Page 90 of The Price of Scandal
His guttural grunt made me come harder. And then he was tensing, flexing into me, until he came. My orgasm forced his, taking it hostage. He quaked under me, and I felt the hot slickness of semen as he came inside me. Moaning softer even as his hands gripped my hips harder.
Never. I’d never allowed that to happen in my entire sexual career. I was so glad it was him. That we were sharing this moment of rawness. That we were as close as two people could physically be.
The tremors slowed and gentled, and we were left spent, still connected.
29
Derek
For the second morning in a row, I woke in Emily’s bed. However, this time I was alone between the sheets. It was still dark outside, and I could dimly make out a figure tiptoeing from the room.
I snapped on the bedside light. “Going somewhere?”
Emily, clutching a pair of trainers to her chest, looked guilty as she attempted to creep out of her own bedroom.
I lifted up on an elbow and shot her a judgmental raise of my eyebrow.
“I work out early,” she said, her voice husky even in its defensiveness. She was wearing a pair of running shorts and a tight, cropped tank over a power red sports bra.
“I’ll join you,” I said, throwing off the covers and getting out of bed. I had a gym bag in my car.
“Oh… Um.” Emily appeared to be hypnotized by my naked body. “You don’t have to.”
That was Emily Stanton code for “I’m feeling entirely too vulnerable right now, and I want to be alone to rebuild my walls.”
I wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Come now. I thought you’d be used to it by now,” I said smugly, gesturing toward my cock, which had decided it too was awake and ready to salute the morning.
“You really don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” she said, biting on her bare lower lip. Her hair was disheveled, and there was a distinct bite mark on her shoulder. She looked thoroughly ravaged. And conflicted.
I grabbed my pants from the floor and stepped into them.
“I’m staying,” I insisted.
“Fine. Okay. I’ll, uh, meet you…” She waved her hand in the general direction of the gym, still watching me.
I pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head and headed for my SUV.
Minutes later, dressed in my own gear, I found her in the glassed-in gym. The sky was starting to lighten, and I could make out a pod of dolphins playing—or humping, I wasn’t sure—just offshore.
I opened the door and stepped inside to the thumping beat of a workout playlist. It was a sleek, utilitarian space. The floors were speckled cork and ran under every imaginable piece of fitness equipment. Tucked under a countertop, there was a small glass-doored fridge stocked with water and electrolyte drinks. Towels were neatly rolled and stacked in cubbies. The patio doors opened directly onto the pool area.
Everything was elegantly and efficiently designed. Just like the rest of Emily’s life.
Her long legs under short shorts ate up the belt on one of the treadmills. She was already sweating, her eyes fixed on the water just steps from the windows. I sat on a weight bench and watched her while I laced my shoes.
“That’s not burning any calories, Price,” she called.
“I’m trying to recall if I’ve seen a prettier view first thing in the morning,” I said.
She snorted and shook her head, sending her ponytail swinging.
I chose the rower next to her treadmill and cinched my feet in place.
With a breath, I pushed off and pulled back, feeling the muscles in my back bunch and release with each stroke. We worked in silence, sweating and breathing to the beat of the music. I liked starting my day with a workout. The gym in my condo building was adequate. But it certainly wasn’t as well-equipped as this. There was no panoramic bay view. No Emily.
No—
