It makes me feel strong and beautiful and desired, things that have eluded me for some time now. But the thing is, I can’t afford to be fooled into thinking this means something. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me, Mr. Suit. I’m already here.”
“I’m not sweet-talking you, Blondie. I don’t say something if I don’t mean it.”
I loop my arms around his neck and pull his face down to mine, because I need to distract myself. I willnotfall for him. I don’t even know his name, for crying out loud.
“I’d prefer it if you stopped talking all together,” I whisper into his ear.
“Bossy,” he teases.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
His gravelly laugh lights my body up. Flipping on every damn switch I have.
He pushes into me with one smooth thrust and the feeling of fullness consumes me. I’m dripping, aching and needy. I rock my hips up to meet his as we create a rhythm that’s wholly ours—he’s big and thick and my body takes a moment to adjust. But it’s perfect, dirty and sexy and a little rough. A little wild. I tug his hair and rake my nails down his back, and in kind, he pulls out for the briefest second to flip me around.
“That’s how you want to play this?” he growls.
I’m on all fours at the edge of the bed, with him behind me, and I’m so desperate to come again I’m almost weeping. “Yes.”
He pushes into me and wraps my hair around his hand, giving it enough tension that my head is pulled back slightly. It doesn’t hurt and I know I could stop it if I wanted to, but the fact that he can read me so well is making my legs tremble. He’s still buried to the hilt and I squirm back against him.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands.
“I want you to fuck me hard.” I’m breathless, wanton. Wanting.
“What else?”
“Pull my hair.”
“You a dirty girl, Blondie?”
“Yes,” I whimper.
“You’re a dirty girl who does peep shows and phone sex and likes to be fucked from behind.”
Oh, God. I’m so wet I’m sure he’s totally coated in me. “Yes. I am.”
“I fucking love it.”
His fingers bite into my hip as he thrusts into me, the sounds of our sex echoing through his apartment. All that teasing we’ve done has been nothing but a path leading to this moment. I gasp as the tremors begin, my orgasm building and building and building...
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut.
The end is frantic and sharp, like a thousand bubbles bursting. I shake and tremble as release washes through me and Mr. Suit drives into me one last time with a sound that’s going to be etched onto my memory forever.
He pulls me down to the bed, wrapping his arms around my body and cradling me. Warm breath puffs against the back of my neck and I feel totally and utterly sated.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Flynn
BLONDIEDIDN’TLEAVEmy bed all night—well, except for the brief interlude we took to shower and rehydrate. Then it was back to bed, more sex. More teasing. More laughing. I don’t remember the last time I woke up feeling so exhausted and yet so satisfied.
I stand at the foot of the bed, stifling a chuckle. Blondie sleeps like I imagined she would—messily. The sheets are totally ripped from her side of the mattress and bunched around her body. Her mass of platinum hair is spread out around her, gleaming in the pale morning light. One arm is flung over her face and her bare breasts are exposed to my hungry eyes. Her other hand is stretched across the bed and is resting below my pillow as if she’s reaching for me. She takes up as much space as possible, stretching out like a misshapen star-fish.
It’s adorable, and more than a little sexy.
She has this air of chaos about her that I’m finding unnervingly addictive. Perhaps it’s the antidote to my heavily regimented lifestyle—opposites attract and all that. Even though I know it’s not going anywhere, I don’t regret breaking my “no casual sex” rule. That’s not a night I’ll forget in a long time.