The long, slow swipe of her tongue along his length made his hips bolt upward and his hands found her hair, gripping the long strands, threading his fingers through it as he pulled her to him.
She took her time, circling the head of his shaft, licking it swiftly, lightly, her hands cupping the heavy sac of his balls as she teased him with her tongue. With a motion of catlike grace, Martine enveloped him and he bucked in response, clutching her head tighter, her slow descent making the muscles in his thighs tense and bulge.
Gripping each thigh, she kneaded them as she allowed Derrick to glide freely between her lips. The visual of her body curled between his thighs, her long, dark hair tousled, the sweet slide of her lips against his cock, were almost as hot as her mouth on him.
His teeth clenched in an effort to take this slow, but the hot cavern of her mouth was too much, not enough, overwhelming, as she tightened her lips around him and pulled upward on his cock then slid back down.
Over and over until every nerve in his body was on fire, until he was so close to coming, he had to pull from her mouth and drag her upward, rolling her to her back.
He needed to drive into her, to sink into her wet, silky depths.
Needed.
Martine arched in response, wrapping her long thighs around his waist, placing one palm at his chest and looping her other arm around his neck.
He didn’t hesitate when she lifted her hips, encouraging him to plunge deeply within her—but the moment he did was a moment he’d never forget.
As he drove upward, their gazes met, Martine’s as surprised as he was certain his was. This felt too good—too right—too much. She wasn’t just wet and tight, she was everything—all consuming, and her gasp mingling with his own made them both pause.
He pulsed inside her, torn by this unfamiliar rush of emotion, caught off guard by the intensity until she writhed beneath him, enticing him, making him take control and thrust inside her again.
His cock was like steel, deeply wedged in her tight depths when he began to plunge, drawing his hips back and letting go with no mercy. Martine’s pussy clenched around him like a slick glove. She matched his thrusts, raising her leg higher, clawing at his back.
The sting of her nails and her harsh moans against his ear served to heighten his need. He hooked an arm at the bend in her leg, lifting it higher, driving toward the white flashes of light behind his eyelids.
Martine frantically thrust her hips against him, making his blood pound in his ears. Derrick hissed a breath when her hands found the muscled flesh of his ass, digging her nails into it as he swelled within her. She whimpered low, her nipples tightening, scraping his chest, her neck arching, signaling her release.
And as the roar of climax surfaced, gripping him, milking his cock, Derrick tensed above her, sinking into her tight wetness one last time before he came, the orgasm hard, relentless in its grip.
Martine rode the wave with him, their hips crashing together, a fine sheen of sweat covering their flesh as Derrick found her lips, sealing them in a kiss before collapsing against her and pulling her close.
He drifted off to sleep, the sweet smell of their lovemaking in his nose, and the profound discovery of how at ease he was with her in his bed weighing heavy in his chest.
* * *
The clatter of pots and the aroma of coffee woke him. The sounds of someone in his kitchen made him lift himself to his elbows before the memory of last night hit him.
Martine’s hot skin on his, his tongue buried inside her. Some of the most amazing lovemaking he’d ever encountered, and he’d encountered plenty. His cock clearly remembered it, too, lifting beneath the sheets in salute.
Then reality settled in. Shit. Now came the awkward weirdness always associated with the morning after.
But hold on, he hadn’t been the one to make the first move. She’d appeared in his bedroom. So what the hell did that mean?
Martine poked her head around his bedroom door, an eyebrow raised, her hair falling about her shoulders and down over her breasts in shiny waves of black silk. “I made breakfast. Figured it was the least I could do after last night.”
Instantly, he was in defense mode. The least she could do? Was this a passive aggressive poke at how quickly they’d made love?
She’d made the first move. He couldn’t be blamed for succumbing to her incredibly amazing body. “The least you could do?” he asked dumbly.
She shrugged her shoulders, covered once more in the shirt he’d loaned her, and gave him a half smile. “I guess what I meant was, you did most of the cooking last night. The least I can do is take on the task of preparing a meal or two. I mean, you are letting me stay here hassle free. I’m a little rusty, but I managed to make eggs Benedict, if you’re interested.”