“I’ll grab one,” I said. No way I’d use a rubber she’d bought for another man. Reaching for my jeans, I pulled out the wallet and got the condom, ripping open the package with my teeth.
“Let me,” Mel said, reaching for it. I let her have it and then her hand was on my cock, covering it with a long, sexy stroke of her fingers. Then I was on her again, pushing the head into her opening.
Tight.
So fucking tight.
Tight and wet and hot for me in a way that no other woman had ever come close to matching . . . She gasped as I pushed deep, moving slowly but steadily until I bottomed out inside her. Her inner muscles tensed around me and my vision started to swim.
Then I pulled back and thrust again.
I’d had a thousand different fantasies of us together over the past year. In my mind, I’d fucked her every way a man can fuck a woman. Twice. I’d always known it would be good—how could fucking a woman like Mel not be good?—but no way could I have imagined this. Sure, her cunt was hot. And the way she squeezed my dick worked for me in a big way, don’t get me wrong. The best part, though, was the way she looked at me, eyes all big and wide and full of surprised excitement because we were just that good together.
She’d been with other guys. I knew this. And I’d been with a shitload of other women . . . somehow this felt like the first time, though. Like I’d just been jerking off before.
Dropping my head, I kissed her as I pumped even deeper.
This couldn’t last forever, but I wished to fuck it could.
MELANIE
I’d never experienced anything quite like sex with Painter. It seemed wrong somehow, the way that he stretched me to the point of pain with every thrust, like it shouldn’t feel so good.
Yet somehow it worked—like our bodies were in tune with each other even though our lives were so mismatched. I’d never actually managed to come during traditional sex before, but I knew the instant he filled me that I’d be satisfied. Not only had he prepped me right (God, had he ever!), but somehow he’d tilted my hips so that every stroke brought his pelvic bone up against my clit.
By the time he started kissing me again, I was already close to the edge. The need and desire and craving that spiraled through my body were building, and I could feel it just ahead of me. A little more . . . All I needed was a little more and then all that energy could explode out of me, setting me free again.
I was already hovering on the edge of overload when he reached down, sliding a hand under my ass to roll us over again. Suddenly I was on top and in control, perfectly positioned to take exactly what I needed from him.
Finally.
I’d been waiting for this moment for more than a year . . . Leaning forward, I braced my hand against his shoulders, jerking my hips back and forth, riding him for all I was worth. His firm grip on my waist steadied me, allowing me to focus on one thing and one thing only—getting off.
Then it hit—my body tightened as all that twisted need unraveled at once, destroying me in the process.
“Fuck,” he groaned as I spasmed around him. I felt his dick swelling inside me, pulsing as he flew over the edge, too. “Jesus, fuck . . . Mel.”
Collapsing down over his body, I let him pull me into his arms. Nestling into his shoulder, I decided I wouldn’t think about what this might mean in the grand scheme of things.
Better to just savor it while it lasted.
With that as my last thought, I fell asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I woke slowly, stretching out across my futon like a satisfied cat.
Sunshine filled the boothlike room, and shards of multicolored light sparkled against the wood-paneled walls from the prisms I’d hung in the window. They’d belonged to my mom, and when she’d taken off, she’d left them behind. I reached for my phone, catching a glimpse of the dried, flaking remains of the face paint.
Memory flooded back.
Painter.
I’d had sex with Painter. Really good sex. I looked to the pillow beside me, finding the imprint he’d left. No sign of him, though . . . Had he taken off? He’d warned me that he wasn’t the type to commit, but had our friendship really fallen apart that easily?
No, I should give him the benefit of the doubt. For all I knew he was downstairs cooking me breakfast.
Standing slowly—isn’t that an interesting little ache between my legs?—I found my bathrobe, then started toward the bathroom, trying not to think about how many times he must’ve fucked and run with other girls. Not like he made me any promises.
God, I was stupid.
I’d left my phone downstairs, so I wasn’t even sure what time it was. Still early. Maybe he’d left me a message.
A quick stop in the bathroom later—holy crap, I need a shower to get all that dried paint off—and I was heading downstairs to find it.
My phone wasn’t on the coffee table or in the dining room, which didn’t bode well. I could hear noises in the kitchen, though, and even smelled bacon. I had a brief, intense fantasy it was Painter. I found Jessica and Taz instead. The Devil’s Jack was leaning back against the counter drinking a cup of coffee, which he raised to me with a smirking salute.
“Good morning,” he said. “Have fun last night?”
Too bad I didn’t know him well enough to flip him off, because I wanted to in a big way. Jess turned from the stove, my favorite red spatula raised like a weapon in one hand while the other was braced on her hip, which she’d cocked belligerently.
“You look like shit,” she said, eyes flicking over me. This wasn’t news. I’d seen my reflection in the bathroom mirror—the paint had dried and flaked into a molting lizard pattern, so I couldn’t really fault her for her words. “Why did you let him in? Didn’t you get my text warning you? I can’t believe you slept with him, are you totally fucking cra—”