Page 77 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
And then he hums louder and I’m a goner.
Orgasm hits so intensely that I nearly topple over, but he grips me with both hands on my waist, propping me up as I convulse and shout.
When my screams start to fade, those powerful and sculpted arms of his slide me down so that I’m sitting on top of his waist. Eyes still on me, he swipes a condom from the top drawer of the nightstand, rips it open, and slides it on.
With a gentle hand on my chin, he pulls me down for another filthy, breathless kiss.
“Ride me,” he growls before licking my bottom lip.
I mumble what sounds like “okay” in my sex-drunk haze. I slide on and groan at the delicious feel of him stretching me out. Then, for the second time tonight, I do exactly what he requests. I ride him until my legs are sore, until my voice is hoarse from shouting his name, until my body is shattered once more from the mind-blowing orgasm he gives me.
I’m shaking, clawing at his chest, thrashing my thighs against him. The whole time his gaze is locked on me, like he needs to observe my body experiencing every second of this pleasure. Then I see his eyes glaze over and the muscles in his jaw bulge as he bites down. His grip on me tightens and his thrusts into me speed up. A guttural groan escapes from his mouth, signaling his own climax.
After he leaves to get rid of the condom and crawls back into bed, I end up curled on his chest, both his arms wrapped around me. It’s a minute before I manage to crawl out of the pleasure haze and formulate an actual sentence.
“Five-star rating for Club Lewis.”
His throaty laugh thunders above me. “You’re welcome back anytime.”
I close my eyes and chuckle, then drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Harper
“How’s it look?”
I look up from where I’m painting in the living room and spot Lewis halfway up the ladder in the dining room, right underneath the clear, half dome–shaped light fixture he just mounted. The light silver stem it hangs from glistens in the sunlight streaming in from the nearby French doors.
“Oh wow.” I walk over to get a closer look. “This is perfect.”
He steps off the ladder and pulls me in for a kiss.
I lean back and laugh. “You’ve done that every time you finish a project.”
“Done what?”
“Make out with me. It’s like your unofficial way of rewarding yourself for a job well done.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “I think that’s a completely reasonable reward system.”
He leans down for another kiss before he trots to the kitchen to guzzle some water. I pull out my phone and check my notes to cross off yet another project from the renovation to-do list. When I see there’s just a handful of small-scale tasks left, my heart sinks. Only two weeks left in the renovation...which means only two weeks left living in romantic bliss with Lewis.
Maren’s words from last weekend resurface yet again.
You’ll never know how he feels unless you talk about it.
In the three days since I first received Maren’s sound advice, I’ve tried to bring up the topic of our future to Lewis a few times. I’ve gone over hypothetical questions and conversations in my head, what I’d do if he doesn’t feel the same way, what we’d do if he does feel the same and we decide to give this a shot, how things would work long-distance and if I could handle what it would mean to date a high-profile actor who’s going through a very public moment...but each time I start to say something, I’ve promptly lost my nerve and initiated sex instead.
I can’t keep doing that. If I want to figure out where we stand, I need to just ask him.
I glance over at Lewis, who’s gazing at his phone. When he looks up and sees me watching him, he winks.
I breathe in. Now’s as good a time as any.
“Hey, can we—”
My phone blares, interrupting me. When I see it’s Naomi, I ignore it. I’ll call her back later. This conversation has waited long enough.
