One second he was Bryant Bishop, completely and totally in control of his future. The next, he was inside her and he was no more the master of his fate than the man in the moon.
He was lost.
Sensation bombarded him on all sides, and while the rest of his body felt as though it was free-falling, he had the most peculiar awareness deep down in his chest of being rooted—of belonging. Had she not bent forward and licked his nipple at that moment, he would have lingered on the feeling, then panicked.
But she did and he dove deeper, determined to fix whatever was wrong with him. If he took her hard enough, fast enough, he could make things right again. He could change whatever had just happened to him.
Her greedy feminine muscles clamped around him, holding him as he plunged in and out of her. Her breasts were full and lush, capped with pale pink rosy nipples, and watching her flat belly undulate beneath his, the line of her hips shift up to meet his, was quite possibly the most erotic thing he’d ever done.
She smoothed her hands over his chest, along his shoulders, then around his neck, and drew him down to kiss her once more. The combination of tasting her while he took her was somehow more rewarding—more significant—than it had ever been. She drew her legs back, allowing him more access, and wrapped them around his waist until the bottoms of her feet rested against his ass. He shut his eyes to keep them from rolling back in his head.
“Woman, you are killing me,” he growled against her mouth.
“Good,” she said, upping the tempo between them. “I’m sure you deserve it for something.”
He chuckled, surprised at her insight, particularly at the moment. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I usually am.”
“And so modest, too.”
She laughed and he felt the vibration around his dick. The sensation kindled that first flash of beginning orgasm and he pounded harder. Sensing the change, Layla met his pace thrust for thrust. She licked his neck, nibbled at his shoulders and slid her hands over his back. She was everywhere, beneath his body and beneath his skin, and the scent of her curled around his senses, drugging him.
He heard her breath catch and her own rhythm increased, her muscles fisting more and more tightly around him. He slipped his arm beneath her back, angling her up and more tightly against him. The new position made his balls slap against her and he nailed her clit with every thrust, which had been the intent after all. He knew his way around a woman’s body and that little nub hidden at the top of her sex was the money spot. He knew he could pound, twist, aim and angle all night in her velvety channel, but if he didn’t pay homage to that little part of her anatomy, it was all in vain. Just like that strip of flesh at the base of his balls did it for him—which she was currently stroking, the she-devil—this was her hot button.
Her mouth opened and a slow smile gratifyingly curled the edges and he knew that she was close. Thank God, because so was he.
He pounded harder, in and out, in and out, and felt her slide across the slippery bedspread with every brutal thrust into her body. Any minute now they were in danger of falling completely off the bed. Her breathing came in rapid little puffs, ragged and uneven, and a groan rumbled low in her throat. He knew that sound, knew what it meant, and worked harder. He bent his head, drew her breast into his mouth and sucked deeply.
She bucked hard once, twice, then every muscle in her body locked down tight as those around him contracted over and over again.
Her release triggered his own and the orgasm shot from his loins like a bullet down the barrel of a gun. He dug his toes into the mattress and nudged deep, seating himself firmly inside her. Nothing short of the Jaws of Life could have gotten him out of there at the moment, Bryant thought dimly as his vision blackened around the edges and a bone-deep shiver eddied up his spine. Contentment washed through him, raising every hair on his body, and he sagged against her, utterly spent and completely sated. He kissed her neck, then taking her with him, rolled to the side. He made quick work of removing the condom, then settled her more securely into the crook of his arm.
She fit.
And he was doomed.
“Fair warning,” Layla said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’m gonna wanna do some more of that.”
Whatever he’d expected her to say, it hadn’t been that, and her frankness startled a laugh right out of him. He doodled on her upper arm, enjoyed the feel of her naked breast against his chest.
“The tour’s over tomorrow night,” he said. A warning, but one he felt he needed to make. He was temporary. This was temporary. He didn’t do committed or permanent. It wasn’t in the genes.