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Somehow, I managed to indicate assent, and then April was there, on top of me, around me, everywhere I looked or smelled or felt. Her hair tickled my cheek. Her breasts pressed into my chest as she slid slowly down my length. Her wet heat inched down my cock as her thighs covered mine and her hands held my shoulders.
"God, you're perfect," I said, forcing myself to keep my eyes open so I could replay this later. She arched up again, her breasts jutting out and her cheeks flaming as she began to work up and down in a steady rhythm.
April gave me a steady, "Mmmmmhhhmmm," as she continued moving against me.
Though I wasn't opposed to the hard work of taking the lead during sex, I was definitely enjoying my reclined position, my view, and the fact that April seemed to be enjoying herself completely—there had been many times in the past where worry over a partner's enjoyment had made it almost impossible to enjoy sex. April was a refreshing change—in so many ways.
Watching April above me, letting her bring us both to climax through the steady rhythmic motion of her hips, was the most erotic thing I could imagine, and reality was far better than anything I would have imagined myself.
When I felt her clench over me, when her eyes had popped open and her mouth had made a sexy little "oh" of surprise, that was it. My hands sank into her hips, and my own pelvis ratcheted up as I ground out the words that were racing through my mind. "God, you're so sexy. You're perfect." My balls tightened up against my body as April cried out and threw her head back, and the sight of those amazing breasts, coupled with the squeezing of her muscles, stole the last bit of my control, and I released with a groan, pumping the last of myself into her.
It was perfect.
She melted down on top of me, her head to one side of mine as her body covered me, and I pulled the covers back up over us and then nestled one hand into her thick soft hair.
"You're amazing," I told her.
"You were there too," she said, her voice sleepy.
"You did all the work," I pointed out, grinning.
"Hmmm." April might have had a witty comeback, but it didn't get out before she slipped into a drowsy sleep. She roused when I slipped out of bed to clean up, and I was half afraid she'd pull back on her clothes and say goodbye. Instead, she shuffled out of the bathroom, still naked and bleary eyed, and slid back into my bed. "Is this okay?" she asked. "I'm so sleepy."
I looked at her, tucked into my big new bed, and thought it was far more than okay. "Yeah," I said, sliding over to brush the hair back from her face and kiss her cheek. "What time do you need to be up?"
"Seven," she mumbled.
I set the alarm, turned off the tree, and nestled against April's soft warmth, pulling her into me and wondering if it would be possible to stay awake all night, just to enjoy having her there.
13
It Always Comes Back to Pigs
April
Waking up in Callan's bed was … different. I was used to sleeping in a hotel, so waking up in a somewhat strange bed was nothing new, but waking up surrounded by strong muscled arms and the mingled scent of pine and something that was distinctly manly—that was definitely new. As I lay in the circle of masculine arms, pressing back lazily against his chest and feeling a distinctly steely length against one side of my butt, I let myself relive the previous night, which had been amazing.
Callan was funny and sweet, not at all like the grumpy jerk I’d met when I’d first come to his house. Or like the miserable guy who had all but shooed me off his property after shopping for Christmas decorations. It felt like he had let his guard down with me, like this was the real Callan under all the bravado and self-pity. And this guy? Well, I liked him. A lot.
But that was a bit of a problem too, and no matter how I tried to push away thoughts about what my uncle might say if he found out I’d just had sex with the key homeowner on my latest show, those thoughts were there. And I knew my uncle would be disappointed, to say the least. And that I’d be out of a job, and possibly a career. And maybe my apartment, since I wouldn't be able to pay rent…really, my whole life was at stake.
Still, this didn't feel like an illicit island dalliance, as my last mistake had been. And Callan didn't feel like an ego-driven conquest. I hadn't planned to fall into this enormous wooden sleigh bed with Callan Whitewood—it had just happened. And honestly? I thought it had happened in a much more normal and healthy way than many of my previous relationships had come into being. I liked Callan. And he seemed to like me. Wasn't that how things should begin?
"Hey," Callan's sleepy voice came from behind me as his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me firmly against the rock-hard erection between us.
"Hey," I returned, wiggling against him.
"It's almost seven," he said, his voice half-whispered in my ear, tickling me and sending a shiver through me. "Do you need to get to work or can you hang out a bit?"
I wanted to hang out. I thought I might like to hang out all day, and maybe spend some time investigating the iron rod Callan had in his bed, but I really didn't have time for that. "I actually need to go," I said, rolling over and putting a hand over my mouth as I faced Callan.
"What are you doing?" he laughed, pulling my hand away.
"Dragon breath," I said, trying to put it back and turning my head so I didn't breathe in his face.
His eyebrows went up but he didn't release me, pulling me closer to his warm chest instead. "I have a theory," he said. "That if two people both have morning breath, neither of them will notice the other's."
I shook my head, afraid to open my mouth at this close range.
