Page 189 of The Perfect Wrong

I just know there’s Chris and me, and it’s enough.

His flesh and mine, our heat, and a million lightning bolts.

Everything goes white. Then red and black.

If I could, I’d hold on to this sugar rush forever.

But I can’t.

Because as I drift down from the high of this man in one last torrid kiss, I feel myself fading, like someone pulling a dark curtain over my eyes.

Lights out.

Good freaking night.

18

Vantablack Abyss (Chris)

“Delia? Wake up. Wake up, lady—trust me, you’re not funny!”

Goddamn, she isn’t moving.

If I weren’t so freaked out, I’d slap her.

She’s been out for at least several minutes, barely breathing, damn near comatose.

You’d think a man ought to take pride in fucking a woman senseless, but no.

I’m worried there’s something truly wrong.

I’m about to spin around, pop one of these sixty-year-old corks, and douse her in at least a thousand dollars worth of fermented grape juice when I hear it.

Delia moaning.

Barely.

Pushing my hands under her, I lift her like a kitten, kissing over the dark, red stamps my teeth left on her neck.

What the hell was I thinking?

The girl went completely loco on my dick.

I matched her passion with my own mad thrusts, fucked her so hard she soared.

Now, I have to make sure I didn’t short-circuit her for real.

“You gave me a scare,” I whisper, running my fingers gently through her hair.

“...did I really pass out?” She blinks at me, slowly running her hands down my chest.

I burst out laughing and kiss her forehead.

Her brow is slick with sweat, bathed in hormones and some sweet, feminine scent I can’t ignore.

It also makes my dick throb like a greedy motherfucker, but I know she needs to rest.

“You scared the shit out of me. I was about to start CPR. Always fantasized about fucking a chick so hard she’d pass out, but the reality is something else.”

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