After Dark (The Night Owl Trilogy #3)(17)

Hannah wrapped a hand around my dick and let me thrust into her mouth. “Good,” I told her. “Close. Soon. Take it.”

She gripped my ass and her slippery finger pressed against my anus.

That sensation …

No woman had ever dared.

Drunk with pleasure, I grasped the headboard and bucked against her mouth.

“Is th-that … what you want to do?” I hissed.

I bowed over her and arched back.

“Then do it,” I said. Her finger pierced me. Ah—it was something strange—an intimate feeling beyond reason.

I poured myself into her mouth.

*

Pearlescent in her afterglow, Hannah lounged on top of me. Her sweet-smelling hair rolled across my chest. Her nipples, still hard, pressed into my skin. Excited me.

That is the state of desire, I guess. A state of imperfect satisfaction.

I slid my laptop onto the bedside table.

We hadn’t spoken for several minutes. I was savoring my orgasm—a powerful, jagged release—and playing it over in my mind.

“Did you come?” I said, wincing subtly. Usually I could tell.

“God, yes. Way too fast. I don’t know what got into me…”

I grinned. “I think porn got into you.”

“Matt.” She propped herself on my chest and frowned at me. “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, my smug expression fading.

Her hand browsed my side, from my thigh to my ribs. She leveled me with her stare. This was Hannah the woman—mature, confident, and patient. A force to be reckoned with.

“What?” I shrugged against the mattress.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

I knew what she wanted to hear. I felt a phantom touch where she’d slid her finger.

“It didn’t hurt,” I said.

“Did it feel good?”

“I came, didn’t I?”

“Stop being silly. Silly boy…” She began to finger-comb my hair. She nuzzled her cheek against mine and whispered in my ear, “You liked it. Tell me.”

A dull throb between my legs reminded me how well I’d liked it.

“You like it when I finger your ass. I imagine it feels the same.”

“I love it,” she said.

“And I love you. Don’t make me spell it out.”

“You make me spell everything out.” She twisted one of my nipples—gently. I hissed. Fuck, she was feisty tonight.

“Didn’t know you were into sexual torture.” My breath caught as I snickered. Impossible to play it cool with her curves fitted to my body, her * so close to my cock.

“Hm, who knows what else I’m into?” She twisted harder. A twinge of pleasure-pain traveled straight to my dick. I rolled—Hannah squeaked at the sudden motion—and pinned her to the bed. I dragged my fingers over her mouth, her breasts, her cunt.

“All mine,” I whispered. “My fiancée.”

She closed her legs, trapping my erection between her velvet thighs.

“My husband to be,” she murmured. “All…” The muscles in her legs tightened, gripping me harder. “Mine.”

I tilted Hannah’s chin and made her look at me.

“I liked it,” I said. “What you did. No one’s ever…”

“No?”

“Just you.” I hesitated, my body aching. “I want to give you something.”

Beneath me, Hannah softened, a sweet smile spreading on her lips.

“All right,” she whispered.

Without climbing off her, I felt around in the bedside drawer until I found what I wanted: a small square box. Maybe because of what it contained—a platinum engagement ring, size six, with a one-carat diamond and two eight-diamond swirls around the band—it felt heavier than I thought it should. The ring was thick and modern in style; I had noticed Hannah admiring it the day we bought her father’s cuff links.

I propped myself on my elbows and opened the box.

“This is the ring—”

“I know,” she said. Her eyes were wide. “You remembered.”

“Mm. Will you wear it?”

Hannah held out her hand. Fucking adorable; she could never speak when she got emotional. She nodded and smiled unsteadily.

I worked the ring onto her finger, over her knuckle, and straightened it. Then I laid her hand across her chest and admired it.

“Perfect,” I said. I searched her face. “Now let me”—she moaned when I moved—“in.”





Chapter 9





HANNAH


We flew east on Thursday night, my second flight with Matt. I clung to his arm as our plane rose and shuddered in the atmosphere. He stroked my hand and smiled at me.

Oh … that warm smile.

I didn’t fuss about our first-class seats. In fact, I secretly enjoyed the luxury.

Matt looked gorgeous, semi-casual in dress slacks and a pale button-down. I wore black leggings and a loose boat-neck sweatshirt. When we reached cruising altitude, I relaxed enough to peer around the cabin.

Wow, everyone here looked like Matt. The high-end clothes, the easy elegance, the unmistakable air of privilege.

When our flight attendant introduced herself—Jane, and welcome to the friendly skies—Matt rattled off a list of requests, his smooth voice and snowy smile dazzling her. “An extra pillow and blanket for her”—he touched my hand—“and wine, please, white if you have it. None for me.” He pressed a twenty into her hand. She dithered, then accepted the bill, and fawned over us for the rest of the flight.