After the Kiss (Sex, Love & Stiletto 1)

The hand disappeared at the same time as he fumbled for the soap and washcloth. He scrubbed himself clean in record time before taking his time with her, dragging the soapy washcloth over every inch until she was ready to beg for more.

Finally he flicked the water off and grabbed a towel from the rack, managing to get them both only partially dry before she hooked a hand behind his head, pulling it down to hers and flicking her tongue across his lips. He swore, dropping the towel and scooping her up as he walked her out of the bathroom the same way he’d walked her in. Only this time they were skin to skin.

They fell roughly to the bed, and Julie slid her hands restlessly over his shoulder, beyond caring that she was bedding the subject of a future article on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

His big hands slid over her body until they were stroking her inner thighs, and her legs fell open for him.

“Pill? Tested?” he asked gruffly, his expression tense with desire.

She nodded. “Yes. Mitchell, now.”

But he wouldn’t hurry. His hands cupped her butt and squeezed.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

She met his blue eyes and gasped as he slowly entered her, never once breaking the gaze. Nobody had ever used eye contact as a bedroom move before, but it seemed to intensify every feeling.

Still, Julie waited for the inevitable sense of letdown. She’d always been all about the foreplay. Once that was over, she’d always found sex just a tiny bit ho-hum.

But there was nothing dull about having Mitchell moving inside her. His hands gripped her harder, lifting her hips to meet his firm thrusts.

It felt impossibly good, but … “Mitchell,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t … you know, like this.”

It was a painful admission, one she usually didn’t make, for fear of seeming greedy. But damn it, she needed release.

He leaned forward and kissed her softly. “Can’t you?”

One arm slid up by her head as he supported his weight on his elbow while the other hand slid to her moist folds. Julie almost rolled her eyes because guys always thought this worked and it was almost always awkward, but then—oh. Oh!

“There, please.” She wanted him to speed up, but he apparently knew her body better than she did, because he kept the same rhythmic circular motion until her world shattered into a million pieces.

Slowly his hand slid away as he let her come out of the stratosphere before he kissed her softly and began to move again. Julie wrapped her legs around his waist and met him thrust for thrust, wanting him to find the explosive pleasure he’d given her.

He pushed into her harder and faster until she felt him stiffen and shudder as he called her name.

Mitchell collapsed on top of her, his ragged breathing matching her own.

As if she needed proof that he was one of the good ones, he rested his weight on her only for a moment before rolling to his side so she could breathe.

She considered dashing to the bathroom to fix the worst of her sex hair and do a little delicate cleanup. That was what she would normally do.

Instead, she rolled into him, nuzzling her nose against his chest. He ran a shaky hand over her mussed hair, and she smiled in satisfaction.

But as the orgasmic euphoria began to fade,

her mind kicked into overdrive. What now? Was this the right time for the where-are-we-going chat? When did normal, relationship-seeking girls ask that question? It seemed sort of soon, but then the sex had been sooner than expected too.

“Mitchell?” She poked a finger against his chest when he didn’t respond. “Hello?”

He let out a sleepy snort, and Julie stiffened in surprise. He was asleep? She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Then his arm curled around her waist, pulling her closer, and Julie’s own eyelids began to droop.

Then Julie marked yet another first off her dating checklist: she fell asleep with a perfectly nice man on a quiet afternoon. Not because it was good material for her column. But simply because she wanted to.

Chapter Seven

Julie stared at the blinking cursor on her computer screen. Maybe wine would help. Or coffee. Or chocolate.

Or maybe a whole new freaking story idea.