The Decoy Girlfriend(73)

Taft peels the dress down her body, kissing her feverishly as she unbuttons his shirt and tugs his pants down his thighs. He kicks them off the rest of the way, making a sound that’s half laugh, half groan when they snag around his ankles.

His cock is long and thick, twitching with want, the tip glistening. She slides down his body, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses in her wake, before swirling her tongue over his head. His taste is salty and distinctive, not unlike her own, but she doesn’t have much chance to return the favor.

“Another time,” he rasps, gritting his jaw. His pupils blown wide as he looks down at her. “I need to be inside you, and I won’t last five minutes if you keep doing that.”

His words bring a heady rush, and she crawls back up to meet him, tasting the desperation in his kiss. He twists so he’s on top, her knees brought up on either side of him.

Freya’s thighs are still sticky when his hand weaves between them to find her dripping. His fingers are clever and quick, and she hisses at the dance of his touch, nipping at his shoulder as her arousal reignites.

He gives an amused chuckle at her reaction, turning his attention to her breasts. They look extra luminous in the darkness of the bedroom, topped with rosy brown nipples that he seems entranced by. He bends his head to capture one in his searching mouth, teeth toying with a nipple until it pebbles.

She squirms when she feels his teeth drag against the tender skin, not as rough as she’d like, but close. He turns his attention to her other breast, peppering sweet kisses around her areola until this nipple matches the other. She arches against him when he uses the Goldilocks amount of teeth this time, sensation strumming straight to her clit.

“Can I?” he asks, yanking open his nightstand drawer for a condom.

“Yes, please.”

Once he rolls it on, Taft gazes into her eyes as he aligns himself with her entrance, groaning at their first contact. She tenses, too, anticipating the stretch and the fill she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about, and lets her nails bite into his bare ass.

The wordless encouragement is all he needs. In one solid thrust, he drives into her, sheathing himself fully. Her gasp is swallowed by his mouth, and her hips snap into his. The first time he pulls out, she makes an embarrassingly needy mewl that makes him smirk. The retaliatory swat she intends for his shoulder fizzles halfway and turns into desperate backrubs, aching for his return.

Each subsequent thrust she meets with equal ferocity, both of them losing themselves in the quick pace he sets. He hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, and when the angle changes, his cock hitting her just right, her moan fills the room. Taft’s eyes are molten as he brushes hair away from her forehead.

Heat coils low in her belly, and she reaches down to touch herself, when his hand stops her.

“That’s my job,” he grits out, finding her nub again.

With a two-prong assault on her senses, it doesn’t take long before she starts to quiver. His face contorts when he feels her muscles constricting around him, and she knows he’s close to the edge, too.

“You feel so good.” Taft’s thrusts pick up speed. His groan is low and full of desperation as they both chase their climax. “Are you going to come for me again? You first, sweetheart. Come on my cock. You’re so close, I can feel you clenching my cock.”

The dirty talk is what does it. Freya reaches her peak within seconds, spasming around him until, with a shout, he follows her over the edge.

“That’s it, just like that.” Taft’s voice is rougher than she’s ever heard it. He gives her a couple more thrusts, even though he’s already softening inside her. “Good girl. Let go.”

“That was definitely more than five minutes,” Freya murmurs thoughtfully after he pulls her against his sweaty chest and drops a surprisingly chaste kiss to her lips, followed by one on the forehead.

Taft’s answering laughter rings around them until the bed starts shaking again.





CHAPTER TWENTY



Freya wakes up half splayed over Taft’s chest, one leg thrown high over his hip and her face buried in his neck. Utterly sated and boneless. More well rested than she’s been since moving in, for sure, but also, this is the best sleep she’s had in forever, even though neither she nor Taft got a whole lot of it.

“Good morning,” he murmurs in a sleep-roughened voice. He turns, arms cocooning her and tucking her even more snugly against him. His weight pins her to the mattress, the warmth and scent of his skin lulling her to sleep again. Their bodies are so close that she can’t tell whether it’s his heartbeat she feels or her own.

“Morning,” she whispers back, skating her nails lightly up and down his spine, rewarded with the soft growl in the back of his throat that takes her back to last night. Involuntarily, her hips jerk.

With a laugh, Taft buries his face in her neck. Nimble fingers find their way into her hair, plundering deep to massage her scalp just the way she likes. Her breathy exhale makes his cock twitch, and she smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

His lips tickle against the crook of her neck as he asks, “How are you feeling?”

She considers. She’s sore in the best of ways, but she gets the sense that’s not what he means. “Good,” she says simply, and it’s not because of writer’s block or snarl or any other excuse. It’s because that one word says it all and says it best.