Baby Maker (It Takes Two 1)

I’m crushed. I don’t know why I held out hope that he hadn’t had sex with anyone else. He’s a grown man with needs. Completely normal needs. Still, the immature, possessive part of me is crushed.

“What I meant to say was…that I haven’t looked at––” He bends over me, hands planted on either side of my prone body. “I haven’t considered––” He shifts, crawling up on his knees. “I haven’t dated, or wanted to date any woman since the moment you and your ugly glasses walked into my life, Shorty.” His lips hovering over mine, he smiles broadly. I run my fingers through his hair and stroke his face, over the two days’ worth of scruff. “And no, I haven’t had sex with anyone either.”

And just like that, I fall.

This man…with the perpetual twinkle in his eyes and knowing smile. With his ability to make me smile when I least expect it. He’s a goose-down comforter on a cold rainy day, a tequila sunset, puppy kisses, and a fat bank account. He’s found his way onto a short list of my favorite things.

I reach down to remove his jeans and he pushes my hands away. In a hurry he stands, unbuttons half and wrestles the rest off. I almost laugh at how desperate he is to be rid of them.

His erection springs up and salutes me, ready for action once liberated. And it is a sight. I could devote an entire evening to staring at it. He’s built to scale. Thick and long, it almost reaches his belly, the dark-blond hair around it neat.

While I unabashedly stare, he kicks the jeans halfway across the room. “You stare any harder, baby, and the party will be over before it starts.”

Hooking his fingers over the top of my pajama bottoms and underwear, they’re discarded at once.

“I need to say something,” I half shout.

His lips quiver in amusement.

“Don’t take it personally if I can’t uh…come. Sometimes it’s hard for me. Not always but sometimes. When I’m…it’s been a while. With another person, I mean.”

“I hear you, baby.” More quivering of his lips. “I won’t take it personally.” I’m pretty sure it’s followed by a low chuckle.

While I push myself up the bed, Dane crawls over me.

“And don’t be nervous. I intend to worship you––”

“Dane…”

“Nope. I’ve waited too long for this. I’m gonna say what I wanna say.” His accent keeps getting thicker with every word spoken.

He kisses my nipple, draws it into his mouth and tugs with his lips and teeth, the pleasure so acute I just about explode right then and there.

“Worship every inch of skin…every part of you,” he mumbles. His hands roam over my breasts, my belly, between my legs. He strokes and pets until they fall open in silent gratitude.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good you won’t wanna get outta bed for a week,” he mutters against my hip bone, on his way south.

He kisses me between my legs, spreads me open, working me with his tongue and his hands. My body arching at the quickly building tension, aching for more. My fingers dig into his forearms while he keeps my legs pinned apart. One more hot stroke of his tongue and I go off like a Catherine wheel.

“Goddamn you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice is rough, eyelids heavy with lust.

Before I can come down from the stars, he grabs my thighs and pulls me to him, positioning himself between my legs. Up on his hands, looming over me, he grabs his shaft and rubs it back and forth against me. Then staring into my eyes he sinks in. For a moment I have doubts whether this will feel as good to me as it will to him. Only for a moment though. As soon as my body starts to give, the feel of him has me panting for more. I’m seconds from screaming for him to move.

One flex of his hips and my brain shuts down. After which I’m just a bundle of senses, registering the hardness and the heat, the thick slide, the drag of pleasure, the thrilling and maddening promise of more.

In small increments he rocks in deeper, until our hip bones touch. He’s gentle, controlled, his face tight from the effort he’s exerting to be careful. Except I don’t want gentle and controlled. I want leather belts and rugged fun. I want what he promises me every time we touch, every time he looks at me like he wants to tackle me to the ground and rip my clothes off. What happened to that guy?

I thrust my hips to meet his, but he pins me down with the smallest of effort. Then he kisses me, lowers himself onto his elbows, and kisses me tenderly. Lips on lips, his body blanketing mine, he pumps his hips slowly, every stroke measured and deliberate.

“I’m not made of glass.”

He stops moving and meets me eye to eye.

“But the b––”

I place a hand over his mouth, stopping him just in time. “Don’t say it.” His half-moon eyes crinkle at the sides. Under my palm, I feel him smiling. Then his tongue darts out and licks between my fingers. Laughing, I lift my hand away and caress the face of the man I love.

