The Wrong Gentleman

“I like you,” I said. From anyone else that wouldn’t mean much, but me telling someone, a woman, how I felt about them was a big deal because I’d never done it before.

And from the way her eyes softened and the corners of her mouth curled into a smile, she understood that.

She skirted her fingers down my chest, and I grabbed her hand, circling her wrist and linking our fingers before she got too low.

“I like you too,” she replied.

I didn’t quite know how to tell her, but tonight wasn’t going to be enough for me. I was all in. “I don’t want to not do this again.” I was being unusually awkward. I wanted her to understand what I was thinking, but didn’t want to come on too strong.

“You don’t want to not do this again? Does that mean you do want to do this again?”

Of course she’d called me out.

I squeezed her hand. “I know you have rules and criteria, but . . .”

“And so do you. What about your quick bang and here’s ten dollars for breakfast, babe, routine?”

“Erm, I’m not going to offer a girl ten dollars to buy her own breakfast. That’s insane.”

Her chuckle reverberated against my ribcage. “Oh, that’s right. It’s a no-breakfast deal.”

“You,” I said, rolling her to her back, “are beyond cheeky.” Sliding her hands up over her head, I pressed a kiss against her neck.

“But I’m not wrong,” she said.

I worked my way down her body, kissing, licking, biting. I found her nipple with my mouth, flicked my tongue, and enjoyed hearing her moan. “Careful. If you complain, you won’t get breakfast money,” I said.

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” Her voice came out husky and needy, which was just how I liked it.

I trailed kisses from one hip bone to the other, her fingers pushing through my hair, urging me on before I stopped and hauled myself off the bed.

She pushed up on her elbows, her hair falling around her shoulders, her skin reddened from my lips. “What?”

“Stand up and turn around.”

Without questioning me, she did as I asked, and gently, I pressed her over so she was standing over the bed, bent at the waist, her hands resting on the mattress.

“This is how I saw you the first time around. Your back to me. Your perfect arse swaying from side to side.” She whimpered as I rolled another condom onto my straining dick then caught her hips, holding her in place.

“Are you ready?” I asked, sweeping my hand between her legs, thankful that I found her wet and ready.

She nodded, clutching the bedcovers and bowing her head.

I pushed in slowly this time and found her tight as a drum. I gritted my teeth, cursing her effect on me and wondering at the same time how I could make it last forever.

She collapsed onto her chest, her arms shooting behind her, reaching for my legs, urging me forward, deeper. So impatient. I grinned as she gasped when I settled deeper into her than I’d been before.

“Landon, it’s so—oh my God.”

“Can you handle it? Can you cope with how deep I am? How fucking good it feels?” I bit out.

She turned her face into the mattress, muffling her loud groans.

I pulled out slowly, the room spinning as I tried to maintain my self-control. “Tell me that you don’t want to feel me again. Tell me you can live without my dick in you.” I thrust back into her when she didn’t respond.

“I can’t,” she cried out. “I want it. Please, Landon.”

Her begging was the last thing I heard as blood rushed through my ears and my pulse tried to break out of my skin. I fucked her relentlessly, ignoring the sweat trickling down my spine and the way Skylar stumbled as her legs gave way to her orgasm. I just kept fucking, desperate for release, desperate to make sure she always remembered how good this was. Desperate to have her need me again.