I grab the spare from my wallet, and then we’re rolling on the bed again, kissing and touching and petting and exploring until I’m on my back with tangled sheets making a weird lump under my back and my head hanging over the edge of the bed while she centers herself over what’s quite possibly the proudest woody I’ve ever had in my life.
“Oh, god, Luca, tell me to stop,” she pants as we both stare at the tree trunk growing out of my pelvis.
“Have you ever had release day sex?”
“Not for release day sex’s sake.”
“Then no way I’m telling you to stop.”
“But—”
“Henri, I swear to fuck, if you don’t ride me right now, I’ll never forgive you.”
Her eyes go wide, and then she’s laughing as she lowers herself, taking me deep inside her while her eyes cross and my body shudders with the otherworldly, intoxicating sensation of being squeezed by Henri in the most intimate way.
“Oh, god, Luca,” she whispers.
I grip her hips while she pumps them and I thrust up into her, both of us shaking the bed and making me slide more off the edge, shoulders first, with every roll of her hips, until I’m on the verge of coming inside her while clenching my abs to keep myself from falling off the bed, and I don’t know if it’s the precarious position making my cock harder and more primed than I’ve ever felt it, or if it’s Henri yelling at my family for me, or if it’s pre-game jitters, but every time she gasps my name or tells me I’m so big or that I feel so good inside her, all the sensations from the pit of my stomach to the tip of my dick are so intense, I believe this could make me go blind.
“Henri—” I grit out.
“Oh, god, Luca, I’m there,” she gasps. “I’m…right…there.”
Dogzilla yowls in what’s either pain or pleasure, but the noise fades as I pump into Henri once more, and her pussy suddenly squeezes me so tight that everything inside me bursts open, and she screams my name while I groan out hers and Dogzilla yowls again, and the hotel room explodes in a burst of color, and lights dance behind my eyes, and everything’s spinning, and then Henri’s screaming again, except this time, she’s also sliding off my hard-on, and everything’s upside down, and my head’s hitting the floor and she’s skidding over my face, breasts first—glorious, glorious titties—as she shrieks and reaches for something to hold onto while we fall off the bed, and her cat’s yowling and oh, fuck.
Where is the cat?
My balls are exposed, and I’m both squished in this weird upside-down position with Henri plastered crooked across my shoulders and face, and also on an orgasm high that’s rapidly crashing into a suddenly very real fear that her cat is the type who likes to play with a stick and balls.
Henri tumbles off me and rolls to the side, getting stuck momentarily between the bed and the AC unit before she finishes a somersault and comes up on her knees.
“My dick,” I crow as I cover the family jewels and pull my legs in, which makes me tumble backwards into a yoga pose that’s probably not good for a beginner.
“Oh my god, did I break it?” she gasps beside me.
“It’s not a toy!”
“I thought you wanted me!”
“I did! It’s not a toy for your cat!”
“My cat doesn’t like dick!”
I stop and peer at her, which isn’t easy when I’m contorted like a pretzel and she’s Henri, which means she’s flying over the room to rescue her cat, but I can see her bending over, with her bare ass, and that glimpse of her glistening wet pussy, with her breasts dangling too, and fuck me, I’m getting hard again.
And not hard, but oak tree hard.
No, not oak tree. Wrought iron.
Yeah.
I’m a wrought iron fence post here.
“Henri?” I pant, a chuckle growing deep inside me that pauses as I look at her again.
She peers at me from between her legs, because she’s that kind of flexible, and I swear my cock grows another inch.
Naked Henri.
Bent over.
Looking at me between her legs while she strokes her cat, who’s shuddering like she’s also coming down off a post-orgasm high, but that’s not the weirdest part.
The weirdest part is how much I want Henri again.
Right now.
The woman who was all the insanity and chaos in my life a month ago has somehow become the one woman I desperately need again.
“Luca?”
So this is what tongue-tied feels like. A million things want to come out of my mouth at once. Pet the pussy between your legs too for me, baby. You’re so damn hot. Thank you for the most fun sex I’ve ever had. Life isn’t boring with you. Stay. Come sit on my face. Can I fuck you again in the shower?
And I can’t say any of that to Henri, because I’ve promised her I won’t.
So instead, I blurt out a grunt that I hope sounds like I’m asking if she’s okay, and after she stares at me for a long minute like my body’s been invaded by those yellow cartoon characters that are always yammering nonsense unless they’re talking about bananas, she slowly nods. “Yeah. I’m okay. That was…nice. Are you okay? Are you stuck? Do you need help? That doesn’t look good for your back, and you have to play a game in—oh my gosh, do you need to go? When do you have to be at the ballpark? Are you going to be late? Is there a bus? There’s always a bus, right? Do you need me to leave? I have a room at a hotel down the street, and I—”
“Henri.”
She sucks her lips into her mouth like she’s realized she’s talking too much.
Except she’s not talking too much.
She’s talking a Henri amount of talking, and it’s exactly right.
But I can’t say that either. Again, because I’ve promised her I won’t.
I clear my throat. “You should probably stand up before all that blood running to your head makes you pass out.”
She blinks twice, then bolts straight up.
Which means she bangs her head straight into the TV stand.
“Shit!” I roll and leap to my feet, trip over the sheets that enabled our slide off the bed, and end up on my side next to her while she plops down onto her ass between the bed and the TV stand. “You okay?”
She’s rubbing the back of her head as she shifts her eyes to look at me.
Dogzilla leaps onto her knee and balances there, which is impressive for what has to be a fifteen-pound, lazy-ass cat.
And as I lay there, with a carpet burn starting to make its presence known on the side of my ribcage, my dick torn between wanting to ask for another round and go into hiding in case the cat notices and wants a play toy—and yeah, that’s my excuse, and it has nothing to do with worrying that there’s a connection between my dick and my heart—I start to snicker.
Henri’s lips twitch.
And I want to kiss her.
I don’t care if we screw around again.
I just want to sit here, laugh with her, and kiss her.
It’s becoming crystal clear to me why she’s been engaged five times. Because Henri Bacon is the kind of woman who makes it so very easy to fall in love.
Not that this is love.
But I’m willing to concede to feelings of affection stronger than I’ve let myself feel in years.