Then suddenly he shifted her back, and she slid down onto his cock.
She moaned. He groaned, deep and low. It was a tight fit, but it was exquisite. He stretched her deliciously, and she soaked it in, feeling the waves of pleasure coursing through her whole body.
“Dammit, Professor. You’re fucking perfect.”
He shifted, thrusting up, squeezing her ass, settling even deeper.
“Oh! James.”
“That’s right.” He squeezed her again. “Now ride me, Harper.”
Harper. Damn, that made her hot.
She started to move. She lifted and lowered herself, the friction and heat and pressure glorious.
Her nipples beaded as goose bumps erupted over her skin, and her muscles clenched around him as if to hang on to the best thing they’d ever felt. But she couldn’t stay still. She did it again. And again. Taking him deep, slowly, relishing every inch. Every hot, hard, holy-crap-that-is-so-so-good inch.
He just let her go for a few minutes, watching her, holding her hips tightly but letting her move and shift and circle. And enjoy. Because she was. She so was. This was amazing. His jaw was tight, his eyes hot, but he just let her do her thing.
Until he didn’t.
“Harper, damn, girl. More, baby.” He pressed her down on him hard as he thrust upward.
“Oh!” She loved that fullness and the feel of him getting even deeper. “Yes!”
He brought her forward, to kiss her, yes—and he did, hot and long, stroking her tongue with his—but also to bring her clit against him where a press and a rub shot tingles of heat and pleasure zinging through her. He squeezed her ass with one hand and lifted the other to a breast, rolling and tugging on a nipple making her inner muscles clench.
“James!”
“You know what I want to hear, Harper,” he rasped against her mouth.
His rough voice added to all the sensations, and she felt the coiling of her orgasm, delicious and tight. “Yes,” she told him breathlessly. She wanted him to hear it, too. She wanted to come hard, his name on her lips. But not quite yet. This was all so good. Just being connected like this, his big body around her, part of her, filling her.
He shifted her again, rolling her hips, rubbing her against him, pinching her nipple, and she felt herself on that precipice. She moaned. She wanted to linger there. Enjoy it. Anticipate it all.
But he was having none of that. He surged up into her, pressing her down at the same time, kissing her deeply, breast in one hand.
“You are so damned sweet,” he told her. “I love how you’re just soaking this up. I’ve never seen someone just…” He blew out a breath. “I’ve never watched someone just freaking enjoy like this.”
In spite of the heat and fullness, the way her whole body was insisting that she move and take, she laughed lightly. “I am very much enjoying this. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
“It’s… different with you.”
She looked at him. He seemed confused. Or amazed. Or something. It was usually easy for her to put words to things. It seemed significant that she couldn’t just now. It also seemed right that they would be talking during sex. Words mattered to her. He knew that. The fact he was using them right now mattered.
He also had a point.
“Enjoyment is used in a lot of ways,” she said. He was buried deep, their bodies were hot skin to hot skin. They were as intimate physically as two people could get at the moment, but she was going to give him a language lesson. Because this mattered. “It can definitely mean getting pleasure and satisfaction from something. But it can also mean fun. And my favorite meaning is gladness.” She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “I’m glad to be here. I also like the related words ‘savor’ and ‘relish.’ Both are related to enjoyment. Both apply here.”
He stared at her. “Damn, I like you, Professor,” he finally said.
That might have been the best thing he could have said in that moment. Because she was certain he’d never said that to another woman in quite that way in this type of moment.
“I like you, too,” she told him.
He got a hot, almost mischievous look in his eye. “I know you do. And you think me being a firefighter is hot.”
She laughed. “Dammit, I do.”
“You have from the very first day.”
“Yes.”
“Knew it.”
“You know what else I find hot?”
“My lizard?” He gave her a wink.
She did like Henry, actually. But she wouldn’t call him hot. She leaned in and put her mouth against his ear. “That you know what I mean when I say baise-moi.”
He gave a little groan, gripped her hips, and said, “Gladly.” Then he lifted his hips, thrusting deep.
They might have taken a little break from the motion and friction, but the pleasure flared hot instantly, and Harper felt herself teetering on the edge of her orgasm again within only a few strokes. She also knew it was because of this man and her feelings for him and her experiences with him to this point rather than because of what they were doing physically.
Though when his big hands on her ass shifted her again just right and pressed deep, she couldn’t deny it was also what they were doing physically.
“James.”
“Little more, Professor. I need a little”—he thrust up—“bit.”—he thrust again—“more.”
She came with a cry. “Fuck yes, James!”
His breath hissed out, and even as the waves were still crashing over her, he flipped her over and thrust deep. So deep. Harper thought maybe her eyes rolled back. Her brain definitely short-circuited for a second. He hiked one of her legs up, propping her calf on his shoulder, just as she’d asked, and then he took her. She’d never been taken. Not really. Not that she now knew what was possible.
She wasn’t sure she even breathed during the next few minutes, but she couldn’t think of something as mundane as that when she had James Reynaud doing the things he was doing to her.
Harper was shocked to feel herself climbing toward a second orgasm—something else she’d chalked up to fictional fantasies only—and she cried out and clamped down around him as he roared her name and came.
He let her leg down but didn’t change much else about their positioning as he lowered himself to the couch and pulled her against him on the cushions.
Their labored breathing filled the air, and Harper enjoyed every bit of the heat and hardness of his big body against and mostly on top of her as they recovered.
As far as James was concerned, things were pretty fucking perfect.
Harper Broussard was amazing. Her sharp mind and humor and willingness to feed a bearded dragon flies, and the way she called him on his bullshit and was not really okay with but still stepped up when it came to baby poop. She was also the best sex he’d ever had.
Not just because she had a body he was sure he’d never get enough of, but because of the way she had sex. She had made sex with him seem like something she just absolutely loved. Everything from the slow way she’d moved, seeming to just absorb it all, to the look on her face, had been so different from any he’d ever had. Women liked sex with him. They had a good time. Orgasms were handed out, and everyone left with a smile on their face. But he’d never felt relished. She’d used that word, too. As if it were all something she just wanted to wallow in and remember for a long, long time.