Page 107 of Fake it For Good
“Noelle, you have to stop,” he groaned. “I’m close.”
I didn’t dare stop. I wanted to drink from him. I continued my mission. He tried to tug me away, but I held on with my lips wrapped tight around him. Then it hit. I jerked back when he exploded deep into my throat. I swallowed every last drop until he lay limp beneath me. I rose to my knees and ran the back of my hand across my mouth.
He looked up at me. “You. Are. Amazing.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I said, grinning.
“You rocked my world.”
“That was the plan,” I said, laughing.
He pulled me down to lie beside him. “I can’t believe I almost lost this. You.”
“I’m right here,” I assured him. “Me and you.”
He rolled onto his side and kissed my neck. “I think it’s my turn. I get to make you scream.”
I laughed and let him have his way with my body. He did not disappoint. It was one orgasm after another. He climbed on top of my flushed body. I was already sated and doubted there was anything he could do to give me another orgasm. I felt limp. When he slipped inside me, I let out a slow moan.
“Damn, you feel so good,” he whispered. “This is what it’s supposed to be. This is what it means to make love.”
I smiled up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “I think I like this so much better than the hot kitchen sex.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “That was pretty good.”
“Yes, it was,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind doing that again, but right now, I think this is better.”
“I think we should have a regular dose of both,” he suggested while stroking deep. “We’ll make love in the morning and fuck like rabbits before dinner.”
I would have laughed if he hadn’t shut it down with a hard thrust. “Okay,” I murmured. “Okay.”
He thrust again. Our bodies fit perfectly. We were meant for one another. I believed that with every fiber of my being. This man, as strange as our beginnings had been, was the one for me. I didn’t know how it would play out, but I was going to do all I could to make it work. I wanted him. I wanted to be enough for him. Whatever it took.
After we’d satisfied ourselves, we lay in bed naked in the postcoital glow. “So, what is this?” I asked him.
“This?”
“You and me,” I said. “I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion. I would like to know what this is. What are we?”
“You’re my girl,” he said.
“We’re going steady?” I teased.
“Yes. Unless you have other ideas?”
“No,” I said. “I want to be your girl. And you’re my man.”
“Good. Then does that satisfy your question?”
“I don’t know,” I mused aloud.
“What else?” he asked. “What can I say to make you believe it?”
“I don’t know what I bring to the table,” I said. “You’re that guy and I’m this girl. We’re so different. We have nothing in common. I’m just afraid you’re going to wake up one day and realize I’m not the girl for you. You’re going to see me as someone you’re dragging along.”
“I will not,” he said and rose up to look down on me. “There is no way in hell I would ever feel like I was dragging you anywhere. It’s you who is going to be dragging me.”
“But you’re, well, you’re rich. You’re successful. You run in different circles.”
