Shut Up and Kiss Me (Happy Endings 2)

And druggy.

And delicious.

“You feel so good,” I tell her on a low groan as I ease out, swivel my hips, then pump back in.

With an arch of her back, she lets out a long, staggered sigh. Her fingers twist in the sheets. As I thrust, she grips harder.

“More,” she urges, and my God, my Emerson has a bottomless appetite for feeling.

For hard, hot sex.

For hurt.

For intensity.

I pick up the pace then raise a hand again and smack the outside of her thigh.

On a throaty cry, she shudders and grips the sheets so tight her knuckles whiten, pushing her face into the mattress like she can’t bear it. But that won’t do. I want to see her, feel her. Be connected to my woman.

My woman.

Yes, she is mine.

In all the ways.

I lower my chest to her back, still fucking, but I grab her chin. “Wanna look at you,” I tell her.

She turns her face to the side.

And I want to do more than look at her. I crush my lips to hers in a messy kiss.

A kiss that’s all lightning and fire as I take her and kiss her at the same damn time. Smacking her thighs, kneading her ass, kissing and fucking and feeling.

It’s furious and a little out of control, our mouths sliding, bodies slamming. I’m aching to come, but I fight it off.

Need to get her there.

One more rough, dirty kiss and it flips a switch in her. Seconds later, she gasps then shivers all over. Her sounds echo in the room like the anthemic chorus in a rock song. She hits the highest note and falls to pieces under me in a coda of incoherent murmurs and sighs.

My climax slams into me, hitting me all at once. It’s everywhere as I shudder through the blissful sensations, ones I want to experience again and again.

With her.

The next day, and the next.

And every single day after that.

17

Flash Mobs and Reclusive Chefs

Emerson

* * *

I once told Nolan I don’t do casual sex because I don’t know how to act afterward.

Right now, I do know how to act because there is sex and then there is intimacy, and that was both.

So I don’t have to act at all. I can just be . . . me.

Nothing felt casual about sleeping with Nolan. Thirty minutes later, I’m still basking in the afterglow as I slide my arms into a robe and tie it tightly.

“Robes are cool,” I say with a sexy little jut of my hip as I leave the bathroom, post-shower.

“Maybe on you,” Nolan says, hooking the towel around his waist.

I flop down on the bed, and he joins me.

Perhaps this is when the awkwardness sets in. I can feel it creep up on me, but I swat it away with words. “Are you going to spend the night?”

He strokes his chin as if deep in thought. “It’s a long way back to my place. I don’t really want to do the walk of shame,” he says, and I swat him.

Then I snuggle into my pillow. “I think I’m a pervert.”

He laughs, drops a kiss to my neck, chases it with a nibble. “Why’s that?”

“Hello? You should know. Every time we sleep together, I’m like more, please, bite me, hurt me, smack me.”

He laughs. “God, it’s so awful. A woman who knows her mind.”

I turn to him, running a hand over a messy lock of his hair, tucking it behind his ear. He’s all warm and lovely right now, all boyfriend-y.

I can’t see him as just a friend any longer, or just a business partner.

My heart somersaults.

And my big mouth can’t stay shut.

“What are we doing?” I mince no words, meeting his gaze straight on.

“Debating where to sleep,” he says with a hint of a grin.

“Yes, I’m clear on that,” I say.

He tugs at the robe’s belt. “Well, if you take this dumb robe off, I can curl up with you, and we can sleep. Or not sleep,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. But before I can ask again, he presses a soft kiss to the shell of my ear. “We’re doing . . .”

I wait for him to finish, my pulse slamming against my skin.

“I guess what we’re doing is figuring out just how terrible your taste in men is,” he says with a wry smile.

I roll my eyes then close them, feeling a little hollow. If he can’t say what he wants, there’s no way this can become what I crave.

The mattress shifts. It dips near my face. Nolan’s weight is on me, and I open my eyes to stare up at a hunk of a man straddling me.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he says, “but I want to do it again. And it’s not just the sex I want . . . It’s you.”

My whole body goes shivery. That’s enough. Truly enough for me now. “Stay the night, please,” I say again.