Page 94 of Bitter Rival

He slides his hand between the place where we’re joined and rubs his thumb over my swollen clit.

My back arches off the mattress and I clench around him.

“That’s it. Squeeze my cock like a good girl.” He pinches my clit between his fingers and I scream his name, convulsing around him while he thrusts faster, almost manically.

He comes on a roar then collapses on top of me, his forehead dropping to mine, our bodies slick with sweat and we stay like that for a few moments, trying to catch our breath.

Then he pulls away and ties the condom. After tossing it in a trash container on the other side of the room, he returns to the bed and we lie on our backs and stare at the ceiling. Completely spent. Boneless.

Now I understand why the French call an orgasm la petite mort. Great sex feels like a little death. It feels like I left my body for a short time and drifted off to Nirvana.

But I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.

I roll onto my side and prop my head on my hand, peering down at his face. In my post-coital bliss I’m so completely enamored with him that I don’t know what to do with myself.

He gives me a lazy grin. “Up for another round? I need to fuck you out of my system.”

If there was ever any chance of confusing this with something more, this is my reminder to rein it in.

It’s just sex, nothing more.

And really, isn’t that all I want too?

“Gosh. With all that sweet talking, a girl could get the wrong idea.”

I wake up alone. When I roll over, Beckett’s side of the bed is empty but the ache between my thighs is a reminder of what we did last night. Five times. The man is insatiable, but he won’t hear any complaints from me.

I reach for my phone on the bedside table—Beckett must have put it there—and bolt upright. Eleven twenty? No wonder I woke up alone.

I haven’t slept this late in the entire time I’ve been here.

I throw on my work clothes, down two cups of coffee to jumpstart my sluggish body and lace up my work boots then dash out the door.

By the time I join Beckett and the vineyard crew, it’s almost noon and they’ve already put in half a day’s work.

“About time you showed up,” Beckett says with a smirk. “Sleep well?”

“Not particularly.” I sigh. “Someone kept me up all night.”

“You were snoring like a freight train when I left.”

“I needed my beauty rest.”

“Don’t make a habit of it.” He smacks me on the butt and I let out a little squeal. “No slacking on the job, Miss Larsson.”

“No special favors from the boss then, huh?”

“That depends…” He backs me against the grapevines and presses his body flush with mine. “What special favors are you offering?”

“I thought I offered plenty last night. Don’t get greedy.”

He plucks a grape from the vine behind me and holds it in front of my mouth. As if on command, my lips part and I hold his gaze when he pushes it into my mouth.

“Chew and swallow, seeds and all,” he commands.

It sounds so dirty, my cheeks flush. His gaze flits over my face as I chew the grape and then lowers to my throat when I swallow.

“Well?”

---