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TWO MONTHS LATER, I walked into the lobby of the same hotel. I felt particularly pretty and sophisticated today in a skirt suit and a new pair of heels. It felt like men were checking me out, which didn’t normally happen for me.
I wondered if it was my imagination or if I was becoming sexier somehow.
As I walked past the check-in desk, the middle-aged man who was always there on Wednesday evenings stopped me. “Excuse me. Ms. Simon?”
I blinked at the sound of my name and turned toward the speaker with a questioning look. This was my sixth Wednesday night meeting Sean at this hotel, and none of the staff had ever done more than nod and murmur good evening to me as I entered.
My heart nearly stopped as I realized the man had a message for me.
From Sean.
This couldn’t possibly be good.
“Mr. Doyle is running late,” the man said. “He asked me to give you a key.”
Enlightened—and immensely relieved that Sean was still planning to show up—I took the key card and continued up to our regular room.
The hotel room was immaculate and strangely empty without Sean waiting there for me like normal. There was a bottle of red wine waiting with two glasses on the table, as there had been every other night.
I wondered how late he would be.
I could sit down and drink a glass of wine. I could pull out my laptop from my bag and clear out some emails. Or I could take a hot shower and be nice and clean and fresh when Sean arrived.
The last option was most appealing, so I pulled out the slinky, dark blue pajama set I’d bought over the weekend (especially for tonight), slipped off my pretty new heels (pinkish-buff-colored with cute little straps), and headed for the bathroom.
After I turned the water on to get hot, I pulled my hair back into a messy bun and dropped my clothes onto the floor, feeling almost decadent—like I wasn’t just a normal girl with a normal job living a normal life. I loved the specialty bath wash the hotel provided—deliciously scented with lavender and honey—and I scrubbed up and rinsed off at a leisurely pace.
I wondered what Sean was doing.
He probably had a meeting run late or else something urgent came up at work.
I was going to be very disappointed if the front desk called up to tell me he wasn’t going to be able to make it after all.
I’d been waiting for two weeks for tonight. I didn’t want to miss out.
When I felt an unexpected blast of cool air, I turned to see what caused it. I squealed loudly when I saw a man getting into the shower with me. I raised my hands instinctively to beat him off.
You understand I wasn’t thinking through any of this. All I’d processed was the sudden appearance of a man where I hadn’t been expecting one.
“Hey,” Sean said, laughing as he grabbed at my flailing wrists. He was as naked as I was. “I expected a warmer welcome than this.”
I relaxed immediately, flushing with embarrassment and the aftermath of my shock. “You scared the crap out of me!”
He was still laughing. “I can see that. Who did you think was getting into the shower with you?”
“I don’t know. I thought you were running late.”
He moved so he was completely under the shower spray, the water soaking his short brown hair and streaming down his high cheekbones, strong chin, and sexy mouth. “I was. But I rushed over so you wouldn’t start without me.”
“Start... without...?”
I didn’t finish the stilted question because he’d pulled me into a kiss.
I had no objections to kissing him. In fact, it was one of my favorite activities. No one kissed like Sean Doyle did—with those clever lips, agile tongue, and dedicated skill. But I’d put my hair into the bun on purpose, and I didn’t want him to pull my head under the water, so I backed away, saving my hair from getting soaked like his.
He frowned when I broke the kiss and reached for me again. “Why are you all standoffish?”
“I’m not.” I giggled as I evaded his hands. “I just don’t want my hair to get wet.”
“Why not?”
I stared at him through the steam-thickened air. “Why not? Do you have any idea what it’s like to go around with wet hair as long as mine? It takes forever to dry, and it gets everything wet.”
He frowned and stepped forward, pushing me back against the shower wall. “Fine. If you insist on focusing on practicalities, how’s this then?” He kissed me again, and this time I didn’t have any desire to pull away. My head was safely away from the fall of water.
“Not bad,” I murmured against his lips.
“Not bad? That’s all you can say after two weeks without kissing me?”
“What did you expect me to say? That your kiss is the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced in the universe?”
He nuzzled the side of my face, his tongue darting out to taste my skin in little, unexpected licks, each one causing a quick jolt of pleasure. “That wouldn’t be a bad start.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even though my hands were busy feeling their way down his broad shoulders and straight back until I’d reached his lovely, firm ass.
