Manwhore (Manwhore #1)(72)

I didn’t think, I guess. I only wanted. I wanted, obsessed, and had to have, like a young, reckless girl. Like a girl he brings out, someone I’d never been until now. I’m acutely aware of his effects on this girl as he drives me home.

I should feel satiated, content, and happy by now. Instead I don’t want to say goodbye, and when he tells Otis to wait for him as he walks me up, I feel frantic that he won’t stay. That I’m not truthful and loyal, and he will soon go away.

“I have work tomorrow,” I say, just to give him an easy out.

“I have work too,” he says, but he keeps following me to the door, waiting behind me as I open.

I shiver when he nibbles the back of my ear, his hand running up my bare arm to caress the shoulder I teased him with hours ago when he picked me up.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah.” He kisses my ear.

I can’t even explain the way my heart unravels in my chest, spreading warmth all over me.

Not wanting to bump into Gina like this, I press my finger to my mouth, hook my little finger in his, and pull him into my bedroom. We shut the door. He looks big and beautiful.

“Sit down,” I gesture toward the bed, my hormones already joining the party.

He starts unbuttoning his shirt as I go and slip into my Wildcat T-shirt. I walk back to my bed. He looks at me with that naughty curve to his lips, and from his expression you’d think I was the sexiest thing to come out of my university. I look down-to-earth, while he looks exquisite, his shirt stretched in all the right places.

Quietly I straddle him and unbutton the rest of his shirt while he eases his hands under my T-shirt, squeezing the flesh of my ass.

“Malcolm, I don’t have condoms. . . .”

He kisses me slowly, deeply, savoring me. “Don’t worry, I got us covered.”

In less than a minute we’re all set, all naked, and I’m pushing him down to my bed, delighted that he lets me straddle him. Run my hands up his massive chest. Watch him watch me move over him. I take him in my body, and my breasts feel heavy with need, tender from his fingers as he caresses them, raises his head and licks and laves the sensitive tips. He sits up with me, then, eye to eye, we move together. He pounds me with his hips, pulling me down harder to meet him. He comes fiercely, my orgasm tearing through me at the same time.

Our breaths come fast. He looks confused, awed, grateful. He wanted to break me, but I could almost see a crack in his huge, huge walls as we made love. Because that’s what it felt like. Strangers who should be f*cking somehow ended up giving more and opening up more than planned. Content, I rest against the hard, warm lines of his body for a long time, his hands lazily trailing a path up the line of my spine.

I go out on a limb and whisper, “I like being just like this with you.”

“Do you?” he asks, his look soft and teasing, tender.

I nod.

He pats his chest. “Then come back here.”

I put my hands around his neck and curl into his chest. He smells like safe. Like strength. Like his shirt I now have tucked in my closet. He smells like control and power, and he also smells like sex and connection and happiness to me. I turn the feelings around in my being and then in my head, but I won’t be writing these words on my note cards. These are just mine, and though they’ll leave my mind, the feelings behind them, I know, will stay.

He says, “Hang on,” grabs his phone, then sends off a text. “You okay if I spend the night?”

I smile, nod. “Did you tell Otis that you are?”

“I did. You sure it’s okay?” His eyes twinkle. “We won’t get much sleep if I stay.”

“Who needs sleep with you in bed?” I grin; then he makes the bed squeak as he rolls to his side to watch his hand caress my abdomen on the way up. I watch my own fingers crawl up his throat, his jaw, and I whisper in his ear, “Help me keep quiet. I don’t want us to make noise.”

He rolls me to my back and sinks his hips between my thighs, his palm spreading over my cheek. He presses his thumb between my lips and strokes it against my tongue so that I can suck it instead of make noise. There’s such raw need in his eyes. Suddenly I’m jealous thinking of him giving this to anyone else. I’m so jealous I can’t claw my way close enough. A moan flows out of my mouth as I press my body upward. “Come closer. Come closer and tell me what you want, say it dirty,” I beg in his ear.

“Tell you?” he says in his quiet voice. “I’m going to show you.”

Watching me, his fist slides over the length of his erection until he’s grabbed the base; slowly, he introduces the head into my body. “How dirty?” he coaxes, eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “Rachel?” The desire in his voice excites me even more. “How dirty do you want it? How hard?”

He slides, inch by inch, between my legs, and stops midway. Warm hands take the backs of my knees, and then he spreads my legs over his square shoulders. The move opens me up like a flower, my * exposed. His hips settle between my thighs, deeper this time, and he enters me the rest of the way, and I take him with a long, erotic moan, the pressure of his cock entering me robbing me of my breath.

Alight with exquisite pleasure, my body’s throbbing for him. We both begin rocking in unison, seeking the ultimate closeness.

My nails sink into the back of his neck as my legs loosen so he can fold me over and get as deep as possible. His powerful body moves above mine in a ripple of muscles and a flex of hips and arms. God, the friction. The friction brings him balls deep. Every in-stroke brings his body to stimulate my clit. Slowly, but with expert control and powerful thrusts, he moves above me. Inside me.