“Don’t move,” he orders and pushes to his feet, framing my body with his again, his hands traveling up my back, his lips pressing to my ear. “I’m going to f**k you now, Sara, hard and fast with you exactly as you are now, and you’re going to stay right where you are and let me do it.”
“About damn time,” I hiss through my teeth.
A low rumble of his laughter fills the air, tingling a path from my ears and stirring sensations low in my belly. But I am not pleased when he shoves away from me, no longer touching me, almost as if he is defying me, teasing me on purpose. I am ready to turn, to take over, to make my own demands, but I believe his promise to stop whatever he is doing if I drop my hands.
Relief washes over me when I hear the rustle of clothing and the tear of paper — a condom I am certain. Soon. Soon he will be inside me. His hands come down on my h*ps and his shaft presses between my thighs. Deft fingers stroke through the wet heat of my body, preparing me when I was ready long ago.
“Please, Chris,” I moan, aching for fulfillment.
“Easy, baby,” he replies, and oh yes, I feel him press between my legs, thick and hard, and exactly what I need.
Still though, he holds back, teases me, sliding his erection up and down in the wet heat of my swollen flesh. He can’t want the way I do or he could not do this and I silently vow to amend that, and soon.
“Payback”-
He thrusts into me, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt and moaning with the impact. I moan with him and gasp when he lifts my hips, finding a deeper spot. There is no time to revel in the fullness of him inside me, the completeness my body needs. He thrusts again and the wild, wicked hard pump of our bodies together erupts into a frenzied dance. His hands are all over me, his c**k is inside me, filling me, stretching me. Pleasing me. In a remote part of my mind, I think of the glass, of the two of us shoving against it. Of the possibility of it breaking, but I don’t care. If I am going to die I want it to be with this man inside me.
The bloom of orgasm begins to build and I try to fight it, unwilling to give up the sweet bliss of almost there. But he is grinding into me, touching me, pushing me, and I am weak. I stiffen, unable to move the seconds before I shatter, my body clamping down on the hard length of him and shooting darts of pure white-hot bliss to every nerve ending I own.
A guttural sound escapes his lips, and he buries himself deep in the depths of my spasming sex, shaking with his own release. I want to push against him, participate in his pleasure as he has mine, but I am still trembling and weak with the final bittersweet ending to my orgasm.
For a few moments the world spins and we are more animals than people, lost in a primal act, where nothing but satisfaction exists. When finally I blink the world back into view, twinkling city lights dot the inky canvas of the night. Chris is still inside me, draped over me, his hands on the window beside mine.
He nuzzles my neck. “How about that pizza?”
I smile. “You better make that two.”
“If it means you have the energy to keep f**king me like you just did, I’ll buy you a damn dozen.” He slides out of me and a glow of satisfaction fills me with his words.
Now over my fear of falling out of the window, I turn around and lean on the glass and watch him pull off the condom, tossing it into a trashcan by the couch. His jeans are unzipped, low on his h*ps but he is dressed all the way down to his boots. My glow fades. Suddenly, I am more than a little aware of my nakedness. “You never even got undressed.”
He’s back in front of me, wrapping his arm around me, and stroking the hair from my eyes. “Because you stole my control, Sara, and that never happens.”
My chest tightens at the tormented quality to his voice and I think…I think, for this tiny window of time, he needs me. Maybe, I need him. I stroke his cheek with my fingers. “I was the one with my hands over my head, pressed against a glass that could crash in. Actually, I still am.”
“We are,” he points out. “And it’s hurricane reinforced. We’re good.”
My hand is resting on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm and it somehow makes me feel more alive. He makes me feel more alive. I want to do the same for him, to wash away his suddenly darker mood, as he has mine.
“You know, Chris,” I say. “I do have a few boundaries.”
He arches a brow, narrowing his gaze on mine. “What boundaries would you be referring to?”
“I’m not going home in a bra with my blouse gaping open. You ripped my shirt.”
My reward is his sexy half-smile, the same one he’d given me outside the gallery, by the Porsche. “I didn’t hear you complain at the time.”
“I’d lost my blouse. I darn sure deserved it to be for a pleasurable reason.”
His eyes light with naughty mischief and he nips my bottom lip. “I’ll gladly buy you a new one so we can do it over again.”
“I’ll settle for borrowing one of yours right now. I’m not eating in high heels and pantyhose.”
He wiggles and eyebrow at me. “I would really like it if you would.”
“Oh no,” I say and I smile and kick off my shoes for emphasis. “Not happening.”
“Next time,” he says with a wink, and the inference there will be a ‘next time’ shouldn’t please me for reasons I’ve already determined, aside from the fact that he’s going back to Paris. Without knowing why Chris is damaged, he is, and I am, and we are bad for each other. Next time isn’t good for either of us unless…we need more than tonight.