Page 23 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
“Oh,” she says, her eyes wide with wonder.
“Yes,” I grunt. “Like that.”
There is no steady rhythm. She doesn’t know it yet, and that hint of innocence makes my chest ache. I let her ride me in abrupt, eager starts. My cock doesn’t know the difference. It just wants inside her. Inside her sweet heat. Her hands rest on my chest, taking strength from me. It’s how I want her to be, always leaning on me, always needing me.
I put my thumb against her clit—lightly, lightly. Only enough that she can brush against me every time she rocks forward. Her breath catches. Now that she has the right incentive, she finds the rhythm, pushing her clit against my thumb, again and again, her smooth pearl against my callused pad, becoming slicker and slicker around my cock. Her eyes drift shut as she loses herself in pleasure, but I can’t do the same. I can’t close my eyes. I can’t look away from the goddess that rides me, her breasts moving with erotic grace, her face gorgeous as she climaxes. Her pussy clamps down hard, dragging an orgasm from me, milking my cock as I shudder and ache beneath her.
CHAPTER TEN
Beau Rochester
Jane Mendoza is one of those women who gets energy from thorough sex. Her eyes are wide open in the dark. And she’s chatty. I find this fact about her incredibly hot. It makes me want to fuck her all over again just to find out what else she’ll share.
Unfortunately she’s actually quite tired. And she needs to rest. I’m not going to fuck her into a state of dehydrated exhaustion where she needs to go back to the hospital.
“You should sleep,” I say, planting a kiss on her forehead.
“I don’t want to.”
I narrow my eyes. “Who’s the nanny here?”
She stretches, her limbs long and sinuous in the moonlight, her skin the color of sand at night. “Seriously, I feel like I could run a marathon right now.”
“And someday, I’ll fuck you so good and so hard and so long, then send you out with a bottle of water, and we’ll see if it works. But right now? You need to sleep.”
“Wait.” Her eyes look serious now. She shifts so we’re facing one another. Her limbs move against mine beneath the sheets, her legs smooth against my rough hair, the soft rasp making my cock flex. I want her spread open beneath me.
Will I ever get enough of her?
It strikes me with both hunger and fear, that thought.
What if I’m always this desperate for a taste of her? What if I’m always this hard to get inside her? Every time I touch her, my need seems to grow. My feelings for Emily were overwhelming. Obsessive. And they nearly killed me. There’s a real chance they killed her. What I feel for Jane is so much deeper, so much darker. What if we never make it out of the abyss?
“What?” I mutter, unable to look her in the eye, unable to pull away. I wrap her tightly in my arms, tight enough that I expect her to squirm or gasp for air. She does neither.
“You saw me dreaming.”
“It was dark, but technically, yes.”
“And you know my… secrets.” Her voice goes low, but in the sultry way. In the scared way. As if she’s thinking of that night of the fire, when she told me about how she lost her virginity. To the bastard who was supposed to take care of her.
“And now I want to track down someone and shoot them.” I’m going to do it, actually. Not with a gun, though that sounds fun. Maybe with my bare fists. Or maybe I’ll just crush him with money. They all sound like a fun time. I’m going to enjoy myself absolutely ruining that man. But she doesn’t ever need to know about that.
Her lashes brush her cheeks. She doesn’t want to look at me. Shy—even as her pussy’s still wet and swollen from my cock. It’s heartbreaking. “I want you to tell me something about you. Something other people don’t know.”
“Is this some kind of a game?”
“No, it’s some kind of intimacy. So I don’t feel so… naked.”
“I like you naked,” I say, looking down at her to prove the point. God, she’s beautiful. Those small tits, just enough to touch and tweak her dark pink nipples. I want to come on them next time. I want so much more than that, but I’m afraid to freak her out. So I give her a very basic, very boring fact about me that no one actually knows. “I hate lobster.”
“You hate lobsters?”
“No, I mean I hate them as animals, sure, but I specifically hate the taste. They’re basically bottom feeders, so you’re getting all the pollution in the ocean. Concentrated in a few ounces of meat. And you just slather it with butter so no one notices the taste of chemical runoff.”
