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And so does Josh.
He comes inside my ass with a roar, buried deep as he unloads, and his eyes are fixed on the sopping wet mess between my legs while he does it.
I thought I’d be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m weirdly proud of myself.
Seems he is, too. I see it in his grin as he smears the wetness between my thighs.
“That’s so fucking hot. I didn’t know you were a squirter.”
“Yeah. Well, neither did I.”
“What a quick learner.”
“I’ll put it down to a great teacher.”
I cuss and curse as he pulls out of me, my senses returning as I register just how fucking painful that was, but I’m grinning along with him.
Pride is such a beautiful feeling, and so is being wrapped in Josh’s arms as he holds me tight. He lands a soft kiss on my forehead, then rubs his nose against mine.
I relax against him, enjoying the closeness, but I’m smirking at the thought of the filthy fire inside him. At this rate, being fucked by a hardcorer like him, I’ll be topping the charts in no time.
I rub my nose on his in return, and drop a soft kiss on his gorgeous lips.
I love you… you gorgeous beast.
Chapter Eighteen
Josh takes his proposal warmups seriously. And I mean super seriously. I watch him in admiration – a voyeur at the breakfast bar as he does his fierce stomach crunches, loving how he twists his torso with every crunch. I sip my tea, and I get now why Tiff is so generous with the Rocky theme whenever she’s around him. Makes sense. He even does the one arm push-ups with the jump in the middle. I mean that’s hardcore. No wonder he’s such an Adonis.
Maybe I should take up aerobics. I could have done a more impressive sprint in heels last night if I’d practiced on Josh’s treadmill. I mean, I milk the pelvic floor to hell, but aerobics have never really been my bag.
“Come on over,” he says as he wipes his forehead between exercises. “We can do a joint workout.”
“I’ll be pants. I was blessed with this body, I inherited it from Mum. From genetics, not effort.”
He shakes his head. “You always under appreciate yourself. You told me how you worked your butt off at your store job. Pulling trolleys full of stock, the crouch and rises of restocking shelves. You think that comes easy?”
I think back to it, of pulling the pallet deliveries around the warehouse, and refilling the top shelves at lightning speed.
“Alright,” I say, and join him.
“Give your body a good shake first,” he says. “Like this.”
He shows me how to kick my legs out and shake my arms, then some stretches, touching my toes then up, arms above my head. He nods, encouraging as he watches me, and I have to grin.
“You’re a personal trainer in an alternate reality, you know.”
“Not in an alternate reality. Until Tiff found The Agency, I was one.”
“For real?”
“Yep, for my local gym. Did a bit of lifeguarding as well at their swimming pool.”
I realise then just how little I really know about my boyfriend. He’s a listener more than a talker. Quite the opposite of Connor, who gave a constant monologue on his future music career.
“I bet people pretended to drown, just so you’d dive in and rescue them.”
He laughs. “One woman did it every Saturday morning. I quite enjoyed it. Call me a show off.”
