Page 69 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

I knew why she asked. I knew her. Fuck, I loved that she asked me for this, knowing that she had never asked anyone else. I loved knowing she felt comfortable enough with me to ask for it, and that she trusted me to say yes, to want to say yes.

“With pleasure,” I husked. And I intended to make it just that—pleasure—for both of us.

I lowered my head to give her one long lick of my tongue down her crease while I pushed a finger deep inside her. Her response was immediate surrender. She gasped, and her legs widened to make room for my shoulders. I angled my head, kissing her pussy like I kissed her mouth, deeply and firmly. She was so sweet, as delicious as I remembered, and I could have stayed on my knees for hours, tasting her again and again.

I took my time with slow, languid licks that matched the rhythm of my finger inside her. Her hips canted, seeking more friction, and I complied. I gripped her more firmly, sliding another finger inside her, my other hand pulling her hard against my mouth.

I knew she was there when she sank her fingers into my hair and gripped me fiercely. An intense cry escaped her lips as she rolled her hips upward, her internal muscles clenching and releasing around my fingers in a primal wave that made me feel humbled and awed by what we had done together.

When the last spasms of her orgasm had ceased, I gently pulled free. After taking care of protection, I prowled up her body, grinned at the dazed expression that glazed her eyes, and dropped a kiss on her rosy lips.

“I enjoyed that,” I said. “A lot.”

She tried to say a word, but it came out as a jumbled sound. I took that for agreement.

The need to be close to her was nearly overwhelming. I lowered myself carefully, touching my forehead to hers, my bare chest to her breasts, my dick notched where she was impossibly swollen and wet from my mouth. I was so hard it was painful, but I forced myself to wait until she recovered. I kissed her, slowly at first, bringing her back from her orgasm stupor, and then with more urgency as she responded in kind.

She began to thrust her hips gently against mine until we were both slick with her wetness. “Max, please.”

I couldn’t deny her. I couldn’t deny myself. The desperation to be inside her, now, immediately, was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I shifted, parting her legs, and pushed home.

Home.

The word was quiet inside me. I had been searching all my life for it, even when I hadn’t known I was searching. And now here it was, all around me.

Home wasn’t a place. It was a person.

Home was Kate.

She arched against me, wrapping her legs around my hips, digging her heels into my back. A command I would always answer.

Always.

I went faster, harder. Gritted my teeth against the rising tide of pleasure, determined to hold it at bay until she claimed her own. And then—stupidly!—I looked down at her face. Her eyes locked on mine, lust and need in their dark depths, her golden-brown hair messy against the sheets, her cheeks pink from exertion and pleasure.

It was too much. I lost control of myself in the need that circled us both. I gripped her hips, holding her steady as I pounded into her, unable to do anything but chase the desperate need for release. Her fingernails dug into my skin, urging me on, tethering me to her.

On the brink of my own release, she pressed her face against my neck, sobbing my name, her hips bucked and pressed tight to mine. With a hoarse cry, I followed her over the edge as pleasure finally claimed us both.

As we clung limply together, our bodies completely spent, words whispered past my lips. Words I had never heard said to me. Words I had never spoken to anyone. Soft words, unfamiliar in their weight and form, but so right.

I pressed my lips to her cheek and said them again.

“I love you, Kate.”

Chapter 24

Kate

I couldn’t breathe. First the orgasm, then the words, in a one-two punch that left me gasping. In my post orgasmic stupor, I could almost convince myself it wasn’t real, but I could still feel the words whispered against my damp skin like a firebrand.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he said.

Relief whooshed through me. “It’s okay. I understand.”

He blinked at me. “What do you understand?”

“You didn’t mean it. Orgasms make people think they feel things that they don’t really feel, and once the hormones settle down a little, they come to their senses. I get it.”

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