Page 61 of So This Isn't Love
"I'll get more tomorrow if we need them."
She bursts out laughing. I tear the wrapper with my teeth, and her laugh turns into something else entirely as I roll the condom on and come back over her, braced on my forearms, her thighs cradling me, her face an inch under mine.
"Look at me," I say, and she already is.
I push into her slowly, all the way, watching her take me. She's tight and hot and her eyes never leave mine. Her mouth falls open, her hands slide up my back. Being buried to the hilt inside Darcy while she holds my eyes lands somewhere far past pleasure. This is what belonging to someone feels like. Not the wanting. The being with someone, not wishing I was anywhere else, or with anyone else. Just her.
Just us.
Yesterday she kissed me in front of her whole world and tonight she's wrapped around me in part of my world, and every road I've ever taken out of this town runs straight through this bed and ends here.
I move inside her. Slow and deep, deliberate, saying it back with my whole body the way I promised. Each stroke unhurried, ground out, certain, her breath breaking on each one. I keep talking because with her I can't not.
"You feel incredible." I say it low against her mouth, another stroke grinding the words out of me. "Tight and hot and wrapped around my cock like you were made for exactly this. Like I was made for it too."
Her breath catches, her hands sliding up my back, and I keep going.
"The whole town can watch me kiss you, Darcy. I'll kiss you in front of every last one of them and I don't care what anyone says about it." I drive in deep and hold there, watching her eyes go unfocused. "But nobody else ever gets this. Nobody gets to know what you look like right now, wrapped around me, taking me like this. This is mine."
"Yes." She whines my name as her nails bite into my shoulders, and I lower my mouth to her ear.
"Fuck, yeah. Do that again. Before tonight is over you're going to come a dozen times with my name in your mouth."
"Promises, promises," she says on a moan, and I shift her knee up over my arm and change the angle, deeper, and the word dissolves.
She comes apart underneath me in long, rolling waves, the flush climbing from her chest to her throat, her heels dug into the backs of my thighs while her body clenches around me hard enough to gray my vision at the edges. She cries my name. I work her through every second of it, and when her eyes finally focus again she reaches up, lays her palm flat against my cheek, and says, "Now you."
My rhythm dies without ceremony. I drive into her with nothing measured left in me, her hands pulling me down, her mouth at my ear saying my name over and over. When release takes me I bury my face in her neck, because whatever my face is doing belongs to her and nobody else. I come harder than I ever have, shaking with the force of it, her arms locked around me like she's the one keeping me safe. Hell, maybe she is.
We stay wrecked and tangled for a long while. Her fingers trail up and down my spine. Eventually I deal with practicalities and come back to find her burrowed under my blankets like she's lived here all along. She lifts the edge in invitation, and I fold in around her, her back to my chest, my hand finding its place over her heart.
"Overachiever," she murmurs, already going under.
I kiss the top of her head. "When it counts."
She's asleep in minutes, her heartbeat thudding under my palm. The guesthouse settles around us, and for a while I just breathe her in and let the night be what it is.
I'll think about everything else, including the Colorado deal, some other time.
CHAPTER 24
DARCY
Iam sitting very carefully today.
I lowered myself into my desk chair at 7:40 this morning with the grace and caution of a much older woman, and the reason—which I will carry blissfully to my grave behind a serene teacher smile—is that last night Finn took me apart in his bed. Slowly. Thoroughly. More than once. Four times, if anyone's counting.
I was counting.
He wanted to make me breakfast. He made his case at dawn wearing nothing but loosely tied, light gray sweatpants, a sleep-wrecked version of his hair, and a cocky grin that should require a warning label. I wanted to say yes. God, how I wanted to say yes to every debauched suggestion that lingered in his sexy morning-after kiss. But I had a first-period class between me and that fantasy, so instead we showered together then he drove me home to my apartment.
At the curb under the peach-and-lavender sunrise, he put me against the car door and kissed me like we hadn't just spent an entire night taking our fill of each other.
"Better get out of here before I persuade you to play hooky with me," he said against my mouth. "I'll call you."
So here I am. Teaching my class like I'm not a changed woman on a primal level today. It isn't just the delicious way every muscle and tendon in my body aches with the best kind of soreness. It's the replays. His voice in the dark saying "Look at me." The concentrated way he went about learning me, like I was something he intended to get exactly right.
Finn does everything at full attention or not at all, and last night I had all of it, every megawatt, for hours. How on earth is a woman is supposed to just stand at a whiteboard the next day and discuss symbolism like her entire nervous system hasn't been renovated?
