“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice gentle.
“Think I’m not strong enough to take it?” she said over her shoulder.
“Yeah?” he said. “Let me know when to stop.”
He pounded into her with such force that she almost couldn’t hold herself against the wall. She loved it!
When she felt herself ready to explode, she turned onto her back and she opened her arms to him.
“Ready?” he asked, smiling.
“Yes,” she said and he entered her again, and this time he let himself—and her with him—reach the climax.
Shudders went through her, so strong they made her body convulse.
Minutes later, Colin rolled off of her, to lie beside her, his body sweaty. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“The best I’ve ever been in my life,” she managed to say.
He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. “I’m not sure yet, but I think I am too.”
She turned on her side to look at him. His dark hair was messed up, and there was a glow of sweat on him. She thought he’d never looked better. “It was exhausting, but I had a good time today.”
“In spite of arguing about couches?”
“Maybe because of that.” She was running her hand over his stomach. “You’ll see that I’m right about the leather. It would have been bad for this house.”
“Except for my chair.”
“I can’t believe you found a chair that has arms that flip back to hold a beer can.”
“Or a mug of tea,” he said. “And you think I don’t know that the coffee table you picked out can be used as a desk?”
“You bought a desk,” she said in defense.
“That’s because I sit in a chair. You prop your delightful little derriere on a rug.”
“Old habit,” she said as he put his arm out and she lay her head on it. “Actually, I like everything you bought.”
“We bought,” he said. “I never would have thought of sticking the old stuff in with the new.”
“I guess Sara’s house was still in my head.”
“Sara doesn’t believe anything should be new. I think all of it will look good, and thanks to your expert measuring, it’ll all fit.”
“Mrs. Ellis helped with the placement.”
“She was good at jamming in a lot everywhere, wasn’t she?” Colin looked at Gemma. “So what are we going to do about filling the kitchen cabinets?”
“Don’t look at me,” Gemma said. “I don’t know how to cook.”
“I’ve seen that you make a great omelet, and you’ve bragged incessantly about your meat loaf.”
“I mentioned it once! And then only in answer to your question. So who was it who made the pot roast you were lusting after? Jean?”
“Jealous all ready? Jean would never make anything as mundane as a pot roast. If it didn’t require some special pan sold only in Paris, Jean wanted nothing to do with it. Are we going to talk about her a lot?”
“Not unless you want to,” Gemma said seriously.