Page 146 of The Temporary Fiancée
“Good. Make yourself come on my cock, baby. Use me to get yourself off.”
She rocks harder, leaning forward a little. Her pussy tightens around me, her breath hitching on a sharp gasp, and then she practically screams my name as a gush of her arousal floods over my cock.
I grip her hips hard and thrust up into her, chasing the same pleasure, wild with the need for it. I keep moving as spurts of cum fill her pussy, working her through the last waves of her own climax. Another shiver moves through her before she collapses onto my chest, boneless and sated. I wrap my arms around her, one hand sliding into her hair, the other resting low on her back.
We stay like that for several beats, sweaty and spent. Her breath slows against my skin, finally evening out. My fingers move through her hair absently, and she lets out a contented little sigh.
After a few minutes, she lifts her head and looks at me. Her eyes are a bit glazed, her hair a wreck, her cheeks flushed.
“Do you need to go back to the office today?”
I cup her face in both hands and lift my head to kiss her. When I finally pull back, my thumb traces along her cheekbone.
“Hell, no. What Ineedto do,” I murmur, my mouth still close to hers, “is spend the rest of the day inside you. For as much time as humanly possible.”
Chapter 33
Olivia
When I wakeup the next morning, Reed’s arm is wrapped around me, his hand on my side. Possessive, even in sleep.
My stomach flutters when I think of our conversation from yesterday. I can still hardly believe it was real. But this—this is proof. I’m in his bed. His body is pressed against mine. His chest rises and falls, relaxed, deep breaths.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and as I do, I feel him stir.
Suddenly, before I can protest, he slips his hands under me and rolls me gently onto my back, a simple, fluid motion. I grin up at him, and he looks back down at me, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Sore,” I reply.
The smirk vanishes from his face, to be replaced by a look of concern. “Really? Are you okay?”
I huff a laugh. “I’m fine. I’m not sore from the crash.”
It’s true. After last night, I can hardly feel the bruises anymore, even though I can see some of them marking my skin. I’m not sore from the crash. I’m sore from the sex marathon.
A grin creeps across his face as he realizes what I’m getting at. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his hand sliding along my innerthigh. “Well, I guess I ought to do something to take the edge off, huh?”
His fingers brush slowly down my thighs, and I hold my breath as he begins to lightly tease my pussy. His touch is gentle, but still makes me shiver in anticipation. He starts slow, making me beg for it silently by the way I chase his touch, then starts to increase the pressure and speed until I’m moaning and writhing on the bed.
When I come, I let out a pleased, plaintive little sound. I’m still worn out after last night, but his fingers can work magic regardless. Once it’s done, he bends down and kisses me gently on the forehead. Then he tilts my head back as his lips meet mine.
We break apart, and I hold his gaze, a flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach despite the dreamy post-orgasm haze that clouds my eyes.
“So what happens now?” I whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“Where… where do we go from here?” For me, this is all unknown territory, and now that I’ve voiced the question, anxiety has started to invade my sense of peace.
“That depends,” he says softly. He doesn’t seem concerned in the slightest. The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek as he speaks. “Where do you want to go from here?”
“I…” I trail off for a few seconds, then summon my courage and blurt out, “I’m not ready to get married.”
I’m half expecting him to look dismayed, but he doesn’t. He just nods silently.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just… we’re almost at the end of this thing, aren’t we? But I can’t keep going with this as if we’re actually going to get married when it’s over. If we’re going to do this for real, I want to take the time tobereal.”
