The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(69)

The crashing wave of my orgasm mutes the thought, and I throw my head back, press my pelvis into his hand, and ride the euphoria through spasm after spasm of pleasure that’s so much better than anything my locked drawer at my bedside can do for me.

“So fucking gorgeous.” He rubs his scruffy cheek against my neck and sears a kiss beneath my ear, and my walls clench around him again with one last resounding aftershock.

My chest is heaving as I attempt to catch my breath. Clearly, more exercise needs to be in my future.

Also?

I need to get this man off.

Right now.

Preferably with him buried balls-deep inside me.

“Levi?” I pant.

Seriously. Not kidding about the exercise.

He presses hot, wet kisses along my jaw. “Mm?”

“Take my pants off and fuck me, please.”

His head jerks up. “That…wasn’t good?”

“That was transcendent.” He’s still holding my wrists, so I arch my hips and belly to rub his hard length. “And now I want more.”

His momentary panic disappears behind a cocky smile. “I’ve awakened a beast.”

“Mama’s horny and there are still cobwebs that need clearing down there.”

He buries his face in the crook of my neck and makes a noise.

“Laugh now, but you are in for the night of your life. If I can stay awake past eight.”

“I fucking adore you.” He slides his hand under my waistband and squeezes my ass, inching my pants down.

“Thank god, because I am not for everyone.” I can’t arch back into his touch and still rub my stomach against his hard-on, because I’m a woman in my mid-thirties who’s had three kids, not a gymnast.

Note to self: Become a gymnast.

Other note to self: Did he slip some kind of hormone or pheromone up my vajayjay, because I really am desperate for more, and that was already one hell of an orgasm.

“I’m letting your hands go, but if you stroke me again, I’m gonna come on the spot, so don’t ruin this for both of us, okay?”

“Tell me you’re not a one-thrust wonder, because I’ve been looking forward to this for days.”

“Only days?”

“It took me a while to catch on that you actually wanted me, and I don’t like to waste my fantasy time on things I can’t have.”

He’s inching my pants down now, and I suck in a breath and wonder if the light will highlight my faded stretch marks.

I hope not.

But then, I did just tell him I have cobwebs in my vagina.

“Are you telling me you touched yourself and thought about other men after we met?”

I can’t look away, and I can’t help touching him. His cheeks. His hair. The curve of his ears. “No. I touched myself and thought about a hamburger that someone else cooked for me or cheesecake. I can totally get off on cheesecake.”

Gah, that smile. It’s infused with angel juice or something. So potent it should be illegal. “So if I have cheesecake for dessert, and some happens to get smeared all over both of us…”

My eyes cross as blood surges to my clit and makes me feel achy and empty and desperate. “Can you hurry up with my pants? Or let me help?”

“Is it me you want, or am I just a convenient conduit to cheesecake?”

I break his rule and double-fist his cock. “These cause babies. If I’m willing to risk that, you can trust it’s you I want.”

Poor guy’s face takes a minute to settle down. “So double condoms.”

“Wasn’t kidding. And I’m on birth control. Now take my pants off and do me against the wall, please.”

He squats and yanks my pants off, leaving his own on the floor when he rises, pressing kisses from my thighs, up my belly, to between my breasts on his way up. My breath catches when he unhooks my bra, letting my breasts sag in all their post-maternity glory, but he smothers them with kisses, murmurs, “So gorgeous,” and then he’s scooping me into his arms like I weigh no more than a rag doll, devouring my mouth again as he carries me into his living room.

It’s not until he sets me on the couch and reaches into a bowl on the end table that I realize the entire room is lit with candles.

There’s a table for two set in front of the windows overlooking the city lights, right where he had a couch the last time I was here, with roses in a vase, a bottle in an ice bucket, and two wine glasses at the ready.

And my breath leaves me.

It’s so thoughtful.

And I don’t question who set it up.

He did.

He did this for me.

“Hungry?” he asks as he settles next to me on the wide couch, his thick length pressing into my belly.

“Only for you.”

I wrap my arms around him again, kiss him hard and deep, and then the two of us are fumbling with the condoms he grabbed, my hands shaking a little, his clumsy as well. “Naked Ingrid makes my brain short-circuit,” he says as our fingers collide.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Are you sure it’s the real me and not your fantasy me?”

“You—”

He cuts himself off and attacks me with a kiss, takes a condom and drops the rest on the floor, and makes quick work of satisfying my sperm phobia without my interference. I fling a leg around his hips, feel the slide of his hard length against me, forget where I am, and roll us both off the couch.