Page 62 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

She shrugs, smiles.

“I guess it worked out, didn’t it?”

I kiss her again, move to her jaw, nibble at her ear. She sighs beneath me, my hand in the small of her back.

“It did, even if I was the last to see it,” I say, my lips brushing her skin.

She lowers her head, offering me the nape of her neck. I kiss it slowly.

“Want to make up for lost time?” she asks, her voice soft, a little tentative, even now. I push my hands beneath her shirt, skimming up her skin as I shift my weight.

“Absolutely,” I say, and move on top of her.

I’m already hard as a rock. Hardly surprising given that I woke up next to her, and she sighs as I settle my weight onto her as her hips surge up, pressing my erection against her ass. My breathing hitches at the motion, my fingers already tangling in her panties, because all of a sudden, I need her now.Right now.

In seconds I’ve gotten her panties and my boxers off. Larkin tries to roll over, but I stop her with a hand on her back and a hard kiss. She spreads her legs for me with a sigh. I tease her, my fingers slipping along her wet lips, sliding around her clit as she gasps, hips bucking up toward me again.

This is beautiful, perfect. Last night was, too, but this is beautiful in a different way. Right now, she’s mine and mine alone, and I love that I can give myself to her this way, in this moment. That we all can, in our own time and way, and it doesn’t diminish a thing.

Larkin gasps as I enter her, clenching around me instantly. It feels like coming home, different than it did last night when I was sharing her, but every bit as good. She moans, holding herself up on her elbows, and I pause to shove a pillow under her hips, but I don’t pull out.

I fuck her slowly, tenderly, but I also nestle my fingers in her hair, pull her head back and kiss her. She clenches around me again when I do that, a moan escaping her lips as we kiss and it makes me fuck her a little harder, a little faster.

I can tell when she’s close by her breathing. Part of me wants to draw it out, drive her wild, make her beg, but that’s not what I really want. What I really want isher, perfect and unvarnished, just like she is.

When she comes she buries her face in her pillow, gasping and moaning, her pussy squeezing my cock like a fist. Seconds later I’m coming too, my face against the nape of her neck, pumping into her hard and fast and out of control.

I stay like that for a long moment after we’re finished, just being with her. She turns her face and I kiss her on the cheek before I move off of her, then take her in my arms again as she snuggles back against me.

“Larkin,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dalton

“Ten. No, wait. Eleven,”Gavin calls, standing atop a step stool in the back of the pantry. He looks back at me, ducking his head so he misses the hanging light.

Whole tomatoes, canned: 10, I write.

“And… six of pinto beans, five of kidney beans,” he says.

I write that down, too.

“Oh, and there’s… oh, wow,” he says, pulling something from the back of the shelf. “A jar of Marmite that expired in 1995.”

“Do you think it actually tastes worse?” I ask.

“Don’t see how it possibly can,” Gavin says, looking at the stuff. “Tasting worse than Satan’s fetid arsehole would be a neat trick indeed. We’ll just bin that, then.”

He tosses it into a small pile of similarly expired goods, then heads back up the stepladder.

“All right. Black beans!” he says, with a bushy-tailed excitement I don’t share. “Three cans.”

I write it down.

Apparently, part of the deal of the artists’ residency was that we take an inventory of the goods left in the kitchen right before we leave. If it were me, I’d probably step in here for a few minutes, guesstimate some numbers, and go lounge in the hot tub, but not Gavin.

Gavin dove right in with both hands, and now he’s cleaning out The Centennial’s pantry for them.

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