Not So Nice Guy(59)

“Hold on,” he warns. I grip his neck and suddenly, there’s no need for the bathroom sink—I’m barely touching it. He has ahold of my hips and he keeps me stationary as he thrusts in and drags back out, in and out, in and out, nice and slow. He does all the work, which leaves nothing to distract me from my building orgasm. Every time he pumps all the way in, he brushes against me in just the right spot. I tell him and he starts to go a little faster, pumping harder, holding tighter. I’m building, building, building, and this is it.

Yes. Yes. YES.

But then Ian sets me down. A protest forms and dies on my tongue as he turns me to face the mirror.

The mirror.

I’d completely forgotten all about it, but Ian hasn’t. He turns us and tells me to press up onto my tiptoes. It’s the only way he can align himself with me, and even then, he has to bend his knees. He takes my wrists and props my hands up on the counter without asking. His chest hits my back and I feel enveloped by his warmth right up until he stands back to his full height. I watch him in the mirror and this man isn’t the Ian I’m used to. I’m aware now of the details I used to try to ignore: the chiseled jaw, the sharp edge to his gaze. They’re parts of him that seemed a little too intimidating. Now they’re all I see. When he pumps into me for the first time at this new angle, I collapse forward onto the cold counter. He smiles and picks me back up, holding me more carefully so the next time, I stay standing.

“Is this too much?”

Of course it is. I’m being forced to watch what he’s doing to me. I’m looking at my flushed, heated skin; that black bowtie around my neck that smells like him; my wild, tangled hair; the crazed look in my eyes. There’s no escaping what he’s doing to me and maybe I won’t always want it this way, but right now I do.

“Not enough,” I beg, and Ian delivers.

He slides into me slowly and he’s deeper than before. He stays pressed there and our eyes lock in the mirror.

I’ve been naked for a while, but in the reflection, I’m stripped bare. Ian has his fist wrapped around my soul.

“I have to be careful with you.”

I shake my head then his hand hooks around my waist and he rubs soft, quick circles between my thighs. His other hand toys with my breast and those two combined sensations thrust me to the finish line quicker than I’d like. I want it, and yet, I want this to last forever. The cold granite bites into my hips. Ian’s thighs sear the backs of my legs. His hand grips my breast and he thrusts again, harder than ever before, and then again. He speeds up and I clench around him, reaching up to wrap one hand around his neck. His hips are rolling and grinding. He delivers another deep thrust and a swirl of his thumb, and my nails bite into his skin.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

It’s like I’m giving him an offering. Here, take it.

And he does. He pumps so hard, and he never stops rubbing circles. The lingering sensations from my first orgasm make me overly sensitive and needy. One moment, I don’t think I can take one more whisper of a touch there, and then suddenly I’m falling again. It’s harder and quicker than the first time, and Ian finally lets himself tip over the edge too. We come together and he thrusts deep inside of me, almost violently. His teeth bite gently into my shoulder and if there’s any broken skin, I hope it scars. It’ll be a little memento from our wedding night.





22





S A M



Ian lets me shower while he orders room service. When I’m done, I wrap myself up in a plush terrycloth robe and step out of the bathroom.

In the ten minutes I stood under that shower stream, I let the images of our lovemaking flash back through my mind. Ian is a fucking catch. Women should be throwing themselves at his feet, and now, somehow, he’s my whirlwind husband. I wonder if he regrets having the wedding before the wedding night. I wonder if I was even half as good as him, then I chuckle. I barely had enough brain power to process what he was doing to me, much less think of things to do to him.

I step out of the bathroom and see him sitting on the bed. He has his boxer briefs back on, but nothing else. His hair is disheveled from my hands. He’s on the phone finishing up the food order, but his eyes cut to me. I flush and he smiles, curls his finger, and mouths, Come here.

My feet carry me closer and he drags me down to sit on his lap with my back pressed against his chest. My head hits his shoulder and his hand trails up the front of my robe. I think he’s going to play fair, but then his hand slips beneath the lapel and his palm covers my breast. We just finished having sex and now suddenly I’m right back at the starting line. These are truly uncharted waters.

“Yeah, you can throw in an extra order of fries,” Ian says into the phone.

He sounds completely unaffected by what he’s doing to me right now. By comparison, I’m basically mewling like a cat.

“Sam, do you want anything for dessert?”

Sam can’t come to the phone right now. She’s dead.

“Sam?” he asks again, but it’s a whisper against the shell of my ear—a taunt.

I turn and take the phone out of his hand. “Chocolate milkshake. Room 419. Thank you.”

Then I toss the phone toward its base without looking. It clatters to the floor and I leap onto Ian. He’s caught off guard, so for a few seconds, I have the upper hand. It’s glorious. He tips back onto the perfectly made bed and I straddle his hips. The tie around my robe comes loose and the two sides start to peel apart.