Well Suited (Red Lipstick Coalition #4)(35)

In a flash of motion, I was underneath him again, legs spread far enough to ache. I couldn’t protest, couldn’t tell him I wasn’t able to come like this. His lips gave me no quarter, bruising and brash. And his hand slipped between us to guide his cock to the threshold of my body.

With a forceful flex of his hips, he thrust into me, the kiss breaking with my gasp. But only for a second. His hand slid to my neck as he pulled out, grasping my jaw with splayed fingers. He kissed me again as he slammed into me hard enough to jostle my breasts.

I was pinned beneath him, held in place by his rocking hips, his hand on my jaw, his lips against mine, unable to move and unable to care. With every thrust, his body rolled, slow and deliberate, pressing and releasing my aching clit with every motion. A series of motions, faster, then slower, the rhythm building with the heat of my body. I was combustible, the pressure setting a tingling across my skin, burning in my chest, shrinking my awareness to the orgasm rising within me.

I was helpless against it. Against him.

Control.

Mine was gone completely.

I came with a thundering rush, a stopping and starting of my body that shook every atom, every molecule that I was composed of. It was blinding, the intensity stopping time and space in my brain, stretching out a moment of both disconnect and awareness, of release and relief.

I realized only on the fringes of consciousness when he came, the slap of skin rising, and at the apex was a moan so deeply masculine, so powerfully possessive, my body squeezed, tightening around him as he swelled inside of me.

Thrust and throb, slower and slower, our consciousness returning by breath, by heartbeat, by kiss on slow, deep kiss. I was surrounded by him, caged by his body with blissful submission. They were two words I’d never have set next to one another. Submission and dominance had delivered me an orgasm that taught me something very important.

My sexual experiences paled in comparison to what Theo could give me.

He kissed me slowly, one hand framing my face, the other in my hair, his body braced by his forearm bracketing me in. I was surrounded, helplessly, hopelessly sated and slack.

A heavy sigh left me by way of my nose—my lips were otherwise occupied.

He broke the kiss, eyes smoldering and lips sideways. I didn’t realize I was smiling back until his thumb grazed my bottom lip.

“You’re beautiful, Kate.”

“So are you,” I said, my gaze tracing the hard lines of his nose and lips and jaw for confirmation.

His face tilted as he inspected mine. “I’d say our experiment is off to a good start.”

“Agreed. I’ve never had an orgasm like that.”

His brows flexed. “How exactly do you mean?”

“In both intensity and position. I wasn’t aware that I could have one any way but with me on top.”

The smug expression on his face had me shaking my head at him, but I was still smiling. Smiling and blushing with feverish heat.

“You know, flattery will get you everywhere,” he said.

“But I mean it. That was impressive enough to outshine any man I’ve slept with.”

“I’d like to find every one of them and tell them a thing or two.”

“Like how to be better in bed?”

“No—how stupid they were not to fuck you right when they had the chance. Because now, you’re mine.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he kissed me before I could.

By the time he was through, I’d forgotten what I was going to say. I didn’t think I could have told you my address in the moment.

“Now,” he said, moving down my body with that ridiculous smile on his face, “if you’ll excuse me, I have to collect enough orgasms to last me a week.”

I laughed, sliding my hands into his hair as he kissed down my body. For a lingering moment, he paused over my stomach, his hand trailing across the flat, skimming the skin under my belly button, his lips tender, pressing to the place over where our baby resided with reverence. But then he moved on, taking his time somewhere else, collecting his dues, as promised.





Part II





Second Trimester





14





Batsignal





Katherine

13 weeks, 1 day

The click of hangers on my new-to-me closet rack was a tick of a metronome that matched the beat of electronic music playing from my portable speaker.

The contents of my closet were mostly black—skirts and dresses, pants and blouses and sweaters. Black was easy—everything matched. Every once in a while, if I was feeling adventurous, I’d throw in a little color, and I did have some dresses I’d bought on impulse while shopping with my friends. But mostly, I wore them to the club to dance, and even those were essentially neutral. The most risqué color I owned was red, which I’d defaulted to more and more lately.

Theo liked the red. And anytime I was rewarded with The Look, it reinforced the decision to wear it.

It fascinated me, the way I wanted him. Relationships were so often a source of depletion, a drain. A commitment. But with Theo, I never felt exhausted the way I did with most people. With him, I actually felt replenished.

It staggered me to recognize the fact. I hadn’t known spending time with someone could actually fill me up rather than just draw on my emotional energy, of which I had very little. So I hoarded what I had and thus kept to myself. My friends, of course, were an exception, but I had low limits, and we’d been friends so long, they never took it personally if I bowed out of anything—plans, dinner, even sharing air in the living room—which afforded me the freedom to honor what I needed, when I needed it.