If I haven’t mentioned it before, he had a very fine ass.
The nicest ass I’d ever gotten my hands on.
“Your ego is totally out of control, you know,” I told him.
“Yeah?”
I gasped when he cupped my breasts with both hands and twirled my nipples with his thumbs. “Yeah,” I managed to reply, arching into his palms. “Your...”
“My what?” he asked thickly when his skillful fondling distracted me from finishing my sentence.
“Your...” I had absolutely no idea what I’d been trying to say.
“My ego.” He pushed against me, and I could feel that he was completely hard already, his erection big and firm as he pressed it against me.
I grabbed for him eagerly. “Your ego,” I agreed. “It’s way too...”
One of his hands had slid down my side to my hips and then snuck between my legs. Then his fingers were exploring in a way that made my whole body tighten.
He’d tilted his head to kiss his way down my neck, but I could hear a smile in his voice as he murmured, “My ego is way too...?”
My hands were still wrapped around his erection. “Way too... big.”
“I’ve never had complaints about my ego before.” Then he lifted his head and kissed me on the mouth again, and I surrendered to it, to him. As we kissed, I stroked and squeezed him, and he rubbed me intimately with one hand at the same time. The water was beating down on his back, misting over onto me, and my body was slick and warm. Everything felt so good and hot and sensual that I was moaning helplessly into the kiss.
I hadn’t had a lot of foreplay yet tonight, and our position didn’t allow him optimal access to the necessary parts of my body—whereas both my hands were working him over enthusiastically—so he got going first. After a minute or two, he jerked his mouth out of the kiss and let out an uninhibited groan.
His body was tightening palpably, and he’d braced his free hand against the shower wall, pushing into it hard.
I was quite familiar with his body now, and I knew what he liked. I picked up the speed of my pumping and watched as his face twisted in response. He groaned again and slammed his hand against the wall, as if he were trying to hold himself back.
I was almost as excited watching him come as I would have been coming myself. I was flushed and panting and breathless, and my whole body pulsed with arousal. I couldn’t look away from his face.
He’d had his eyes closed as he reached the edge, but he suddenly opened them again, meeting my gaze as his body started to shake.
So he was looking at me as he came, and it was strangely unnerving. Exciting, but unnerving.
He groaned in pleasure as I felt him pulsing beneath my hands, and then he came all over my belly.
I wasn’t actually a fan of a man getting semen all over me, but since we were in the shower, it wasn’t unpleasant. As he gasped, muttering under his breath how good it had been and holding himself up against the wall, I moved under the spray to wash him off me.
I’d just gotten clean again when he grabbed me and pulled me into a wet hug.
I was surprised by the gesture, but I had no objections. It felt warm and good and real and not just because his body felt so nice against mine.
“For a guy with an ego as big as yours,” I said in a lilting voice, “you sure do come easy.”
He chuckled, his body shaking deliciously against mine. “I’ve been waiting for this for two weeks.”
That was nice to hear. There wasn’t love between us, but there was mutual pleasure, and it seemed to get deeper every time we got together.
“Me too,” I admitted.
“Then let’s see how easy you can come.”
His voice had changed—he was able to focus more now that he’d come the first time—and he turned my body around so I was facing the shower wall. He placed one of my hands and then the other against the tile so I was bent slightly at the waist, braced against the wall.
My whole body throbbed at the position, and I stayed where he’d put me.
But I turned my head to look at him over my shoulder. “You’re not going to try something as crazy as shower sex, are you? Because that’s not going to be comfortable for me. If you’re going to fuck me, we need to get out.”
He shook his head. “I’m going to fuck you all right, but I’m going to do it with my hands.”
I’ll admit it. My whole body throbbed a few times at his words.
He caressed me from my shoulders to my breasts and then down my sides to my hips. He spent a lot of time on my bottom, which was prominently displayed in this position.
My butt has never been the best part of my body. It wasn’t nearly as nice and tight and firm as his was. But he seemed to like it anyway as he squeezed and stroked.
I was aching with arousal and trying not to make embarrassing sounds by the time his hands finally moved between my legs.
He penetrated me with two fingers—I wasn’t very wet because of the steam and hot water, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—and he used the other hand to rub my clit.
I gasped and pushed against the wall as I felt a climax tightening.
