again and his fingers are curling inside me, rubbing at the perfect spot. I can’t speak anymore. I can’t think. All I can do is feel.
Monroe
. I go over, losing the battle.
My back arches off the bed, and my fingers lock in his hair. I cry out like a crazy person, the sensations fanning out like the waves of a bomb blast. I can’t even try to be demure or sexy about it. I just freaking lose it. I’m calling his name. I’m begging him to stop, to keep going, to
yes, yes, yes
. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
And when I’m finally left in a gasping, panting lump made of The Girl Formerly Known as Natalie, Monroe gets up and shucks the rest of his clothes, and I’m ready to die all over again. Good God. Men shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.
Usually after an orgasm, I’m done. Tension released, let’s move on and watch some late-night TV. But right now, I feel far from done. I don’t just want him. I need him. Inside me. Preferably now.
Lucky for me, he seems to have the same idea. He wrenches open his bedside drawer and comes up with a foil packet. The condom is rolled on in record time. “You okay?”
“So very okay,” I say, and scoot up the bed.
He smiles and climbs onto the bed, and I realize just how big of a guy he is. I feel small beneath him. I like it.
“I want to kiss you.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s asking permission. And maybe I should be weirded out that I’ll taste myself, but somehow it doesn’t feel strange. Because I want to kiss him, too. We’re sharing all of this. And nothing feels awkward or gross or out of bounds. I wrap my hand around his neck and draw him down to me.
He makes a greedy sound in the back of his throat and we kiss, long and languid. He grabs my knee, situating himself between my thighs, caressing me along the way. I’m melting into the bed. I feel him at my entrance, and my fingernails dig into his back. I want to absorb him. I almost can’t take the anticipation.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips.
And he answers my plea, pushing inside me—easy at first, making sure I’m okay, and then sliding deep when I tap his back like he’s some racehorse who needs to pick up the pace. I make some
oh-God-yes
noise at the feel of him, at the way my body stretches to accommodate him. Sweet pressure and fullness. We’re joined. Me and this stranger who wanted to make my birthday a happier one. For a moment, we stay that way, him inside me, our lips kissing whatever they can find, hands mapping.
I’m having a one-night stand
. Somewhere that thought floats through my head. But this doesn’t feel anything like I expected. I thought it would be a fun thing—wild, physical. And this
is
physical. But it feels like so much more than that. Because when Monroe braces his arms alongside me and holds my gaze while he moves inside me, I feel like this is bigger than a hookup. This is what sex is supposed to be like. Not just a whole-body experience, but a whole-mind one. And even though this will only be one night for us, I know somehow that there is a bar being set in my life. There will be no going back to the world of Before.
I will want this.
I deserve this.
“You feel so good,” Monroe says as he reaches back and grips my thigh, somehow sinking even deeper. “And you’re so damn sexy when you come. I can’t wait to see it again, to feel you lose it around me.”
I close my eyes, drunk with the feel of him. “I’m not sure I can. I’ve never done that twice in the same night.”
“Mmm,” he says, obviously getting lost in his own sensations. “Maybe you’ve just never had a guy who was dedicated enough to make that happen. Just let go and trust me to take care of you.”
If Caleb had said something like that, I would’ve felt like it was some edict. Like if it didn’t happen, it would be my fault somehow. But with Monroe, I don’t feel any pressure. And really, this isn’t about reaching some destination for
Monroe
. I go over, losing the battle.
My back arches off the bed, and my fingers lock in his hair. I cry out like a crazy person, the sensations fanning out like the waves of a bomb blast. I can’t even try to be demure or sexy about it. I just freaking lose it. I’m calling his name. I’m begging him to stop, to keep going, to
yes, yes, yes
. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
And when I’m finally left in a gasping, panting lump made of The Girl Formerly Known as Natalie, Monroe gets up and shucks the rest of his clothes, and I’m ready to die all over again. Good God. Men shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.
Usually after an orgasm, I’m done. Tension released, let’s move on and watch some late-night TV. But right now, I feel far from done. I don’t just want him. I need him. Inside me. Preferably now.
Lucky for me, he seems to have the same idea. He wrenches open his bedside drawer and comes up with a foil packet. The condom is rolled on in record time. “You okay?”
“So very okay,” I say, and scoot up the bed.
He smiles and climbs onto the bed, and I realize just how big of a guy he is. I feel small beneath him. I like it.
“I want to kiss you.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s asking permission. And maybe I should be weirded out that I’ll taste myself, but somehow it doesn’t feel strange. Because I want to kiss him, too. We’re sharing all of this. And nothing feels awkward or gross or out of bounds. I wrap my hand around his neck and draw him down to me.
He makes a greedy sound in the back of his throat and we kiss, long and languid. He grabs my knee, situating himself between my thighs, caressing me along the way. I’m melting into the bed. I feel him at my entrance, and my fingernails dig into his back. I want to absorb him. I almost can’t take the anticipation.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips.
And he answers my plea, pushing inside me—easy at first, making sure I’m okay, and then sliding deep when I tap his back like he’s some racehorse who needs to pick up the pace. I make some
oh-God-yes
noise at the feel of him, at the way my body stretches to accommodate him. Sweet pressure and fullness. We’re joined. Me and this stranger who wanted to make my birthday a happier one. For a moment, we stay that way, him inside me, our lips kissing whatever they can find, hands mapping.
I’m having a one-night stand
. Somewhere that thought floats through my head. But this doesn’t feel anything like I expected. I thought it would be a fun thing—wild, physical. And this
is
physical. But it feels like so much more than that. Because when Monroe braces his arms alongside me and holds my gaze while he moves inside me, I feel like this is bigger than a hookup. This is what sex is supposed to be like. Not just a whole-body experience, but a whole-mind one. And even though this will only be one night for us, I know somehow that there is a bar being set in my life. There will be no going back to the world of Before.
I will want this.
I deserve this.
“You feel so good,” Monroe says as he reaches back and grips my thigh, somehow sinking even deeper. “And you’re so damn sexy when you come. I can’t wait to see it again, to feel you lose it around me.”
I close my eyes, drunk with the feel of him. “I’m not sure I can. I’ve never done that twice in the same night.”
“Mmm,” he says, obviously getting lost in his own sensations. “Maybe you’ve just never had a guy who was dedicated enough to make that happen. Just let go and trust me to take care of you.”
If Caleb had said something like that, I would’ve felt like it was some edict. Like if it didn’t happen, it would be my fault somehow. But with Monroe, I don’t feel any pressure. And really, this isn’t about reaching some destination for
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