The F-Word

At first, I am afraid to move. But my Bailey is afraid of nothing. She rocks against me. Gently. Then harder. Harder. And finally I stop thinking, stop worrying, I say her name and it has to be now.

The need to have her, take her, possess her is all I know.

I bend to her; she lifts to me. She wraps her hands around my biceps. We find a rhythm and it’s perfect—but it isn’t enough. I need more. I need to see her come.

I need her to surrender to me, to me, to me…

Her muscles begin to contract around my swollen dick. She sobs my name. I am driving into her. I am lost within her…

She cries out. Her body arches like a bow, and she splinters in my arms. Then, only then, I throw back my head, I let go, and we fly into the night together.

* * *

I lie sprawled over her. I outweigh her by at least seventy pounds and I know I have to move, but the world is still tilting. Finally, I lever myself away and roll to my side with her in my arms.

I feather kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Bailey? Honey, are you okay?”

Yeah, I know. It’s the most banal after-sex question imaginable, but I have to ask. Did I hurt her? Does she have regrets? Not that I can do anything about either of those things now.

She sighs. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because—”

She lifts her head and gives me a long, tender kiss. “Stop worrying,” she says gently.

“I’m not worrying.” Hell. Of course I’m worrying. I have never taken a woman’s virginity before. “Do you need something?” I ask, as I go from banal to foolish. “Water? A towel? Anything?”

She laughs softly. “I need to get up, that’s all.”

She feathers another kiss over my lips. Then she starts to shift away and I stop her.

“Bailey? I didn’t plan this. I mean, I didn’t think…” Liar! “What I mean is, I didn’t plan it. But I thought about it. About us, like this…”

She lays her hand lightly over my mouth. “So did I.”

I blink. “You did?”

She blushes. “Yes. Now let me get up. I have to, you know, I have to wash up.”

Reality hits. Shit. I have all the sensitivity of a bull moose. She’s probably bleeding. Because of me. Because I took—

“And stop being such a male chauvinist,” she says lightly. “You didn’t take anything.”

Hell. Did I say that out loud? “That’s sweet of you to say, but—”

“Matthew.” She rises up on her elbow. Her hair swings over the side of her face. I slide my hand into all that lovely silk and draw her to me for another kiss. “Matthew,” she says, a little breathlessly, “this isn’t some Victorian novel. Making love was as much my idea as yours.”

I laugh and tug her down into my arms again. “What happened to my prim and proper PA?”

“You set her free,” she says as she traces the outline of my mouth with the tip of her index finger.

I am delighted by her sexy confession. “Really,” I say, sucking her finger into my mouth.

“Yes, really. Now, come on. Let me up. I promise, I’ll be right back.”

I let go of her and she rises from the bed. The chambermaid has left white velour robes on chairs on either side of the nightstands. Bailey reaches for hers, but first I get a look at her from the rear. She reminds me of an Impressionist nude. Rosy skin. Long lines. Gentle curves. Even her ass is a work of art.

I wait until she closes the bathroom door before I check the sheets. If there’s blood, I don’t want her to have to deal with it. No. The sheets are pristine.