Her cunt ripples around me and I can feel her suck in a breath in the moment that everything changes. Her entire body shivers under me and when I thrust my tongue into her mouth, her kiss in response is wilder, more frantic. Her nails dig into my skin again, and then we’re locked together, her body pinned under mine as I claim her hard, each thrust pushing our joined bodies across the bedsheets with the force of it.
She makes an escalating little sound, her hips rising up to meet each of my thrusts, and I hold her tight as I plunge into her. I need her to come again, to let go so I can finally claim my own release. But she moans and writhes under me, close but not quite there yet.
I need to get her there. Now. Fast. Before it’s too late and I spill my load.
Before I can push into her again, I reach between us and find her clit. I rub my fingers over it in a little circle and feel her body surge under mine. She bites down on my lower lip, making an intense little sound. I thrust into her again and then I can feel her body respond. Her cunt seems to suck me deeper and tightens hard around my shaft, and her entire body ripples with the force of her orgasm. She cries out and I keep rubbing her, even as I begin to thrust harder.
Now I can come.
Blind with lust, I pump into her with mind-blowing force. I’m in her wet heat, so deep that my entire cock feels like it’s being clenched tight in her pussy. I’m drowning with need for her, and a second later, I explode with the force of my orgasm. My entire body shudders with my release even as I continue to pump into her. It feels like I’m coming forever. Like there’s no end to my own orgasm. I’m barely aware of her sweaty skin under mine or that her hand is stroking through my hair as I collapse on top of her.
All I know is that she’s mine, and I’ve just claimed her.
Ivy
I lie atop the blankets of the enormous, posh bed, and feel totally and completely destroyed . . . in all the best ways. I’m exhausted, sweaty, my thighs are slick from my own release, and my long hair feels like it’s stuck to my skin.
But . . . wow. I feel incredible. Boneless, and sated, and completely, utterly sexy.
Boone rolled off of me the moment he came, and he lay in bed next to me for a moment before getting up to get rid of the condom. He returns a few moments later with a warm, wet towel and proceeds to bathe the insides of my thighs like it’s no big thing. Like I’m a piece of property that needs to be carefully maintained. And instead of being offended, I find it . . . oddly sweet. Thoughtful.
Of course, all of that changes when he strokes the towel over my pussy and gets a thoughtful look in his eyes when I shiver. So soon? I still feel hollowed out from sex with him. It was my first time, and while it felt tight and awkward for a few moments, it wasn’t the teeth-clenching ordeal I’ve heard it described as by some women.
“How you feelin’?” Boone asks, even as he slowly rubs the towel over my flesh.
I shiver, feeling squirmy under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m fine. And I can wash myself, really—”
There’s a sudden knock at the suite door. “Room service,” a male voice calls.
I squeak in horror and fling myself from the bed, racing toward the bathroom.
Boone just chuckles. “Coming,” he calls out. I look back at him and he’s wrapping the blanket around his hips, making his way to the door.
I close the bathroom door and press a hand to my overheated cheeks. I’d forgotten about room service completely. Good lord. I stare at the counter, covered with stray beard hairs and my scattered grooming kit, and realize I’ve forgotten about a lot of things. Boone has kissed the brains straight out of my head. I look at my reflection and a sound of horror escapes me at the sight. My hair is a nest of snarls, my lower face scratchy and red from his beard. There’s a hickey on one of my breasts and I have no idea how that got there. I eye myself lower, and sure enough, my inner thighs are the same scratchy pink as my face, because his beard was there, too.
I am going to be blushing for days.
I wash my face and wipe my body down with a wet towel, then comb my hair into a semblance of normalcy. I moisturize my irritated face with one of the hotel lotions and then crack the bathroom door open a hair, listening for people.
“You can come out, Ivy,” Boone drawls. “He’s gone.”
I wrap a towel around my body and emerge from the bathroom. Boone’s standing at a table, a tray of food in front of him, a bottle of champagne in his hands. His butt is to me and, gosh, it’s a really fine butt. I can’t help but notice the scratches on his back, though. And on his shoulders. And, okay, on his butt. “Sorry about the clawing. I guess I got carried away.”
He gives me a rather wicked look. “I am completely fine with you getting carried away, just for the record.”
I feel myself blushing, but move to his side. His beard looks fantastic now, neatened up and trimmed at the edges. The hillbilly look is gone, and in its place is a devastatingly gorgeous man . . . who needs me to finish his hair. Well, I suppose I can do that later. “I can’t remember what you ordered,” I tell him, gazing down at the silver-covered trays.
