Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(35)

Her orgasm hits her fast and hard. I’m unprepared when her hands unclench, her palms lie flat on the table, and she pushes her chest up. Arching her back deeply, she throws her head back and groans as I feel her body stiffen and her * clamp down hard on my cock.

And f*ck… then I’m coming, so hard… so long.

I push into her one last time, grit my teeth, and unload every bit of depravity into her body, and then I come some more.

My body shudders from head to foot, and another wave of pleasure hits me as I continue to jet into her.

Savannah slumps to the table, and I realize my knees are shaking. I unclench my death grip from her hips, wincing when I see the red marks I’ve left behind. I bend over her, pressing against her body, and rest my chin on the back of her head.

We lay like that for what seems an eternity, our mutual breaths that were raging just a moment ago now starting to calm.

Lifting my head up, I kiss her on the back of the head, and then nuzzle into the hair at the back of her neck. “You okay?”

“Mmmm. Hmmm,” she moans softly. I can’t see it, but I can hear the smile on her face.

“Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?” I ask her.

“Mmmm. Hmmm,” she responds, and I smile back.





What in the hell am I doing? Agreeing to go out to dinner with Gavin?

Earlier today—in his house—the way he took me.

That was it. It was supposed to be done, over. My itch scratched, his itch scratched. I could show him that I was so much more than what he thought and perhaps by doing so, I could prove to myself I had more grit than he gave me credit for.

What I didn’t count on was all of these emotions to swell through me. From the moment I told him I wanted him to f*ck me—and yes, I’m still blushing red over that—to this moment, now, that I stand before my mirror, checking my hair and makeup before Gavin arrives to pick me up, I’ve been inundated with fears, insecurities, and doubts. What I did… with him… was absolutely not me.

I’m not that type of girl.

Never have been.

But I can’t deny that experience with Gavin was singularly the most thrilling thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I felt free, beautiful, desired, and sexy. I felt like I held power, even as I was slammed with apprehension when I gave him the go-ahead. It was scintillatingly delicious, and even as I sit here and tell myself that I’m not that type of woman… I want to do it again.

When Gavin finally lifted off my body, pulled away… pulled out, I felt loneliness. Then I felt the product of his desire sliding down my legs, and I was mortified and terrified that we had unprotected sex. I couldn’t believe that I never gave it a single thought. Not once during the entire time he was making love to… no, f*cking me. I didn’t care. I kind of still don’t care, because had he taken the time to stop… put on a condom, the moment probably would have been broken. It would have been like a raging river slamming against a dam, and we would have most likely stopped once we regained our senses.

The fear of not feeling Gavin—of not giving into those desires and lust—outweighs my fear over having unprotected sex, and I want to bang my head against the sink for ever being so foolish. So stupid.

I had stood up quickly from the table and, even with shaky legs, managed to pull my underwear and jeans up, practically running into the bathroom to clean up. I stared in the mirror above his guest bathroom sink, admiring the flush in my face and the redness on my neck leftover from the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever felt in my life. And I didn’t feel too much regret.

When I walked out of the bathroom, feeling like I had more control over my feelings, Gavin was standing in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of water and watching me like a hawk. Whereas I felt a bit nervous and unsure, he looked like he wanted to eat me up, causing a low throb to start between my legs. He had held the bottle out to me, asking silently if I wanted a drink, but I shook my head and started for the laundry room.

“I’ll pick you up at seven tonight,” he said. “Text me your address.”

I nodded and didn’t say anything in response, but rather went and folded his laundry. When I was done and came back into the kitchen, he was gone, and I didn’t see him the rest of the time I was there cleaning his house.

My front doorbell rings, bringing me out of my memories, and I stare at myself in the mirror. What is this evening going to hold? Is this a “thank you” dinner? A “thanks for letting me f*ck you” type of thing? Or does Gavin want something more from me?

Do I want something more from him?

I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know my heart is racing with fear and excitement.

When I open the door, he’s standing there with his hands casually tucked in the pockets of his dark-washed jeans. He’s got on a dark gray sweater and a black leather jacket, making him look edgy and sinful as hell. His eyes rake down me and back up again, appreciation clear. “You look beautiful,” he says, and I try not to preen under his gaze.

He had said to dress casual for the night and I took him at his word, choosing a pair of boot-cut, dark denim jeans paired with a deep purple turtleneck. I matched a camel-colored, short-waisted, leather blazer along with matching boots in the same color. The finishing touch was a scarf of melded colors of purple, blue, green, and brown that I tied twice, but loosely, around my neck, so it draped about a quarter ways down my chest.