I could enjoy his hard cock inside me.
And that would be enough.
Because I’d have lived out a fantasy.
I paused, my hips desperate to slide down, to take him deeper, but just as he’d needed to confirm I was with him, I needed to do the same.
I could live out my fantasy, but only if I knew that he was with me in it.
“Tal?” I whispered, statue still, the blunt head of him stretching me wide, promising more pleasure if I . . . just . . . sank . . . lower.
His eyes were liquid metal.
Then his hands came to my waist and slowly, inexorably tugged me down the length of his erection.
And I know that people always said that their man had a big dick, that romance heroes were built like freaking elephants, that every dude had a nine-inch cock. But I’d been with more than a handful of men (cough, nineteen and Talbot would make twenty), and maybe that number made me a bit of a slut, but my point was that I’d been with enough men to know that this cock was special. It stretched me wide, wide enough that I cursed, the slight burn of pain mingling with the pleasure of being filled. I know he was bigger at this angle, but it wasn’t just the angle. The man had a glorious cock.
A magical cock.
A magical cock? Dear lord. I stifled a giggle.
Fingers touching my mouth, tracing a curve I hadn’t even known was there. “What?” he murmured.
I had to admit that the slight strain in his voice made my smile tip up further.
“What?” he asked again.
I shook my head, nibbling at the corner of my mouth.
His thumb pressed against my bottom lip, dragging it out from beneath my teeth. “Tammy,” he warned.
“Talbot,” I countered, having adjusted to him and testing out shifting my hips, grinding down. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that felt good . . . no it felt great, pleasure radiating throughout my center, splintering along my limbs, making everything from my toes to my tongue tingle. “Shut up,” I moaned. “And let’s just fuck.”
He cursed, and then he was sitting up, one arm banding around my waist, pressing us tighter together. I gasped, the angle of him inside me even deeper, even better.
“What?” he murmured again, and this time it was accompanied by a nip against my lips.
More zinging.
More pleasure.
His wide palm covered one of my cheeks, tilting my ass so I hit just the right spot. My head fell back, vision blearily recognizing the wooden bed frame overhead. Teeth on my throat, my pussy tightening around him, making us both groan. But aside from that tilting, he held me in place, held me deep.
Even though I was growing wetter by the moment, getting more and more desperate to move, he held me still.
“Tell me,” he demanded.
My vision blurred further, I could feel an orgasm coiling in my abdomen, just from him being in and in deep, just from this man’s—
“You have a magical cock,” I blurted.
He did an impression of a statue, frozen and stiff, and as mortification tangled with desire, he flipped me over to my back with hardly a jostle—one second I was on top of him, the next I was cushioned on the mattress, his lips curving, his eyes filled with desire and humor.
“Well then,” he murmured, humor in his tone as his lips came to my ear. “Let me put this magical cock to work.”
He began moving, not slow and inching, not teasing and gentle, but firm, deep strokes that had my hips lifting up from the bed, rising to meet his thrusts, that coiling orgasm spiraling tighter, growing tauter, readying for implosion.
His mouth was on mine then on my throat, my collarbones, one nipple and then the other, and then the orgasm wasn’t just in my abdomen.
It was exploding outward, filling my entire body with pleasure, sending my muscles contracting, setting my nerves on fire, and then leaving me limp and satiated, the aftereffects of all that bliss sparkling through me as Tal stroked deeper once, twice, three times more, his head dropping to my shoulder as his own orgasm tugged him down. He collapsed on top of me. Though collapsed wasn’t quite the right word. He gave me his weight, hips settling on mine, his torso pressed to mine, but one elbow was propped near my shoulder, making sure he didn’t squash me, didn’t crush my injured arm.
And that small bit of care undid me.
I was falling headfirst down a dangerous slope, longing for a fantasy that could never actually be reality.
As though he sensed that panic, that despair creeping in—even though I told myself to just enjoy the good time, to appreciate the pair of glorious orgasms and not want for anything more, even more of that fantasy—Talbot pushed up, his pupils still dilated, his forehead sheened with sweat, his damp hair skewed in every direction. “What is it?” he asked, fingers coming to my cheek. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I said quickly.
“Then what?” His thumb swept under each eye, not to wipe away tears because I wasn’t weak enough to give in to them at this moment, even though misery at my stupidity was becoming rampant. I’d opened Pandora’s box, letting hope escape. I’d peeked inside the treasure chest and found it empty—or perhaps filled with jewels and gold I couldn’t carry home. I’d tasted ambrosia but would never again be able to savor the food of the gods.
Later, I’d pick up a sad-ass book. I’d let myself cry about the characters, rid myself of this knot, even while trying to convince the universe that the tears weren’t about
