Page 23 of Rematch
“I promised not to let you fall,” he murmured, half lifting, half shoving her to the middle of the large mattress. He pushed her thighs apart, settling between them on his knees.
“You…you weren’t finished?” She was aware it was a stupid question, given the fact he was definitely going back for seconds.
“Finished? Fuck no. I just realized one of those orgasms wasn’t going to be enough, and you were already wobbly.”
She heard his words, but she was struggling to get them to sink in because…
One orgasm wasn’t enough for him?
Was that a thing?
Because if so, for the first time since Rick’s departure, she was glad the fucker had jilted her.
Before she had too long to play with this new, ecstatic feeling, Preston bent his head, and she was lost for good.
It only took a matter of seconds before she was right where she’d started, his fingers, mouth, and tongue working their magic.
Her back arched, and for a moment, it felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, her second climax hitting harder than the first.
She called out his name, her hands flying upward, landing on the pillow beneath her head.
Preston didn’t stop, didn’t give way. Even when her orgasm started to wane, and she started to panic.
It was all too much, too fucking good.
“Preston.” She reached down, intent on pushing him away.
“Put your hands back on the pillow,” he growled. “You’re not finished surrendering to me.”
Surrendering…
Chelsea tried to wrap her head around that word, certain it was the sexiest threat she’d ever heard.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she lifted her hands, palms up, the position one of sheer submission.
Preston’s gaze darkened.
She started to wonder if she was really here or if this was a dream. She wasn’t this wanton, wild woman. And she’d certainly never been on the receiving end of such potent desire.
“Preston,” she whispered.
She had grown accustomed to his easy smile and infectious laugh over the past few hours, but none of that was present here. That laid-back, affable man had been replaced by a dominant, sexy alpha. She hadn’t read that wrong.
“That’s right, Chelsea,” he said. “Say my name. Remember it, and this night. Don’t you ever forget it.”
There was literally ZERO danger of that. She’d remember this night on her death bed.
He lowered his head again, but this time, Chelsea didn’t fight, didn’t attempt to deny herself what she didn’t even know she needed.
Preston pushed her into a third orgasm, using just his lips and his fingers.
“Please,” she said, her voice hoarse from her cries.
“Please?”
She lifted her heavy eyelids, her vision slightly fuzzy as the vestiges of the climax wavered. Preston had risen so that he was kneeling between her outstretched legs, looking down at her with a pleased, if slightly pained, grin.
That was when she realized he was still wearing his jeans.
