Her orgasm followed; her high cries of ecstasy mingling with his in the warm air of his office. She’d been trying to make this about him, but her body greedily took its own release. Unable to support her own weight, she dropped her arms from the back of the chair and fell against him.
He turned his head, his heavy exhalations fanning her hair. With a soft kiss against her temple, he breathed her name again.
* * *
The sexiest woman he’d ever seen draped over him like a wet towel. Only Kimber didn’t feel like a wet towel. She felt like a warm, sated woman. Her limbs and soft scent wrapped around him, rendering him useless.
When he’d followed her in here, the goal had been to make her come twice… maybe three times, but she hadn’t allowed him to get that far before she’d demanded he sit down and she gave him the ride of his life.
He had no regrets.
Tonight had been a fantasy come to life.
Number eight. Check.
What were there? Two left? Maybe once they reached the end of the list, they could start over at one again. Against the door…
He smiled. He could go for another round against the door.
Her teeth closed over the tendon running from his shoulder to jaw, and she bit him lightly. “You’re tense here,” she said against his heated flesh. She pursed her lips and kissed him gently, soothing the phantom sting of the bite.
“I don’t know how.” He was still inside her, his arms lying limply at his sides. He wanted to wrap them around her, lift her off his lap, and carry her to the nearest shower. Or to bed. But he couldn’t find the energy.
“Me, either,” she mumbled. “This is the least stressful week of my life.”
Her delivery was so dry, he laughed, the sound tumbling through his chest, loosening him more. Being with her was so easy. He didn’t remember ever having been with a woman and it being easy at the same time. Lissa hadn’t been cuddly, and he hadn’t, either… until now, apparently. All he wanted to do was sit here and continue breathing in the faint sweetness of Kimber’s hair. And he was in absolutely no hurry to remove her from his lap.
She had more willpower than he had, pushing off him. He groaned when the cold air hit his skin, his eyes still closed, his brain on vacation.
“Oh,” he heard her say.
“Oh?” he repeated. A tap on his shoulder forced him to open his eyes. She stood at the front of his chair, gestured to his lap, and bit her lip.
He dipped his chin and looked down at the condom. Oh? More like Oh shit.
The latex had broken. Wide open. And he’d stayed inside her long enough to…
Shit. Long enough.
“I’m… um…” She shook her head instead of finishing her thought, then pointed to the door and shuffled out of his office. He heard her footsteps retreat down the hall, toward one of their bedrooms, he guessed.
He surveyed the mess on his lap again. No good.
Potentially very bad, if he were being honest.
After a brief stop in the bathroom bisecting the hallway to clean himself up, he checked his room. Empty. He walked the corridor to the opposite end and entered Kimber’s old room. She was in there; he could hear the shower running in the attached bath.
He let himself into the steam-filled room and refused to panic. Or maybe he refused to accept the possibility that they’d just made a baby on his leather office chair. Wasn’t like there was a whole hell of a lot they could do about it now, anyway. The shower in here was smaller than the one in his room, the air infused with cucumber body wash his housekeeper must not have thrown out. It smelled like Kimber in here. Cool, refreshing, sexy Kimber.
“It’s me,” he announced like a moron. Who else would it be? He parted the dark blue curtain and found a soapy and very distraught redhead inside. “Wash your back?”
She smoothed her wet hair and nodded, rivulets of water running down her face. He stepped beneath the hot, hot spray to stand next to her. “I hope you’re not trying to scald me off of you.” He thought he was kidding, but the words were a lance to his chest.
She shook her head. “I’m not.” She braced her arms over her breasts, looking… well, terrified.
He planted his hands on her arms and rubbed, bending to meet her eyes. Green eyes filled with doubt. With fear.
“What are the odds?” he asked her, a smile plastered to his face. Because the truth was, the odds were pretty slim with him and Rachel but she’d wound up pregnant, too. He swallowed a wave of nausea.
This is not that. It wasn’t the same at all.
“Slim,” she admitted, closing her eyes.