Okay, I’m thinking in hyperbole. Because we’d just had some major, sweaty, vigorous sex on these sheets. But I can push laundry off. At least through the weekend.
I glance at Spencer from under my lashes, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. His are closed, his breathing steady. I would have thought he’d rush to dress and leave, but he looks ready for a nap. The thought’s tempting. A nap, cuddling with Spencer. It almost sounds unbelievable. This whole experience has been unbelievable.
I try to muffle a giggle, but it’s too late. The corner of his mouth lifts, and though he doesn’t open his eyes, he murmurs, “If you’re laughing, I didn’t do something right.”
“It’s a happy laugh,” I reply in the same hushed tone. “You’re two for two on orgasms. Tied with…”
I don’t say who, because he knows. His arm around me stiffens, whether at the reminder of Ashton or at the fact my ex was the most selfish of bed partners. I want to soothe his ego, so I follow with, “Almost had me at a third, at the end there.”
“Why didn’t you say so? I could’ve held out until you came again.”
What a breathtaking thought. But I bury my face in his skin and kiss his chest, my voice even quieter when I tell him, “I wanted to watch you come.”
He finally opens his eyes, head turning to observe me. My cheeks are red from my candid confession, but I meet his gaze straight on. “I listened to you. At The Six-Pack. I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Like that. I wanted to see it.”
And he kisses me. Gentle. A mere brush of his lips against mine, and I find it riveting in juxtaposition to his rough kisses from before. I sink into that kiss, my body warm and relaxing and gooey like melting wax.
“It won’t work,” he tells me when he stops. He settles his head under one arm, staring at the ceiling as his other hand absent-mindedly trails up and down my side.
“What won’t?” I ask after a slight hesitation, tingling goosebumps breaking out wherever the path of his fingers trace.
“Getting over him with sex. It won’t work.”
“No?”
“Nope. At least, not with one time.” His look is full of understanding when his gaze shifts to me. “It takes several times. Until you lose count.”
I frown. Because he knows. Though he doesn’t say it, he’d done the same, after his break up freshman year. A myriad of meaningless hookups to get over his ex. Faceless women on that notched belt. So many of them.
And I know, I know, I just don’t have what it takes in me to do the same. I try to imagine Elijah, Rylie’s art friend, and asking him into my bedroom after our date earlier this week, inviting him in for rebound sex. Or the photography major. Pete. Any of the guys before him. I can’t picture any of them chasing me to my room. Ripping off my clothes. Making me wet with dirty words about dirty words. Bringing me to climax as splendidly as Spencer had. Kissing and cuddling me and their fingers lazily petting me into a heightened fever all over again.
Spencer cups my breast, as though sensing my growing appetite for more. He watches my nipple pebble under his attention, plucks at it teasingly. “It might work with just one person.”
I hold my breath, anxious for him to explain further. He rolls over me, his weight heavy and wonderful.
“What kind of person?” I ask, tone wistful. I close my eyes and slide my leg over his, feeling his thickening member against the inside of my thigh.
“Someone really fucking good at fucking.” He smiles, full and bright and handsome. “Someone who can show you everything you missed out on with your ex. Who can give you more orgasms than you ever dreamed.”
“Are you offering?”
I don’t ask any other questions on my mind. I thought you didn’t sleep with the same woman twice? What about all the other girls? Because there’s something stronger rolling in me. Need. Want. For him. And I think he might feel it, too. This sense that what we did was incredible. That it was surprising and intimate and hot. Better than any other time, for either of us.
He rises on his elbows, mulling it over. “Frequent hookups to bang out your ex? It has its appeal.”
“Who said anything about frequent?”
“It will be. With me.”
Another heart-stopping revelation.
Spencer keeps talking. “I wasn’t fucking lying before, either. I want you to suck my cock. I want to bring you to climax with my mouth. And I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a fucking back massager I saw in that drawer.”
I blush when he points to my nightstand. Spencer growls with appreciation and crushes his hips to mine. Fully aroused again.
“Yeah, I want to use that on you, too, princess. I want to use up the rest of those fucking condoms and make it so you can’t leave this bed for the rest of the goddamn day. So… Yes. Yes, I’m fucking offering.”
He reaches for the discarded box and grabs another condom, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it over his length. When he looks at me again, he asks, “Is that good for you?”
I nod, all words but one out the window. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s start now,” he says, lowering himself into me with a groan. “Because I fucking hate ties.”
17
Kennedy
“No pictures.”
It’s the first thing out of Summer’s mouth when I set my camera bag on the study room table.
“See, here’s the thing about feature articles on people,” I say, taking
