I grip him there and pull him closer, and he makes another frustrated sounding noise.
“Shit.” Chasm moves back and then pushes forward again, filling me all the way up. With each slow, easy thrust, he gets deeper, until he’s suddenly pausing. I can feel him smiling against my hair. “I can feel it,” he says with an impertinent little chuckle. “The cup.”
“Shut up,” I growl back at him, forcing our mouths together so he can’t talk and annoy me anymore than he already has. Of course, as soon as he relaxes again and finds a comfortable rhythm for both of us, I’m far from annoyed.
I’m … something else entirely.
If you’d told me—the Dakota Banks from upstate New York—that I’d end up in bed with two different guys within four months of arriving here, I’d have laughed my ass off. If you’d told me that I’d be battling my serial killer father … well, I would’ve been far more likely to believe in the double romance scenario.
“You’re thinking too much,” Chasm whispers, adjusting one of my legs and wrapping his arm around it so that he can push himself even deeper. The sensation makes us both gasp, our mouths brushing, the motion evolving into a kiss. He gets me with that, with this new position, with the heat of his tongue, and the rest of the world falls away.
With the city lights twinkling in the distance, we work our bodies together until his is stiffening slightly, his fingers tightening against my leg. He pushes it back just a little further and continues to move until his breathing is ragged and broken. The motion of his pelvis is rubbing my clit, but I can tell that he’s going to come first.
I dig my fingers into his back as he moves harder and faster, muttering dark, quiet things in his native tongue. His pelvis slams into mine over and over again, until he’s giving one, final thrust and groaning against my hair, grinding into me and shuddering with release.
My breath exhales in a rush as I hold his trembling form against me, enjoying the aftermath of his pleasure, the way he tenses up, trembles, and then goes completely limp.
“Fuck.” Chasm is gasping, struggling to catch his breath as he pulls out and lays beside me. He removes the condom, tying it off and sticking it into his pants pocket before relaxing with one arm behind my head. With the other, he takes my right hand and guides it to my clit. “Show me how you like it.”
Somehow, this seems harder to do than actually having him inside of me. When he’s like that, he’s working his own pleasure, lost in it the same way that I am. Like this, he’s just observing. Chasm keeps his hand over mine as I work my body with my fingers, closing my eyes so that I can’t see the limned outline of his face.
He presses a kiss to my forehead and then slips two fingers inside at just the right moment, making me shudder and clamp around him.
“Oh, I like that,” he breathes, feeling my body squeeze and caress his fingers as the climax finally takes hold of me. It’s deep and heavy, unfurling from my belly and launching itself into my limbs, into my fingers, making my broken bones throb. They don’t hurt though. Nothing does. All I can feel for a brief moment is pure, unadulterated pleasure.
I see stars flicker across my vision, blinking them away as I tremble and then melt into a puddle on the mattress. That’s it. My lids feel suddenly heavy, and Chasm chuckles, cuddling me close.
“I thought guys were the ones who’re supposed to fall asleep right after sex,” he murmurs, and I snort, my eyes still closed, my body sparkling. He has yet to remove his hand, but I don’t mind it. Actually, I like it where it is.
“Stereotype,” I murmur, and he snorts, pressing his face into my hair. I remember that he told me I smelled like strawberries and sugar, that even my breath was sweet. That’s how he smells to me, how he tastes. “A lot of people fall asleep after sex. Orgasms release a chemical called prolactin; it makes you sleepy and relaxed.”
Danyella taught me that, but I don’t really want to talk about her or anyone else right now.
Chasm takes his hand away, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close. We both know we can’t sleep in here together. He’s right: if Tess catches him in here, it’d be nearly as bad as her catching me with Parrish.
Eventually, Chas will have to head back downstairs to the couch.
For a while though, we let ourselves have this quiet place all to ourselves. He strokes my bare skin with his knuckles, teasing my breasts, my nipples, making my belly muscles clench. I could easily go again, but I don’t know that it’s worth the risk.
