Page 37 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
She was possessed by this orgasm, animated by it until it was finished with her, leaving her a spent and trembling heap of bliss. At least she thought she was spent.
With his fingers still inside her, he whispered, “Should I stop? Or is there another one waiting for me? Cuz I feel like there might be.” He flattened his fingers, at the same time pressing them more firmly into her front wall, moving them up and down, faster and faster. “Waiting right about here.”
“Trig,” she whined, riding his fingers, her vision going white around the edges as he kissed and sucked and teased her nipple again.
When his thumb found her clit, she had to bite on her knuckle not to scream as a second orgasm—this one more intense, sharp and forceful and mind-numbing—grasped her and yanked her under, waves of pleasure crashing over her body until she nearly drowned, until pleasure itself seemed to flow out of her.
“I love the way you come,” she heard him say from some distant, faraway, parallel-universe place.
“Thank you,” she mumbled as pure, raw sensation continued to thrum through her, making it hard for her to speak. But she did remember something, feeling wetness between her legs. “Did you make me squirt? It felt like I peed myself, and I’ve never—”
“A little.” He kissed her lips. “So fucking hot.”
When she finally opened her eyes, he was propped above her. She watched him pull his fingers out of her and suck them clean, one at a time.
“I love the way you taste, too.”
Tracing the angles of his dark eyebrows, the line of his straight nose, the curves of his pink lips, she cupped his cheek and tugged gently on his beard. “Kiss me.”
Settling between her legs, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply. But as soon as she felt the broad head of his erection nudge her through his boxers, he pulled away.
“Wait? Where are you going?”
“Want some breakfast?”
“If by breakfast you mean giving you a blow job, then yes.”
Towering over her, he kissed her again. Then he rolled away, swinging his feet off the bed.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting up.”
“Why?”
“So I can make you pancakes.”
She rose to kneel behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders and pressing her breasts into his back. “I don’t want pancakes. I want you.” Kissing his neck, running her hands over his pecs, she purred into his ear, “You made me feel so good. Twice. I want to return the favor.”
Aside from feeling weird about this encounter being so one-sided, she wasn’t ready for it to end. She wanted to stay in bed with him all day. She wanted to stay with him for as long as she could. Because she was leaving tomorrow, taking her sick friend and going back home. No, not even home, somewhere entirely new. Somewhere exciting. An adventure, like she’d always wanted. So why did being in his bed, in his arms, feel so much like where she finally belonged?
There was an ache inside her chest, spreading out like a deep bruise. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way about her rebound, moving-on guy. Right now, she wasn’t supposed to feel this way about anyone.
He craned his neck, meeting her lips with his. “I do feel good. I promise. But while mine might not be laminated, I have some rules too. And one of my rules is to always make a woman breakfast after I make her come.”
This time she let him stand up, watching him while he walked to his closet, transfixed by the way his body moved, confident but fluid like a cat in the dark room.
“I want you,” she admitted, not telling him how much she wanted him, not telling him that a part of her had wanted a part of him for two years. And now, that part of her was all of her. Every inch of her skin, every strand of her hair, all of her shifting in space, rotating away from her current path to point toward him like a compass finding true north. “Please come back to bed.”
Turning back to face her, he warned, “Kissie—”
“Don’t ‘Kissie’ me. What is it? What’s wrong?”
Pulling on a pair of jeans, he said, “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just time to get up. I have to open up the bar and get ready for the pre-Montgomery-party Valentine’s Day crowd.”
She could feel him pulling away from her, putting distance between them. She wanted to grab him and yank him back, but maybe he was being smart. Maybe he was being the realist here. Because there was only one way things between them would end, and the closer she let herself get to him, the more it would hurt when they did. Like she’d told him last night, no strings, no attachments. She’d made him promise. Now she needed to make herself do the same, no matter how strong the urge to tie him up was, both figuratively and literally. An idea came to her, a way to spend more time with him before she left, but in a temptation-limited setting.
“Can I help? With the bar?”
