One Night Wife (The Confidence Game 1)

“I think we can agree that got you off,” he said. “How about we try this?”

This involved the most delicious press of his weight, combined with a kiss she could’ve kept playing with all night, its taste rudely distinct. This involved a slow penetration, a lovely halting invasion as he entered her, his low pained groan, and the fact he shook and swore from the effort of letting her adjust to his girth. This made her arch and push against him as if it wasn’t enough when it was everything good and about to be better.

He dropped his forehead to her shoulder. She gripped his biceps, nudged her face against his. “I wanted this for so long. This is the truth of us, Cal. No pretense. No holding back.”

“I’ve got no manners left in me.” He pushed up to his hands. “Hold on while I make it nasty.”

She hitched her knees to her sides when he thrust, and they both groaned, and as she braced her hands on the headboard, he let go. She wanted to watch him as he became more machine than man, feel him, own him in the moment, but she was swamped with sensation and could not keep her eyes open.

One plus two was how many times he could make her come, hitting a pleasure spot inside her again and again, giving her wave after wave of teeth-clenching bliss before he lost his rhythm and emptied into her, coming to rest beside her and claiming her mouth.

They kissed lazily as their bodies cooled and their hearts calmed, neither one of them finished for the night. She started laughing for no reason that was funny, but for the insane joy of having come together effortlessly after a tangled dance of emotions that’d often left her feeling wrong-footed and ungainly.

Cal rolled her into his arms. “You could simply tell me I’m terrible in bed.”

Entertained anew, she checked his expression. He was too self-aware to think what they’d done was anything but award winning.

“Worst I’ve had.” It came out garbled because she was laughing too hard, and unable to keep looking at him, she’d buried her head in his shoulder.

“The answer to your question is four,” he said.

She’d long since forgotten the question but was reminded when he rolled them again, and the softness of the bed was replaced with the solidness of his chest as he pulled her on top of him, knees either side of his hips. He wasn’t hard again yet, but he was clearly confident he would be. Smug Cal had his advantages. He moved her hips where he wanted them and then centered her with a thumb to her clit. “Make an explosion, baby.”

“All the colors,” she said, putting her hands to his ribs for bal

ance, rolling her hips, doing it again, again, feeling him stiffen underneath her. “Cal.”

He tilted his pelvis and yanked her forward. “You’re fucking beautiful. But you’re a trap.” Oh, there it was the beginning of orgasm number four. “You’ll make it impossible to leave you.”

“You gotta stay for the finale.”

“Never leaving. I’m your biggest fan.”

She laughed, head spinning, body wanting, when he said biggest, because everything was big, the shimmers rising in her belly, the thickness of his cock, the slickness between them, the aggressively hungry set to his jaw, and the way his eyes moved on her, as if he couldn’t decide what pleased him more and had to have it all at once.

She took him inside easily this time, achingly ready, almost there already when he grunted and his belly hollowed out.

“Fucking perfect trap,” he said, sounding like he resented it as much as he loved it.

“I need—”

He knew what she needed—more speed, more pressure, more wonder, right there—and gave it to her, pulling her down to his chest, pressing his heels to the bed and pistoning into her. She bit his neck when she came, not by choice, all reaction because the way he threw his head back in response to her pussy tightening around him made her want to be in that same place of extreme pleasure at the same time. He groaned, a filthy, gritty sound and grasped her head and her ass and held her in place till he’d ridden out the wave.

She was the one trapped and not in the prison of his arms. Cal had detonated her world and shown her a stage she could tread triumphantly. She did shine because he’d given her the confidence to. He believed in her, and that was the real explosion.

“Did I break you?” she said, as his arms went slack and dropped to the bed.

“No, you’re terrible at sex.” His voice was endearingly creaky, and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“You’re an awful liar.”

That got them open. That got her shifted up his body until he could lick across her lips. “No truer words.”

For a second, she thought he sounded sad, so she made it up to him with kisses.

They slept thoroughly entwined, waking just enough to tangle up in a newly comfortable way. Cal woke her when the room was beginning to lighten and coaxed her down to the beach where they swam, this time with suits on, and tangled up all over again, floating together out beyond the breakers, never ceasing to touch. Getting dumped by a wave because they were too busy watching each other to notice the sea.

Back on the shore, he wrapped her in a towel and his arms and stood at her back while they watched the morning show up, clean and new and full of savagely beautiful possibilities.