Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

“Oh my God,” she said, head dropping onto his shoulder.

He chuckled and kissed near her ear.

“I probably just scarred some stranger for life,” she said.

“Yeah, but you liked it.”

“You liked it too, pervert.” She wiggled against his erection.

Sean sucked in a breath. “Don’t tease me.”

“Who’s teasing?” she asked. “I want that inside me immediately, and if I don’t get it, I’m going to sue.”

“For what?” Sean asked, leaning over to grab the condoms.

“Breach of contract. Reckless endangerment. I don’t know, I’ll think of something.” She reached behind her, hoping to take him in her hand, but he pushed her away and up onto her knees.

“All fours, ssweetheart.” Paper tore.

Just the idea of it thrilled her. The mental picture of Sean entering her from behind.

“You had this whole thing planned out.” She dropped to her hands.

“Mmm.” He palmed her butt with appreciative languor. “It’s what I do.”

“Plan things?”

“I solve problems.”

“How romantic.”

“Okay, how’s this? I make magic happen.”

She laughed again, and then his hands were on her hips and he slid against her, hard and hot and blunt against the swollen lips of her sex. The head of his cock brushed her clit, and when she moaned, he did it again, and he kept doing it until she was pushing her forehead into the carpet and saying “please.” Then, finally, he moved inside her, a few experimental strokes followed by a deep thrust that made her gasp.

“Oh my God,” Katie said to the floor. He was deep. So deep, and so hard, she could feel him in her toes.

“Good or bad?” he asked, lowering his hands on either side of her shoulders.

“Good. Ohmigod, good. Definitely good. Definitely—” He withdrew and thrust again. “Gooooood.”

“Thank God,” he said with another thrust. “I was afraid—you were going to say—‘bad,’ and I’d have—to stop.” He’d found his rhythm, slow and steady and deep enough to make her fingertips go white from clutching ineffectually at the short nap of the carpet.

“Could you—stop?”

“I don’t think so.” He groaned and kissed the juncture of her shoulder and neck. “Fffuck. No way.”

She couldn’t talk anymore. His hand eased down her stomach and between her thighs. He stroked her slippery, sensitive flesh as he pumped inside her, his straight arm a tense column of muscle beside her head, his fingers relentless and knowing just what to do to make her tremble, his cock filling her up as they came together with one wet smack after another. It should have felt dirty, illicit, but it only felt right. Familiar. Fantastic.

She urged him on, meeting him eagerly on each stroke, wanting him to know what he did to her. How badly she needed him. How intensely she wanted him, wanted this, wanted them. Whatever they were. For however long it lasted.

He knew she was going to come again before she did. “That’s it, baby,” he said in her ear. “That’s it. Let it happen.” So she let it come, she welcomed it, and she thought another car went by but she couldn’t be sure, because the whole damn Macy’s Parade going by couldn’t have distracted her from the orgasm he gave her. She came, and she cried out, and Sean clutched at her hips and groaned and pumped into her harder until he went rigid and came, too.

Her arms gave out. Katie fell to her elbows and giggled. Out of breath, undignified, and happy.

Sean leaned down and bit her earlobe. “You’re not supposed to laugh afterward. It’s bad for my ego.”

“Honey, if your ego or any other part of you needs stroking after that, you’re way too high-maintenance for me.”