They’d left the lights off, but the blinds were open, and enough moon and streetlight filtered in to afford her a view of bunching, straining muscle.
Carter was above her, one hand braced on the pillow beside her head, the other gripping the headboard, leverage for the thrusts that rocked her body.
Any last vestiges of self-consciousness had burned away as they’d stumbled down the hall and into her bedroom. There was no room for doubt or shyness when he was buried this deep inside her, hitting her rightthere, over and over. She watched him from beneath heavy eyelids, vision blurred. She whimpered and moaned to let him know that it was good, to encourage him – God, she’d die if he stopped – and squeezed his hips tight with her thighs, ankles hooked behind his back; reached up when she could just to touch all that hard, working muscle on his sweat-slick chest and stomach.
It was good. It was so good.
Then he pulled out.
But before she could murmur a protest, he had hold of her hips, and was turning her over, easily. Urging her up on her knees, hands tight over her hipbones, and he was sliding back in, picking the previous rhythm right up. And, oh, this was good, too.
She braced her elbows on the mattress, gripped the sheets, and pressed back into each of his thrusts, chasing the blunt pressure of his cock. She was panting raggedly, and so was he.
Her orgasm surprised her. She closed her eyes and let the starbursts crowd behind her eyelids; let the wave of pleasure crest – and wash over her.
She was dimly aware of making some sound, but didn’t know if it was a cry or a whimper. Thought she might fall. But Carter held her hips, held her up; she pressed her heated face against the pillow, still wracked with pulses that sent fresh darts of pleasure through her, as he chased his own released. Faster, faster, he pressed in deep, and came with a bitten-off shout, grinding against her, his fingers spasming.
Her body felt liquified, shaky and unreliable – but it was a good kind of haze. He stayed above her a moment, as he softened, and she shivered pleasantly beneath the gentle stroke of his hands across her back. When he finally withdrew, Leah collapsed down onto her stomach, eyes shut, body humming. Falling asleep was a real possibility.
The mattress dipped, and she heard him moving around, and her eyes snapped open when she felt a warm, damp cloth press against her swollen sex.
“Sorry,” he said, softly. “We’re a mess.”
She held still, while he wiped her down, so gently, and then rolled onto her side, watching him walk back to her en-suite to put the towel away. His torso was an inverted triangle, strong and spare, but his ass, she noticed, was sweetly curved, and pale, untouched by the sun.
She was smiling when he returned, and stretched out on his side, facing her.
“What?”
“You have a very cute butt.”
He wiped a hand down his face, groaning – but laughing, too.
“Don’t deny it. You do.”
“No, it’s just…” Enough filtered, bluish light fell through the blinds in slats to afford her a glimpse of his eyes, made even bluer in the shadows, sparkling with an emotion she couldn’t name. Not yet. “How can we do…that. And then just go right back to. You know. Joking around and shit. Like we’re friends.”
“Aren’t we friends?”
“Yeah, but…that.” He gestured to the mattress between them; the sheets smelled of sweat and sex.
She shrugged. “Why can’t we? Why not be friends, and then have killer sex. And I do meankiller. Holy shit. That was…”
His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Yeah.”
“We should do it again. Very soon.”
She expected another laugh – but his smile slipped, the Cheshire cat grin fading. “I’ve never…” He trailed off.
“Never what?” she prompted, softening her tone.
He hesitated. Played with an imaginary bit of lint on the sheet between them. “It’s never been like this for me.” His lashes lowered, and he was uncertain, she realized. He didn’t know how to rectify companionship with hot sex.
They’d have to work on that. “Good,” she teased, “because I like to feel special.”
His smile came back, gentler this time. He looked almost bashful, now, and she wondered, if she clicked the lamp on, if she’d see him blushing. “You still up for nachos?”
“God, yes, I’m starving.”
