Page 154 of By A Thread
My name from her mouth was a croak. “Mmm?” I nuzzled into her hair.
“I need something,” she whispered.
Oh, God. If she was going to ask me to go again, there was a very good chance I would die. I already wasn’t sure if my dick was ever going to work again after the last round. There was a possibility that my heart would give out, too.
I considered myself to be rather excellent in bed. But three times in one night was asking a lot of my mid-forties prowess. Even for a superhero. Four would quite possibly break something important.
“What do you need, baby?”
“An ice pack.”
Relieved, I laughed weakly. “Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to ask for another round. Something I won’t be physically capable of until I’ve had at least two IV bags of fluids.”
Her laugh turned into a yawn. “I’m sticky. And sweaty,” she murmured into my pillow.
We’d finally made it to the bed. And made good use of it, too.
But my superhuman sex powers were officially depleted.
“I literally poured my entire water content into you. I’m basically human beef jerky right now.”
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” she teased.
I lifted my head and rolled her toward me. Her pretty pink nipples were hypnotizing, and my idiotic dick that had no concept of consequences like chafing or possible failure to launch stirred at the sight of them peeking out from my white, rumpled sheets.
Down, boy.
“I’ll get you an ice pack and some water,” I promised her, brushing a kiss to her forehead and one to her cheek. I threw in a nibble at her neck for good measure.
She breathed out a laugh, and I decided it was the best noise I’d ever heard in this house.
“We’re so stupid,” she said.
“In what way?” I asked, giving in to temptation and bestowing a long lick on the nipple closest to me.
She gave a full-body tremble against me. “We could have been doing this for weeks now.” Her fingers stroked into my hair.
“Yeah, except you had to be stubborn,” I reminded her, leaning over to give her other breast the same treatment.
My moronic cock was already at half-mast again.
“Me?” She snorted. “By the way, I’m still not quitting.”
“We have a lot to figure out,” I said to her breasts.
She sat up and hit me with a pillow. “Dominic Russo! You can’t make me quit.”
Obligingly playful—a description that never once in my entire life applied to me—I pinned her to the mattress.
I didn’t want to think about the consequences of tonight. I wanted to live in this space where there was only now… and Ally’s perfect, perky breasts rubbing against my chest. But there were things that needed settled. Now.
“How are you hard?” she demanded with what I deemed an appropriate amount of wonder.
“I’m not really,” I scoffed modestly.
“You’re hard enough,” she said, staring down between us to where my cock rested against her belly.
“You need an ice pack. I need a gallon of electrolytes. And we need to talk.”