“There you go,” he murmured thickly. “You like that, don’t you?”
Of course I liked it. It felt so good I couldn’t hold back whimpers. My hips were moving of their own accord, trying to intensify the sensations.
“That’s right,” he was saying, sounding very pleased by my responsiveness. “Move just like that. Faster now. Let me see how much you want it.”
I wasn’t just moving now. I was shamelessly riding his hand, my breasts and bottom jiggling with my eagerness. My eyes were squeezed shut, and I was making rhythmic little grunts.
“You’re going to come so hard, aren’t you? Just from my hand. You’re going to be screaming by the time I’m done with you.”
I was afraid he was right, but it felt like a challenge, so I bit my lip to try to hold back the sounds I was making.
It didn’t work. It all felt too good. I was bouncing my body now, braced against the wall. My breasts were slapping against my chest, and it felt so raw, so naughty, that it intensified my pleasure.
“You’re going to come when I say to, aren’t you?”
I didn’t normally like that kind of thing. When I had an orgasm was my business—not some bossy man’s—and I wasn’t really keen to follow anyone’s commands. But I heard myself sobbing out, “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” in what was obviously an affirmative.
I wanted to come so much. I knew it would be so good. My whole being was on the edge of a precipice, waiting for him to push me off.
Then he did. “Now, baby,” he rasped. “Come now.”
I might have screamed after all—just a little. The orgasm overwhelmed me completely, and there was no way biting my lip was going to hold it back.
I kept riding his fingers, pushing my bottom back against his hand. I can’t imagine how I must have looked—naked and bent over and out of control like that—but I was too caught up in sensation to even care.
My lungs and cheeks were burning as the last of the spasms finally worked their way through me. Sean was stroking me gently, and he didn’t stop until my grunts and moans had finally quieted and I’d grown still.
I was still staring at the wall, but I knew he was smiling behind me.
He was very pleased with himself.
He liked how he’d gotten me to throw off my normal inhibitions. It had given him some sort of macho thrill.
My body was still shuddering with the aftermath of pleasure, so I could hardly begrudge him his pride.
He helped me straighten up, and I rinsed myself off again, smiling at Sean but not quite able to speak intelligently yet.
After another minute, he turned off the shower and we both dried off. I was reaching for my pretty new pajama set when he stopped me. He was hard again, even though it hadn’t been very long since he’d come the first time.
He took my hand and led me out to the bedroom, grabbing a condom on the way. Then he pulled me into a kiss, and we ended up toppling over onto the bed. He turned me over onto my back, positioned himself between my legs, rolled on the condom, and entered me.
He fucked me slowly and rhythmically, my legs bent up against my chest. I’m not sure if I actually came again, but the whole thing felt amazing—raw and deep and intensely pleasurable. We didn’t talk the way we normally did, but it didn’t feel like we needed to.
It just seemed like we were in sync. We knew each other’s bodies now, and so we didn’t need to discuss what worked and what didn’t.
We knew what worked.
We knew how we worked together.
I was gasping with pleasure and rubbing my palms over his back when his motion finally grew more urgent. He was going to come. I knew the signs. I squeezed around him as he fell out of rhythm and huffed his way to another climax.
Both of us were smiling and relaxed when he rolled off me. I was tired, sated, and a little bit hungry.
We lay on our backs, side by side, smiling at each other until Sean finally got the energy to sit up and take care of the condom.
“Steak tonight?” he asked me with his irresistible quirk of a smile.
“Oh yeah.”
That was another great part of our evenings together.
It wasn’t just great sex.
It was also great food.
Can you blame me for looking forward to it every other week?
Can you blame me for occasionally wishing we could do it a bit more often?
***
WHEN I’D FINISHED EATING a salad, loaded baked potato, and a lot of my ribeye (Sean finished it for me), I got up to use the bathroom, and then I flopped down onto the bed, feeling tired in that pleasant satisfied way you only feel when you’ve had a really good time.
Over dinner, we’d talked about a show on Netflix that Sean had told me he’d liked the last time we got together. In the past two weeks, I’d watched all three seasons, so we had a great time discussing it and speculating about what would happen in the next season.
We’d fallen into silence now though, and I stretched out on the bed, my head on the pillow. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Our evening wasn’t over.
