Page 30 of The Wrong Move

I focus on the city lights twinkling as the night begins to set in. His hands grab my hips. Looking over my shoulder, Icatch him staringat my pussy. “You are fucking gorgeous, Gi.”

He’s making me nervous.

It’s just sex.

Only one night.

Byron slides inside me and stills, giving me a chance to stretch to his size.

I allow myself a long inhale, remembering how he feels inside me and relish the first hit of pleasure. He eases out and slides in slowly, kissing my shoulder.

I circle my hips to goad him on. Sexual pleasure is what I need before my body starts to cravehim.

His thrusts speed up. With every breath, I allow myself to take everything he gives, feel every thrust, and enjoy the way one hand works my clit and the other massages my breast. He places a hand on my shoulder. He’s close. His breathing switches todeep, rapid panting. His rhythm speeds up, and he pounds me from behind. My body jingles, my breasts bouncing with every thrust until they are composing a dance of their own.

Small orgasms build and release as his hips collide with my ass. He rides me hard, all the strength leaving my body as I struggle to stand. With a hand on my neck, Byron pushes my head lower, my hips rising for him. The sweet side of Byron slips away as he fucks me into the next orgasm. Arching my back, I lift my head against his hold and moan with the ecstasy rushing through my body as I come, the joy of an orgasm ripping through every part of me, overriding every thought.

Byron groans loudly, shuddering with a final thrust as he empties himself inside me. He slumps onto my back and kisses my shoulders and wraps his arms around my waist. It’s not to support him. I feel him wanting to be with me as much as I need him. For a few minutes, we linger in the afterglow of sex until I realize what I have done.

He gave me what I asked of him, yet it feels too familiar.

This is the first time he hasn’t worn a condom with me.

I felt all of him. I broke the rules by giving myself to Byron without him having to chase or prove he won’t hurt me again. Byron isn’t to blame—I initiated the intimacy from the moment I asked him to touch me in the pool.

“Are you okay?” he says gently from behind me. The loss of his touch hits me hard.

“Of course,” I say quickly.

He picks up the towel and hands it to me. “Would you like to use the bathroom, or… we could go to my bedroom?”

No, no, no. Not his bed.

“The bathroom, please. I really should be going.” I tie the towel securely around my chest, and he picks up my wet bathing suit. “You can hardly put this back on.”

“It will be fine,” I say quickly, holding out my hand.

“I’ll grab you something. You can freshen up. There are clean towels in the cupboard.”

“Thank you, Byron, but my bathing suit is fine.”

Byron walks into his house. I pad behind him until he stops and points to the bathroom. Again, it’s all marble and brass with a hint of black accessories. He has exquisite taste.

I shower, pouring the citrus-scented gel over my body, and dry off with the softest towels I have ever used.

Who does his laundry? I need them in my life.

I emerge still towel-drying my long hair, the other towel wrapped around my chest. Brushing can wait until I’m home.

Walking into the kitchen, I note Byron has washed the saucepans while I showered.

“I never knew you were a clean freak.”

He laughs. “Structure and neatness is key, Giana.” He eyes me carefully. “It’s routine.” He comes to me and wraps his arms around my waist so we are standing barely a hair’s breadth apart. “Tonight, you were the best distraction.”

I stare at his lips. We could easily pick up where we left off. “While I enjoyed it, I also need to get home.”

His brow pulls tight with disappointment. “We don’t have to do anything else, just sleep.”

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