Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [62]
Her smile was utterly sweet, her voice tender. “Thank you.”
And something in his chest tightened. He hardly ever had sex in the missionary position. Mainly because he generally found it boring, and confining in ways—but…it wasn’t boring now. Now it was like…too much; he was too close to her, face-to-face, their eyes locked.
And he knew he’d been close to her before, during all the other times they’d fooled around or fucked, but somehow this, just now, felt dangerous, like something he needed to back away from.
So he pulled out and said, “Turn over. On your hands and knees.”
She obeyed without argument, arching her pretty ass in the air, her skirt hugging her hips now and giving him a sumptuous view of her parted pussy before he molded his hands to her rear and rammed his cock back into her.
She cried out, and he said, “Tell me you like it. Tell me you like it hard.”
“Unh,” she moaned. Then, “Oh God, yes—I do! Give it to me hard.”
That was all he wanted, all he needed. Good, mindless fucking. He forgot about her eyes and drove back into her still-wet passageway—hard, hard, hard—as hard as he fucking could, until he reached the edge of bliss and let himself tumble over, yelling, “Christ, babe, I’m coming in you! Now.”
Ah, yeah—it was so damn good spilling his hot come in her, letting it loose, finally, after all these hours of building lust.
And when he’d emptied completely, that familiar exhaustion hit and he crumpled on top of her, felt them tumbling to the bed together—and as they lay there, silent and close, as he heard her breathing and took in the scent of her perfume combining with the rich aroma of sex, he realized turning her over hadn’t really changed anything.
He still felt close to her and there was apparently nothing he could do about it.
Shit.
So he simply kissed her on the cheek and let himself drift into post-orgasmic slumber.
Eight
A little while later, Brenna dragged herself from the bed, heading to the bathroom to wash up a bit. She took off her shoes, then shed her skirt on the way, exhausted but bubbling with a happiness she’d never quite experienced before. She felt downright giddy. And dreamy. About sex. About Damon. She’d just never known it could be this good. She’d never known being so naughty could feel so invigorating. It felt as if Damon had opened a whole part of life to her that she couldn’t have experienced without him, and her entire body hummed with an unsurpassed satisfaction.
Peering into the mirror, she sighed happily. She’d quickly grown used to her new hair color and cut. And now…she was even getting used to being a highly sexed woman, using her body in exactly the way it had been built to use.
And it suddenly hit her once more, with new force…that new Brenna didn’t really exist anymore—because this wasn’t an act anymore, someone she was pretending to be, or even trying to be. She really was new Brenna now, totally at home with Damon and totally at ease with all the outrageous sex they enjoyed together.
And this was probably stupid, probably dangerous as hell to even let herself ponder, but what if…what if this all somehow worked out and Damon wasn’t fired and they did keep working together? What if what happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas, after all? What if they spent so much time together that he realized he was crazy about her, more than just physically, and that maybe a relationship wasn’t really such a horrible thing?
Letting out another sigh, this one girlishly hopeful, she withdrew her gaze from her reflection and reemerged into the bedroom, where she found that Damon, too, had kicked off his clothes and made his way under the covers. God, he looked good lying there, all sleepy and sexy and rumpled—and spent, because of her.
“Cell phone’s blinking, babe,” he told her, eyes shut.
She swung her gaze to the dressing table at one side of the room, where she’d dropped her purse and phone earlier. She’d left them at the hotel every night they’d gone out, having decided the purse would be a hindrance she didn’t