I wasn’t sure why I was suddenly experiencing a strange heavy sensation below my belly.
Not desire or anything like it.
It was almost poignant, which didn’t make any sense at all.
Sean had been checking his phone while I was in the bathroom, but now he put it down and stood up from the table where we’d eaten. He was wearing a pair of blue-gray sleep pants, and I automatically ran my eyes up and down his body.
He must work out a lot. He was naturally lean, but no one was born with lovely, tight muscle development like he had. His stomach was perfectly flat.
He had a small white puckered scar on his side—from the bullet that had shot him two years ago. The night his fiancée had died.
I’d never mentioned it or paid it extra attention, but it was hard not to look at it occasionally.
“What?” he asked, evidently noticing my stare.
“I wish my stomach was as flat as yours,” I said. It was a silly thing to say, but I was trying to ignore that poignant feeling and not wanting him to know I’d been looking at his scar.
He chuckled and lowered himself onto the bed beside me. “I’ve got to say that I’m glad you don’t have my body. I wouldn’t find it particularly enticing.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at his words. I reached over to rub my hand over his abs, loving the feel of the firm muscles and tight skin, the way it rose and fell slightly with his breathing, the hair that trailed under his waistband. I avoided caressing his scar the way I wanted to. “I don’t want your body. I’d just like a perfectly flat stomach like yours.”
My stomach wasn’t flat. It wasn’t particularly large, but it definitely curved outward.
“I like that you’re soft,” Sean murmured.
I frowned at him. “What?”
“I like that you’re soft,” he repeated with an arch of one eyebrow. “Your body, I mean. I like it soft.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold back a smile. “You say all the right things, don’t you?”
“Was that the right thing to say?”
“Don’t act all innocent with me. You know exactly what you’re doing, trying to butter me up that way.”
He rolled over on his side and gave me a smile that was half-wicked and half-intimate—very appealing. “And what am I doing?”
“You’re saying exactly the right thing.”
“Very convenient then since it happens to be true.”
I wondered if it was true. I wondered what the other women he’d been with were like—whether they were gorgeous model types with perfect bodies and hips that weren’t overly rounded like mine.
Sean was a man very experienced with women, so he very likely knew exactly what would make women feel best about their bodies. He was also a decent man and more generous than most people would expect, so he might go out of his way to smooth over the insecurities of the woman he was presently fucking.
But still... I wondered what the other women he’d been with were like.
His fiancée had been gorgeous and slim—and she’d trained in ballet. She wasn’t anything like me.
I wanted to ask him about her. And about the other women he’d been with.
I couldn’t though. I’d signed a contract that said I wouldn’t.
I felt that little twisting in my gut again and tried to ignore it. It didn’t matter that there were things I couldn’t ask, things I couldn’t know. I didn’t need to have a heart-to-heart with Sean to have a very good time.
“How’s your mom’s back?” Sean asked, rolling over so he was lying on his back the way I was.
“It’s better,” I told him, pleased and surprised that he remembered I’d mentioned my mother’s back had gone out a couple of weeks ago. “She’s moving around fine now. I almost wish she still had her back to complain about since all she’s talking about now is my sister’s wedding.”
“Oh really? Your sister is getting married?”
“Yeah. She just got engaged two weekends ago, and my mother is obsessed with wedding plans already. Every time I call her, that’s all she wants to talk about.”
“Is she your only sister? Older or younger?”
“Yeah. My only sister. Younger. By two years.” I sighed and tugged down the top to my pajama set. It was made like a camisole, and the slippery fabric kept inching up, baring my belly.
“And how do you feel about her getting married?”
I turned my head to check his expression, but his face was mild and interested. He didn’t seem to have an underlying motive for the question other than curiosity.
I gave a little shrug. “I’m happy for her. Of course. I’m pretty reasonable about these things, and I’m not going to get all uptight about my little sister getting married before me. She’s never been very career-minded like I am anyway. All she’s ever done is try to get married. The guy she’s marrying is okay but nothing special. I sometimes wonder...”
“You wonder what?”
“It sounds kind of mean, and I don’t intend it to be that way. But I wonder if she’s mostly marrying him to get married. He’ll treat her fine, I’m sure, but she doesn’t seem very...” I shook my head. “She doesn’t seem like she’s head over heels about him. But he has a good job, and she wants to get married, and she’s twenty-six now, so she thinks it’s time.”
