“You brought condoms?” I ask as I take it from her and tear the foil with my teeth.
“This was inevitable. I knew. I prepared for it.” She wraps a hand around my dick and squeezes. “And God, how I want it.”
If I weren’t already turned on, I’d be there in an instant with that comment and from her confidence.
She watches me as I roll the condom on, and the minute I’m done, her hands are on my ass, tugging me toward the bed as her lips tell me what she wants.
“I want you to fuck me, Ford. Long. Deep. Hard,” she murmurs against my lips as my hands palm her breasts. Her breath hitches from the sensation. “We’ll have time for foreplay another time, but right now . . . right now, I just want you. I want this.”
She slides her hand over my jacketed cock and all restraint is lost.
“Get on the bed,” I order. She sits her ass down and scoots back, her knees bent and her pussy on display.
Fuck.
That body I saw last week—the one I’ve dreamt of, fantasized over—is even better than I thought as she lies before me naked and wanting.
And fuck if I’m not going to enjoy every goddamn inch of it. The line of her thigh. The curve of her hip. The bow of her back. The hardened peak of her pink breast. The insatiable taste of her tongue.
“You’re . . . stunning,” I whisper as I crawl onto the bed, kiss the inside of one of her knees, and trail my fingertip over the other. “Gorgeous.” Another kiss to the top of her mound. I breathe her in. Arousal and Ellery is an addictive combination. “Sexy.” A kiss on her abdomen before I lick around her nipple and suck on it. Her back arches and a moaned sigh escapes her mouth—such a fucking turn-on. “Incredible,” I say against her lips before slipping my tongue between them in a slow, languorous kiss that puts every one of my nerves on high alert.
She scratches her nails down my chest, making my cock jerk in anticipation and digs them into my thighs, begging to have me.
The woman doesn’t have to ask again.
I sit up on my haunches and use my hand to run the tip of my cock up and down her slit. Her arousal glistens in the dim light as I push my way between her pink lips. I inch myself in ever so slowly, Ellery’s moan of “So good” the only encouragement I need.
And when I’m fully seated inside her, after her breath hitches and her neck arches as she acclimates to the fullness, she looks back up and meets my eyes, almost as if to dare me to take her to the brink.
Her heat.
Her tightness.
Her wetness.
Fucking hell, yes, I will.
I begin to move, in soft, slow thrusts so I can pay attention to her every nerve. My hands grip the flesh on her hips as my eyes flicker between the pleasure blanketing her face and the indescribable turn-on of watching myself push into her and then slide all the way back out.
She feels . . . incredible. Like I want to go fast but am trying my hardest to go slow so that I can make this pleasure last. So that I can bring her with me to the edge.
“Ford. Yes,” she whispers as her hands grip the sheets beside her, prompting me to pick up the pace some.
To bring my thumb to the top of her slit and add friction to her clit. Her gasp and panted breaths are all I need to know that I’m giving her what she needs while I take what I want.
I fuck harder and hold tighter to her hips as desperation takes over. The room is filled with the sounds of our bodies connecting. The slick withdrawal and push back into her. Our labored breaths.
Over and over.
In and out.
Yes. Now. Harder. Right there. Oh my God.
I squeeze my eyes shut to hold myself back, to wait my turn, but it’s a fucking brutal struggle as I work her clit, faster, harder.
Her legs tense and her back bows seconds before her cry echoes around the walls of the room.
Her pussy tightens like a vise around me and fuck, I’m a goner. An absolute, fucking goner.
“Elle,” I say when by the look on her—eyes closed, mouth lax, nipples hardened—I know she can’t hear me. She’s swamped in her own pleasure. “Elle.” I draw the word out as every part of me that aches and burns in the best of ways ignites from my lower belly to my cock to my balls.
I jerk my hips, consciousness fading, as I absorb wave after wave of absolute bliss that burns white-hot as it courses through me.
Over and over.
Just like the pulsing of her muscles around me.
I drag a hand down the center of her chest and the goosebumps that chase over her skin.
Christ. This woman.
I knew she’d be incredible, that sex with her would be incredible, I just didn’t know that the minute I had her, I was going to want her again.
I think this might be a problem.
But fuck if it’s not one I’m willing to overcome by fucking her again and again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ellery
What just happened?
I mean, I know what happened, but . . . holy shit what now?
A slow smile crawls over my lips as I stare at the ice cream bar I’m holding, knowing damn well that the satisfaction I once found in it has been replaced with a new craving. A new desire I want to enjoy in the darkness and keep to myself.
I close my eyes and smile, wanting to relive every delicious moment we just had together. And make no bones about it, it was incredible in every sense of the word.
But what now?
How do we go forward, be partners, when we just threw something neither of us expected into the mix?
I shift in my chair in the small alcove we’ve designated as a kitchen. It’s nothing special—a table, a few chairs, a refrigerator—but it has a killer view of the beach, even now when I’m sitting in the dark.
“Having regrets already?” The deep tenor of his voice rumbles through the room, followed by the scent of soap from the shower he just had.
I don’t speak. I’m not even sure what to say, so I continue to look out the windows in front of me and take another bite of my ice cream bar.
“Okay then,” he murmurs when the silence stretches before stepping up beside me, turning a chair around, and sitting on it backwards. “I guess we’ll sit here until you figure out what you want to say.”
Why does he have to be so charming?
It’s a huge problem because it makes him irresistible.
He’s supposed to be my business partner. He’s supposed to be learned and knowledgeable—not incredibly good at sex. He’s not supposed to be charming and inviting and forgiving when I’m at a loss for words.
Without asking, he grabs my ice cream bar, takes a bite, and then hands it back to me as if it’s no big deal.
Apparently, he doesn’t have problems with sharing . . . unless it’s with Chandler.
Chandler.
Is he who started all of this? Is he who I have to thank for some of the best sex of my life? I mean, sex for the first time with someone is usually a little awkward and not always that enjoyable. Sure, you both know what part fits where, but the rhythm is typically off. The coordination and the knowledge of what the other person needs isn’t there.
Leave it to Fordham Sharpe to blow that notion to smithereens.
My thighs clench just thinking about it.
“I can’t imagine what you must think of me,” I finally say.
“Meaning?”