Stone stroked her creamy white skin, tracing the scattering of freckles in a sensual game of connect the dots. His thumb traveled up to the sweet curve of her breast, over her nipple, which stiffened up to meet him, practically begging for his tongue.
Stone didn’t fight it. Leaning over, he sighed and tongued her nipple, nibbling, until she woke with a moan spilling from her lips. He smiled and didn’t lose his pace. She rolled over and offered herself up to him with an open surrender that made him grow back to rock-hard status. Twining her fingers behind his neck, she arched up, asking for more.
He moved slower this time, being more thorough as he tasted every inch of her. The sensitive curve of her hip, behind her knee, the part where neck met shoulder. As if she knew this time was different, she didn’t push the pace but met him stroke for stroke. Her hands fisted him and rubbed up and down his dick in slow, silky movements that had precum spilling onto her fingers. She rubbed the tip, and kept her grip strong and tight, bringing him right to the edge in a matter of moments.
They fell back into each other like a poem in which each stanza eased into the next. The stroke of her hand, the slide of her tongue, the warmth of her breath, the lilting sound of his name on her lips. It was as if they’d spent an eternity waiting for each other rather than engaging in one night of carnal sex. Stone fought hard, but when she climbed on top of him and took him deep inside, he almost sighed. The heat grew to blistering proportions, yet she rode him at a slow, intense pace, building up to the rhythm that would allow them both to shatter together.
She cried out. Her body arched, thrusting her small breasts high in the air, red hair streaming down her back. He watched every precious moment, taking it in, and then she collapsed forward onto his chest with him still inside her.
Stone’s second orgasm was even more intense than the first, as if the Fates mocked his plan and were having a joke at both of their expenses. This was the crap they spoke of in chick flick movies and Jane Austen novels. The garbage they spewed when sex and lust mixed with love and commitment. He didn’t believe in any of it; yet, as his balls tightened up and he exploded, releasing his seed, a possessive ferociousness claimed him, driving him to take her again and remind her she belonged to him.
Mine, his mind screamed. She’s mine.
Shut up. This is about sex.
The voice fell quiet. Panting, trying to gather his sanity, he fell back to the bed with her still cuddled against his chest. Time ticked by. They lay quietly in the dark. He waited for her to ask him her endless questions that he couldn’t answer.
But she didn’t speak.
And once again, her breathing deepened and she slept.
Stone lay awake for a long time, wondering what he was going to do.
sixteen
STONE! WAKE UP!”
“Five more minutes,” he groaned, rolling away. His body was shaken harder than a bad eighties Polaroid picture, causing him to open one eye. Where was he? Oh, Arilyn’s place. After sex. Great sex. Hell, the best sex he had ever had in his entire life, including when he lost his virginity to Sally Poole in the tenth grade. And that had been epic.
She squinted those incredible green eyes and moved closer. Poked him as if he were a dead body she was trying to investigate. He held back a laugh. Damned if she wasn’t as cute in the morning as when he got her all riled. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eye makeup was smeared, and a crease from the sheets ran across her right cheek.
“Stone! You have to go!”
His other eye winked open. Huh? His gaze dropped to where her peach-tinted nipples peeked from over the covers. Had they really fallen into slumber after only two times? He needed to make up for his lack of planning. The emotion stuff actually threw him off his game, but he’d get back to the main goal of wringing as much pleasure from her as possible and—what? “Wait. Are you throwing me out?”
She gave an impatient huff and climbed out of the bed. The morning light spilled through the window and bounced off her skin. She was gorgeous. She seemed frantic to find something she had lost, opened up a closet, and muttered to herself as she finally tugged something out and wrapped it around her. The silky black robe clung to her skin the way he wanted to. He lost the vision of her bare ass and mourned. “You have to go! I completely forgot that Pinky is at your house, and she’ll be scared in a new environment, and you need to feed her and change the water and the poor thing hasn’t been walked.” She nibbled at her lower lip, ginger brows snapped in a frown, and took out a pair of striped socks. Hopping on one leg, she donned the socks while he enjoyed the bobbing up and down of her breasts. “Are you listening to me? You need to get home to Pinky.”