She cried out, her head titling back and her back arching. He couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she seemed to not breathe for a long moment. He held still, afraid he was doing more harm than good. “Tell me you’re okay, Cela.”
She took a breath finally, panting. “Yes. Please. Keep going.”
He slid back and plunged inside her again, this time meeting no resistance—just the pure ecstasy of being surrounded by her heat.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, her grip on him easing and a softness smoothing her tense features. “Yes… this.”
And that was all he needed. He moved inside her again, the feel of her like hot cashmere around his cock. God, she was so snug, so maddeningly sexy. He didn’t know if he’d ever experienced such an intense feeling. Sweet agony bled through his veins as he pumped into her with a cadence that belied the urgent need building in him. He would not rush this.
He didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to lose the beautiful sight of her beneath him, the pained bliss that was coloring her features. “You’re so beautiful, Cela. So fucking perfect.”
She lifted her lashes and reached up to touch his face, to brush her fingers along his stubble. The tender intimacy of the move almost undid him. “And you’re better than the fantasy, Foster.”
He dropped onto his forearms, unable to bear another second without kissing her. His mouth met hers in a hungry rush, tongues and lips clashing. She laced her fingers in his hair and pulled tight. Out of his conscious control at this point, his hips begin to thrust into her with more force. She whimpered into his mouth, and the bed squeaked beneath them as sweat glazed his skin.
He didn’t break the kiss, but reached a hand in between them to find her clit. The moment he touched it, her pussy gripped him, contracted.
“Come with me, angel,” he said, lifting up only far enough to watch her face and then picking up speed.
He angled his hips to brush his cock over her where he knew she needed, and strummed her clit. A long, gritty moan passed her lips, and he felt the precise moment she shattered. It was all he needed. His balls drew tight and the all-encompassing explosion of pleasure shot through him like bullet train.
The sweet, erotic sounds of her orgasm danced around him, driving him higher as he emptied every bit of him inside her, his body throbbing and pulsing, all with need for her. Just her.
And the realization didn’t hit him then.
It didn’t even hit him as he lifted off her, kissed her face all over, and eventually tucked her into a robe.
But then he went into the bathroom to toss the condom.
And saw red.
And he knew, knew what had been haunting her eyes in the elevator.
Never have I ever…
He leaned against the bathroom wall, his heart sinking.
Fuck.
I rolled to the left, bumping into tattooed, sleep-warmed skin. The obstruction spun my hazy brain into confusion for a moment. Where was I? Was I dreaming? I blinked in the predawn darkness, finding Pike snoring softly, his bare back to me. My mind stumbled, then rewound, the memories of the night dropping back into place.
A long breath pushed past my lips as I lay back on the pillows and rubbed my eyes. No, this had been no dream. My achy, tender body punctuated that conclusion. I’d actually done it—shoved past all my worry and inhibitions and gotten naked with not just one of the neighbors I’d been fantasizing about, but both of them. And I’d had sex with Foster. Sex. I was a virgin no longer. I waited for the shame to hit me. The morning-after regret I’d heard about from friends, but none came.
The only thing clawing at me was the memory of the way I’d felt when Foster had held me and kissed me, the way he’d felt filling my body. The physical discomfort of it had been expected, the initial wave of it breath stealing. But that pain had faded to a soft hum in the background when my eyes had locked with his. Something far deeper than the sensations my body was experiencing had passed through me. An intense oneness with him.
It’d probably been the simple fact that he was my first. Girls were wired to get romantic notions about that, right? But later when Pike had joined the two of us in bed again, I hadn’t felt the same thing kissing and cuddling him. Being with Pike was fun—he was sex personified and he made me laugh—but I didn’t get that tight feeling in my stomach when he looked at me.
I turned to my right, seeking the man who was stirring up the turmoil in me, but that side of the bed was empty. I reached out and touched the rumpled sheets. Cold.
I frowned and squinted at the clock—a little past five A.M. Careful not to disturb Pike, I scooted across the bed and climbed to my feet, grabbing the robe I’d thrown over the high-backed chair in the corner. My body protested at the movement, soreness fully setting in now. But in a way, I welcomed the discomfort, the proof that the night had really happened and wasn’t some fantasy. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I padded across the plush carpet and slipped out of the bedroom.
The living room was still in twilight, but the silhouette of a man standing in front of the large windows drew me. Foster stared out at the coming dawn, the lights of downtown Dallas starting to blink off, preparing for the sun’s appearance. He held a mug in his hands, blowing across the top of it.
I hung in the shadow of the far side of the room, simply enjoying watching him. The muscles in his back shifted and caught the light as he lifted his coffee to his lips and sipped. There was an elegance to his economy of movement, to his stillness. His brows were drawn low, his profile a sculpture of deep thought.
I almost turned back toward the bedroom, afraid to interrupt the sanctity of his quiet morning, but when I stepped backward, my robe brushed a nearby lampshade, sending the lamp chain clinking against the metal base.
Foster tipped his head in my direction, a slight turn, but didn’t take his eyes off the view. “You’re up early.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “Said the rooster to the chicken.”
He looked at me then, a quirk of a smile. “I’m not so good at the sleeping-in thing. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t.” I stepped out of the dark and headed to the oversized chair near the window. When I sat, my body reminded me again of all I’d been through in the last few hours. But even the tenderness of my backside had a flash of lust zipping through me. God, I was a glutton for punishment. Since when was pain a good thing? I tucked my legs beneath me and resisted the urge to go over to Foster and kiss him good morning. “I’m not sure what woke me up. Maybe Pike’s snoring.”
Foster chuckled. “Don’t tell him he snores. It will devastate his Mr. Suave self-image.”
“Never.” I pantomimed zipping my mouth shut.
Foster’s smirk remained in place, but I sensed this lighthearted conversation was simply pretty decoration on top of a pile of crap that wasn’t been said. The lines around his mouth, the way he gripped his coffee, even the set of his shoulders had my nerves rising, my fingers fiddling with the tie of my terrycloth robe. He knew.
He released a long sigh and moved away from the window to perch on the arm of the couch across from me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I stared down at fidgeting hands. “Tell you what?”
“Cela,” he said in that commanding tone he’d used in the bedroom. “Look