushed her pleasure higher, not relenting with just the quick burst of an orgasm but dragging it out and transforming it into a whole-body event. She cried out his name, panted through the blinding sensations, and forgot where she was for a second. Lane’s shouts joined hers and he gripped her hips tight before pulling out and painting her backside with his hot release.
Every muscle in her body quaked with aftershocks, and her lungs fought for a deep breath. But never had she felt so damn sated.
She eased the vibrator out, tossing it out of the way, and collapsed bonelessly onto the bed. Lane lay atop her, breathing hard, their bodies sticky and sweaty, but she didn’t care about the mess. She didn’t care about anything else right now but the man on top of her and the way he made her feel.
She turned her head to the side, her vision unfocused and her muscles still twitching with post-orgasm. “Well, that was a passable attempt at sex. I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Lane laughed softly and kissed the back of her shoulder. “I adore you, Elle McCray.”
She closed her eyes, a sated happiness filling her veins and stirring feelings she hadn’t thought she was capable of anymore. “I adore you back, Lane Cannon.”
Chapter 24
“You want to do dinner?” Elle asked Wednesday morning as she put down her mascara wand and enjoyed the view of Lane standing in her bedroom with just a towel around his waist.
Lane dug through his bag, which he’d been working out of since they’d gotten back from her mom’s on Sunday, and pulled out some fresh clothes. He dropped the towel, offering her a view that had her wanting to tumble back into bed—broad body, hard muscles, ass that was begging to be bitten—but he tugged on his boxer briefs before she could make herself late for work.
Lane ran the towel through his wet hair and turned her way. “Sure, but it might not be until late. I have class most of the day, am supposed to meet with Marin and a new referral this afternoon, and then have a late session with a client. That should wrap up by eight.”
Elle’s stomach dipped. She wasn’t in denial. She was all too aware of what Lane did for a living, but this was the first time since they’d decided to try a relationship that he’d be seeing a client. She wanted to be mature about it. She wanted to act nonchalant. “Involved session?”
She cringed inwardly. Could she be more transparent? Ugh.
He frowned. “You know I can’t share details. But not…intercourse.”
Something loosened in her chest—though didn’t unravel completely. “What percentage of your clients require that…level of intervention?”
He draped the towel around his neck, holding both ends taut. “A smaller percentage than most people would guess. It’s usually a lot of talking, building rapport, developing a comfort level. Often there’s trauma in the past so things progress very slowly and deliberately. Most common issues I see are anxiety around sex, orgasmic disorders, problems with arousal, phobias about sex or their bodies. The majority of my job is giving clients a safe place and patience to tackle those things. Lovers have a tendency to rush their partners even if they’re trying to be understanding about an issue. I’m not there to get off, so I can be as patient and focused as necessary. It’s all about the client, always.”
The clinical breakdown gave her some comfort. She didn’t doubt Lane was a professional, but she also didn’t want to picture him in those sessions with strangers. “A late dinner is fine. I can get takeout from Vincent’s if that works for you.”
He tossed the towel aside and pulled on his pants, his expression a little warier than it had been a minute before. “You know, one day we could try eating in public. I’ve heard it’s all the rage.”
She didn’t miss the dig. He was still worried that she would try to hide their relationship. She wasn’t avoiding a public place per se. They’d just both been busy the last two days. “We can go out. Do you want to meet me here after your late session?”
“I’ll actually be at that dance studio on Collins, so I won’t be on campus. If you want to meet me there around eight, we could find something nearby.”
“Dance studio?”
“Yeah. This case required some out-of-the-office work.”
“Right.” She couldn’t imagine what a dance studio would have to do with anything but he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions without breaking confidentiality. “That works.”
He buttoned his shirt then walked over to her. He cupped her chin and bent to kiss her, the simple connection sending pleasant warmth tracking through her. He leaned back, his gaze holding hers. “You sure you’re okay? Honestly?”
She sighed. “I’m a work in progress on the possessive, jealousy thing.”