Page 69 of For Pleasure Or Worse

“Oh mygod,” she reeled. Another wave of trembling passed through her. Her legs stiffened, arms pulling taut, and before her neck could give out I grabbed her face with two hands and crashed my mouth over hers.

Tally wailed my name in drawn-out syllables, convulsing and squeezing me to a standstill with every one of her lower muscles. My hips had nowhere to go, my thrusts stuttered, and as soon as I felt her orgasm fully wash over, covering us both in a mess of pure ecstasy-driven arousal, my climax followed furiously.

I painted her insides, her ass as I pulled out, the pink lips of her pussy, the short hair between her thighs. I came so fucking hard that I saw white light flashing in my eyes and I forgot how to breathe until I was gasping for air and collapsed half on top of her.

What a phenomenal high to come down from.

We were both naked, flushed, and absolutely filthy but I laid my head across her stomach, pulling her thigh tight to cradle in one of my arms. I felt peace listening to her heartbeat settle behind her ribs, like ambient noise had finally leveled out our loud, overstimulated life.

This was a breakthrough for us, and I didn’t want to let it get away again.

With gentle fingers I gathered what was dripping of me between her legs, and like an afterthought pressed it inside of her. “Is it just me or was the other guy kind of quiet?”

Her sweet laugh lit up the room like birdsong, and it was better than music. To make my girl smile was one thing, but to make her laugh—it plucked at my heart in ways I never knew before I met her. It was my favorite sound, and like ocean waves, howling wolves, palm leaves in the breeze, and soft sighs in the late afternoon, it was the sound of us. If you put all of those things together, somewhere our story was written in the score.

chapter twenty-three

Natalia

I could explain myself.

There was probably a very specific, psychological reason behind why I enjoyed being degraded in bed. Maybe something about my childhood trauma, the chemicals in my brain, my self-esteem issues, or all those subliminal thoughts I had about myself and my career that floated about in my head, daily. I was sure that it was very closely related to my relationship with my father, and how I saw myself beside my sisters also contributing a small bit. But for me it really came down to one thing.

Safety.

Mateo was where I felt safe.

Calling a sex worker a whore in the name of sexual gratification was twisted in and of itself. If it were any other man, I would be running in the other direction. Actually, scratch that, I would be throwing a right hook and ball tapping the bastard at the same time.

But the difference was that I knew Mateo didn’t mean those words. He was taking control of them, letting me be in charge of how those words affected me. When we’re finished having sex, and the fog has cleared, it’s just him and me and nothing but pure love. Those words mean nothing.

They do leave an ache though. As does being double penetrated and wrung out all night by a well-endowed man. I realized when the sun in Las Vegas brightened the bedroom to dusky purple the next morning that I could still feel the pressure of Matty between my legs. I’d slept like an absolute rock. His side of the bed was empty but there was a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table, next to a glass of water, two Advils, and a mini Gatorade.

There was stirring on the floor below, pots and pans being clinked together in the kitchen, the muffled sound of conversation. A full, animated smile filled my face.

This was everything I ever wanted.

Engaged to the love of my life, fully satisfied sexually, the gorgeous Nevada desert landscape in front of me, all of my best friends to share this experience with waiting downstairs. It was going to be the best day of my life. I could feel it.

The shower was still wet when I ambled into it slowly. Mateo was a stealthy motherfucker when he wanted to be. I washed myself under the waterfall shower head, feeling every last place his hands had been on my body hours ago. The dull pain ignited my interest again, and I slid my fingers through my core with soap, hissing at the tiny sting and soreness where I’d been stretched open. I got dressed and twirled down the staircase to the second floor where everyone was bouncing around between the living room and the kitchen.

“Good morning, bride-to-be!” Ophelia beamed. “Breakfast is served, and you can thank Tyler Swan for these muffins. He was awake making them before I even got in here.”

An impressed hum vibrated my chest as I circled the warm blueberry muffins and took a bite of one. “Wow, Tyler. I have to admit, I never would have pinned you for a baker.”

You could maybe roll some dough out on his washboard abs that he never seemed to put away. Tyler and Sam both,perpetually shirtless, riddled with tattoos and endless charm. My sisters were the least bit coy about watching them from the couch across the room.

I took a muffin to the recliner out of earshot. “When was the last time you three got laid?”

Isabella turned to me wearing undereye patches with black coffee filling her mug. “We know when the last time you got laid was.”

Heat crawled up my neck and I shot a look out to the veranda where Mateo was pacing on his cellphone. He turned and saw me, and a smile lit up his face.

“I have a very colorful sex life, thank you very much,” Mia said. “I work with a lot of tradesmen as a realtor, and man are those blue-collared boys easier than opening a straw.”

“Just put your tongues back in your mouths,” I said. “I could hear you panting from the kitchen.”

“Again, why are we not supposed to be flirting with the groomsmen? Thesinglegroomsmen?” Camilla elaborated. “They’re flirting with us.”

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