Page 77 of Not in Love
“Goddamn,” he muttered.
“You okay?” I asked. My hand traveled up and down the divot of his spine, brushing the planes of muscles on either side. They twitched under sweaty skin.
“Fuuuck.” The word was muffled by the pillow. “Give me a second. Be a good girl and don’t move.”
I didn’t move. But he felt so large and foreign inside me, I needed to test the stretch and the limits of him, find out where he ended and I began. So I clenched around him, and that was all it took.
“Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t—”
One of his hands slammed down between our bodies, and when I glanced down, I realized that only the tip of his cock was inside me—and that he was cupping the base in a mix of desperation and self-defense. In vain. Eli was already shuddering, eyes screwed shut and face twisted with pleasure as he made unrestrained noises and came inside me.
And came, and came, and came.
He was in the throes of something that seemed to transcend pleasure, and I watched every moment of it, spellbound, until every last drop of sensation was milked from him. And when it was finally over, when Eli managed to collect himself and open his eyes, I couldn’t untangle what I found on his face.
“Fuck,” he said, shifting up, hands cupping my face, and he looked—for some reason he looked absolutely ruined. Devastated. I wasn’t sure what possessed me to do it, but he looked like he needed it, and I turned my head and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss into his shaky palm.
It seemed to ignite something in Eli, because his mouth found mine with a kiss. And then another. And then even more, so many that I lost count. After a few minutes he softened and slipped out of me, and murmured something against my lips about not wanting the condom to leak, but managed to get rid of it with little fuss. Then he dragged me onto his chest, locked his arms around me, and kept on kissing me, kissing me, kissing me. Like he didn’t know that the sex was over, like he wanted to prolong it. And I didn’t mind. Not for now. Not for a while.
I had no idea how long we stayed like that. I only knew that the kiss became many, all languid and never-ending, and that the light in the room grew dimmer and the shadows longer, and that we would have continued—if only the doorbell hadn’t rung.
23
A WONDERFUL LAY
ELI
At first he shut the sound out, wrapped his arms tighter around Rue, and went on kissing her.
He’d just had the most intense orgasm of his life, his body was still processing the past hours, and he was fully immersed in the out-of-body experience of Rue not running away from him after he’d fucked her. Or come as close to fucking her as he’d been able to get before losing it.
He was smitten, and not inclined to fight it.
But the doorbell rang again, and the shrill noise turned into a nagging feeling that sank into his pleasure-addled brain like a brick. “Shit,” he muttered against her lips, then pulled her even closer.
She was pliant and glowing and happy, and he’d had no intention of moving except to feed her or fuck her again. “Shit.”
“What?”
“My friends. They’re here. We had plans.”
She gave him a sleepy, wheel-spinning look. “Are you happy about that?”
“God, no.”
She smiled, and his heart leaped in his rib cage. He could do even better. He could make her fucking laugh, with some practice and lots of luck. “Could you pretend not to be home?”
“They have a set of keys.”
“I see.”
“And they’d have seen my car outside.”
“True.” She nuzzled under his chin, just as reluctant to move away. “Looks like you’re going to have to interact with them.”
He groaned in her hair, unable to let go of her, this woman who despised herself for wanting him. Had he ever felt this way before? He must have. Just couldn’t remember.
“Should I sneak out of the window?” He gave her a puzzled look, so she continued, “I have no issue with walk-of-shaming out, but maybe you do?”