Page 53 of Size Doesn't Matter

A cry he echoed seconds later before collapsing on top of her, satiated and content.

They lay like that for a moment, their panted breaths and the pounding of his blood in his ears the only things he could hear. Then he tried to move, tried to shift his weight off her, but her limbs all tensed around him, holding him in place. “Stay inside me,” she whispered. “Please.”

There was a hitch in her voice that worried him. Lifting his head from the crook of her neck, he stared down at her, watched her tears track silently down her rosied cheeks. “Sophie,” he began, but she laid her fingertips over his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“I’m all right,” she said, relieving his anxiety when she smiled. “It’s just that I haven’t come that hard since, well, since the last time I saw you. I’d almost forgotten how good it feels when you’re inside me.”

Yep. This woman waswaaaytoo good for his ego.

He returned her smile and kissed her fingertips. “I guess I’ll have to remind you as often as possible, then, won’t I?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, squeezing her pussy around his dick, urging him back to life. “You will.”

20

The next morning, Jack slept in. It was only until seven o’clock, but considering he was usually up before the crack of dawn, it definitely counted. As he stretched his body, he yawned deeply, then rolled to look at Sophie. She was still sound asleep and softly snoring, and not even the bouncing of the bed as he got out of it seemed to bother her, confirming what he’d thought on New Year’s morning.

She’s a heavy sleeper.

With a final glance at his lover, he made his way to the bathroom and climbed into the shower. Standing under the spray of hot water, he let it soak his hair and soothe his tired muscles as he allowed his mind to wander. He was exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion. The type of full-body tiredness that came from doing a good day’s—or night’s—work.

His angel had worn him out.

In his defence, he had been on the go since 4:00 a.m. the previous day, and as tired as Sophie had been when he got her back to the hotel, he hadn’t expected her to catch a second wind. He certainly hadn’t expected the third. Jack chuckled as he washed himself. He’d been with women who had high libidos before, but never one as adventurous or as enthusiastic as Sophie.

Nor as strong.

Physically, Sophie was a large woman. She was as tall as him, standing at six feet, maybe even a fraction taller, and she had at least ten kilos on him in weight, possibly fifteen.

No wonder she was such a brat.

She probably hadn’t met a man yet who knew how to properly control her, knew how to give her that thing she craved most, but she would learn. Jack would teach her. She didn’t have to be strong with him, not if she didn’t want to be.

He would take care of her, protect her.

He would do whatever necessary to keep her by his side.

Turning off the water, he stepped out of the shower and quickly dried himself, then wrapped the towel around his hips. Exiting the bathroom, he looked to the bed. Sophie was still sprawled across the mattress, her hair a wild tangle strewn about her head, her large breasts exposed above the cotton sheet and her pretty pink nipples peaked in the cool climate-controlled air.

The urge to wake her up and fuck her all over again was intense, but she needed her sleep and he—unfortunately—had work to do.

A couple of hours, a few phone calls, and several emails later, Jack approached the bed and gently shook his lover’s shoulder. “Sophie, it’s time to wake up, angel.” Her only response was a dismissive grunting sound, followed by rolling over and facing away from him. His mouth quirked into a pinched smile as he held back his laughter and tried again, shaking her more forcibly. “Sophie,” he said, injecting his voice with a level of command he knew she usually responded to. “It’s time to get up. Now.”

She groaned, then whined, “But it’s so early. Why are you so mean?”

No longer able to restrain his humour, Jack chuckled. He’d never considered dating a brat before, had always seen them as a lot of work for very little payoff, but he was man enough to admit when he was wrong. Having a brat like Sophie, a mature woman whose brattiness leaned more towards sarcasm and teasing and less towards tantrums and testing of his patience, was turning out to be a lot of fun. And that was something he hadn’t had enough of in a long, long time.

“It’s after nine, baby. We have to check out soon. Time to get up, get dressed, and get going.”

That got her attention. Rolling towards him, she shielded her eyes from the light with her forearm but lifted it high enough to peek out at him. “Go where?”

“Home,” he said, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. He rested his hand on her hip, ensuring he could stop her from rolling away again. “I have to get back to Sydney, and you’re coming with me.”

She didn’t even blink at his boldness, just stared at him for a moment, silent, before her lips thinned in a devious smile and she said in a calm voice, “Oh? And why will I be doing that?”

“Three reasons,” he replied, taking her wrist in a firm grip and shifting her arm away from her face. He wanted her full attention for this conversation. “One, you need to be back in Sydney tomorrow morning for your hair and makeup test. Two, you’re moving in with me.”

“Excuse me?”

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