The Intimacy Experiment (The Roommate #2)(78)

She was ready to write poems about his footlong eyelashes and the texture of his beard and the way his chest was covered in dark hair that made her want to whimper, physically whimper, at the sight of it, at the contrast of the color against his skin.

“Please tell me you have condoms?”

He moved to grab some from the other room and returned still smiling, following orders and showing off his ass, which, yeah, someone was getting spanked later, because fuck. What on earth?! The amount of squats required—

She pushed him into his leather armchair and then straddled his lap.

He leaned forward, capturing her lips again and kissing her, fast and filthy. Naomi gasped, grinding against his thigh. He smelled so good, like old books and strong coffee, and she was probably losing her mind, honestly, but she really cared about him.

The actual alignment was rushed, clumsy, both of them too eager, but in the end he slid in smooth as silk, and slow, as if savoring the entire trajectory of the push.

“Fuck,” he said when he was fully seated inside her, and she couldn’t help it, she giggled. She loved the very idea of him coming undone. With her. Because of her.

She looked at his face, which was very dear to her now, and not hated, in this moment. His eyes were so, so blue.

“This is the best sex I’ve ever had,” she said, and meant it even though no one was moving yet and it hadn’t even been a minute.

He huffed in answer, warm breath hitting her shoulder, like maybe he thought she was mocking him. But she wasn’t, so she pushed his damp hair off his forehead and kissed his mouth, still tasting traces of herself on his lips.

She braced her arms on the back of the chair and started moving, setting a languid pace. He used his free hand to rub her clit without her even asking. Someone had taken notes from the tutorial they’d watched together. Her dashing scholar.

Naomi could fuck like this for hours, honestly. Each thrust reminded her that she loved sex, that she was good at it, that her body was built for the Olympics of orgasms.

She was making, she realized, an extraordinary amount of noise. Whining and gasping, babbling about how good it felt, how much she loved his dick, how she never ever wanted him to stop.

She slammed her molars together, absolutely terrified he was going to think she was faking it, because of course he was going to think she was faking it, she was a performer complimenting his cock.

Ethan noticed the tension in her limbs and stopped her movements with his hands on her hips.

“You okay? Need a minute?” He placed kisses behind her ear that were soft as fucking butterfly wings.

Naomi thought about lying. Lying was a thing she could do. But also, she didn’t want to lie. Didn’t want to taint this experience in any way.

“I wasn’t exaggerating,” she said, quietly, into the crook of his neck.

“I didn’t think you were.” He sounded a little guarded.

Oh great, Naomi. Look what you’ve done now.

Shit. Her eyes stung a little, but no chance in hell would she cry right now.

“Hey.” He kissed her and started moving his own hips, building back their rhythm. “I know what good sex is too, you know,” he said into her hair. “I can feel you squeezing my dick. Can feel the way you’ve soaked your thighs. I know I earned those whimpers, Naomi Grant.”

The sound of their bodies meeting was harsher now as he increased his pace.

“Ethan, fuck.” She drew out the K.

Everything in her body had gone hot and tight.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said against her ear as he pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, just the right side of brutal. “When you come on my cock, we’re both gonna know why.” Her second orgasm struck deep in her core, pulsing, and as promised, she clenched around him in a way that was so obviously organic, the alternative ceased to exist.

Instead of robbing her of her strength, this orgasm gave her something to prove, so she repositioned herself so she was facing away from him, making sure he had a perfect view of her award-winning ass, and moved her hips in a way that she had specifically designed to ruin men’s lives. She called it that. The move. The life-ruiner.

She was extremely powerful.

The grunt her pace punched out of him was so rewarding, she could have lived on it for years.

“Shit,” he said, fucking up and into her helplessly, his thumbs pressing bruises where her back met her ass.

She looked over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. Ethan swore again as he spilled his pleasure, arching his back so far she almost lost her seat.

“Do you think the sex is better because we know we’re pissing people off?” she asked him later, when they were eating ice cream out of the carton over the sink, ravenous.

He swiped chocolate off her lip and sucked his thumb into his mouth. “Probably.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


FOR BETTER OR worse, Ethan and Naomi were all-or-nothing kind of people. Neither of them really understood the concept of doing something halfheartedly.

Their professional lives weren’t average, so why should their dating be?

Ethan knew he sounded defensive, even in his own head.

Naomi had awakened this . . . wanting in him. Not just physical sensation. Although it had been only a few days since they’d slept together, and he did already feel like she’d rewired his nervous system into something powered by pleasure. But no, the wanting was for everything. Her brain, and her smart mouth, the way she made him feel important and like something worth having.