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I gasped, my hips bucking, but he pinned me right there—right fucking there—and he struck that place again.
I needed more of it, over and over, and I gripped his arse. “More. Right there. More.” My voice didn’t even sound like mine. It was fraught and desperate and pleading. “Please. More, please.”
And he gave me more. Harder and repeatedly, striking that magical spot, tapping it like a flint against stone, sparks flying in all directions until finally—finally—the tinder caught alight.
A fire of pleasure so hot, so bright, ripped through me and consumed me.
All I could do was hold on and let him control the flames.
And control me, he did.
I’d never experienced anything like it. An orgasm so ferocious it felt like an out-of-body experience. So intense, so encompassing.
Somewhere in the haze I heard Keats groan, his striking that magical fire reaching a crescendo before he thrust in hard one last time, stilled, and cried out.
But I was lost to it, to him, to whatever the hell that was.
He collapsed on top of me, and neither one of us could move.
I was still so jittery, my nerves a frazzled mess, yet somehow sated and content, and...
And he slipped out of me.
It felt wrong to miss him when he was still on top of me, but I wanted him inside me again.
I wanted him always.
“You need to do that again,” I said. “Repeatedly, forever. I don’t even know what that was or if it was even legal, but I want more.”
He chuckled lazily into my neck then rolled off me, collecting me and pulling me into his strong arms. My face pressed against his chest and he kissed the side of my head. “I would also like more,” he mumbled. “But I’m gonna need a minute.”
“Just a minute?”
He snorted. “Yeah, maybe an hour. Or two.”
I was still twitchy, and when I clenched my arse, a full body shudder rippled through me. “Jesus.”
He laughed and rubbed my back, and after a minute or two, my tremors settled and I began to feel heavy. “Feel better?”
“Hmm.”
What I was feeling now was sleepy.
Wiped out, even.
He tightened his hold on me, and we dozed off.
I’d never felt so comfortable and safe in my entire life. Which was ridiculous, given the brief length of time I’d known Keats. I’d never even needed to feel safe before. But that’s what I felt with him.
It was irrational and absurd, yet so very real.
And maybe it was the fact he’d just given me the best orgasm of my life—and I would hazard a guess that played a very big part—but my heart was already invested in him.
And when I woke to soft circles being traced on my back, gentle touches and sweet kisses to my forehead, I was in total agreement with my heart.
Doomed. By the second date. Well and truly in over my head, and I’d never been happier.
“I’m hungry,” he murmured. “Shall we order in?”
