Page 14 of The Path to Loving Him
I groan.
She clenches.
I thrust harder, bottoming out every goddamn time.
And it’s so fucking good.
So fucking perfect.
So goddamn delicious that my balls tighten. In one quick burst, my cock swells, and I’m coming at the same time she does.
The room around me fades to black. I can hear her screaming out in pleasure, but it almost sounds muddled because of the roar of my own orgasm.
It is easily the most intense orgasm of my life.
As we both catch our breaths, I remove myself from her and flop on the bed, where I take a few seconds to let the life flow back into my body.
I stare at the ceiling as I feel her shift off the bed and go straight to the bathroom.
Christ . . . now that’s a fucking one-night stand.
Chapter Three
GABBY
Three days later . . .
“You know, I never thought I was going to be the one who would have to come to you,” Bower says as she stands outside my apartment, holding a can of whipped cream in one hand and a jar of maraschino cherries in the other.
I don’t bother with the door. She can handle it as I make my way back to the couch where I’ve been rotting ever since I returned from Almond Bay. Since I don’t work on Mondays, I decided to carry through my weekend depression for one more day.
And why do I have a weekend depression?
Um, because I experienced the best sex of my life, that’s why.
How does that calculate depression?
Well, for one, I was hoping Ryland would turn out to be a dud so I could hold that against him.
That was not the case at all.
In fact, he was anything but a dud . . . not to be cheesy, but he was more like a stud.
That man knows how to fuck.
He knows how to fuck with no feelings but rather chase pleasure, which has inadvertently put me into this state of depression because I know I won’t have it again.
I flop back on the couch and curl my holey-sweatpants-covered legs up to my chest, holding them tightly.
“This is all your fault.”
Bower takes a seat next to me and pops open the cherry jar. I take it from her and thank the heavens above that she grabbed the unstemmed cherries. I plop a few in my mouth and chew.
“What’s my fault?” she asks before she sprays some whipped cream into her mouth.
“This feeling I have. It’s your fault.”
“And what feeling would that be?” I open my mouth, and she squirts some whipped cream against my tongue. I plop a cherry against it and chew before answering.
