Matteo
Page 20
Before I can catch my breath, he’s on his knees hovering above me. “I’m so fucking hard. I have to fuck you. Now.” I hear the condom wrapper tearing apart. I feel the bed shift as he sheaths himself.
When his lips touch mine, I’m eager to shove my tongue into his mouth. I grab hold of his ponytail and deepen our kiss. The sharpness of his cock entering my body sends a jolt of pleasure through my system.
“Shit!” I cry out turning my face into the pillow again. “It feels so good.”
“Yes,” he grunts as he thrusts into me with a smooth, confident tempo.
I jerk my hips towards him over and over at a reckless, desperate pace until my body is bucking like a wild animal. My climax is so strong.
“Fuck. You’re. Coming. So. Hard.” He pants as his strong orgasm owns him.
He pumps into me, deeper than deep until the mind-quaking pleasure finally releases its grip on him and he collapses speechless onto the mattress next to me.
Chapter 3
Y’know what’s really annoying?
Waking up in your king-sized bed and trying to roll over only to bump up against a warm, immobile body that doesn’t belong there.
When poking him lightly in his ribs three or four times doesn’t wake him the hell up, I nudge my elbow firmly into his side. Only then does he stir, stretching his long, muscular arms above his head before his piercing blue eyes blink open. He looks over at me and a Cheshire smile spreads across his handsome face.
Whoa! I did good last night. I mentally pat myself on the back as I evaluate his dark, wavy ponytail, the abs sculpted into his bronzed torso, the dark stubble on his chiseled jaw and the very impressive erection clearly outlined despite the light sheet covering his lower body.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he says in a raspy voice that makes my stomach stir despite myself.
“You need to leave before my roommate wakes up,” I announce dryly as I hop out of bed and start gathering the articles of clothing that he’d discarded on my bedroom floor the night before. My roommate, Hailey, is a true Southern Belle – traditional, judgmental and a straight-up prude. The last thing I need is for her to spy the fine specimen I picked up at the club last night creeping out of here early on this Saturday morning.
“I was thinking we could grab breakfast, Ruth,” the beautiful random says propping himself up on his elbows and peering up at me with his gorgeous, groggy eyes. His sexy, well-defined arms are now on display and that just further piques my hungry desire to saddle up again.
“Look –” Shit, I don’t remember his name.
“Mike,” he offers with a wayward chuckle that moves right through me, awakening desire in every one of my cells.
“Look, Mike – it’s called a one-night stand for a reason. No need to buy me a meal afterwards.” I reach over and pat the top of his head like a little dog. As gorgeous as he is, I have to refuse his offer.
“I never agreed to a one-night stand,” he says, his electrifying blue eyes sparkling with amusement in the glow of the sunlight streaming in through the spaces in my curtains.
“You picked me up at a club, Mike. There’s no riding off into the sunset for us.” Sarcasm is my forté, I’ve been told.
“Damn – you’re a jaded one,” he says with resignation as he rolls out of my bed.
“Whatever,” I mumble shoving his clothes at him before shuffling into the bathroom, pulling my long blonde hair into a messy ponytail high on my head.
A part of me – the part that was moaning and howling and climaxing under him all night – wants to give into him. Fall back into my bed and feast on his gorgeous body for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But my tiny, nagging voice of reason won’t quit. I can’t have my way with him. Getting close to him – or any man – will end in disaster.
It always does.
When I walk back into my bedroom a few minutes later, he’s gone, leaving behind the delicious scent of his skin on my sheets. He’s scribbled his phone number onto a scrap of paper and left it on my nightstand. Area code 213. Where the hell is that? I know I should crumple the paper up and toss it into the garbage. Instead, I slip it into the bottom of my panty drawer…”What am I doing?” I mutter to myself as I stow his number away. A girl like me doesn’t hook a guy like that.
He’d want nothing to do with me if he knew who I really am.
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