Page 56 of The Wrong Promise

“I’m going to fuck you hard, Zara. Are you okay with that?”

I smile goofily. “More than okay.”

He starts off slowly, then builds quickly, riding me hard and fast. Desire spreads quickly through my body. I pant with every thrust. Jobe pushes up and circles his hips as he pounds my ass, driving into me at piston pace. Whether it’s the angle or the position with my hips tilted up for him, I feelallof him. Seconds later, an orgasm rips through me. I let out a moan of pleasure and wait for him to empty inside me.

It doesn’t come.

He forces a hand under my stomach and lifts me. “On your knees, Zara,” he barks. I do what he asks. One hand cups my neck, and he pushes my face toward the pillows. His knees spread my thighs wider. The other hand grabs my hip to hold my position. Then he gives me everything he has.

I can barely breathe as his cocks drives deeper and deeper into my body’s threshold, the pain and pleasure crashing into one. I groan as I build again, my body confused as the sexual pain creates a new brand of bliss of being completely fucked. I come again, loud with a cry of relief and joy, momentarily blinding. Impossibly, he pumps harder, his thrusts owning my body once more until he moans loudly and slumps over my back. Heremains still for a few seconds before his loud pants begin to slow.

Jobe kisses my back as he pulls out and falls onto the bed beside me. Every time his gaze meets mine, my heart turns over in response.

I smile, wrapped in a silken cocoon of euphoria. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He sounds sex drunk, and there is no better sound.

He’s on his side, and we take our time, enjoying the sexual haze before it disappears. Then he glances down, and his expression flails.

“What?” I whisper, seeing the shock and horror on his face. My gaze lowers, expecting blood or something. It takes a moment to realize he didn’t wear a condom. “I’m on the pill,” I reassure him. “And you’re…”

“Fine.”

But he’s not. Something has snapped his control. He jumps up from the bed and heads to the bathroom. Moments later, I hear the shower spray. Do I join him and reassure him it’s okay or give him time to process?

I don’t want to stay in his bed if he needs space. Collecting my clothes scattered around the room, I head to my bathroom to shower alone. It’s probably best because the throb between my legs indicates I couldn’t go another round.

After showering and tending to my sore bits, I emerge from my room, hair washed and completely refreshed, wearing my bathrobe. Until I know what the day holds, I haven’t planned what to wear. I inhale a familiar smell.

He’s cooking breakfast.

A positive sign.

I start to say good morning then realize the gesture has passed since our good morning greeting was in his bed. Sliding onto the stool, I watch him standing barefoot in hisloose chambray shirt and jeans. His tussled dark hair is still damp from the shower.

I like casual Jobe.

“Are you hungry?” he asks without turning.

For you? Yes.“Starving.” He turns and eyes me. Yeah, I wasn’t only talking about food, and it came out in my tone. “Are you okay?” I ask gently. “After I showered, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

He lowers his head and closes his eyes. “I’ve never had unprotected sex, and it caught me off guard. If I got you pregnant?—”

“Jobe, I use contraception,” I remind him. “It’s fine. Now, what are you cooking?”

He gives me half a smile. “Zucchini fritters.”

“Smells good.” Eggs, grated zucchini, carrots, and cheese are on a plate on the counter.

“So do you,” he murmurs.

I stand and walk over to the other side, closer to him, spring up, and sit on the marble counter. I run my fingers through my hair. “It’s my favorite coconut shampoo.” He steps closer and leans in to smell my hair.

“It’s good, but that’s not what I was inferring.”

Oh.

I open my legs so he can stand between my thighs and tilt my neck. “My new perfume, perhaps?”

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