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I nearly bust one from her mouth on me. Her hot, greedy, sucking mouth. She licks and sucks, up to the head, her tongue running under the sensitive edge and I bury my fingers in her hair. And then she swallows me down. So deep she gags. And she does it all over again. Again and again, all the time her hand working my shaft and balls and I can’t help it, I start to pull her from me and push her down instead. Not hard, but enough to let her know what I want and she goes willingly.
She works me like she’s going for gold. And I fucking come in her mouth.
My entire body is flooded with pleasure and then I pull her off me up and into my arms and I smooth her hair back. “You’re a fucking wonder, Zoey Smith.”
I kiss her. Long and slow and deep.
And then, we start everything all over again.
There’s a haze over me when I wake. Zoey is splayed over me, sleeping, and she makes little sighing noises as her hand curls against my chest.
I slept with her.
Not just the act of sex, but I fell asleep.
It’s not I haven’t gone and done that before. A good, hard, tension releasing fuck at the end of a grueling day or week or whatever happens to go on, can sometimes bring about enough relaxation I fall asleep. But I never spend the night. Not unless it’s a night designed for hard core sex that keeps us back at it until the day breaks.
And hell yes, I could do that with Zoey, just keeping fucking her. But sleeping with her?
I could do that, too.
I did.
And the haze is from the sex and from sleep and her. Maybe it’s been a while I’ve just fallen so deeply asleep. I don’t know. Outside, the day is gray again, and soft rain patters down. I can see the ugly building tops, old signs from decades ago of businesses that no longer exist, faded and chipped old paint. But somehow it doesn’t bother me as much as it normally does.
That kind of ugly doesn’t fit my aesthetic for what I want to craft in my areas of New York, but framed with simple cream gauze curtains, and a walnut wood-slatted set of blinds that match the frame of Zoey’s wide bed, and wide planked floorboards she must have once spent days sanding, staining and polishing, it has a softer, more romantic look. A framed photo of life.
Zoey stirs, and looks up through a curtain of tangled black curls, those violet eyes soft. “You’re still here.”
“It’s hard to do the sneak of shame when you’re being used as a pillow.”
“Shame, huh?” She bites her lip and pokes me in the abs. “You’re very…pillow-like.”
I laugh, pushing away all thoughts except for her and here and my hardening cock. Flipping her, so she’s under me, I nudge her thighs apart and she sighs.
Christ, I think I could spend forever with her.
The thought sits, and I poke at it, turning it to fit. This is how I need to be with her, to win her. I smooth the hair from her face, trying to make my brain get back to the mission at hand.
In a different world, maybe I’d wish for things I never think about. Maybe I’d wish for a chance to get to know Zoey as me. Or rather, have Zoey know me. But Zoey and Edward Magnus Sinclair would never mix, never be a thing.
I’ve no place for her world and she…Zoey wouldn’t ever want me as part of hers.
But that’s nothing but good sex and libido talking.
I don’t have space for relationships of the kind Zoey would want in my life. And I like that. What she wants takes a different man. One way less self-focused than me. One with fewer ambitions.
Mission, I remind myself. I need to keep my eye on my purpose here.
“This is just for now, Magnus,” she says softly, almost like she can read my mind.
“Is it?”
She nods, moving her hips up, like an unconscious offer of her delicious wares to me. “You don’t talk much about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
She sighs and moves again and I thrust against her because I can, because it turns her on, because I want to. “That’s not why…I just…my life isn’t yours, and my life is complicated right now. My energy is focused on keeping the store running, fighting off that billionaire bully…”
