Page 87 of The Close-Up
“Just wait.”
He leans back and twists around to grab his pants from the floor. Out comes his wallet, then he pulls a condom from it. When he rips it open with his teeth and spits the shard of foil onto the floor, my mouth waters. Such a feral, impatient move. And he did it because he wants more of me.
Again my chest squeezes so tight, it feels like I can’t breathe. But then he lines himself up with me, slides in, and I’m gasping until there’s no air left in the room.
“Oh my fucking god, Simon.” I press my head against the mattress, eyes closed while I process the unholy pleasure of him stretching me out. “That’s...”
Before I can finish, he treats me to a slow thrust. My eyes pop back open and I turn my gaze back on him.
Even in the dim light of the nearby lamp, I can make out every single feature of the body that’s always driven me wild. Those strapping arms, a million times thicker than mine, that hold me up with such ease. His chest and stomach, which glisten with beads of sweat. Those veins that seem to course forever under his skin. The dark hair that pools at the center of his chest and runs all the way down to that hard, impressive length. His rugged build that’s always driven me wild. He’s muscular, but not cut to hell like a fitness model, and I love it. His strength is functional, developed from hours of building things and hauling things and breaking things down.
I take it all in with hungry eyes. I am starving for him.
But even more than how he looks, it’s how he moves, with confidence and care. It’s how he gazes down at me, like nothing else in the world matters except for me in this bed and us in this room. Together.
Leaning up, I wrap my arms around his neck and plant a sloppy, desperate kiss on his mouth. He tastes like salt and wine and skin.
“What else is your favorite?” I huff out a breath. “Show me. Please.”
He straightens up, sliding out of my grip to a sitting position. I fall back on the bed, holding my breath as I wait for him to demonstrate.
“This is my favorite.” He grabs one of my legs and balances it on his shoulder. “And this.” He picks up the speed of his thrusting, this new deep angle intensifying the pleasure sensations claiming my body. My calf muscles shake uncontrollably in response.
“And this,” he grunts. “Always this.” He wets his thumb against his tongue before pressing it gently to the most sensitive part of my body.
The quick yet soft way he swirls is indicative of his expert technique. Paired with the smooth and steady rhythm of his thrusts, which are hitting my G-spot like the bull’s-eye on a dartboard, this is my new favorite too. And no matter how much I thrash or how hard I grab at him, he doesn’t stop. He works like a machine programmed for my pleasure.
It’s not that I’m surprised at all that this is Simon’s favorite move. It’s honestly so beyond sweet that a position engineered to maximize my enjoyment is his favorite—and it makes total sense given he spent most of his camming days maximizing the satisfaction of his partners. It’s the fact that this move has got me on the edge of release in record time. Again.
Once more my jaw falls open and I’m making sounds that are no longer human. It’s no time at all before I’m an explosion of curse words, animal noises, and convulsions. Again.
A few thrusts later, Simon tenses. He leans down over me, buries his face in the side of my neck, and lets out a noise like a mix between a grunt and a growl.
I clutch at him, my arms and legs wrapped around him like I’m intending to remain attached to him forever. Our bodies slick with sweat, I practically slide off him as he leans up and away from me.
“No cuddling?” I babble.
It’s a second before I process exactly how desperate I just made myself sound. But it’s that post-orgasm giddiness that has me speaking without thinking. I eye a pillow to smother myself. I’ve already pushed far enough tonight. I’ve already had toe-curling sex with my off-limits friend...and colleague. We’ve already thrown our status—and our future—into jeopardy when we finally gave in to our attraction for one another. Asking for anything more, even a cuddle, is too much.
But Simon smiles down at me, halting that train of self-doubt dead in its tracks. He steps off the bed, walks to the trash can in the corner, and throws the condom away. Then he jumps back on the bed and spoons me from behind before pulling the plush down comforter over us.
He nuzzles my neck, the stubble from his jaw tickling me. I let out a soft squeal and close my eyes. Every worry flies out the window.
“Come on, Naomi. What kind of a guy do you think I am?” He runs his mouth along the side of my neck, in a slow, long kiss. “Of course there’s cuddling.”
Chapter Eighteen
I wake to the sound of light snoring above me. When I peel my eyes open, the room boasts the telltale dimness of early morning. Slivers of sunlight peek through the partially closed shutters above the bed.
Behind me, Simon stirs. I close my eyes and smile, snuggling my ass and hips into him. This is exactly how we fell asleep last night. I hum quietly to myself in satisfaction. It seems like neither of us moves much when we sleep.
Even in my groggy, half-asleep state my grin grows wider. Because if this isn’t the best way to wake up, cuddled into a sexy and sweet man, then I don’t know what is. Slowly I inhale, then let out a silent exhale. I could get used to this. I could do this every day and never, ever get sick of it.
And that thought is what sends my eyelids flying open again. That thought shouldn’t be crossing my mind at all. One night with Simon shouldn’t change what I’ve spent my entire adult life learning. One night of crazy-good sex doesn’t magically fix the truth: that I’m a disaster when it comes to dating and relationships.
Yes, it would be amazing to have this every day—this comfort, this post-sex hard sleep, this waking up with a smile on my face. But I can’t. It’s not possible. Because I’ve tried it so many times before with other guys and sometimes it lasted, for a bit...but then eventually something goes wrong. Always. We get on each other’s nerves. We realize our long-term goals don’t line up. Someone loses interest. Feelings get hurt. Then it ends.
And that’s exactly what will happen if this thing with Simon goes any further.
