Below the Belt(45)

“I need you to go grab a condom and get your sweet ass back here,” he growled. “I’d do it, but my legs seem to have stopped working. You can give me an exam when I’m through with you.”

She grinned, hustled to her room and came back with the handful of condoms. When she tossed them on her coffee table, they scattered. A few fell to the floor. He raised a brow.

“How many times do you intend on using me tonight?”

“As many as I can.” She made him lift his ass and she pulled his shorts off his legs to give her better access. Then she pulled her own pants down. Straddling him, she kissed him again. Hard this time. No slow seduction, just a tough, primal meeting of two people whose sexual needs matched each other’s.

“The second you’re recovered, I want you inside me,” she whispered. He groaned, and she knew then he was a man who wanted some dirty talk. She wasn’t exactly a pro at it, but she wasn’t squeamish, either. “I’m wet for you,” she tried, gauging his response.

His cock twitched against her thigh. On the right track.

Kissing her way to his ear, she murmured, “I need you thrusting inside me. So hard, you can’t stop or slow down, even if you’re going to beat me to the next climax. I need you helpless with wanting me. Unable to see straight.”

Two fingers speared inside her, surprising her into a quick gasp. She hadn’t felt his arm move. But now she did. His fingers worked her inside, his thumb massaging her clit until she was moments away from her own orgasm.

Then he pulled back and reached around her for one of the condoms. Quick work to don one, and he gripped her hips to lift her up and settle her back down over his erection. They both sighed with pleasure when she was fully around him.

She started to move, but he held her still.

“Just . . . sit with me. For a minute, just sit with me.”

The peaceful request was another surprise. He lifted her shirt up, but not over her head like she’d assumed. Just enough to bare her breasts. He palmed her back and urged her into him until her nipple fed into his mouth. He sucked, nipped and played lazily, like they weren’t actually already having sex. As if they had an entire day free to do nothing but play with each other.

And they did, sort of, didn’t they? Neither of them had work in the morning, and nobody had a curfew. They could take as much time as they wanted with each other.

Brad nuzzled his way to her other breast and worked the tip until she was panting and trying desperately to move her hips. But he held her firm. If anything, it felt as though his cock was still swelling inside her, with no friction at all.

“I could spend hours on these babies.” He cupped them both, brought them together like she was wearing a push up bra, and kissed the warm flesh. “You probably know you’ve got a great rack, right?”

She snorted out a laugh. “I’ve never thought of it quite like that, but if you say so.” His hands kneaded her breasts, and then finally—finally—his hips thrust gently against hers. “Thank you, God.”

He chuckled and held her tight to him, kissing her as their lower bodies worked together. She threw in a hip swivel every so often to mix things up, and he held her down a few times to keep her from moving too fast. He wanted it to last, he said. Make it last.

And maybe she hadn’t been the one in power after all. When she thought she’d gained playful dominance, he’d turned the tables on her and controlled things, even from the bottom. He manipulated the pace to keep them both wanting, panting, desperate for more. The man’s self-control was legendary.

But like a shaken bottle of soda, there came a point where her orgasm wasn’t going to hold off any longer. “Brad, I can’t . . . I can’t stop it.”

Her shaky tone must have registered because he let her fly. Let her work the pace she needed in order to pull the cork and let her climax free. Head back, hands clutching his shoulders, she surrendered to the orgasm she’d been waiting for.

He suckled one nipple while he came again, prompted, she knew, by her own finish.

As she slumped against him, her breathing still irregular, she knew whatever they had had long since moved past being about sex.


*

BRAD watched as Marianne slept. She wasn’t what he’d call a sleeping beauty. He grinned at that. Come to think of it, she was more like a sleeping disaster. Her ice blonde hair was draped half over her eyes, her face bore creases from the pillow and she was drooling, just a little.

The fact he found it endearing more than horrifying was a good sign shit had truly changed for him.

And speaking of that change . . . they needed to talk.

He caught a glimpse of the clock on her nightstand. It was still not quite six in the morning. She’d probably murder him for doing it, but he craved her enough to take the risk.

And his craving wasn’t just for her sweet body.

“Marianne,” he whispered, hoping to slowly drag her out of sleep. “Come on, sweetheart, time to talk.”

She mumbled something and turned away from him.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He pulled on her shoulder until she was flat on her back. “Open up those beautiful eyes for me.”

He bent down to nibble at her neck, and she swatted him in the face. “What the hell?” Rearing back, he realized she was still unconscious to the world. He grumbled about uncooperative women, then made her sit up. “Up and at ’em, sweets. We need to chat.”