Page 118 of A Story of Love

“I’ve already got one,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his erection against her opening.

They both laughed.

“That was terrible. I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t resist.” He kissed her jaw and then lightly bit the spot and kissed it again. “I can’t resist you, either,” he growled.

She did feel an unpleasant stretch when he breached her, but it was superseded by the bliss of having him inside her again. Once more, she couldn’t help comparing her experience with Dorian with the way she felt with Fast.

“Such a wet, tight pussy,” he murmured, and then chuckled when his wicked words made her clench her inner muscles. “Touch me, lover,” he said, his thrusts easy and slow.

Lori eagerly complied, massaging the compact muscles that she’d surreptitiously stroked last night.

“Ah, God,” he groaned, his tight bottom bunching and flexing. “That feels so good. Harder—you can’t hurt me.”

Lori dug her fingers into the taut flesh.

“Yessss,” he hissed. “So good—so perfect.” His strokes became rougher, less controlled, and the massive bed jolted with the power of his thrusts. “I don’t want to come, but you’re going to make me—Lorelei!” His body went rigid just before he withdrew from her.

This time Lori was paying attention and watched as he spent. He gave himself only a few brutal jerks and then his head dropped back as ribbon after ribbon jetted from the tiny slit, the muscles of his chest and abdomen so defined that she could see the individual striations with every spasm and thrust.

Once there was nothing left, he did as he’d done the night before and collapsed with an exhausted groan. This time, her arms slid around him without hesitation, and she held him tight to her body.

Lori must have fallen asleep because the next time she opened her eyes she was alone in the bed and the light coming through the window was bright yellow rather than the weak gray light of dawn.

She yawned and stretched, a smile stretching her mouth as she remembered last night and the words he’d spoken.

He loves me.

No. He’s falling in love with you, the pedantic voice in her head corrected.

For once, Lori could laugh at the chiding voice. So what if he’d said falling? It was enough that he’d given voice to the feelings that had been swirling around inside her for weeks.

Lori sat up and swung her feet off the bed before noticing her uncharacteristic nudity. And then she recalled why she was without a stitch of clothing that morning and smiled.

Still smiling, she glanced to the end of the bed, where she usually kept her dressing gown. Only then did she recall that she was not in her gaudy black bedchamber, but Fast’s gaudy red one.

Instead of a robe on the footboard bench there were two familiar pale pink boxes tied with silver ribbon. She stared uncomprehendingly for a long moment.

And then the truth came to her in a rush: It had been Fast who’d bought her gowns and jewels. Lori had never once considered him. But then why would she have suspected him?

His words from last night came back to her: I think I’m falling in love with you. Just how long had that been going on?

And why had he purchased dresses for her? Because her clothing was so dismal?

She felt a stab of disappointment but quashed it; why should that upset her? It was certainly true. Her dreadful taste when it came to sartorial matters had always been a source of amusement among her friends. There was no denying that the gowns Fast had chosen suited her perfectly. How could such gifts be insulting?

Lori pushed aside her unease as well as the bedclothes. She found her garments in a neatly folded pile on one of the chairs and slipped her chemise over her head before slowly going toward the boxes, as if she were approaching a dangerous animal rather than luxurious gifts.

But then wasn’t what was in the box dangerous—the expensive gowns and valuable jewels, both items a wealthy man gave a mistress—and her hand hesitated on the lid of the top box.

So, that is what you are, isn’t it?

Lori yanked her hand back from the boxes when she heard the door open. She turned, expecting to find one of the maids with her breakfast.

But it was Fast. “Ah! You’re awake,” he said, hitching the door shut with his foot as his hands were occupied carrying a tray that was twice as big as usual. “I was hoping to catch you still abed,” he added, setting down the tray. His smile grew bigger when he saw what she’d been looking at. “Oh, good. I wanted to watch you open them.”

“You gave me those other gifts.”

His smile faltered at her accusatory tone. “Yes.”