Page 38 of Rumor Has It

I feel a gentle tug. Isaiah drags me up by my hair, forcing his tongue into my mouth.

“I thought you didn’t want me to stop?”

“I’m giving you fair warning. Won’t take much before I lose myself in you,” he mumbles against my lips.

Except that’s exactly what I want. For him to stuff the gentleman act and to feel his hot cum spilling down my throat. The wetness between my legs proves I also enjoy being manhandled. By Isaiah, anyway… While I’m doing what I’m doing with him.

“We need a condom. I need to be inside of you now, Cass.” Isaiah wraps me in his arms.

I’m naked from the top up and he is from the waist down, but neither of us cares. Holding tight to the globes of my ass, he carries me from the mess we’ve made of the front suite down the hall to my room.

His erect cock slides through my wetness as he strides forward. The velvet against my clit makes me anxious to feel him deep inside of me. My teeth nip at his earlobe. My lips flutter against the pulse point on his neck. I lick the salty beads of sweat on his skin that broke out while I sucked his dick and that have washed away a fine layer of plaster.

Unceremoniously, Isaiah drops me on the sheets, still rumpled from our lovemaking last night. In his haste to fetch protection, the book I was supposed to have finished slips between the nightstand and the wall. The drawer is open. The box is askew and a line of metallic wrappers stream out. The torn and empty one tumbles out of his hand. He’s been too fast for me to watch him roll it on. My core is weeping and my breasts tingle, making me thankful for his quick thinking to move us to my room.

The rest is as much of a blur. His shirt with the Kingsbrier logo on it goes. As do my pants and my soaked panties. Then he’s on top of me, cradling my face and driving inside of me, long and hard. I gasp at the tantalizing pressure his shaft puts on my clit. My hips buck to meet his.

“You like it deep, chou?”

“God, yes!” I moan, begging, “Fuck me harder.”

He keeps the rhythm, sucking on my neck and whispering filthy words into my ear. My orgasm builds and Isaiah eggs me on. “Milk my cock. Come on, Cass. I want to feel your pussy clench. Scream my name.”

My muscles tighten and I cry out, “Isaiah!” Every bone leaves my body and I’m weightless.

“That’s it,” he says, drawing out the last of the ripples. “You feel so goddamn good. I might not let you leave this bed.”

“Keep that up and I’ll be inclined to stay,” I pant, covering my forehead. I’ve lost the sensation in my toes.

Is that normal? I’ve had boyfriends, itches to scratch, and friends with benefits. Living in a bed-and-breakfast, bringing men up to my room is déclassé. So the walk of shame after hot hook-up sex is a familiar companion. Yet nothing I’ve experienced is as blazing as this. I draw a blank on the last man who left me wanting for all the right reasons, instead of the entire experience leaving me unfulfilled.

I run the soles of my feet over the back of his calves. Isaiah’s lips brush mine and I thread my fingers into his grimy, sex-styled hair. He is the total package from the top of his head to the tip of his very proficient… You know, the part that makes a woman thrilled to have Isaiah Roomer wrapped in nothing but a bow under her Christmas tree.

He thrusts slower, taking me up to the peak again. My legs begin shaking and we collapse in a heap of tangled limbs and breathless kisses when he chases me back down.

My toes? As long as Isaiah is here, I’m not sure I’ll feel them touch the ground.

Chapter Fifteen

ISAIAH

Cassidy lies on her stomach with her head resting on her folded arms. The bed sheet is slung low over our waists, and the dimples above her butt are showing.

I thought that she was a bombshell when we met, though nothing compares to how gorgeous a blissed-out Cassidy is lying naked next to me.

Between traveling, crashing through the ceiling, and lack of sleep from all the sex, I’m running on fumes. But her contented sigh amps me up, making me feel like a million bucks for the number of orgasms I wrung from her.

“Why are you not self-conscious of your body?” I rub my sore shoulder and lean against the headboard, trying to get comfortable.

“Why?” She gives me a wide, dreamy grin. “My liberal hedonism hasn’t bothered you so far.”

She’s right. It hasn’t. Nor did tearing at one another’s clothes after my fall.

Kylie was never happy with her looks. There was always one hair out of place. Depending on her outfit, her breasts and hips were too big or too small. My wife couldn’t sit around the house without a dewy foundation of moisturizer. Her lacquered nails were whatever glamor length was trending, in sharp contrast to the short French manicure Cassidy has.

Yet, I can’t accuse Kylie of being high-maintenance without admitting my faults. We got ready for awards shows with his and hers clothing and hair stylists and make-up artists. Lately, I’ve tried to make sense of who we were, who I am, and what my future is supposed to hold.

“Curiosity,” I wince, shifting to my side.

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