Sean was studying my face, as if he were analyzing every little flicker of my expression.
His fixed gaze made me a little self-conscious. I lowered my eyelashes. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. I hope she’ll be happy.”
“I think more people do that than we realize,” Sean said after a thoughtful pause. “Marry someone because they’re there and because they want to get married. A lot of those marriages work out just fine.”
I nodded, letting out a long breath. “And a lot of couples who are passionately in love at the beginning end up in divorce in less than five years. I know. I’ll hope for the best for her.”
“If it’s a mistake, you’ll have to let her make it. There’s nothing you’re going to be able to do at this point.”
“I know. I wouldn’t even try. And I don’t have any reason to assume it’s a mistake. It’s what she wants, so I’ll be happy for her. And I’ll put up with months of her and my mom talking about nothing else.”
He chuckled. “Weddings do seem to overwhelm everything else. Lara was always—”
I went very still at the sound of his fiancée’s name. He’d never mentioned her before in my presence—in casual conversation or in anything else. I only knew Lara was her name because of what I’d read in the newspapers.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t prompt him to continue after he’d cut himself off. I felt ridiculously nervous—and a little excited—as I waited to see if he’d finish.
He was staring at the ceiling, and his tone changed—softened, got slightly hoarse—as he finally continued, “Lara talked about the wedding all the time too.”
I had absolutely no idea what to say, so I just murmured, “Yeah.”
It felt like a wound in him had broken open—just a crack but enough to cause blood. He wasn’t trying to confide in me. He’d never do that. He’d just been into the conversation and a reference to Lara had slipped out.
It seemed to bother him. I could feel a different sort of tension in his body—emotional, conflicted.
I wanted to soothe it away, but it wasn’t my place, and I had no idea how to do it anyway.
Finally I decided the best thing to do was change the subject, move us past it. So I said lightly, “My sister is all excited because they were able to reserve this old farmhouse and orchard for their wedding. It’s a really nice venue and doesn’t even cost a fortune.”
Sean seemed relieved at the return to normal, and he turned his head to face me again. “Is the ceremony going to be outside?”
“Yeah. That’s the plan.”
“Where would you get married, if you had a choice?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really? You haven’t daydreamed about where you and your jackass are going to tie the knot?”
I gave him a swat on his belly at this teasing reference to my beloved John Cooper, but I couldn’t take it seriously. He always referred to John that way.
He laughed. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“I’m not some silly teenage girl!” I reached over to swat him again, but he grabbed my wrist so I couldn’t.
“You still didn’t answer the question,” he said, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. “You do have a few daydreams, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” I admitted, flushing slightly but not as embarrassed as I would have thought I’d be.
“So in these daydreams, where are you marrying the jackass?”
I rolled my eyes since he refused to ever say John’s name, but I thought through the answer to his question. “I’m kind of traditional, so it’s usually a church.”
“Yeah. I don’t even want to imagine what my grandmother would say if I suggested I get married anywhere but a church.” He was smiling, the way he always did when he referred to his grandmother. He must love the old lady a lot. “She thinks destination weddings are for heathens.”
I giggled and rolled over onto my side, tugging down my top again. “I wouldn’t mind a destination wedding, I guess. It would just depend on the situation.”
“And I guess it would also depend on the jackass’s preferences.”
“Right.”
“Is he still dating that woman?”
For almost a month, John had been dating someone. It was longer than I’d ever seen him date anyone else, and it had been worrying me a lot. But at Sean’s question, I was able to smile. “No. They broke up. He told me.”
“Ah.” Sean’s green eyes rested on my face with that same light scrutiny I saw so often—as if he were interested in what was going on in my head but didn’t have a lot invested in it. “That’s a relief then, I guess.”
“Yes.”
“He actually told you himself?”
“He did. I didn’t even ask. He just brought it up himself.”
John had been a little more chatty with me this week than he usually was. I wasn’t foolish enough to put too much stock in it—it was probably just a passing thing—but it made me happy.
“Sounds promising.”
I glanced over at what sounded like an edge to his voice, but there was nothing but his normal teasing smile on his face. I shrugged. “When you’re caught up in an unrequited love situation, there are a lot of ups and downs.”
