She closed her eyes and concentrated on chasing the storm. It wasn’t so far away. She could get back there before he ever knew she’d been gone. “How? How will you do it next?”
“With my mouth,” he replied instantly. “So I can taste it.”
The thought sent a promising quiver through the territory in question.
“And then—” He broke off when her phone sounded again.
“And then?” she prompted over the disruption. Even she heard the desperation in her voice. What the hell did they want, other than to ruin her night? No. Don’t even wonder. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t control them, but she could control whether or not she let them mess with her plans.
“Then, Czarina, I’m going to flip you over. You’re going to spread your legs as wide as you can, lift that cock-teasing ass of yours, and I’m going to sink into you from behind.”
Yes…yes…yes.
“I’m going to play my way into your pussy so slowly, so gently, you bury your face in your arms and beg, ‘Harder, Rider. Fuck me so hard I can’t sit tomorrow without whimpering your name.’”
As he spoke, he maintained the steady stroke of his body into hers. She clung to his words, the feel of him, and…the sound of her phone. Fuck it. It was no use. The storm evaporated from her horizon like a mirage of clouds from a desert sky, leaving only the desert. Barren, joyless desert. Disappointment beat down on her—so stark she actually had to blink back tears.
What was wrong with her? She had a gorgeous, generous man with an unstoppable cock ready and willing to please her any way she wanted, and she couldn’t block the shit in her head for one lousy night to let him do it. How pathetic. The only thing more pathetic would be allowing him to realize he’d wasted his time. No way. He deserved to walk away completely satisfied tonight. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like a failure.
Sadly, she had this routine down pat. She was the Simone Biles of making her partner feel successful. She clasped her hands at the nape of his neck and arched her back dramatically. “I’m so close. Don’t stop. Please. Right there. Oh God.” She pitched her voice up. “Oh God. Oh yes.” Point the toes, moan a little louder, clench the inner muscles rapidly, and— “Oh…my…Gawddd!”—stick the landing. Just as she flopped against the chaise in her best impersonation of exhausted bliss, his thrusts quickened.
Her orgasm might be MIA, but apparently her acting skills were still on the job. Equally apparent, he’d been holding back until the job was done. But no more. Braced on his arms, he pumped furiously, obeying a fundamental instinct strong enough to override restraint and flay away layers of charm and civility. She watched in fascination, and a little envy, as pure, primitive pleasure overtook him. A shudder racked his body. His head dropped forward, and his breath came out in a long, ragged groan.
Yep. She definitely nailed the routine. Smiling inside, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the cushion. At least she’d managed to hold on to her pride.
She was so busy congratulating herself on a gold-medal performance it took a moment to realize he was utterly still and silent above her. She cracked an eye to find him staring at her, his mouth curved down at one corner.
She opened her other eye and blinked at him. The frown lingered. “Hey.” She reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Assessing brown eyes narrowed. “Did you just fake it?”
…
“What? No! Of course not.”
The czarina gave him a wide-eyed look he assumed she intended as guileless and tried to wiggle out from under him, but he had a good eighty pounds on her, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He was fine with fake names and fake histories, but fake orgasms? No fucking way.
Finally, she huffed out a breath. “I had a screaming orgasm. Can’t a guy, um…feel it?”
“Yeah, I know what a female orgasm feels like. Question is, do you?”
She blushed and dropped her gaze to somewhere around his chin, which would have given her away if basic human physiology hadn’t already done it. No postorgasmic engorgement of the subpapillary venous plexus? No dilated pupils? No elevated respiration? No orgasm.
“Yes,” she sighed. “I know what an orgasm feels like. And for the record, I really was close. But then”—she shrugged, not quite pulling off the casual gesture—“it disappeared. No big deal. Don’t take it personally. To be honest, I don’t usually come by just, you know”—she shrugged again—“interc
ourse.”
He pinched the base of his cock and eased off her in a careful withdrawal. “While I appreciate all your honesty, Czarina”—she had the grace to blush at the unsubtle reminder of her lack of honesty—“this particular gem of truth comes a little late, don’t you think?”
She sat up and swept her hair away from her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Translation? She didn’t want to discuss it. Another dismissal, reinforced by the way she turned and started digging through her purse. The black curtain of hair she’d pushed back a moment ago draped forward to obscure her face from his view.
Too damn bad, because he knew the score. She hadn’t picked him up at the bar because she’d wanted more of his conversational skills. Tonight wasn’t about getting to know each other better. Hell, she didn’t even want to know his real name. No, he’d had one job. Deliver a soul-deep, hurts-so-good, pray-for-mercy orgasm, and he’d failed on his first attempt. Now he owed her one—a debt he took seriously—so he wasn’t going to be so easily dismissed. “I mean, this would have been good information to share with me before you decided to give up and bring things to a unilateral conclusion.”
She sighed and held out a tissue to him. “You are taking this personally.”
He accepted the tissue and dealt with the condom. Fine, maybe he was. The universe had a way of keeping everything in balance, and he was no exception. He wasn’t cut out for relationships—his first serious attempt had fucked him up beyond repair—but to offset that sad reality, he excelled at sex. Orgasms on tap were pretty much what he had to offer, and he’d promised her one. His ego refused to admit defeat. But there were better ways to go about delivering on his promise than calling her out on her fakery.