“Lobster,” he tells me. “Ain’t that what all the fancy guys buy their ladies when they go out?”
Late-night lobster? I hide my grimace and pull a lid off of one of the trays. To my delight, it’s dessert. There’s a plate drizzled with chocolate and decorated with berries, and in the center is some sort of cream puff with sugary bread. “Is this one for me?”
“Sure is.”
I can’t help but dig a finger into the icing. I lick it and it tastes like sin. “Mmm. What is it?”
“Hell if I know. It’s French.” He shrugs. “Sounded fancy as shit, though.”
I giggle. “Well, thank you.”
Boone’s eyes gleam with pleasure. “Gotta keep my elegant woman in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to.”
Somehow, I manage to keep smiling, but my joy is fading on the inside. What have I done? He’s bound to find out who I really am, and then the shit will officially hit the fan, and hit the fan hard.
Maybe I should tell him. Just fess up that all this is an act to try and launch my sorry real estate business and I’m more tramp than lady. Maybe he’ll just laugh at the fact that I trained my Texas drawl out of my voice, that I buy clothes I can’t afford and learned how to do my own hair and nails on endless YouTube videos because I needed to look salon perfect without being able to afford the salon.
He pours me a glass of champagne and sits down in one of the chairs at the table. Before I can pick a seat for myself, he grabs me around the waist and tugs me into his lap. He grabs the edge of my towel and pulls it off, and then I’m just as naked as he is. “That’s better,” he tells me.
I shiver, not because I’m cold, but because I’m hyperaware of all his naked skin. “Why is this better?”
“Because you get to eat your sweets,” he tells me, tugging the dessert plate in my direction. “And I’ll get to eat mine.” And he leans in and gently nips at my bare shoulder.
I bite back a moan.
I’ll tell him in the morning.
***
I wake up to Boone’s hand sliding between my thighs. He rubs my clit with his fingers as he kisses my neck, and doesn’t let up on either until I come. A moment later, he pulls me onto my hands and knees, puts on a condom, and then pushes into me from behind. His hand smooths down my back. “You sore, darlin’?”
I’m a little achy, but not enough to stop him. I shake my head.
That’s enough for Boone. He fucks me hard, jerking my hips back against his cock with every thrust. I do my best to stay silent and let him enjoy the moment, but that’s not enough for him. He’s not satisfied until he puts a hand between my legs and massages my clit with every thrust. That makes me nearly come out of my skin with pleasure, and he doesn’t come until I’ve screamed his name into the knotted handfuls of sheets at least twice. Then, he carries me to the shower and gently washes me from head to toe, as if I’m too tired and helpless to take care of myself. It’s almost funny, except he’s so very serious about it. He washes my hair with great determination, as if the world depends on my hair being shiny clean and perfect.
When we emerge from the shower, he lets me tidy up his hair with the scissors. I cut several inches away, not wanting to drastically alter his look to where he’s unhappy with it, but he insists I cut more. In the end, he winds up with ultra-short hair that’s just a little longer on the top. I put a bit of pomade on my hands and run them through his locks, and I’m stunned at how devastatingly handsome he is. He was good looking before, but I’m feeling a bit like Michelangelo with a marble block, and I’ve just uncovered David. Of course, David had a small pecker, so perhaps that’s not the best comparison for Boone.
“Why’re you smiling?” he asks me, leaning forward in the mirror to check his quickly drying hair. “Don’t look stupid, does it? I ain’t a good judge of these things.”
“You look fantastic,” I tell him. “Like a sexy beast.”
He gives me a devilish grin. “So sexy you wanna crawl back into bed with me?”
“You’re lucky it’s a Saturday, because if this was a workday—”
Something screams out of the other room, and I jump a little. “What was that?”
He grimaces and pats my shoulder. “That’s my ringtone for the money guys. Hang on a sec.”
I watch, mystified, as he goes to answer the phone. Sure enough, the scream echoes through the room again a second later, and he answers. “What is it?”
He’s silent for a long moment, and so I close the bathroom door to give him some privacy. I put my grooming kit away, twist my wet hair into a bun, and pin it tight, and then work on moisturizing my face again. I’m still a little pink from last night but I can’t find it in me to ask him to cut the beard . . . I like it too much, heaven help me.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Boone’s grinning ear to ear. “Get dressed, darlin’. We’re about to go have some fun.”