About Last Night

“God, yes. Please.”

But if asking nicely made any difference to his slow, thorough, tender assault, she was too far gone to notice. He teased her clit with glancing touches, light pressure, then firm, perfect, yes, right there, just like that—and then his fingers would skate away to sink back inside her. Over and over again, his mouth at her nape and behind her ear as tension began to build and her stomach tightened in anticipation.

“You’re going to make me come,” she said, shocked and excited at how easily he’d brought her to this point. How easy he made everything, as if the two of them had done this together a thousand times before, so of course he knew precisely what she needed, and of course he wanted to give it to her.

“Not yet,” he growled. “I want to be inside you.”

Her inner muscles spasmed around his fingers and she moaned, but he withdrew his hand, shoving a pillow beneath her stomach as he moved away. She heard a foil packet tearing open, and then he hooked one thumb behind her knee and eased it up, flattening her onto the pillow. Opening her body wide for him.

He entered her from behind, inch by inch, stroke by shallow stroke. Taking his time, waiting for her to adjust to his size, to the glorious feeling of stretching to receive him. Amazing. Just mind-blowingly amazing, the sensation of City buried deep inside her, the stiff, hot length of his cock and his sweat-slick stomach against her back. His weight. His scent. His everything. She thought she might die from it. Every part of her was tense and throbbing, ready to shatter.

He rocked a little, in and out, hips against her ass, and then slipped his hand beneath her and pressed one finger to her clit. That was all it took—two or three pulses of his fingertip and she came, suddenly and hard. Her entire body contracted around him, tearing a cry from her throat, some combination of incoherent language and helpless bliss.

She heard a sexy, rumbling groan from behind her, but he didn’t move. When the sensations finally subsided and she relaxed, he leaned forward to kiss the back of her neck. The tender gesture combined with the sensation of him still inside her was unbearably erotic.

He withdrew and rolled her onto her back. Resting on one elbow beside her, he ran a hand slowly from her shoulder to her knee, watching her with those green-brown eyes, keen and hot. “All right, love?”

“Yeah.” Her voice came out weak. She was more than all right. She was stripped down, naked and reborn. She was rippling with pleasure from her baby toes to the roots of her hair. Holy mother of God, City had just blown her mind.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, smoothing one hand over her breast and leaving it there, a warm, comfortable weight.

Oh, he was perfect. An orgasm—just for her—and a compliment. She would bottle him and sell him and make her fortune.

“And you’re one sexy banker, City.” His hair had gone dark at the temples, and sweat gleamed in the hollow at the base of his throat. On an impulse, she sat up and licked it. Salty and wet, his pulse pounding slow and steady beneath her tongue. She could just eat him.

A breeze blew in the open window as she raked her nails lightly across his stomach, making the muscles tighten. “Have mercy,” he said, and he smiled, but there was a desperate edge to it.

“Give me, like, thirty seconds to recover, and then I’ll take care of you, okay?” She didn’t mind the prospect one bit. She’d enjoy getting her mouth on him, giving him as much pleasure as he’d given her.

He caught her wrist and brought her arm above her head, raising the other to join it. Throwing a thigh across her hips, he centered himself between her legs and smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather take care of both of us.”

Damn if her heart didn’t skip a beat or two at the sight of him above her, the feel of him hard against her most sensitive of places. And, yeah, at the idea he’d just turned down a blow job because he wanted to get her off again. That was pretty arrhythmia-inducing, too.

It was hopeless, though. She always needed hours to recover from an orgasm. Not that she minded. It had been one hell of an orgasm. “I’m all tapped out. Sorry.”

“Mmm.” He ran one hand down her thigh to curve his fingers behind her knee. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“No, just one of those tragic facts of life. I’m a one-orgasm gal. What can you do?”

“Try harder,” he said, and then he kissed her and moved inside her with one smooth thrust, and she had to close her eyes and tear her mouth away to gasp, because he felt exactly right. Astonishingly perfect. When she opened her eyes, he was looking down at her, and she stopped breathing for a moment, her throat tightening with some emotion she couldn’t understand. As if they’d pressed a PAUSE button on reality, she and this man, so they could stop and just … be together. More together than people ever were. Together together.

She couldn’t make sense of what she felt. This was sex. Hot sex with an almost-stranger. Except when she met his eyes, it wasn’t. It was the two of them. It was bigger.

“What’s your name?” she asked. The question came out a

breathless whisper.

He laughed. “Nev.”

It was a nice name, unusual. A nickname, she supposed. A nickname for—

She sat up suddenly, bracing her elbows on the bed. “Short for Neville?”

The dimple appeared. “Only my mother calls me that.”

Dismayed, she dropped back onto the mattress and covered her eyes with the back of her hand. It was the world’s dorkiest name. Nearly as bad as Rupert. No, maybe a little worse than Rupert. Neville. For goodness’ sake. “I never thought I’d be penetrated by a Neville,” she said wonderingly. “Maybe a Colin, or a Simon, but—”

“Shut up.” He drew her other knee up and ground into her with a groan.