“It’s just you and me here. No one else. Give me everything you’ve got, and you better make it good, Dane…don’t hold back.”

That’s all the permission he needs. Gone is the tender lover, the doubt, the hesitation. He hooks an arm under my bent knee and sinks even deeper. His hips thrust hard and steady, with conviction and skill. Sweat drips down his chest, in between the clefts of his six-pack.

He leans closer. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he whispers. “So good…you’re perfect.” Rocking in hard shallow strokes, he grinds into me, igniting an orgasm so powerful it almost makes me cry. I come in rippling waves. And come and come and come. Drowning in pleasure, soul-singing pleasure that goes on and on and on.

Before I can recover, he flips us over. I’m straddling his hips, looking down at him as he grips my ass and squeezes. I can barely hold up my head I’m so sapped of energy. The fog of euphoria clears and I’m suddenly conscious of what I must look like hanging over him.

Dane lifts my chin to meet his intense gaze, intense and loving, so loving it feeds my courage. “You’re so beautiful, baby. You have no idea how beautiful you look ridin’ me.”

Even in bed he’s chatty. I can’t help but snicker.

“You laughin’ at me? ’Cause I have somethin’ to shut that pretty mouth up.”

Grinning wickedly, he lifts his hips off the bed and I fall forward, onto his chest and into his arms. A moment later, talking turns to kissing.

One swift jack of his pelvis and he fills me. I won’t deny it. It’s a rush having so much power and force beneath me, ready to do my bidding. His fingers span and press into my hips possessively, moving me exactly how he wants me. And I let him. I let him because he’s so willing to give me everything I need. Abandon, respite from doubt, pleasure, calf-cramping, toe-curling pleasure the likes of which I’ve never experienced before.

His hips pick up speed. My hands positioned for leverage. One on the pillow, the other braced against the headboard lest he sends me flying into it. A few hard thrusts are all it takes for me to come again. His name on my lips and in my heart. His pelvis bucks hard enough to lift us both off the bed. Swearing loudly, he comes too.

Exhausted. Boneless. My head rests on his rising and falling chest. As I listen to his big heart thundering near my ear, I know I’m a goner. One night is not going to be enough. Not when the history of sex has been rewritten. Because if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s that nothing and no one will ever compare.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stella

“You never talk about yourself.”

With his index finger, he pushes the hai

r away from my eye, traces my cheekbone, and follows it to my lips. I bite it and he smiles crookedly. Leaning in, he kisses me, next to his finger, until I let go and kiss him back.

After Dane suggested a dirty shower, we crawled back into bed. I’ll let you fill in the blanks of what a dirty shower entails. New discoveries: I love sex in the shower, Dane doesn’t like getting shampoo in his face, and I found muscles I didn’t know I had. Without a doubt I’m going to be paying for this sexscapade for weeks to come.

“There’s not much to talk about,” I whisper, hand tucked under my face, his inches from mine on the pillow.

His hand lazily brushes over my back and up my arm, soothing me into submission. It makes me want to tell him everything. “I spent most of my life studying and the rest making money.” I can hear how defensive I sound but it’s a touchy subject and Rome wasn’t built in a day. “You should’ve read the dossier, Wylder.” I finish with a wry smirk.

“I know you don’t like dark chocolate and strawberries, Shorty. That’s not what I’m talkin’ about.”

“The seeds get stuck between my teeth…so you did read it.” I turn onto my back, and pull the sheet over my bare breasts.

“I read your damn daseeyay, woman.” He gets up on an elbow, yanks the sheet down to my waist, and draws excruciatingly slow circles on my nipples. The argument I had ready dies a sudden death. I’m too busy enjoying what he’s doing to me to think, let alone argue.

“What else would you like to know?”

“Who’s your spirit animal?”

I grin widely. “That’s easy––George R. R. Martin.”

“Me too,” he volleys back with a completely straight face.

“Meant to be,” I snicker.

“I think so.” His voice is so low I almost miss it. Almost. My amusement fades, taking my smile along with it.

“What’s your issue with money?” he says, sensing my need to retreat.

“We never had it. It was hard.”

There are questions in his eyes. There’s also tenderness. His head dips, his lips almost on mine. “That can’t be all,” he murmurs, before placing a soft kiss on them.