Big Rock(44)

She laughs and moans at the same time. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m just f*cking turned on beyond anything I’ve ever felt,” I say, my voice rough, as I start to pump.

She’s silent suddenly. No, moans, no cries, no wild pants. A small but clear voice asks, “Really?”

She cranes her neck to look up at me. My God, she’s all vulnerable, her eyes so trusting, her body bent in a downward slide. “Yes,” I answer as I slam into her, giving her all of me. My hands clamp tightly to her hips. “I swear, Charlotte. You f*cking do something to me.” I pull back out of her so only the tip is in. She writhes, trying to draw me back. “You drive me wild. You make me crazy.” I thrust deeply, and her breath spills out in a gorgeous moan. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Oh God, I feel the same,” she says, and bends lower, lifting higher, offering more.

She’s all I want. All of her, as I f*ck her like this until she comes in a frenzy of sound and heated cries. My muscles tighten, my vision blurs, and my own climax seizes my body as bright, hot pleasure crashes over me.

I flop down onto the bed, and she flops next to me. Resting her head in the crook of my arm, she stays like that—hot, sweaty, and naked. Absently I run my fingers through her hair. She brushes her hand across my stomach.

“That was amazing,” she murmurs. “I think that was our best ever. I’m going to give you a gold star for excellence in orgasm delivery. A statue even.”

“I’d like to thank the Academy,” I begin, teasing her.

She swats my chest. “So you were faking it? Fine, so was I,” she says with a huff.

In an instant, I’m on my hands and knees, pinning her. “No, you were not faking it.”

Her eyes taunt me. “Yes. Yes, I was.”

“You weren’t. But just for that comment, you’re going to show me how much you like it when I f*ck you.” In a flash I raise her wrists over her head, and lower my arm along the side of the bed, feeling for her dress on the floor. I grab it and yank off the ribbon from the belt loops with one hand.

I wrap it around her slender wrists then around a bed post. Her eyes track my hands the whole time as I tighten the pink fabric. “Pretty in pink,” I murmur, then I run my fingertip against her lips.

I locate another condom and roll it on my dick. Yes, I’m f*cking hard again. How could I not be? She’s tied to my bed, still wet from her first two orgasms. Of course I’m f*cking erect. I spread her legs, savoring the sight in front of me—her legs in a V, her hands bound, her eyes wide open.

I wedge myself between her thighs. “Now, you’re going to beg for it.”

“I am?”

“You are,” I say roughly. “Because you’re not getting all of it until you do.”

I slide in but I only give her a few inches. I lower to my elbows so I’m close to her and proceed to slow-f*ck her for the next several minutes, teasing her the whole time, never going all the way in. She moans and writhes and rocks beneath me, every thrust eliciting a new sexy murmur from her.

“Say it. Say how much you want me.”

“I wasn’t faking it. I was joking when I said that,” she says on a pant.

“Tell me how much you want it all. Tell me how much you want all of my cock.”

Her hips shoot up. “I want you. I want you so much. Fuck me deep. I’m begging you,” she cries, and she is begging, and it is exquisite to witness her desperate sexiness.

I f*ck her hard and deep, until she is out of her mind with pleasure. Until her cries turn hoarse. Until her eyes squeeze shut. Until she can’t stop saying my name as she falls apart once more. Multiple orgasms sound pretty damn good to me, too, so I join her, coming again with a shudder that jolts my whole body.

When I untie her, she raises a hand to my hair, drags it through, and kisses me. “I lied. That was the best time ever.”

“It gets better every time,” I say softly.

Soon, she stands and starts to gather her clothes. Spinning in a circle, she hunts for something on the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.

“Getting dressed.”

“Pourquoi?”

“So I can go. Isn’t that the deal?”

I crawl to the edge of the bed and tackle her, arms around her waist, surprising her.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks.

I toss her on the mattress and tickle her.

She cracks up. “Stop it.”

I don’t relent. My fingertips race up her sides, making her squirm. “I’ll stop if you spend the night.”

“Mercy, mercy,” she calls out, and she’s smiling, as wide as the sea of stars in the sky.

I tug her to me, brush her hair away from her ear, and then whisper, “Will you stay?”

Her breath hitches. “Yes. You don’t care if we break another ground rule?”

“We’re still ahead. I mean, I don’t care, so long as you don’t try to kiss me the second you wake up.”

“Because of morning breath, right?”

I nod. “Not yours. Just in general.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Morning breath is an excellent new ground rule. I hate morning breath.”

“Me, too.”