Page 36 of Love Beyond Repair
My hips quickened, and she groaned again. This time louder, more animal-like.
“Harder,” she wailed, and I pushed her body as hard as I could, loving every sound until our rhythm grew so frantic, all I could hear was my own breathing until she screamed.
Her fingers dug into my shoulder, her nails biting my skin as she writhed beneath me, meeting me thrust for thrust. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parting letting out yet another moan that sounded something like my name.
“Hell, Bex…” I shifted my angle, driving deeper, her legs wrapping around my waist, the heel of one foot pushing at my ass cheeks wanting more. “You’re fucking greedy,” I choked out between gasps.
“Always…”
The words had barely left her lips when the tension snapped, every nerve alive as we both tipped over the edge into orgasm. Her pussy took hold, clenching tight. I locked my hips, not wanting to miss a moment of her feeling so fucking good. Wanting to shoot every last drop of me inside her, feel every beat of her pleasure as I gave her mine.
When the tremors finally eased, I collapsed beside her, breathless, and gathered her into my arms. She curled into me, her head against my chest, our breaths slowly syncing.
I pressed a kiss to her hair, feeling something more than satisfaction settle in my chest—something terrifyingly close to what I expect love to feel like.
Wrapped around her, I drifted off into the best sleep I’d had in months.
Now, the morning after, anticipation of round two courses through my veins. Forcing myself out of bed, I pull on my boxers and head off to find the girl from my dreams last night. Music pumps through the house; it’s happy and upbeat. Then I see her.
Her back is to me. She’s in the bathroom, removing the last remnants of her ruined makeup. Her blonde hair is still heaped on top of her head, giving her a just-fucked look. She’s wearing my shirt from last night with only a little G-string. Her pert buttocks jiggle as she wiggles from side to side along to the music. My jaw clenches as I imagine what could happen if I moved that little string to the side.
In my hiding place behind the door frame, I peek around to enjoy the show. Visions of her riding my cock cowgirl-style flash through my mind. I’ve never been with a woman who takes control like her, someone who knows exactly what they want and how they want it. It was refreshing, exciting, and I bloody loved it.
Dark eyes meet mine in the mirror. She gives me a sexy smile, then continues to gyrate her hips across the bathroom. She drops her toothbrush and exaggerates bending over to retrieve it while giving me a full view of her sexy ass.
I move forward, wrapping my arms around her from behind. We look at each other in the reflection, both lost in memories of the night before. My hands roam over her body, twisting her erect nipples beneath the cotton. Bex turns to face me so we’re at eye level, her eyes wide and wanting. She grabs my face and kisses me. Then, without a word, turns and leads me by the hand back to bed. Round two it is.
***
We’re tangled together on the living room sofa, basking in the warm fog of post-sex bliss. Her body’s draped over mine, soft and sinfully addictive. This woman drives me insane in all the best ways.
We’ve gone at it like rabbits all night, and just when I thought I couldn’t feel more thoroughly ruined, she appeared with a pair of handcuffs. Being bound and devoured by her? Officially the best fucking experience of my life.
Amy’s still out, thank God. The place is ours. And it needs to be, because I can’t stop touching her sister. It’s like some primal part of me won’t settle unless we’re skin to skin. I’ve never been this obsessed with someone. This consumed. I knew I wanted her, I just didn’t realize how much.
“Earth to Doctor Jones,” she teases softly. I blink, pulled from my thoughts.
“Sorry, gorgeous. I was in a world of my own.”
Her brow arches. She licks her lips slowly, then murmurs, “I hope you were replaying my lap dance.”
My body tightens on command. A stray breath catches in my throat. She notices, of course she does, and smirks like she’s proud of what she’s doing. Her fingers trail across my stomach and down to the front of my boxers.
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” she purrs.
Standing up, she wiggles her hips provocatively, shaking that gorgeous ass in my face. I groan, unable to help myself, and grab a handful. She squeals with laughter, the sound pure sunshine.
“I need to fuck you now,” I growl, standing and dragging my teeth along her neck before biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.
But she’s already strutting away, calling over her shoulder, “You won’t touch me again, boy, ‘til you feed me.”
I bark a laugh. “Typical woman. Gets me all worked up and leaves me hanging. Fine. Go throw on some glad rags,or whatever you call the clothes that make me want to sin. We’re going for food.”
Half an hour later, we’re tucked into a corner booth at a little café down the street from our apartment. It’s late Sunday morning, and the place is almost empty. It’s peaceful, private, and perfect for us.
It’s called Peggy’s Tearoom. The front door sticks slightly when you open it, and on either side are traditional windows with tiny square panes of glass. Inside, ten wooden tables sit beneath lace curtains draped with red and white checkered cloths. Salt and pepper shakers neatly placed at the center are paired with mismatched sugar pots and chipped teapots.
We choose a table near the back, sitting side by side, our hands intertwined. We open one leather-bound menu to share. It’s an old-fashioned brown binder with the wordMenuembossed in gold across the cover. Sitting silently, we study the options. My stomach growls hungrily. Bex’s eyes lift to mine, alight with laughter.
