“I don’t want to stop,” I say quietly, refusing to break the spell.
He leans over, grabbing his discarded jeans, and I grin when I hear the familiar rattling sound of a wrapper.
“Just so you know, I’ve had this thing in my wallet for a while. I really didn’t come with expectations—with hopes, yes, but not expectations,” he says, grinning when he sees my smile.
I arch an eyebrow playfully, and he kisses me again, getting readjusted on top of me. His hands move between us as he lifts his hips, and I resist the urge to look down and watch.
It’s sad to say that seeing him roll on a condom would probably send me spiraling into a premature orgasm. It’s surreal. I love this feeling. I want to bottle it and save it for rainy days.
When he leans up, I’m forced to watch, and I squirm as that ache grows more pronounced, more insistent. Fairly sure that ache is named desire.
He’s definitely not a small guy, but he’s also not freakishly endowed. Perfect.
I’m licking my lips before I can stop myself as he starts tugging my panties down. His eyes fall on the bare skin when he removes them completely and he leans down.
The second I feel his breath hit me, my hips jerk up, and I tug his hair, forcing him up my body.
“If you do that, I’ll be ruined. I need more,” I say just as my lips find his again.
I could seriously kiss him all day, as long as we’re also doing more.
Without any further begging, he pushes inside me in one swift thrust that has me breaking my lips away to gasp for air. He rocks his hips, and I realize there’s more there than I initially thought, because he goes deeper, filling me fuller.
He stares down at me, lust and longing oozing from his eyes as he keeps eye contact. No words are exchanged as he rocks his hips again, finding a spot inside me that I thought had died.
Sensory overload is a legit thing.
Everything on me is strung tight, just waiting to break. The more he moves over me, the tighter the strings get. My nails dig into his shoulders as he continues to watch the myriad of expressions I must be giving him as he unravels me thrust by thrust.
Then it hits. It hits hard.
Those strings break, and euphoria crackles across my body like a bomb that detonates in my core and explodes outward. It rolls across me, curling my toes, flashing behind my eyelids that shut at some point, and licks across my skin like hot, incredible flames.
When I cry out and thrash beneath him wildly, his rhythm changes, becoming more urgent. I hold on as he drags out my orgasm in a way I didn’t know was possible, and then he grunts, his hips jerking against me as he finds his own little version of heaven. At least I hope he feels this good.
Boneless and spent, my arms fall away from him as he drops to my body and kisses a trail down my neck. Definitely moving too fast, but I don’t care. We’re doomed anyway.
The monster never gets the prince. It’s always the sweet and innocent princess who wins.
My hands come up, and my fingers twist in his hair, enjoying this feeling while it lasts.
“I plan on a round two, but I’m not Superman. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll make sure you want to do this a lot more,” he says against my neck, still nipping and kissing the flesh.
A smile curves my lips, and I sigh happily under him.
“I want to do this all the time.”
He chuckles against me, and I find myself hugging him, even though I don’t know when it started. He holds me to him, hugging me back.
“Good,” he says against me. “Because that was fucking perfect.”
It is perfect. Which is why I need to kill the monitoring channel in the living room so that it doesn’t work, lock my murder room, and make sure all my weapons stay in there from now on.
Chapter 9
I never came upon any of my discoveries through the process of rational thinking.
—Albert Einstein