“Ruby likes to manage things,” she said.
“She does.” He couldn’t help reaching out and squeezing the supple skin of her hip. “But I’ve got frills around the house now, thanks to you.” Chance looked her up and down. “Christ, I didn’tthink this through. Should have gotten under you before I got the pillows in place.”
Cordy threw back her head and laughed. “We’ll be better next time. Let’s call this the dry run.”
He ran his fingers through her folds. “Not dry at all. Have to call it a wet run.”
She laughed again as she moved the pillows. Then she rose, making space for him, so powerful and radiant she could have been a goddess. He said a little prayer of thanks as he slid between her thighs.
When she sank back down, he was surrounded by her. Her scent, her taste, her skin. He could get drunk on her. His head was already spinning, his cock hard enough to drive nails.
But this was about Cordy. Not that it was any hardship for Chance to lick and suckle her swollen folds. Her taste, sharp and musky, spread over his tongue.
He closed his eyes. Her small reactions—the tensing of her thighs, the flex of her feet, the shift of her hips—were heightened when he did that. Every sensation running through her was telegraphed to him.
All the hunger in him for her he poured out through his lips, his tongue. She squealed and squirmed and begged himplease, please, please.When Chance tenderly scraped his teeth over her clit—just the kind of gently fierce thing she liked—Cordy fisted her hand in his hair and held on for dear life.
He sucked in a breath as his blood flamed out. Turned out he loved having his hair pulled, too.
Chance thrust his tongue inside her pussy, needing more of her taste. His hips bucked. God, if only it were his cock inside her instead of his tongue. He’d fuck her so hard and good, he’d make her love it.
No, he had to stop thinking about that. Chance was here to give her orgasms, a place to stay, and some help. His cock couldn’t come into it.
Love definitely couldn’t.
Cordy’s thighs tightened around him. Her moans went high, thready. She was close. Chance put his lips around her clit and sucked.
Her hips rocked into his face, her knees splayed, and she damn near tore his hair out as she came. He loved that about her orgasms—she never held anything back. When she was well pleasured, she let him know it. He’d replay this moment later when he was alone in the shower, cock in his hand.
Slowly, she curled up on her side. Her skin was flushed, dewy, and her eyes were pleasure-drunk.
“Could you breathe?” she asked.
“Nope. I died and came back to life when you came.” It was closer to the truth than he was comfortable with.
Cordy laughed and let him help her into her pajamas: a faded, oversized T-shirt Chance recognized as Reed’s, and some tiny booty shorts.
He kept himself awake until her breathing went slow and even and deep. Cordy was asleep, which meant he had to leave.
Leaving got harder and harder each night. He fought sleep as he held her, willing himself to be good, to stick with what they’d agreed to—pleasure for her, denial for him. That’s what she needed. With the baby coming, she had to focus on that, and he had to let her, not distract her with his urges.
Eventually, he pushed himself away. He allowed himself one kiss on her forehead.
Cordy opened her eyes. “You’re leaving?”
Was that sadness in her tone? He’d better not hope for that.
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” Instead of closing her eyes, she reached out and laid her palm against his jaw. “Your beard grows fast.”
Chance nuzzled his face into her hand. No one had ever told him that before, probably because he’d never been close enough to a woman for her to notice how his beard grew.
It felt good to be seen like that. And then the cold sweat came.
He pulled away. Cordy was already closing her eyes, probably not even missing him.
The cold sweat on his back blew away as he went for the door. But so did the good feeling about being seen.
