shuddered against her.
She kept moving her hips and squeezing him, drawing his climax out as he had done for her. He gasped with each roll of her hips, each time she tightened around him, until he finally collapsed against her, his forehead dipping against her collarbone. They held each other, their bodies shaking, their skin slick with sweat. She ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.
He looked up and kissed her lightly. "I just can't get enough of you," he said, still breathless.
"Likewise," she murmured. And it was true. No one had ever done this to her. No one had ever touched her like he did, had ever been so hungry for her. And the orgasms he so easily brought out of her—she shivered.
He touched her face. "You okay?"
She smiled. "Better than I've been in a long time."
He returned the smile. They separated and he moved away long enough to get rid of the condom. Then he rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline wore off and sleepiness moved back in. She didn't even know what time it was—the sky outside was still completely dark—and she didn't care.
Warm and blissfully satisfied beside him, Simone fell asleep again.
Chapter Ten
Simone awoke to sun pouring in through the windows. Out of habit, she winced in anticipation of the relentless stabbing pain of a hangover, but it didn't come. She looked at Jason, still sleeping soundly beside her, and last night came back to her. A shiver ran through her at the memory of the breathtaking climaxes he'd brought out of her. Even now, hours later, tingling aftershocks still murmured deep within her. She couldn't remember the last time a man had done that to her. And she remembered it all with perfect, crystal clarity, instead of in the hazy alcohol-veiled way she usually remembered sex, if she remembered it at all. She smiled. No men . Anne-Marie's words suddenly echoed in her mind, making her scowl with frustration.
She watched Jason sleep, forcing back the guilt that rose within her. No, not now, not yet. I'll deal with all of that later. For now . . . .
Jason Connor was exquisite, even now, lying on his stomach, his face half-hidden by the pillow, his entire body still except for the gentle rise and fall of his back with each breath. A hint of five o'clock shadow dusted his jaw and his hair was as unruly as it was the day she met him. As his eyes fluttered in his sleep, she realized he had longer eyelashes than any man had any business having. Even in sleep, exhausted and disheveled from an amazing night of sex, he was a beautiful contradiction of unabashed sexiness, gentle roughness, and boyish innocence.
Her gaze drifted to his shoulders. His tattoos were completely exposed now, and like Jason himself, were rugged and beautiful. The ink on his bicep was an intricate tribal design, leading into meticulously detailed and colorful Celtic knot-work and geometric patterns that stretched across his upper back. She wanted to touch them, to trace her fingers along their edges. She wanted to knead the sculpted muscles beneath them. She—
The muscles in his back rippled and he rolled onto his side. His eyes opened, and he smiled sleepily at her. "So it wasn't a dream," he whispered.
"No, definitely not."
"Thank God." He grinned, but then his expression shifted and his cheeks darkened a little. "I'm really not that kind of guy usually. But, honestly, I just couldn't resist you."
"A willing, horny woman, what's not to love?" Simone! Way to sound like a complete whore.
He let his thumb drift over the side of her wrist, raising goosebumps all over her.
"No, it's not like that at all. Really."
"What was it then?"
He watched his fingers run up and down her arm, his brow furrowing as if he were searching for the words. When he finally met her eyes again, he whispered, "What can I say? You're very attractive, Allyson. Very attractive. I just, I don't usually get carried away like that."
She shrugged. "I don't know, I
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