Page 35 of Broken-Hearted

He’s smiling as his lips find mine. By the time he’s seated deep within me, neither of us is smiling.

“Peach?” he groans.

There’s no countdown needed this time as we lean toward each other for a lingering kiss. “You feel good.”

So good I’m already thinking about doing this again.

Nathan’s hands pin my wrists to the bed as he thrusts. Each hard thrust slides me up the bed a couple of inches and threatens to make me come apart.

I lift my hips to meet each stroke, moaning as my release draws closer. He picks up the pace, growling as he slams into me.

One perfect thrust sends me over the edge and as I shatter, my body clenches around him, trying to hold him deep.

He breaks the kiss, presses his mouth to my throat and strains deep inside me.

Neither of us moves for five minutes. Perspiration coats both our bodies, and he feels so good inside me that I make no move to pull away from him.

“Blackshaw?” I breathe.

He kisses my throat. “Peach?”

My heart is still racing as I come down from my orgasm, all the while struggling to make sense of what I’m feeling. Sleeping with Nathan was supposed to be a one time thing. No. We were just supposed to kiss. I would be disappointed in this kiss he’d built up into something exciting, and that would be that.

This is definitely not how I saw things going.

He lifts his head, and for two beats, we hold each other’s gaze.

“Clara?” he says softly.

I stroke my hand up his back, slide my palm around the nape of his neck, and gently press.

He smiles as his lips hover over mine. “My dream,” he says as his lips brush mine. “Definitely.”

I loop my arms around Nathan’s back, my eyes drifting closed as I lift my hips to meet each of his thrusts.

But he’s wrong. This has definitely entered the realms of my best dream ever, and I’m not sure I want it to end for a long while yet.

9

Hours later and I’m face down on the bed as Nathan draws circles on the base of my spine.

“Clara?”

“Hmm-mmm?”

He kisses the back of my shoulder. “That was something.”

I twist around to meet his gaze. It’s a little brighter than it was before. Whoever decorated and furnished this room cheaped out when it came to blinds as either moonlight or dawn bleeds into the room.

Nathan is lying on his side, smiling at me. “How about we stay another night?”

“In a motel room with funky-smelling sheets?”

He kisses my forehead. “They don’t smell that bad.”

“They do.”

Of cheap detergent, stale perfume, and some musty unidentifiable scent I’m trying hard not to identify.

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