Page 29 of Repluse

His soft lips cover mine oh so gently. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, with just his mouth on mine for a long moment before his tongue joins the party. He pushes it into my mouth, tangles it with mine, harder, deeper, before it’s gone. His hands palm my breasts, and his fingers squeeze and pull at my nipples as I lift my hips in search of some friction.

“Wait, wait, wait, beautiful girl. I’ve got you, but let’s just enjoy this for a minute. Letmeenjoyyouwhile I’ve got you all to myself.”

Frankie’s handsome face flashes through my mind, and I wonder for a split second how he’s going to feel about us doing this without him. But all concerns for Frankie Walsh vanish the moment Sam’s mouth lands a direct blow to my clit. Here, he’s not gentle as his teeth drag over the most sensitive spot of mybody and he pushes two fingers inside me. I’m wet, soaked, and we both hear it as he pumps his fingers in and out of me.

“Fuck!” he hisses against my pussy. “I wanted to take my time, but I need to be inside you.”

I don’t get the chance to respond before he’s over me again. This time, he pulls me to the edge of the bed and stands between my spread legs.

“I want this to be good for both of us. This way, I don’t put any weight on those bruises,” he says with a wink while lifting my thighs.

I watch on in fascination as he moves my hips into position, takes his cock in his hand, lines it up with my pussy, and pushes slowly inside me.

“Fuck me. Look at you. Even bruised and in a cast you’re fucking exquisite. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

I continue to watch him as he watches us. He bites down on his bottom lip, his head tilted to the side as he stares down at where he’s sliding in and out of me.

“Turn your head to the right, Mila,” he orders without looking at me.

When I do, I watch in rapt fascination as the image of me and Sam is reflected back at me in the floor to ceiling mirror leaning against the wall. My eyes roam up the tensed calf muscles in Sam’s slightly bent legs, up his thighs, and over his arse cheeks as they squeeze and contract with every thrust inside me. His sculpted back, abs, and chest; his defined arms as he holds on to my hips and supports my weight. When I reach his face, my head begins to spin. It’s as if he knows my eyes are there waiting to connect with his in the mirror. With his top teeth still biting down on his bottom lip, he slowly turns to meet my needy gaze. At the same time, he presses his thumb to my clit and moves it in slow, languorous circles.

I come undone, releasing a loud moan as my orgasm rolls through me, on and on, from my toes to my hair roots—every part of me feels it.

“Look at you. Look at us. Meant to be, Mila. Fucking meant to be.”

My gaze moves from his reflection to mine. Bruises hidden by my position, all I see is a blonde I don’t recognise. Her back arched, hair spread all over the bed, nipples peaked, mouth open as she rides out an intense orgasm being delivered by an absolute fucking god of a man. My attention is drawn back to him as his own back arches. I follow the tense cords of his neck as he tilts his face up to the ceiling and pulls my hips tighter against his as I feel him empty inside of me.

“Fuck.Fuck,” is all that he groans out.

CHAPTER 9

Sam

Sensing her eyes on me, I hold the cup containing the ‘joy’ teabag under the boiling water tap.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “Is that boiling water?”

“Boiling, chilled, still, or sparkling,” I reply without turning around.

“Fancy,” she says, and for some reason it makes me smile.

I pause a moment because no matter how many times I’ve looked at her today, taken in her bruises and the cast on her arm, I know I’ll still have to fight to hide the unmitigated anger I feel when I face her again.

“Yeah. Fucking expensive, too,” I state while sliding her tea in front of her.

Stepping back, I lean against the granite countertop and take her in from where she sits on a stool on the other side of the island bench. She’s staring down into her mug, her long blonde hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. An image flashes in front of me of her spread out on my bed, hair fanned out around her, completely naked, looking like she’d been delivered to me directly from heaven. Except she’s no fucking angel, and thebruises covering one side of her face and body are evidence of the other life she lives. The life of a wife.

My molars get another workout—the nine million seven hundred and eighty-three thousandth since Mila came into my life less than a week ago.

Never in all of my thirty-seven years have I reacted this way to a woman, and I’ve no idea what it is about her that has me all twisted up.

I own a half share in a sex club. There are women. Women I fuck. Women I watch fuck. That’s sex—just sex. There’s no emotional connection with them—on my part at least—whatsoever. There are only two women I’ve been emotionally involved with. Amy while I was at Melbourne Uni. We split amicably when she took a job in New York. Then there was Anna, who I briefly dated eleven years ago. Despitethinkingthere was a connection, when Anna’s irrational jealousy quickly made itself apparent, I stopped seeing, and feeling, all the good things about her and ended it. She stalked me for a while, until in the end, I had some people I know ‘encourage’ her to stay the fuck away from me. Last I heard, she’d had some kind of mental breakdown and gone back to her parents in Germany.

I’ve never been in love, never felt compelled to pick up the phone and call someone just to say, ‘hey’. Other than my family, I’ve never missed anyone. Not their presence, their smile, or their smell. Not until Mila.

“I can feel your eyes on me. What are you thinking?” she looks up and asks.

I feel dizzy, and that makes me feel like a fucking idiot as her grey-blue eyes meet mine. What the fuck is going on here? Her head tilts to the side.

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