Page 74 of Nailed (Dad Bod Contracting 3)
I nod. “Mmmm-hmmm.”
“You and me, and nothing between us?”
I nod again. “Mmmm-hmmmm.”
He rests his head back against the pillow. “Have I ever told you how much I love the way you think?”
“May have mentioned it at some point.”
“Fair warning, I’ll probably last about thirty seconds like that.”
I wiggle against him. “Good.” I lift up and kiss his chest, then burrow back down against his heavy, powerful chest. “Sex doesn’t always have last a long time to be good.”
He rumbles a laugh. “You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.”
We drift again, and this time, I’m content to let sleep steal over me and drag me under.
I’m in that place just before falling asleep, that place where you’re heavy and warm, where you have no thoughts, just contentment.
“Hey.” Ryder’s voice, vague and distant.
“Mmm?”
“I love you, Laurel.”
I can only sigh, rolling to my side with Ryder behind me. I clasp my hand over his, tangling my fingers into his, and he clutches my breast possessively, my heartbeat under his palm; I’ve never been so happy to be the little spoon—I feel utterly safe, filled with joy as I sink into slumber in the protective, loving shelter of Ryder’s arms.
Chapter 14
Gray light streams through my window—the silver of predawn haze.
Rose petals are strewn everywhere, unlit tea lights on every surface of my bedroom.
For a moment, I’m disoriented—I’m in my bed, in my bedroom. But I’m not alone.
There’s a big hard body behind me, a strong hand resting on my hip. Breath on the back of my neck, slow and heavy and rhythmic. A beard tickling my spine between my shoulder blades.
Ryder.
Hey. I love you, Laurel.
God, was that real?
I look over my shoulder at him and know that, yes, it was real.
The clock on my nightstand says 6:01a.m.
Plenty of time to go back to sleep.
I wiggle my ass back into him, and he hums wordlessly, tightening his grip on my hip. I shift, curling into the comma of his body. Close my eyes and drift.
I’m not sure if I fall asleep or not, just that there’s a time of warmth, a fuzzy, hazy fog of drowsiness. An almost drugged sort of happy, joyful, contentedness of not-quite unconsciousness.
Then I feel Ryder’s hand clutch my hip. Tighten, release. I hear a murmur from him, feel it on my back. He sighs. Shifts. His hand slides up my side, rests on my belly. After a moment like that, I wonder if he’s falling back asleep.
But then he murmurs again. “Laurel?” It’s muzzy, sleepy.
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“Thank god. Thought I’d dreamed it.”
“Mmmm-mmmm.”
His hand drifts up to cup my breast, and I smile. I feel him behind me, his breathing telling me he’s fully awake now. Something else is awake, too, and my secret smile widens. I don’t move, just drowse in the silver shine of dawn, and bask in the rough clutch of his hand, and the hard shelter of his body, and the delicious warmth of our bodies under the covers.
He hardens to full arousal, nestled between the squishy globes of my ass. I draw my knees up and push back against him.
“Mmmm…Laurel.”
I lift my upper leg, and he fits a hand between us. Touches my opening. I grasp him, guide him in.
Has anything, ever, felt so perfect as him bare inside me?
Hot and hard and thick, skin on skin and nothing else. I whimper immediately, and he groans. His fingers touch me, and I would tell him I don’t need the extra stimulation, but it feels too good so I say nothing. Just move with him. Writhe with him, on my side, him behind me.
It stays slow—he never speeds up past a slow gentle glide. I push back into his thrusts, shuddering as we reach the brink together within seconds. There’s no drawing it out, no need, no desire to. We fall over the edge together—I gasp, reaching behind my head to clasp his, twisting to kiss him raggedly, awkwardly as we move.
I roll against him and sob, clutching at his beard. He lets out a soft, shuddery gasp, and that’s all the warning I need or want. That gasp, that quiet, gentle, tender in-breath, and then I’m flooded with heat. I feel him tense inside me, pushing deeper, and I’m squeezing in spasms around him, and I feel the spurt as he comes inside me, filling me with his seed. Him coming inside me sets off my own orgasm, and I can’t even whimper or sob for the breathlessness of us like this.
We shudder together.
“I—I…” He’s barely able to formulate words. “Laurel…god—I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I feel him inside me, the wetness trickling out of me.
“Can we wake up like this every morning?” I murmur. I huff a laugh. “Yes, I know—you love the way I think.”
“That would be…heaven,” he whispers.
