To his ferocious delight, she kept her lady parts au natural. A sweet thatch of brown curls sent carnal shockwaves to all his nerve endings. He’d reached for his twitching cock to ease the ache that seeing her in all her bare-assed glory had started. He wasn’t a fan of the bare pubes look—kind of freaked him out. Fucking teenagers and wannabe baby girls had never been his thing.
Rubbing his unbridled hard-on through his pants, he’d mindfully dove in and took them both on a wild romp that went exactly as predicted. Not only did he get her to come, but he’d actually also brought her to a couple of screaming orgasms that drenched his face, the bed, and the hand massaging her pussy, reducing his sexy lover to a quivering heap.
The whole thing had been intense. Immediately after, he’d acted out a brain fart from one of his favorite movies that thankfully had her laughing hysterically and given them a poignant Edward and Paige moment. It was that scene from Castaway with the crazy talented Tom Hanks where he first made fire. Standing bare-chested by the bed, he’d pounded his chest, pointed at her quaking body, and declared at the top of his lungs, “I made my woman come. Me. An orgasm. She came on my tongue.” It had been funny as shit.
He rather enjoyed what came next. After his boisterous declaration of pussy eating victory, she’d gotten him back in pretty short order. He couldn’t remember how she’d managed to get his pants off. He sort of recalled that she’d gotten grabby with his ass and then his cock while doing naughty things to his nipples. That part was a blur. He’d been so pumped up and stimulated that he’d hung on by a shortening thread until that moment when they were both naked. That part he remembered clearly.
She’d been on her knees … a recurring theme with them—and quite simply gasped in what he hoped was delight when she’d finally freed his flesh. Murmuring his name, wonder filled her throaty growl. It was a perfect moment.
There was no fucking way he’d survive her mouth on his dick, that’d come much later, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get to explore him. Oh, she did and quite spectacularly including pushing him onto his back in the middle of the enormous bed and climbing onto his body for an intimate lap dance that stopped just short of penetration.
Stopping her feverish dance before things went too far, he’d rolled her around the bed, kissing, caressing, fingering, until they’d reached the point of no return.
That first time had been more than special. He’d wanted them to both remember the moment when at last they joined intimately, so he slowed things waaaay down. Whispering words of love mixed with cries of passion, he’d claimed her in excruciating slow motion, lifting her ass with his hands until her lips separated and all he could focus on was the glistening arousal that awaited him.
When he’d fit the fat head of his cock to her opening, they’d both gasped. It was time. With more finesse than he ever imagined he possessed, Edward had flexed his hips and began the long, slow, wet slide inside her body. It wasn’t easy. He was big; he didn’t say that with any kind of arrogance, and she, although fantastically toned and fit, was small boned and a thousand times more delicate than her demeanor implied.
But her need had been great, demanding more until she’d taken all of him. Fully seated in her tight, wet heat, he’d grunted, she’d moaned, and time had stood still. Her legs had gone around his hips and she’d reached for him, drawing him down until his full weight pressed her into the bed.
“Are you okay?” he’d asked. She couldn’t speak words so her body had answered the question, her inner muscles squeezing his cock until a deep groan broke free from his throat. And then he’d made love to her like his world depended on it and nothing would ever be the same after.
There were several well-used condoms in the trashcan, and he could feel the scratchy evidence of a tear off pouch under his butt. She’d bitched that protection wasn’t necessary. Something about the pill, being cursed with her mother’s uterus, and acting like a shrew every month. Nothing he understood, but he was having none of that shit anyway. The selfish orgasm chasing asshole who must live inside every guy had been ready and eager to concede, but this was Paige. Though 99.999 percent certain he was clean, without a doctor confirming that last miniscule percent, he’d never put her in jeopardy that way.
The woman with her back curved into this body mumbled softly and repositioned. My god, she was his. In short order, his heart did a little tap dance, he made up his mind about what came next, and then carefully wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled her close. His last thought before dozing off was that he loved Paige Turner. Him. Edward Banning. Right that second, he didn’t give a double-horned fart in church about Gideon Shaw.
She was not a sudden waker-upper, having always envied those people who opened their eyes, stretched, and rolled out of bed singing a happy tune. Being so wide-awake and cheerful first thing in the morning was unnatural as far as she was concerned. Most of the time, she just wanted to smack the shiny, happy morning people. They annoyed the fuck out of her.
Nope. Far as she was concerned, the slow setting was the way to go. Drift away from the dream world gradually and take her good, sweet time waking up.
Mmm. She was quite comfy wrapped in a cocoon of warmth that felt wonderful. Snuggling deeper into the soft pillow, her cheek moved across the smooth case and she sighed. These sheets are nice …
Wriggling slightly, Paige flexed her spine and lowered a bent knee, as a stretch started to move through her.
Ugh. What was that? Her thighs scraped together as she straightened, and a hot tingle shook her further awake. Oww …
And then she felt it. A hard, warm hulk of flesh pressed against her back. Edward. With that one realization, a flood of visuals erupted in her brain, flashbacks to their incendiary lovemaking.
Her eyes cranked open cautiously. Relieved that the curtains blocking a bright and sunny Southern California day were closed tight and allowed just a sliver of sunshine at the edges, she waited for her sleep-filled vision to clear and tried to assimilate all that had happened.
Up until last night, she’d been a card-carrying doubter when it came to boastful accounts of hot sex and wild tales of endless orgasms. Always sounded like just a crap-ton of good PR to her. After all, sex was the single, hands down tournament champion and forever winner when it came to selling anything … real or imagined.
Funny how one man and an erotic jump to light speed in a relationship that had been a long time coming could change all that. Now, she had her own X-rated stories. Not that she’d ever share stuff like that. Well, maybe with Patsy. A little bit, anyway. But the point was, Edward Banning was her lover, and oh, my fucking god. The man had worn her out with his stamina. The only reason they’d stopped was because she couldn’t take any more.
And now here they were, the morning after, with him curled around her, his breath hot on her neck, and a hand possessively splayed on her abdomen.
Oh, my.
Trying not to disturb him just yet, she lay quietly and did a mental, full-body diagnostic. With each small movement, Paige was conspicuously aware that after an extended celibate phase, their bedroom romp had made her susceptible to a sore hoo-ha and some serious beard burns in a few weird places. Like between her legs.
A shower was definitely in order because, right before she’d collapsed, their lovemaking had ended in a particularly meaningful moment. She’d been facedown and bottom up as he’d pounded her from behind. But instead of coming inside her, they were using condoms, so really—what was the point, he’d released on the skin of her ass. Another first for her that, as icky as it sounded, was a blatant marking—a reminder of his possession. Just thinking about it made her want more.