But their only audience was a large and unimpressed-looking cat, who was curled up on Chantelle’s pillows, looking none too pleased at having her beauty sleep interrupted.
Dustin spied her and chuckled softly. “Think she’s planning on hanging around? Not too sure if you really want a witness.”
Chantelle laughed outright: at least he was decent about it. The last man who had been in her bedroom, eons ago, had postponed lovemaking to give her a stern lecture about the unhygienic practice of allowing pets on the bed. There had never been a time in Chantelle’s life when she didn’t share her home with a cat, and as far as she was concerned, they had all the rights of family, so it was a foregone conclusion when she ushered that mouthy idiot to the door without a second thought. You messed with her cat, you messed with her.
But it was clear that Minerva adored Dustin… well, as much as cats were capable of adoring anyone but their masters. Which is to say, she tolerated him with mild overtones of positivity. Chantelle didn’t mind when he asked for privacy. She scooped up the outraged animal and popped her unceremoniously into her bathroom, where she had no doubt Minerva would curl up in the laundry basket and return to her mouse-filled dreamland.
Alone again. Chantelle walked back to the bed where Dustin was lying, hands behind his head, waiting for her. She stood at the bedside and surveyed him.
Goddamn, he was beautiful.
He held out his arms to her, and she fell into them. She was overwhelmed by hunger and amazed by the sheer force of the hunger she felt in return. As she pressed her body against him, she became well aware of his excitement and knew now that the preliminaries were over.
She shivered.
Determined not to allow him to take full control of the situation, she made quick work of his pants, undoing them and tugging them down as he lifted his hips to help her. Then he was naked, and only one thing drew her attention: the powerful erection that thrust towards her, evidence of how excited he was to be with her.
They rolled onto their sides, facing each other, kisses growing hungrier and wilder as he began to nibble at her lips and run the tip of his tongue over her skin. One hand slipped down along her front, pausing only to tease at her hard nipples, and then further to her belly button, where he paused.
“You sure this is okay? You won’t feel any… discomfort with the baby and all?”
She could have smiled at the idea of a man not knowing that sex during pregnancy was totally okay, but it was sweet of him to ask, so she nodded vigorously. “Totally safe,” she promised.
“If you feel bad at all, or if I cause any problems for you—”
“Dustin!” She wanted him so badly right now and he wanted totalk?
“Okay.” His hand ventured further, into her panties, into the light bit of fluff there, pausing as he seemed to delight in the moistness and heat, and then proceeded like an explorer in a new and untamed jungle, seeking treasure or redemption, she didn’t know which.
She sucked in air sharply as that wayward finger slipped into her cleft, still seeking, still searching. Fondling. Stroking and rubbing.
She squeezed her eyes shut because she knew he was looking into her face and couldn’t bear to think of what he would see. Couldn’t bear to think of the power this man would have if he knew… everything.
But his fingers found their way, and soon her hips were rising, pressing up against his hand, as a rare level of excitement took root. He was taking her somewhere unfamiliar, but to her shock, it was a place she was now dying to go.
When he stopped, she wanted to murder him. Her protest was inarticulate; she couldn’t even form words.
But he shushed her. “This will be better; trust me.” He lifted himself onto his hands, placed a condom over his member, then leveraged his body over hers, the same hand that had been between her legs, stirring up trouble, parting her lips to allow him entrance.
He stopped for only one tiny moment, as if wanting to drag it out, until she grated through her teeth, “What are you waiting for!?”
“Nothing, beauty,” he rasped, and slid himself home.
The impact was electric. Mind-numbing, like an unexpected surge of electrical power shorting out a fuse. She felt filled to the brim, and yet her body yearned for more of him. Wished she could consume more of him, not just his body, but his breath and his force.
Dustin began to move, and it was only a matter of time before she recognized and mimicked his movements, until they were moving as one, sharing every sensation. Each felt the other’s pleasure as if it was their own. Every pulse, every shiver, every stabbing pain was shared, because between them there were no borders. No boundaries.
She could hear him whispering, but her clouded, sex-drunk mind couldn’t translate the words he was saying. But she was well aware of their intent.
Then something hit her with the force of a blow, out of nowhere, as if she had been struck by a train when she wasn’t even aware there were tracks under her feet. She screamed in shock as sensation ricocheted through her body, muscles rigid, eyes wide open, sure that she would never be able to breathe in again.
She felt his strokes speed up as he joined her in that delirium, that state in which clear thought was shoved harshly aside by pure, greedy sensation, need and want. And the feeling went on and on and on until she begged for mercy, because she was convinced that after a few more seconds of it and she would die.
He collapsed next to her, head upon her shoulder, and only then did she notice they were both drenched with sweat.
And it was as if she had to train herself to learn to breathe all over again. “Oh,” she said, finally.
“‘Oh’ what?”