Page 128 of Story of My Life
His hands were on my hips again, fingers flexing restlessly. And I realized he was giving me time. Time to get used to him, to make room for him. That was thoughtful and hot, both of which I appreciated.
Somewhere in the roiling lust swamp of my mind, a thought surfaced. I, Hazel Hart, romance novelist extraordinaire, was having real-life, meaningless sex with a man who could give any hero a run for his money. Just like a heroine.
“Open your eyes.” The words were like gravel. “That’s my girl.”
He was staring into my eyes, possessing my soul the way he possessed my body. Our mouths were so close that we breathed the same air.
He hadn’t moved an inch, yet I was primed to explode. My awareness had distilled itself down to the sensation of taking Campbell Bishop’s cock inside me.
“Look at us,” he ordered.
I looked down to where our bodies were joined. My eyelids fluttered when I realized how much more of him I had to take.
“Keep ’em open. I want you with me.”
Dozens of my inner muscles shivered around his shaft at the order and Cam bit back a growl.
He moved, and I came.
I didn’t mean to. I didn’t set out to orgasm after seven whole seconds of intercourse. But it was like someone with a torch tripped on their way through a fireworks factory. Ignition.
Cam growled low and long as the surprise climax tore through me. His jaw was set in stone, cheeks hollowed, as he delivered a series of controlled thrusts that drew out my release. I wanted more as soon as it was over.
“Fuck. I need to move, baby,” he confessed, his breath hot against my mouth. “This table won’t hold, and I need to get you someplace where I can take you hard and fast. You good with that?”
“So good. Very good. Extremely good.” I was nothing if not an encouraging lover.
His hands tightened on my ass. He picked me up off the desk and held me aloft, still impaled on his cock. I wondered what he could bench-press.
“Wall or floor?” he demanded.
“I just hung the pictures,” I said, gesturing at the framed art without taking my eyes off him.
“Floor it is,” he said.
I honestly don’t know how he got us to the floor without (a) dropping me or (b) pulling out. But Campbell Bishop was a man of many talents that I fully planned to detail on the page…after I was done using him for sex.
The second my back hit the rug, he yanked my shirt up and over my head, baring my breasts again, before thrusting all the way home. I hadn’t been mentally prepared for all of him, that much became immediately clear. The overwhelming fullness, the intense play of muscles that had never before been stretched so far, it all demanded every iota of my attention.
Cam’s guttural growl of approval rang in my ear. My own shout echoed off the walls.
I slammed my eyes shut as sensations battered me. He pulled out, slowly, before driving back in. The weight of him pressed me down, anchoring me to the floor. The heat of his skin, the flexing of muscles against me, drove me straight over the edge of sanity and into a mindless void of need.
I was about to earn my very first sexual rug burn. It felt like a rite of passage, a trophy.
“Cam,” I gasped.
One callused hand found my breast. He plumped it once, twice. With no warning, he drew his hips back, dragging his erection almost all the way out. I tensed under him, around him, needing him to stay. He didn’t make me beg. I didn’t have to tell him what I needed. He just gave me a series of short, hard thrusts.
“Yes,” I cried.
His thumb brushed over my swollen nipple as his hips continued to piston into me. It was primal, this need that was building in me with every deep, hard thrust. I felt him swell inside me as I clamped down around him. It was building already, I realized as he pushed into me again.
“Let go, baby. Just let go for me,” he panted. His heart thundered against my chest. His face was buried in my neck.
I was about to explain to him that multiple orgasms had never been my thing. That I had been blessed with strong single orgasms and there was no need for me to get greedy. But I certainly didn’t mind him going for it. Honestly, if anyone could deliver multiple orgasms, it would be Cam. Maybe after we’d enjoyed a few rolls in the hay together I could?—
He gave one more thrust and stayed buried to the hilt. I writhed against him as my first official second orgasm broke free inside me. Everything from my fingers to my toes to my hair ignited, coiling in tighter and tighter before snapping like a trip wire.
