Somehow, he managed to roll over so he wasn’t crushing her. He spooned against her, his arms slipping around her stomach, keeping her close, his lips buried in the crook of her neck. Surrounded by his warmth and delicious smell, she relaxed completely in his embrace.
“What did you do to me?” he whispered in her ear.
She managed to rouse herself enough to answer his question with one of her own. “What did you do to me?”
Arilyn knew they spoke of something bigger than the sex, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She did the only thing left.
She lost consciousness.
STONE STARED INTO THE darkness, listening to her steady breathing.
Well, wasn’t he completely screwed? In a good way. And in a very, very bad way.
He knew exactly what he expected from fucking Arilyn Meadows. Oh, definitely orgasms. Pleasure. Some ups and downs, since they were so different and annoyed the crap out of each other. A few laughs. Then a clean pathway back to the single life, with a clear conscience.
Now?
Not so much.
Stone tried to figure it out. What had happened? Yes, she called to him on a level he’d never experienced before. The physical connection overwhelmed him, but when he slid deep inside her body, felt her core clenching him with those silky muscles, he wasn’t just thinking about her sweet pussy. No, instead he became entranced by the open vulnerability in her grass-green eyes. The way her mouth opened in a breathy gasp, and that look of wonder on her face when he surged inside her, making him feel like Spider-Man and Superman and fucking Thor all rolled up into one holy mix of hotness. The sting of her nails digging into his shoulders, and the way her body fit perfectly to his, like they belonged together. But the worst? Oh, God, the worst part of all scared the living bejesus out of him.
It was the feeling of peace and homecoming when they were connected. As if they were meant for each other.
Stone closed his eyes and tried to take those deep yoga breaths she had taught him. He fought the need to run for the exit and never return. This mix of emotions was brand-new and more threatening than the Headless Horseman on Halloween. He was in it for the sex, Stone reminded himself. It had been a long time. Of course, she looked at him like he was a hero. She’d been stuck with a dickhead for five long years and she was hungry for connection. By morning, they’d both be over the strange feelings.
That had to be it. Right?
The alternative was not allowed.
He tried to ease into sleep for a well-needed nap, but even though he’d just had the best climax of his life, he wanted her again. She stirred, mumbling into the pillow, and the scent of musky sex and coconut body lotion flooded his nostrils. Her body was magnificent, but even more so was her pride and grace in the way she carried herself. As if she realized on her own that she was enough. That kind of confidence was sexy as hell, and he couldn’t wait to have more of her.
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.