Page 18 of Painted in Love

She laughed. “I like it then too. But it has been a long, long time.”

He still marveled at that. How had the woman gone without sex for five years? He wanted to make sure she never had to go without it again.

Then he remembered. Only one night.

He had to make it so good she’d change her mind.

Starting his campaign right then, he smeared bubbles over her breasts, gently tweaking the tips between his fingers, sliding his hands down between her legs, until she writhed against him.

They played with each other, her taking him in hand, stroking him, bringing him to the edge but not pushing him over. He repaid her in kind, making her tremble and beg until he pulled away. They teased, touched, stroked, licked, sucked. And kissed. Such slow, delicious kisses.

Until neither of them could stand it a moment longer.

Standing, water streaming down his body, he pulled her up with him, then stepped out of the tub. He dried them both with the big, fluffy towel, and she moaned as if it was foreplay. Then he hauled her up, drawing her legs around his waist, and carried her to bed. Letting her slide to the mattress, he came down on top of her, spread her legs, and tasted her, loving the sweetness of her skin, the fragrant scent of her, the way her body quivered when she was ready to come. This time, he didn’t stop, instead taking her over the edge, feasting on her as she cried out his name.

He would make this last all night.

And hopefully far longer.

Chapter Six

He was so good at finding the most sensitive parts of her. As if he knew her body inside and out. He made her world implode. She didn’t know if she could survive an entire night of this. He was just too, too good.

She’d turned the clock away so she wouldn’t have to think about when this would end. By God, she would enjoy every moment until the sun shone through the window.

He licked his way up her body until he lay on top of her, kissing her with the taste of herself all over his mouth. It was so erotic, so sensuous.

“I should’ve bought more than one condom pack,” she moaned.

He laughed. “We can send out for more.” Then he swiped his tongue across her lips, tantalizing her. “Or we can save the last condom for the finale. And do every other thing we can think of until then.”

His thoughts were so sexy. “I like that.” She pushed him to his back, crawling down his body until she could take him in her mouth. “Do you want to come?” she asked. “Or do you want to wait?”

He looked out the window at the halos of fog around the streetlights, then back at her. “Make me come again. I’ll still have more left for later.”

He was young, he was virile, he could go forever, she was sure. She took him in all the way, licking and sucking, holding him in her hand, squeezing him. Over and over until he trembled. She’d never had sex all night long. But everything was different with Clay.

When his body bucked and he shouted her name, she took every drop. And loved it.

They spent the next few hours in play, mouths and tongues and hands and fingers. He made her come so hard, tears leaked from her eyes. Her voice grew hoarse with her cries of pleasure. Her body had never felt so worshipped. And she became intimate with the timbre of his groans and growls.

She couldn’t say whether she fell asleep or passed out from pleasure overload.

But she dreamed of featherlight kisses on her neck and tender caresses across her breasts. Then a hand pulling her leg back over his thigh, spreading her for his sensual touch. Long, delicious minutes of play took her to the edge.

But this was no dream. Unless Clay was her dream man.

He nudged at her entrance, and she mourned the feel of the latex he’d donned. She wanted skin to skin.

Then she forgot all that as he teased her, seduced her. She loved the intimate angle, her back to his chest as he slid slowly inside her, her ankle hooked behind his calf, holding herself open for him. His fingers played an erotic melody on her body as he caressed her G-spot. He touched her everywhere—kisses against her neck, breath across her ear, his hardness inside her.

He killed her with pleasure. She panted, moaned, cried out. Still, he took her with that slow, relentless stroke that never went deep enough yet somehow drove her to the edge of madness.

He withdrew, rolled her to her belly, stuffed a pillow beneath her stomach, and seated himself fully between her legs. Then he drove fast, he drove hard. Burying her face against the pillow, she screamed out her pleasure. She’d never wanted it this hard, but with him, it was so sweet, so good, so necessary to her whole being that tears pricked her eyes. Her body clamped down on him, and her release catapulted her into ecstasy, going on and on in delicious waves.

He stiffened, pressed tight against her, his back arched as he braced on his arms. She wanted to see him, but she couldn’t turn her head far enough. A guttural cry fell from his lips as he climaxed against her womb, the feel of him vibrating through her chest and gripping her heart.

Finally, he fell prone on top of her, his weight luscious.

---