“I guess so.”
“You’ve never felt unrequited love before, I suppose.”
“Sure I have.”
My eyebrows went up. “Really? Who?”
This was a question right on the edge of breaking the clause in our contract about no talk of previous sexual relationships, but it didn’t appear to bother Sean at all. His mouth twitched. “I was desperately in love with my third grade teacher. Mrs. Haversham. Damn, she was hot.”
I laughed. Then I noticed that Sean was rubbing his neck absently as he talked, and it made me curious. “Does your neck hurt?”
“What?” He lowered his hand. “No, not too bad. I think I slept on it wrong last night. It’s nothing.”
He was clearly shrugging off the discomfort, and it interested me. He evidently didn’t like to show any sort of weakness, even something as mild as a sore neck.
I wondered if he was naturally that way or if he’d learned to put on the invulnerable front because of his business.
“Turn over,” I said, pushing myself up to a sitting position on the bed, inspired by something I could do for him.
“What?”
“Turn over. I’ll rub your neck.”
“You don’t have to rub my—”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. So stop whining when someone offers to do something nice for you.”
He rolled his eyes, but he was half smiling as he turned over onto his stomach.
I scooted over so I could reach him easily and start to massage his neck.
I’m not any sort of expert at massage, but I’d found you could do pretty well just by searching for the tension. Sean groaned as I pushed into the tight muscles and pressure points in his neck and the base of his skull, so I must have done a pretty good job.
“Do you get professional massages?” I asked as I worked.
“Nah.”
“Why not?” He had plenty of money and surely could fit in a couple of massages a week. I couldn’t think of any reason for him not to, especially since he really seemed to be enjoying even my amateur attempt.
“Never seemed worth the time.”
“Why not?”
“If I want to relax, I’ll watch TV or have sex.”
I chuckled at this as I moved my hands higher up into his head, massaging his scalp through his hair. “But you only have sex every other Wednesday.” I paused. “Right?”
I didn’t even think about the question until the words were said, and then I immediately regretted them. I’d assumed I was the only person Sean was fucking. That was how the whole setup with the contract had made it seem.
He was certainly the only person I was sleeping with.
But at his silence, I was suddenly nervous. I grew very still, my fingers still tangled in his hair.
Then finally Sean murmured hoarsely, “Yes, I only have sex every other Wednesday night. You’re not having sex with anyone else, are you?”
“No! No, of course not!” I was flushed, but it was with pleasure as much as embarrassment now. I was so incredibly relieved to confirm that I was the only one he was seeing.
“Then why did you ask if I was?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t really think you were. I was just thinking that if you only have sex every other Wednesday, then that still leaves a lot of relaxing that needs to be done. So a massage now and then wouldn’t be a bad idea.” I’d started working on his neck again, pleased to feel that the tight muscles were starting to loosen.
“Do you get massages?”
“Yeah, occasionally. As a special treat.”
“You’re really good at that.”
“Thanks.” That was very nice to hear.
He started moaning again as my hands lowered to his shoulders, and ridiculously it was starting to turn me on.
I didn’t let it distract me though. I massaged my way down his back and then moved back up to his neck again. Eventually his whole body had loosened, and his groans were sounding a lot sexier than they had at first.
After a long time, he turned over without warning, and I discovered the reason for the sexiness of his groans.
He was hard.
Despite my own arousal, I tsked my tongue and said, “Are you serious? You get turned on by an innocent backrub? No wonder you don’t want to get massages regularly. That would be pretty embarrassing.”
He chuckled and pulled me over him so I was straddling his hips. “It would only happen if you were the one giving me the backrub.”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to sound lofty and skeptical, but I was having trouble not rubbing myself against him.
“Take off your top,” he told me.
I stared at him.
“Take it off,” he instructed. “I want to see you.”
I did as he said, wondering why his words were turning me on even more. As I tossed the top onto the floor, Sean’s eyes raked over my bare breasts and tight nipples. My breasts jiggled with my motion, and his nostrils flared slightly.
“Now the pants,” he murmured.
This was a little more awkward since I had to lift up my legs to get the pants off over my feet, but I managed it eventually, hoping I hadn’t looked too unsexy.
Sean didn’t seem to think so. He was leering at me quite nakedly.
“Do you want to ride me?” he asked.
