Page 71 of Own the Eights
“I want to be on top,” she purred into his ear.
He maneuvered their bodies and gazed up at the goddess riding his cock. He gripped her ass as she pressed her hands against his chest, bucking and rocking, taking every inch of him into her sweet, hot center. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was glorious, this beautiful, sensual woman who’d crashed into his life. He pressed his thumb to her tight bundle of nerves, and she arched her back, grinding into him. With a heated cry, she tightened around him, their bodies balancing on the precipice between desire and ecstasy when he thrust hard and sent them both spiraling over the edge.
They rode wave after wave of sweet, carnal release, gazes locked as if they needed this moment to solidify that they were together. But he didn’t have to worry. Her sweet, sated smile told him this was no longer a stress relief screw. This was the real thing.
She collapsed onto him, and he wrapped her in his arms.
“You’re not sleepy, are you?” he asked.
“No,” she answered in a dreamy sigh.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, then lifted her from his chest and laid her next to him on the bed. He rolled onto his elbow and began dropping whisper-soft kisses to her lips.
“You look a little tired. We may need to work on your endurance,” he teased, continuing his gentle assault.
“It’s better than I imagined,” she replied on another drowsy yawn.
“What is?”
“Falling asleep to kisses. An eight and a ten together. Oh, what will people think?” she said, nuzzling into him.
He pressed one last kiss to the corner of her mouth as her breathing slowed, and she drifted off to sleep when a pang of anxiety shot through him.
Shit!
It wasn’t people he was worried about. It was Deacon.
What would Deac say? Georgie was no Shelly. And thank God Georgie wasn’t like that gym bunny. But Deac had his opinions. If he wanted to stay in the man’s good graces, he needed to win. Dammit! He couldn’t go there. He pushed the thought of Deacon’s approval out of his mind, covered their bodies with a quilt folded on the end of the bed, and gathered Georgie into his arms.
But just as he was about to fall asleep, his gaze traveled to the dresser and the half-opened straw, and he could hear the kids chanting.
“Straws! Straws!”
He couldn’t go back to what his life was like before he’d transformed into a disciplined ten.
Releasing a pained sigh, he shook off the memory and gazed at Georgie’s beautiful, peaceful face. Could he have her and still be a ten?
He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of her breathing. He could do it. They could do it. There had to be a way where he could please both himself and his longtime mentor. A solution that allowed him to walk away with the girl and keep his relationship with Deacon intact.
Exhaustion washed over him, and on the cusp of sleep, all he could do was hope the answer would come.
11
Georgie
Georgie stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror and frowned. “Jordan, I cannot have sex hair,” she whispered as he stood behind her, kissing a sinfully sweet trail from her earlobe to her neck.
He met her gaze in the mirror and gave her a wolfish grin. “Like when it’s all wild and tangled from us not leaving your place andmefuckingyouon every available flat surface in your bungalow?”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
It had been one hell of a Sunday…and Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and half of a Thursday. She’d been rocking sex hair, camouflaged in a messier than usual bun, for the past few days, but she needed normal, un-sexed hair for at least the next couple of hours.
“But I like your sex hair,” he said, back to focusing on her neck.
“Seriously, Jordan, when I was having my hair done, the stylist asked if I’d been camping or lived in a commune without running water.”
He shrugged. “We’ve taken plenty of showers over the last few days.”
