tore open the condom and rolled it down his long shaft. Hard again, he positioned himself between her thighs. She looked into his face as she sat. The first blunt stab widened her eyes. “I don’t know if this is going to work.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Don’t leave me.” His hot gaze stared out at her from beneath his lowered lids. “Don’t leave me now.”
She lowered herself, sliding down. “I won’t leave you.” With each second, his gaze got even hotter.
“You’re really tight.”
“You’re really big.” Inch by inch, she continued, feeling stretched and completely impaled. He put his hands on her thighs and gently pushed her downward. She didn’t feel pain, but she wasn’t exactly comfortable.
He cupped her bottom in his palms. “You’re so beautiful to me.”
When he looked at her, his eyes all warm and velvet, she felt beautiful. He’d just given her one of the best orgasms of her life, and her heart squeezed in her chest. “Thank you.”
“You ready?”
She nodded, and he lifted her up his long, thick shaft. It was a pity he had to wear a condom because she would have loved to feel hot flesh on hot flesh. Thick veins against slick vaginal walls. The bulbous head of his penis rubbed her G-spot and once again reawakened her passion. Slowly she moved up and down with him, finding a perfect rhythm. A little higher and a little faster with each stroke. She grabbed on to his shoulders and matched his rhythm, riding him hard. She tilted her head back and never wanted it to end, even as she raced to completion.
“Oh my God!” She rode him with mindless pleasure and complete abandon. On and on the pleasure built. She might have called his name. She wasn’t sure as she rode up and up. Higher and hotter until she hit a second peak more intense than the first. Scalding heat constricted her inner muscles and spread fire outward across her body. Every cell caught fire, and she opened her mouth and silently screamed as he continued to pump into her. Again and again until his grasp on her behind tightened and he stilled. The muscles in his arms and chest turned to stone. The breath whooshed from hi?hoos lungs and he swore long and loud. The male equivalent of a scream.
Chelsea smiled.
“Did I hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” She did feel a bit raw, but so content she didn’t care. “Are you okay?”
Pure male cockiness turned up the corners of his mouth. “Yeh. Your orgasm lasted a long time.”
“Were you worried you couldn’t outlast me?”
“No. I can outlast you.” He shook his head and slid his hands up her thighs to her waist.
She buried her face in his warm neck. “Can we do that some more?”
He ran his hands up her bare back. “Honey, we’re going to do that all night long.”
And they did. Three more times before Chelsea slipped from his bed and grabbed her dress from the floor. The sun rose through the slats in the blinds as she stepped into her dress. They’d drifted to sleep sometime around four. Sometime after Mark had made a hearty meal of frozen pizza and ice cream.
Chelsea reached for the zipper on the back of her dress and moved toward the door. She cast one last glance at the sleeping man tangled up in white sheets before she walked into the hall. Silent footsteps carried her down the spiral stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed her shoes and her little purse and pulled out her cell phone. She called a cab and walked out of the house and into the fresh air.
There had been several times in her life when she’d suffered the walk of shame sex. When the impulses of the night before felt shameful in the harsh light of morning. When regret felt like a fifty-pound lump in her stomach.
Funny she didn’t feel that way with Mark. She didn’t feel ashamed. She should. Having sex with him wasn’t right. Bad, and she probably would feel shame and regret. Later.
But right now… right now she just felt calm. Relaxed. Happy and totally wrung out.
* * *
Chelsea carried her shoes into Bo’s apartment, tiptoeing as quietly as possible.
“Where did you spend the night?”
Her shoes fell from her hands as she spun around. Jules stood in the kitchen, once again shirtless. “Christ,” she gasped, and placed a hand on her heart. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged. “Making coffee.”
Coffee sounded good. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ducked into her bedroom. She changed into a big hoodie and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. Her bed was still made, as if no one had slept in it. She moved across the hall and glanced into her sister’s room. Bo was stretched across the yellow sheets, asleep and completely naked.
Chelsea moved into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. “So, tell me?†” She poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced over at the man sitting at the table. “Are you going to make an honest woman out of my sister?”
He looked up from his newspaper. “Is Bressler going to make an honest woman out of you?”
“Who says I was with Mr. Bressler?” Lord, she hoped no one else figured it out.
“You left wearing his jacket.”
Oh yeah. “How do you know it was his?”
“There were only two men there with charcoal Hugo Boss suits. Mark and Ty Savage.”
God, leave it to Jules to notice something like that.
“I know you didn’t go home with Ty,” Jules continued, and returned his gaze to the sports page. “Besides, Bo told me you were driving him home.”
“That doesn’t mean I spent the night—you know—spent the night. Not like you and Bo.” She sat across from him and took a sip of coffee. “That house has like six bedrooms.” Then she told a huge whopper while keeping a totally straight face. “Mr. Bressler doesn’t even really like me that much.” Her brows lowered. Maybe it wasn’t such a whopper. True, he’d liked her when she rode him like the mechanical bull at Gilley’s. He’d seemed to like her in his jet tub and later in his bed.
“And you stayed in one of those?” He looked skeptical, while teetering on the edge of believing her.
She nodded just as the memory of their last time together entered her head. Good God, she’d never felt so wonderfully violated in her life. The man didn’t ask permission to do anything. He just did it, and did it so well, he had her begging him not to stop. Her cheeks caught fire and she looked away.
“You’re lying.”
“Are you dating my sister now? Or is this a one-nighter?”
He frowned. “Don’t change the subject.”
She smiled and repeated her questions.
“I like Bo. A lot. I would never use her.”
The statement was a pointed one, but the funny thing was, she didn’t feel used. Maybe a little apprehensive and scared because she didn’t know how Mark would treat her come Monday morning. But not used.
“When did you get home?” Bo asked as she walked from her bedroom tying a robe around her waist.
“A few minutes ago.” Bo opened her mouth, and Chelsea held up one hand. “Mark has six bedrooms. I picked one.” Which was true. She’d picked his.
“I thought he was Mr. Bressler,” Jules reminded her.
Chelsea shrugged. Her attention was focused on her sister as Bo poured herself a cup of coffee. Bo slowly raised her gaze to Jules, and a little smile pushed up the corners of her lips. Jules saw it too and he returned her smile. Last night had been more than just sex for the two of them. More than mutual satisfaction.
Chelsea stood. Suddenly all the reg‹nlyret she thought she’d feel came crashing in on her, but it wasn’t the regret she expected. She didn’t regret spending the night with Mark Bressler. No, her regret was that he would never look at her like Jules looked at Bo.
“I’m going back to bed,” she said, and made her way down the hall. The apprehension she’d felt a few moments ago bumped up a notch. What would she say to him Monday morning? And would he return to his usual MO and ignore her?
She didn’t have to wait until Monday to find out. Mark called her at noon. She was sound asleep but she knew it was him before she opened her eyes. Not because she was psychic, but because of his special ringtone.
“Where are you?” he asked. The sound of his voice settled in her chest and made her feel kind of fuzzy and warm.
“I’m in bed.”