I did. God help me, I did.
I reached over to the nightstand for another condom, and then I pulled down his pants enough to free his erection and roll it on. Then he helped to position me above him, and I lowered myself onto his hard length.
Being on top is usually not my favorite position. It makes me self-conscious, and I’m never quite sure how I should move. But I loved the way he was gazing at me so hotly, and I was so turned on that I didn’t even debate with myself the most attractive way to get going.
I rocked over him, slowly at first but then with more urgency. He held on to my bottom possessively, helping to hold me in place, and his eyes roamed from my face to my shaking breasts to where he was pumping in and out of me.
It didn’t take me very long to come, and then he told me to keep going, so I rode him until I came again.
Then he rolled us both over so he could take control, and I reached up to hold on to the headboard for purchase. It was all feeling so incredibly good that I came again as he did, my body nearly flying apart as I banged the headboard against the wall.
As I came down, my throat hurt and my lungs hurt, and I was sore between the legs. But it felt like every sliver of tension in my body had been deliciously released.
When I could move again, I went to the bathroom to clean up and splashed water onto my face. Then I pulled my pajamas back on and went back into the bedroom.
Sean was still sprawled out where he’d collapsed earlier. His skin was damp, and his face was flushed and sated.
He reached out to take my hand and drag me back into the bed beside him.
“You’ve got to be crazy if you think we’re going to have more sex,” I told him.
“No more sex,” he agreed. “It’s going to be a while before I can get it up again.”
I chuckled.
He let go of my hand, and I pulled the covers up over us since I was starting to feel a little chilly.
I’d rest a little before I left. A rest would be nice.
I closed my eyes.
It was a long time before I opened them again.
***
WHEN I WOKE UP, I WAS confused and disoriented. It wasn’t dark in the room since lights were on in the bathroom and entryway, but everything felt strange and foreign.
I’d slept hard and really well. I hadn’t dreamed or woken up or anything. And the bed was comfortable and cozy. But something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.
I blinked a few times and lifted my head, discovering that Sean was sound asleep beside me, the covers pushed down to his waist and his arm slung over toward me.
Then I focused on the clock and discovered it was five twenty-two.
In the morning.
Five twenty-two in the morning.
I’d slept all night in bed with Sean instead of leaving like I was supposed to.
I sat up with a jerk and breathed until my mind was clear. Then I swung my legs over the side and started to get up.
Sean reached out and grabbed my pajama top to stop me. “Where... going?”
“I’ve got to leave.”
“Don’t leave... yet.” He was clearly half-asleep, not conscious of what he was saying.
“It’s almost five thirty in the morning, Sean. I’ve got to get home so I can get ready to go to work.”
“Stay... with me.” He still wasn’t awake.
“I can’t. I’ve got to go.” I pulled my top out of his grip and made myself stand up, pulling my clothes on hastily
My heart was fluttering uncomfortably as I looked back at Sean in the bed. He’d rolled over onto his side and was breathing slow and even again.
He looked almost vulnerable, which Sean Doyle never was. And also strangely lonely in the bed all by himself.
I wasn’t even sure why.
But I could hardly get back into bed with him. I had to drive home, shower and dress, and then get back into the city for work. I had an eight o’clock meeting this morning, and I needed at least twenty minutes to prepare beforehand.
So I left.
The night before would have to tide me over for two more weeks.
And Sean would have to get himself up whenever he really awakened.
I’d see him again in two more weeks.
That was the deal, and it was a good one.
It couldn’t last forever. Sean and I weren’t in love, and one day that was what I really wanted. Maybe even a wedding of my own—the kind I did sometimes daydream about.
As I rode down the elevator, an image came to me of myself in a beautiful wedding dress, walking down the aisle of an old church to a handsome, waiting groom.
This groom was nearly always John Cooper.
For just a moment, however, the image flickered, and I saw Sean in a tuxedo at the end of the aisle, gazing at me with awe in his eyes and with a quirk of that sexy mouth.
I shook the visual away immediately since it was ridiculous.
Sean wasn’t groom material, and he never could be. He’d closed that door when his fiancée died, and he wasn’t going to open it again.
I didn’t even want him to.
I had with Sean exactly what I wanted. For now.
Sure, it wasn’t my daydreams come to life, but second best could still be pretty damn good.