Page 72 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
My orgasm is an explosion, ripping through me, tearing me apart. Wave after wave after wave and I’m convulsing, moaning into her spread legs, fucking her mouth and eating her gorgeous pussy, knowing in some abandoned part of my soul there will never be anything as perfectly perfect as—
Her.
Us.
This.
Afterward, we lie in each other’s arms, stunned and silent, staring at the ceiling.
Finally, Tabby whispers, “Wow.”
I turn my head on the pillow and look at her. A grin spreads over my face. “You’re speechless, right?”
She sends me a sideways warning glance. “If you say ‘I have that effect on all the ladies,’ I’ll be forced to do something violent.” She pauses. “I can’t think of what exactly because my brain is taking a nice oxytocin and dopamine bath at the moment. But it will be bad, believe me.”
I roll to my side, gather her against me, and nuzzle my face into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. “I’ll die happy, though.” My voice comes out thick, and for a second, I’m worried I’ve ruined this incredible moment by being a dumb, sappy fuck.
Her legs tangle between mine. When she settles into my embrace, sighing contentedly, my worry eases.
After another moment, her voice drowsy and sated, she asks, “You have kind of a butt thing, don’t you?”
I burst out laughing. She raises her head and looks at me, a brow quirked.
I roll her to her back and throw my leg over her, relishing the simple fact that I can. “I have a thing for your butt, to be specific, yes,” I answer, grinning down at her.
Her cheeks flush. She turns her head and lowers her eyes, but I can see she’s pleased.
A thought occurs to me. “Would you want me to—”
“Fuck me in the ass?” she asks innocently.
I almost choke. “Jesus!” I say, racked with laughter. “Give a guy a second to make his point, would you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh please, don’t tell me you’re shocked Mr. ‘I’m gonna get you naked and eat your pussy like it’s the last supper.’ That’s practically sacrilegious.”
It’s my turn to pretend innocence. “I’d never say a thing like that to a delicate flower such as yourself.”
Tabby smiles, curling her toes around the back of my calf. “Oh, but you would. And worse. And I love every second of it, by the way.”
Love. It hangs in the air for a moment. We look at each other, breathless, and then Tabby looks away.
She stammers, “I-I…um, we should probably get going—”
“Look at me.” When she doesn’t, I take her face in my hand. “Tabby. Look at me.”
The old tension in her has returned with a cold snap. I know she’s hating herself for that slip, hating that we both noticed it, the elephant that’s appeared like magic in the room.
She wants to push the elephant out the window. I want to invite it to stay for a drink.
Or forever.
I run my thumb over her lips. She closes her eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not going to let me pretend I didn’t say that?”
I gently kiss her jaw, her cheek, the curve of her eyebrow. “Because I’m not.”
“It was just a figure of speech. A random choice of words.”
I whisper, “You’d like to think it was, wouldn’t you?”
