It was rough and fast and still not enough. I wanted more. I should have been grateful that he didn’t just drive his huge cock into me without any kind of prepping, but so help me, I wanted it.
“More,” I bit out, trying to lift my arse onto his fingers.
Then his warmth was gone, there was more lube, more cold slickness, then finally, finally what I wanted.
He pushed inside me, and I regretted my urgency immediately. He was so big and so hard, I gripped onto the bed covers and moaned. “Fuck.”
He leaned over me then, his breaths ragged, his body heat scorching, his cock still pushing into me. “Is this what you wanted?”
It was almost too much, yet I still wanted it. There was a hollow ache deep inside me that only he could fill. And when I relaxed, when I let him in, when I let him do the work, it was exactly what I wanted.
“Yes.”
His fingers dug into my hips, his lips kissed my shoulders, the nape of my neck, behind my ear . . . and he started to move and flex and fuck.
It was so, so very good.
“God, I’m gonna come so soon,” he hissed.
So I lifted my arse for him and tightened my grip on the bed covers, basically telling him to go hard. He didn’t disappoint.
He drove into me, harder and faster, until he stilled and his cock pulsed into the condom. He let out an almighty groan, his fingernails biting into my skin, and there was nothing I loved more than being manhandled and used like that. Being at the mercy of a powerful man and turning him on so much satisfied something inside me.
He collapsed on top of me, his forehead pressed against the back of my neck, his breaths ragged and his cock was still twitching. “Christ.”
I chuckled, moaning at how good he made me feel. He pulled out slowly, then flipped me over. He was still completely dressed, except his jeans were undone and his cock was hanging out. It was so fucking hot.
He looked three parts dazed, but he pulled my robe completely open, took my erection into his mouth, and finished me off in record time.
Afterwards, when the room was still spinning, he collapsed onto the bed next to me. “Eight days is too fucking long,” he repeated. I turned my head to look at him, he met my gaze, and we both laughed.
We lay there for a bit, collecting our breaths, chuckling and smiling at the ceiling, at each other. I sat up, feeling that pleasant ache in all the right places, and tapped my hand on his flat belly. “Let’s do food. I’m starving.”
We cleaned up in my bathroom. I righted my robe and could do little with my hair, given he’d run his lube-covered fingers through the back of it. He discarded the condom and tucked himself back in, washed his hands, and then he tried to fix my hair.
It was sweet and surprisingly intimate. “I think it’s a lost cause,” I murmured after a while.
His gaze went from the top of my head to my eyes and he smiled. “We might have to shower later.”
My god, he was so freaking cute.
I nodded, trying not to think about how much I was willing to go over and above the just-sex rule. For as little as I knew about him, it was so easy to be with him.
Maybe it was easy to be with him because I knew so little about him. Maybe the no-complication rule made it tangle-free. Maybe my heart rate kicked up a notch when I saw him—when I thought of him—because this whole arrangement was exciting and because I knew the sex was going to be off the charts. Maybe my heart liked the way he laughed or how he kissed or how he would casually touch me. Maybe the butterflies that swarmed my belly were all about anticipation.
Maybe I was fooling myself.
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“You okay?” he asked.
We were still standing in my bathroom, facing ourselves in the mirror. I must have zoned out because I had no idea what he’d said before now.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said quickly, looking at his reflection and not at him standing right beside me. “Great, actually. Now, about dinner . . .”
He stared at my reflection as well. “I just asked you about that.”
“Oh, sorry. I was thinking about . . . something else.” I tightened my robe. “Did you want Thai food? Pizza? Lebanese? Which is your favourite?”
“I eat anything.”
“Good. Lebanese it is.” Then I changed my mind. “Actually, pizza sounds really good. There’s a place not far from here that does a Greek pizza with marinated lamb and haloumi, and they serve tzatziki on the side. It’s amazing.”
He stared at my reflection for a long few seconds like he was trying to make sense of something, and his smile made my heart do that thing . . . that traitorous thing where it beat too fast and loud. “That sounds great,” he murmured.
I let out a quiet, unsteady breath. “Good. And they deliver. And they’re fast.” I went to my walk-in wardrobe and pulled on a pair of briefs.
He pouted. “Underwear?”
I waved at him, head to foot. “Says he who is fully dressed.”
He laughed. “Yeah, we didn’t get very far, did we? Perhaps you shouldn’t answer the door wearing that robe.”
“So it’s my fault?”
“One hundred percent.”
I chuckled. “I’m not even remotely sorry.”
He laughed too, then toed out of his boots and pulled his socks off. “Does that make you feel better?”
“Yes.” I met his gaze. “You have sexy feet.”
“Sexy feet? No, feet are gross.”
I held my foot out, pointing my toes. “My feet are not gross.”
He grinned, walked over to me, and planted a kiss square on my lips. “No, they are not. And I think I like your hair all messed up.”
I raised one eyebrow. “You like knowing you messed it up.”
He grinned without shame. “I am not even going to deny that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dinner?”
He nodded and followed me out to the kitchen. I took my phone, quickly using the app to order the pizza, and slid my phone back onto the counter. “Did you want a drink?” I asked. “Water? Juice?”
“Oh, I thought you meant vodka.”
“Did you want one? I have some in the freezer.”
He shook his head. “No, I had enough to drink last night.”
“Same.” And there it was. The first mention of last night. Of running into each other outside of our agreement. Of him hearing my name . . .
His sly smile told me his thoughts had taken him to the same place mine had. “About that,” he began.
I held his gaze, my chin raised, waiting . . . I knew it was coming . . .
“You had a good week at work,” he said, trying not to smile. “Given you were out celebrating.”
He was toying with me, like a cat with a mouse. “I did.” We’d secured the Mortimer contract. And when I say we, I meant me. Not that I was going to explain that right now. He knew enough about me, when I knew nothing about him. “It was a very good week.” I took another mouthful of water while he watched me, still smiling. “And you were out with your friends.”
He nodded. “Yep.” He left it at that for a long few seconds, because he didn’t have to elaborate. Even though we both knew he knew more about me than I did about him. He clearly liked knowing more about me. This little game we were playing had him as the clear winner. But then he added, “I hadn’t seen my friends much since I got back. It was good to catch up with them.”