One Night with the Sexiest Man Alive (The One 1)

She tipped her face up in answer and the kiss was soft and tender, made for the moment, and sweet enough because he’s asked first, to douse her whole body in longing.

“How is your whelm going now?” he asked as he pulled back.

Over. Way over the red line. He had to be able to feel her shaking. She clutched at his lapels. “I need.” There was no way to finish that sentence. Her whole world was need. To store up every detail of this amazing day, this incredible man. To be closer to him. To make this stop. To make it never end.

“I need too,” he said, his hands searching for hers, his voice low and smoky, telling her he wasn’t as unaffected as she’d thought.

He got them out of there fast after a round of thanks and handshakes with the band and a photo with the cleaning crew. In the elevator, he held her hand to his chest and didn’t take his eyes off her. In the suite, he went to his knee, undid her shoes and helped her step out of them, running his hands under her dress all the way up her legs to her thighs.

“I want you. Can you take it again?”

“You’ll be gentle.” It wasn’t a question. Their whole mood had shifted from playful and wild to something quiet and deliberate she couldn’t name, but it was fresh as a spring morning, dew still on the grass, or a dip in the ocean when the current was cool and the sea was clear as glass.

He unwrapped her like it was Christmas morning and she was a much-anticipated intricate treasure. She helped him out of his suit by getting in his way, making him stop undressing to take her face in his hands and kiss her so deeply, they both forgot what they were doing.

And what they were doing was loving each other as best they were able for two near-strangers from different worlds who’d become overwhelmed with each other.

It might be enough to make Teela’s heart explode.

TEN

Sex was different this time. It wasn’t the same scramble for Haydn to get undressed or a game to stay clothed. This was somehow serious. Not in a weight-of-the-world fashion but it mattered. It meant something deeper and they both felt it.

Buttons gave him trouble, his zipper, not only because Teela tried to help and it was an excuse to kiss her, but because his own hands were trembling.

He wanted this badly and yet they’d had each other over and over.

This was new.

He’d gone and suckered himself with the whole magical dress, post-wedding crash, private dance thing. It was fucking romantic. Scene worthy. The air perfumed by flowers, the band decked out in black-tie but looser, coats off, ties undone, alcohol at hand, and the remains of another couple’s attempt at a happy ever after their backdrop.

It was a fucking lot for real life.

It made Teela go quiet. She didn’t get how effortlessly lovely she was. How much he liked to hear her laugh. To know she had a put-down ready to zing him with. She certainly didn’t understand the effect she had on him.

He didn’t understand it himself.

Dancing with her had made Haydn’s heart itch, swell in his chest like he’d been attacked by something. Australia probably had a stinging insect that could bite you through layers of expensive tailoring and give you heart palpitations.

It was a fucking lot for his real life.

He was nervous about having sex with a woman he’d never see again after tomorrow. A woman he’d given a bunch of orgasms to not hours ago. How was that possible? They barely knew each other apart from having sorted out basic fundamentals, like which way they turned their heads for that first kiss and how each of them liked to be touched.

And yet they touched now in new ways that felt different, tasted different, sounded different, as if they’d come off that dance floor as people who’d never met before and yet knew intimate details about each other.

He knew she loved kisses on her neck, that her left nipple was more sensitive than her right, that she came hardest in missionary if he tilted his hips down and kept his rhythm consistent, but if he took her from behind, she needed her clit stroked.

She knew how to use her tongue in his mouth, on his cock, an insane little swirl, to make him hold his breath, and she’d worked out that if she put her teeth to his earlobe while she wrapped her hand around his dick, he would carve the world in half and serve it to her for breakfast.

It was a lot.

It wasn’t sex, what they were doing now, sprawled across the bed, bodies so entwined it was hard to tell where he finished and she began. It was slower and deeper. Aches he didn’t recognize he had were soothed when he came. Needs he’d thought long fulfilled were broken open and filled anew. Fucking was always good. Sometimes great, or sweet, angry or funny. It wasn’t ever this profound. He found sheer joy in her cries of pleasure, and nearly passed out from the wave of tenderness he experienced when she shook through her orgasm with tears in her eyes.

He caught one on his finger and put it to his tongue. “Too much?”

She pushed her face into his neck and let out a sob. “That was intense. I’ve never had sex like that. Never felt.” She had trouble getting her breathing in order.

“Rocked to the core.” That’s the best description he could come up with. It was a little unnerving.