Page 56 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
She gives a wicked shove. The mattress smacks the backs of my knees, and I topple, pulling her with me. She laughs against my throat, and the sound is like the roar of a crowd—wild, electric, mine.
She rocks onto her knees, bare and glistening against me, our breaths mixing with the faint music drifting from across the hallway.
Her eyes hold mine. “Are you sure you want this, Teddy?” No woman’s asked me that. Air leaves my lungs in a rush, but I nod. “I know you’ve been holding back,” she murmurs, palms splaying over my chest. “Because you’re tired of it meaning nothing. This isn’t just fooling around for me anymore. I think…I think I’m ready to try. To let myself feel something. Whatever this is.”
I curl a hand around her hip. “Only if you’re sure. One word and we hit pause—cuddles, sleep, whatever you need.”
“I’m sure,” she says, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. “I trust you. I want all of it—however long ‘all of it’ lasts.”
“Good,” I rasp.
She kisses her way down my body—quick nips, slow licks—heated skin to heated skin. She brings her head between my thighs, delicate tongue lapping in teasing swirls. Her mouth closes over me like hot silk. My hips buck, and the world blanks to white.
She pauses, her smug grin flashing. She knows exactly how close she’s got me.
“Up here.” My voice is gravel.
I hook her hand, pull her up the bed until her thighs frame my face. One taste and I’m gone, the honey scent of her, the fluttering of muscles beneath my tongue, all my senses on overload. I cup her arse in my hands, my fingers digging into the curve of her cheeks. She’ll wear the marks tomorrow; the thought gives me a reckless satisfaction.
“Not like this,” she pants. “Want to come with you inside me.”
She flops beside me, her hair a wild halo. I search my wallet, fumble with a condom. She snatches it away; nips the corner with her teeth, tears the packet, rolls it on—the press of her hand nearly finishes me off.
“Can I take you from behind?” The words hitch out.
Her answer is a breathless nod, as she shuffles across the bed, braces for me. I find her clit, my finger circling. I don’t want to blow; need to take her with me.
When her breath stutters, I slip a finger inside. She’s hot and slick; so ready for me. Muscles respond, clenching tight, and I pull out to a muted groan. I slide in the head of my cock. She moans, pushes back, greedy. One thrust and I’m buried to the hilt. She angles forward on her elbows, opening up further.
At first the rhythm’s rough, but her soft yes-sounds guide me until we’re in time—two drummers sharing one heartbeat. Her climax fists around me; I hold, shaking, letting her rippling pulse drag me over the edge.
When the last tremor rolls through, I slump across her back, sweat-slick and stupidly happy, and listen to our breathing sync like the fade-out of a perfect track.
Waking up to Rachel might be the best gift I’ve ever unwrapped. She’s lying on her back, a limp starfish, hair strewn across my pillow, lips parted, snoring a little. I’d take a picture, but she’d probably kill me.
As if she’s read the thought, her eyes flutter open. She gives me a slow smile—definitely can’t read my mind—and stretches like a sun-dazed cat. She rolls towards me.
“What’s the time?”
“Just on seven.” I put down my phone.
“Somehow, in one week, I’ve programmed an alarm clock in my head. Seven o’clock. Time to get up and go to the stables.”
“Yeah. You up for it?”
“Of course,” she smiles. “Wouldn’t miss spending time with my favourite bloke when I’ve only got him for a couple more days—” She grins at me. “—or his horse.”
“Thank god. I was worried there for a moment. After last night, I’m pretty sure I’m your favourite bloke. Not Solly.”
She grins over at me. “Oh yeah, last night. I forgot about that.”
“Let me give you a reminder, then.” I roll over and grip her arse, pulling her to me. My cock stands at attention against my stomach. It remembers.
As a result, we’re a little late riding out. Needing to cut it short, we’re in the mudroom, bundling off coats just on eight-thirty.
“Do you think the others know?” Rachel braces one hand on my shoulder while she tugs at a muddy riding boot with the other. I steady her calf; the warmth under my palm sparks a replay of last night so vivid I nearly groan.
“I’m not sure. Liv and Garrett might now. Since we’re right opposite. And you’re kind of noisy.”
