In all honesty, we were kind of feral. Animalistic. Definitely dirty.
Fingers dug deep into my ass cheeks as he angled us right. So his pelvis kept making contact with my clit. Again and again, he hit my sweet spot, pushing me closer to the edge, sending me out of my mind. Electricity raced through me, blood rushing, every nerve singing. I’d never been so strung out, everything tensed from top to toe, desperately in need of release. The strength of him holding me, the way his muscles stood out in stark relief. The scent of sex and sweat. It was all good and right. Even the occasional edge of pain. Vaughan pounded me into the door, stretching me, filling me beyond what I thought I could take.
Then his fingers tightened, gripping my butt cheeks bruisingly hard. Somehow, he changed what he was doing slightly. The angle or the manner of god only knows. But his hips smacked into me as he thrust hard, grinding his pelvis against my clit. Pressure built to the breaking point at the base of my spine, every muscle in me contracting. Once, twice, three times he did this and then my world turned to white.
Stars. Fireworks. Every part of me convulsing like I was shaking apart, exploding. Soon, there’d be nothing of me left. And still, he held me tight. My spine hit the door, making it rattle, its hinges squeaking. His body moving in mine, our body parts entangled to the point I didn’t think we’d ever part.
Until he made this noise, a guttural yell. Twice more he filled me. Face buried in my neck, he came.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Hope you’re happy with yourself,” grumped Vaughan, lying on his back, staring at the bedroom ceiling.
I hid my grin against his side, breathing him in. Turns out, the man smelled even better the morning after hot sex. I wanted to lick him from top to toe, then come back for more. Instead I yawned, cautiously stretching. Certain things hurt in the very best way. After months and months of neglect, joy had finally come my vagina’s way. “I honestly don’t think I could be happier.”
A grunt.
“Thank you for all the effort. I really appreciated it.”
“You went straight to sleep.”
“I know,” I said. “But it’d been a very long day and I’d just come hard enough to cause myself actual neurological damage.”
Another grunt.
“Now that I think about it, it was probably closer to a coma than sleep.”
“Babe, you’re not funny.” He slipped an arm around me despite his lack of amusement, fingers stroking the side of my breast. Of course. Such a tit man. “It was supposed to be romantic.”
“It was.”
He raised his weary head. “Lydia, you’ve got bruises down your back from me banging you so hard against the front door. I might not have a lot of experience in this area, but I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not romance.”
This from Mr. Bitey himself. The dude was serious.
Stripes of sunlight shone through the gaps in the curtains. Just enough to illuminate the unlit candles scattered around the room, the vases overflowing with wildflowers. An unopened bottle of champagne sat in a bucket of long since melted ice. I’m certain the fresh sheets were Egyptian cotton. I wanted to roll around on them with Vaughan until the world went boom. What a perfect way to make my exit.
I wiggled closer, holding on tight. Acting like a limpet sometimes is soothing, don’t question it. “I do appreciate you going to all this trouble. Thank you.”
With a sigh, he laid his head back against the pillow. “I’m going to owe Joe for years for doing all this while we were at work.”
“You certainly went all out. The room looks amazing.”
“Yeah.” His frowny face turned sheepish. “Actually, I just gave him twenty and asked him to grab a bunch of flowers and a couple of candles. I had no idea he’d do all this.”
“Huh. Who’d have thought Joe would have the soul of a romantic.”
All the flowers and the clusters of candles, the bubbly on ice and awesome sheets. Amazing. The big blond bear of a bartender knew how to woo.
He patted me on the arm. “Got to use the bathroom.”
I set him free and slowly sat up, holding the sheet to my chest. A fine position for watching all of the goodness that was Vaughan Hewson rise from the bed. The pale skin and ink work on his back, his broad shoulders and firm ass. All so good. He shoved a hand through his shaggy golden-red hair and yawned long and loud, wandering out into the hallway in all his naked glory. “I should get a haircut.”
“No,” I commanded, a bit too forcefully considering the temporary nature of our relationship. “Get one when I’m gone.”