Tangled (The Tangled Series)(38)

“Oh God, oh God, oh God…God!”

Then she’s rigid—stiff as a f*cking board. Her hands pull my hair, her thighs tighten around my head, and I know she’s there.

After several moments she loosens her hold, and I slow my tongue to leisurely paced licks. When Kate relaxes her limbs even more, I sit up, wipe my face with my hand, and slide on a fresh condom.

Oh yeah—I’m just getting started.

I lean over her, and she pulls me down and kisses me hard. She pants against my lips, “So…incredible.”

Smug, conceited satisfaction pumps through my veins, but I can’t even smile. I need to f*ck her too goddamn much. I slide in easily. She’s slick but tight—like a wet fist. I feel her clench around me as I pull out slow and glide back in.

I start to thrust faster. Harsher. My arms are straight on either side of her head so I can watch the pleasure that flickers across her face. Her tits bounce every time I surge forward, and I almost lower down to suck on one.

But then she opens her eyes and looks up at me. And I can’t look away. I feel like a king—like a f*cking immortal. And any self-control I had just vanished. I push into her, fast and merciless. Pure heated pleasure swells in my stomach and down my thighs.

Sweet Jesus.

Our bodies slap together over and over, hard and quick. I hook one arm under her knee and raise her leg up over my shoulder. She feels even tighter, and I can’t help but moan, “Kate…”

“Yes, like that. God, yes! Drew…” And then she goes stiff under me again, her eyes closing as a strangled moan leaks from her lips.

That’s when I let go. I ram into her one last time before the most intense orgasm of my life rushes through me. I groan loud, flooding the condom inside her to the frigging brim. My arms collapse, and my full weight falls on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. The moment I’m down, she’s kissing me—my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth. I struggle to catch my breath, and then I’m kissing her back.

Un-f*cking-believable.





Chapter 14

I READ AN ARTICLE ONCE that said having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Kate and I are going to live forever. I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. It’s like a mosquito bite—the more you scratch, the more it itches.

I’m just glad I bought the extra-large box of condoms at Costco.

And in case you couldn’t tell from my reactions, I’ll just come out and say it: Kate Brooks is a fantastic lay. A spectacular piece of ass. If I wasn’t sure that Billy Warren was a complete dumbass f*ckwit before—since I’d sampled what he threw away—now I’m completely certain of it.

She’s adventurous, unapologetically demanding, spontaneous, and confident. A lot like me. We’re a perfect fit, in more ways than one.

When we finally come up for air, the night sky outside my window is just turning gray. Kate is lying quietly, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing its contours and occasionally stroking the dusting of hair there.

I hope after everything I’ve told you that this doesn’t come as a shock, but I don’t “cuddle.” Typically, after a woman and I are done, there is no spooning, no snuggling, no frigging pillow talk. I might, on occasion, have a nap before I head out the door. But I can’t stand it when a girl braids herself around me like some mutant octopus. It’s annoying and uncomfortable.

With Kate, however, the old rules just don’t seem to apply. Our warm skin is meshed together, our bodies aligned, her ankle over my calf, my thigh under her bent knee. It feels…peaceful. Soothing in a way I can’t fully describe. I have absolutely no desire to move from this spot.

Unless it’s to roll over and nail her again.

She breaks the silence first. “When did you lose your virginity?”

I laugh. “Are we playing First and Ten again? Or are you wondering about my sexual history? Because if that’s it, I think you’re a little too late, Kate.”

She smiles. “No. It’s not like that. I just want to know you…more.”

I sigh as I think back. “Okay. My first time was…Janice Lewis. My fifteenth birthday. She invited me to her house to give me my present. It was her.”

I feel her smile against my chest. “Was she a virgin too?”

“No. She was just shy of eighteen—a senior.”

“Ah. The older woman. So she taught you everything you know?”

I smile and shrug. “I picked up a few tricks over the years.”

We fall quiet again for a few minutes, and then she asks, “Don’t you want to know about mine?”

Don’t even have to think about that one.

“Nope.”

Don’t want to spoil the mood, but we’ll pause here a second.

When it comes to a woman’s past, no guy wants to hear about it. I don’t care if you’ve f*cked one guy or a hundred—keep it to yourself.

Let me put it this way: When you’re out at a restaurant and the waiter brings your meal, do you want him to tell you about every single person who touched that food before you put it in your mouth?

Exactly.

I also think it’s pretty safe to assume that her first time was with Warren—that he was her one and only. And he is the last f*cking person I want to be discussing at this particular place and time.