All the Way (Romancing Manhattan #1)(25)

“This should never hurt, sweetheart.”

She smiles down at me, rocking, barely moving me in or out of her, but she’s rubbing her clit against my pubis, and her muscles are quivering.

Fuck, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than London looking down at me, the lightning flashing and then leaving her in shadows again.

“Keep talking,” I urge her, enjoying the sound of her voice.

“You fill me,” she murmurs, and leans down, covering me, and placing her lips next to my ear. “You fill me up, Finn. It makes my body feel hot. Sexy.”

“You are sexy.”

“Powerful,” she says, and bites my earlobe, and I can’t take it anymore. I grip her ass in my hands and roll us, avoiding her bad leg, tucking her under me.

She lifts her knees, opening herself even wider, and I press down, holding myself inside her. She rests her right ankle on my shoulder. I turn my head and bite her ankle, then press openmouthed kisses there.

“I thought I was going to be on top,” she says, grinning up at me.

“I couldn’t help it.” I press my thumb to her clit and smile in satisfaction when she arches her back, tilting her hips and pressing herself even more firmly against me. “You turn me inside out, London. I needed this, to look down at you while I’m inside you. Trust me, you’re no less powerful.”

“I know.” She licks her fingers and brushes my hand away so she can touch herself. I pull back just an inch and she lets her fingertips glide against my slick cock, wet from her juices, while she presses against her clit. Her womb clenches even tighter around me, and I know that I’m not going to last.

I can’t keep my hips from moving faster, pushing harder, taking this moment from soft and quiet to fast and urgent, chasing the incredible orgasm that I can feel building in both of us.

Finally, London’s whole body trembles and she cries out as she lets go, riding the waves of lust and desire, and I happily go over with her.

I gingerly pull out of her and fall to her side, tugging her against me as we try to catch our breath. My eyes are heavy. I want to slide into a deep, satisfied sleep, but London shifts next to me and props her head on her hand, her hair falling around us both.

“Are you tired?” she asks.

“Aren’t you?”

She just shrugs, which is womanspeak for no. She’s back to thinking about the storm.

“I think it’s calming down out there,” I assure her, and cup her face, rubbing her cheek with my thumb.

“Maybe.”

“It’s almost time for the sun to come up.” She leans in and kisses me sweetly. “Does this mean we aren’t going back to sleep tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“No need to be sorry.” I stand from the bed and pull on some sweatpants and a T-shirt, and rummage in my drawer for a clean tee and shorts with a drawstring for London, then pass them to her. “These might work.”

“Thanks.” She wiggles into them, and makes me laugh. “I look homeless.”

“You don’t look homeless.” I take her hand and lead her downstairs. “You look like you’re wearing your lover’s clothes because yours are dirty.”

“Well then, it’s an accurate look.”

I lead us through the kitchen and to the breakfast nook that looks out at the ocean. The table is small, but the chairs are deep and comfortable. I get London settled in a chair, then run to the TV room to grab a throw blanket and drape it over her.

“You’re spoiling me,” she says with a smile, holding the blanket close to her. “And I kind of like it.”

“Good. I’m going to make you coffee.”

“Having you around is handy,” she says, and smiles when I turn away, shuffling into the kitchen. When the coffees are made, and I’ve toasted some bagels and set some jam and cream cheese on the tray, I walk back to the table and set it out. She’s quietly watching the horizon, worrying her bottom lip in her teeth.

“The storm has passed.” I sit and offer her the coffee, which she gratefully accepts.

“And the sunrise is gorgeous,” she adds. “My dad and I would do this when I was young. Sit out after a storm to watch the sunrise.”

“That’s a nice storm memory.”

“You’ve given me more,” she says, glancing at me when she reaches for a bagel and cream cheese. “Thank you for that.”

“Making love with you is never a chore,” I reply, causing her to smirk.

“I should hope not. But you’ve given me another happy storm memory, and I am grateful.” She takes a bite. “Look at that water.”

“It’s amazing to me that the wind can be gone, and the rain has passed, and yet the water is still so churned up.”

“It brings so many interesting things to shore,” she says, her eyes almost excited now.

“Why do I think that we’re about to go on an early-morning beachcombing mission?”

“Because we are.” She takes a sip of her coffee and sits back in her chair, her legs tucked up against her chest again. “But first I want to sit here, in this comfortable chair, with this comfortable man, and enjoy the view.”

“First you call me nice and now you call me comfortable. You’re not great for a man’s ego.”