Page 75 of At First Smile
“You said you wanted to be properly fucked.
The slow pace is replaced by deep relentless thrusts. In and out. Pressure builds deep in my belly.
He slips his hand between us, stroking me and tipping me over the edge. Clenching around him, I bite back my scream.
“That’s two.” He presses his lips to my sweat-kissed temple. “Let’s go for the hat trick,” he says, hoisting me up.
“Three?” I slump against him.
“Someone’s googled hockey terms.”
“I don’t know if I can make it.”
“You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”
Legs and arms folded around him, he moves us to the oversized armchair, and places me down. Balanced on the chair’s edge, my legs draped over the chair’s arms, he plunges back into me.
“Oh…god,” I whine with the new angle hitting me deeper and in just the right spot.
“That’s my girl.”
Arms draped around his neck, I cling to him, as he properly and unabashedly fucks me. There’s no holding back, no treating me like a porcelain doll on a flimsy pedestal. Somehow, he makes me feel both unbreakable and precious all at once.
Rowan’s pumps come harder, deeper, and faster. The grunt and filth-filled praises that spill from his mouth heightens the building ecstasy, ready to burst at any…
“Fuck!” I scream, the orgasm’s intensity temporarily causing me to forget the open windows and my neighbors.
After pressing a soft kiss to my temple, Rowan continues his pace. My limp arms just hold on as he chases his own climax.
With a final thrust, he shudders and grunts, “Pen.”
Still anchored within me, he hovers above me. My fingers swipe across his sweat damp hairline. Hot puffs of his breath caress my face. His fingertips skim my shaking legs.
After a few moments, he pulls out. Excusing himself to the downstairs bathroom, he gets rid of the condom and returns with a towel to clean me up. Once clean, he scoops me into his arms and cradles me in the chair, the blanket from the couch wrapped around us to create a cocoon. My head rests against his shoulder while he smooths down my sex-mussed strands.
“So, will all proper dates with you end like that?” I snuggle into him, enjoying the way my body seems to mold to his.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” His chuckle is hoarse.
“I could get used to this.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brunch
Rowan
It’s been four nights since I first found my way into Pen’s bed. I haven’t spent every night here… Well, almost. Friday after she and JoJo came to Axels, GB and I headed back here. It only made sense as I would be joining her at Bread again for Saturday breakfast. Only this time I didn’t need to rent the entire bakery for the day. Breakfast turned into a morning spent with hands clasped, walking along the beach with Pen and GB. Then an afternoon curled up together on the couch listening to an audiobook between kisses, while GB sprawled on the floor chewing the new toy Pen bought him. That soon turned into an evening claiming each other’s bodies throughout the house.
Against the wall in the foyer, Pen’s legs atop my shoulder, and me worshipping her like the queen she is. My legs splayed as I sit on the couch, gripping her round ass while she rides me, slowly undoing me. Her bent over the kitchen table, flesh slapping with each thrust, and screams muffled against her own hand. Those wild-honey eyes peering up at me while her full lipswrap around my cock, the shower’s spray cascading down her naked body, as my hands slip against the slick tile with the way she brings me to my knees.
After, she’d stood at the stove flipping a cheese toasty, “This is JoJo’s dream. All she wants is a man that will properly sex her up and make her a grilled cheese after.”
Right then, I vowed to work on my cheese toasty game, even contemplated asking Gillian for advice…but think better of it.
Between bites of the single sandwich we’d shared, we lose ourselves in each other, delving more and more into the pages of each other’s stories. Not just the important chapters but the small passages that seem so insignificant but make us who we are.
All the little things that make me fall a little deeper for this woman. Like how the simple act of making a cheese toasty pulls out story-after-story, learning to cook with Aunt Bea or the time she and Trina celebrated with hot chocolate and toasted cheese after digging a maze between their houses in the snow drifts from a two-day long blizzard that blanketed Buffalo when they were girls. The little ticks that make up Pen, such as the way she unthinkingly plays with her hair when she’s lost in thought or is nervous. How she constantly surprises me with her blend of sweet sassiness.
