Page 63 of For The Weekend
“Oh, fuck me,” she groans, throwing her hands over her eyes.
“Yeah. That’s the idea.”
“Don’t joke,” she whines. “You’re going to impale me.”
“Not quite,” I grunt then stop once she has a few inches of me. I curl my hands around her calves. “How’s that? You still with me?”
She nods. “Make me come, Roman.”
What my woman wants, my woman gets.
Careful to stay at this depth, I thrust in and out of her, mesmerized by the way her tits bounce and jiggle, how her skin turns a pretty pink to match her nipples. Even her belly goes splotchy.
Her inner walls twitch, grasping for me, and I grind my teeth, keeping my own orgasm at bay as she falls off the edge, shoutingyesandpleaseandRoman, please, please, pleaseover and over again.
That’s when I lose control. Of their own accord, my hips move faster, my cock driving in and out of her. She feels so good, so fucking good, her tight little pussy taking me, her moans filling the room.
I can’t hold back, can’t slow down. I fuck her hard, my body slamming into hers, filling her completely. She screams, convulsing, another orgasm ripping through her, and I follow, my cock pulsing with my release.
I collapse on top of her, our bodies slick with sweat, breaths coming in uneven pants, but when I try to roll off her, Eloise wraps her arms around me, keeping me in place. “Don’t,” she says against my temple. “Not yet.”
Exhaling a ragged breath, I give in and lie on top of her, myheart beating against my rib cage. An echo of hers. I place a kiss on her throat and collarbone, waiting until both of us relax, and then I turn, wrapping my arms around her, in no hurry to extract myself from her.
She lays her head down, humming contentedly, and without permission, my eyes close, my mind shuts down. The last conscious thought I have before I fall asleep is that this weekend wasn’t long enough.
I’m not ready to give her up yet.
To stop pretending.
Chapter 18
Eloise
“You don’t have to come in with me,” I say.Again.
Roman ignores meagainand holds the door open, gesturing for me to enter my apartment building. I heave a sigh, like I’m the one put out, when he’s the one who’s carrying my bags after driving home two hours while I slept.
“Thanks,” I mumble, passing him, my shoulder skimming his chest on the way. I don’t apologize, and he doesn’t move.
And the tiny touch is enough to set off a reel of memories from last night.
Of his arms holding me, one hand on my throat, the other making me delirious with pleasure.
Of his mouth on the most sensitive part of my body and his delicious growl when he licked his wet lips after making me come.
Of the almost painful fullness and his pounding hips.
I exhale and blink into reality, forcing myself to step forward and hit the button for the elevator. Which is a terrible idea, because once the two of us are stuck in the metal box, hisfresh cotton and spicy cardamom scent envelops me, and I’m lost.
I can’t even remember how to walk when the doors open. I’m stuck staring at him.
This mountain of a man.
The guy who protected me all weekend, who reminded me to keep my head up and fuck anybody who tries to bring me down.
My fake boyfriend.
Our pretend relationship may have started as a ruse, but these few days with Roman felt anything but fake, and I’m not ready for this to be over. I don’t want to lose this connection we’ve found.
