Page 105 of Not That Complicated

Our bodies were pressed as close together as they could be, and he barely even drew his hips back. He wasn’t pounding or hammering into me. It would have been easier to bear if he had been. Familiar territory. Just the way it goes. I’d have hooked my legs around his hips, held on, and done my best to give it back to him in a sweaty, athletic ride.

Instead, he slipped a hand beneath me at the small of my back and used it to tug me up and into him as he flexed, rolling his hips, circling and grinding them into me. He caught me at the right angle, glided over my prostate, and to my mortification, I wailed.

Adam’s eyes were wide as he stared down into my face. “Again,” he said, and pulsed against me.

I choked at the sensation, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching down. I heard his deep groan somewhere beneath the open-mouthed panting I was making, a sound which got louder and louder and took on a seeking tilt upwards.

Adam let go of my hands to plant his fists beside my shoulders. He kept relentlessly stroking into me. The bed creaked. His cheeks were rosy bright, his eyes fierce, his hips relentless, shoving at mine, moving me against the sheets. My whole body was sensitised, and even the brush of cotton over my back and buttocks was adding to the overwhelm.

He ducked his head, angling it to one side, and laid his lips against mine. He didn’t kiss me. It was a wise choice, the way I was absolutely unravelling beneath him. I’d never been so undone or wild in my life. Our lips brushed against each other with his jolting movements. We shared breath.

Whenever I closed my eyes, he whispered against my mouth, “Open, open, Ray, please. I want to see you, I need to see you, need you so much.” And I’d look up again, and again, and he was always watching and chasing my pleasure, not his, adjusting and giving and giving and giving.

His arms were shaking and through the sex haze I could tell by the concentration on his face he was trying not to tip over the edge. He dropped down to his elbows.

I clasped his hot, damp neck with both hands and pressed our foreheads together, working my hips against his, squeezing down, doing everything I could to push him over. “Yes, yes,” I said, “Come on, come on, come—”

He moaned and stuttered against me in hard, tight pulses. My eyes stretched wider as I felt his heat inside. I threw my arms around him and held on. He almost sobbed with it. “Ray,” he said. “Ray.”

I smoothed my hands down his back and grasped his arse, dragging him in even harder.

He gave three sharp pants, and came to a quivering stop, his face in my neck, his weight fully on me.

My blood was thundering through my veins. My dick ached. I was close, I was close, I was—

Adam gripped my hips and held on as he rolled us, then shoved at my shoulders until I sat up. His cheeks were hectic with colour and he was flushed all the way down his chest. He took hold of my dick and pulled the orgasm clean out of me in two strokes.

I arched my back, made one of those awful, shiveringly needy noises that I couldn’t hold in, and I came.

Adam stared at me as if he couldn’t look away.

If that was his idea of everyday sex, if hedidtry anything kinky, I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Adam appeared in the kitchenthe next morning as I raised my third cup of coffee to my lips. I had pillow creases, bedhead, and bags under my eyes from being shagged twice more during the night.

Adam was radiant.

He glowed with vitality; his skin was rosy from the shower, his eyes were clear, and his still-damp, copper-blond curls were carelessly pushed back. His body was loose and oozing satisfaction.

The arsehole.

He grinned at me as he strode over to the coffee machine. I was slumped in a kitchen chair, clutching my coffee mug with both hands.

“Morning,” he said, dropping in a pod and pressing the button.

I grunted.

He rummaged around in the fridge, added a generous splash of milk to his coffee, and sauntered over to the table.

He did not sit down in the chair I pushed out for him using a toe, somehow managing not to complain when my thigh muscle, which had had the workout of a lifetime, cramped. He came all the way around and perched his pert bottom on the table right beside me. All his radiant heat washed over me. He took a big gulp of his coffee, watching me over the rim.

We took stock of each other.

“What?” I said after a long silent minute, during which he was content to simply watch me, and I had about a thousand flashbacks from the night before that scorched my cheeks.

“Not a morning person?”

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