Home > Books > Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(92)

Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(92)

Author:Ilsa Madden-Mills

“Nova . . .”

She tugs my face to hers, and I let down her legs to lie on top of her, easing between them.

I slow us down, dragging out the thrusts, my face in her neck. We turn languid and unhurried, stretching out the moments I’m inside her. She feels like silk, tight and hot. I rise as I slide out, my crown rubbing over her clit before I thrust back inside.

“Nova . . .” I can’t find the right words for what’s happening between us.

“I’m here. I feel it too,” she breathes out.

With tender lips, I kiss her throat, her ear, her collarbone, her breasts. I want to consume her, have my smell on her skin.

Her hands clutch my ass, her nails digging into the skin, and I’m gone, euphoria ripping through my skin, my bones, every molecule inside me. I roar at the sensation, the ultimate pleasure, my body riding the wave. She tips over with me, our hands clinging to each other.

With her caged below me, I give her another kiss. “You’re beautiful. That was beautiful,” I tell her as we turn on our sides and face each other, our legs and feet tangling together. I push the hair out of her face, and the moments tick by as we stare at each other.

She smiles. “You’re gonna have a damp spot on your pool table. Can you recover it?”

I laugh. “This can be our sex table. I’ll put it in my bedroom.” My eyes eat her up—the flushed cheekbones, the dainty nose.

“I want to show you Star Wars,” I murmur. “Just you and me. I want to sit next to you and watch your face when you realize how awesome it is.”

Her hands toy with the ends of my hair. “You’re going to torture me with a galactic saga?”

“Come on; you know you’re dying to see it.” I rest my chin on her head.

She lifts her face. “Do you still have some vanilla wafers?”

I nod. “You can have the whole box, but I wanted to cook us dinner. I have steaks in the fridge. I picked them up today. On my own.”

“Such a big boy. Do you have potatoes and garlic bread?”

“And salad stuff.” I pause, holding her hands in mine. “Will you stay the night?”

“Sabine—”

“Lois has already said she’d stay over with her.”

She squints at me. “Did you have this all planned?”

“Hmm. I want you alone for one night.”

She lets out a gusty exhale. “This movie better be good.”

I smile broadly and kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re going to love it.”

She swats my ass. “Cook me dinner.”

Chapter 22

NOVA

We’re in Ronan’s bed. I’m propped up on the bed with pillows behind me. My fingers play with his hair as his head rests on a pillow on my legs. He strokes my legs, drawing little circles on my inner thigh. The movie reaches the end, and the credits begin to roll.

He turns his head and looks up at me. “Well?”

I smile.

“You hated it?” he says.

I open my mouth, then shut it.

“Tell me!”

I grimace. “The acting is bad, especially from Luke; the lines are cheesy; and the Stormtroopers . . . how on earth do they see out of those costumes? And they can’t kill anything with their weapons. Somehow, the main characters all manage to avoid getting blasted—well, except for poor Obi-Wan. Supposedly it’s set in a galaxy far, far away, but everyone speaks English?”

“Yes,” he growls.

“Hey, boo-boo, I loved it.”

He sits up, the sheets sliding against his bare chest. “Liar.”

I laugh as he pulls me down on the bed and cages me in underneath him.

“How will I punish you?”

“No. I promise. I do! Han Solo is awesome. He kills a lot of people. Chewie is my man. And R2-D2 is my favorite. I love him! May the Force be with you!”

“I don’t believe you.” He tickles me, his fingers dancing around my ribs. I squirm around him, giggling, trying to get to the edge of the bed. He drags me back. “You’re not escaping me.”

I gasp. “I swear!”

He leans over and kisses me slowly. “I’ll forgive you. I’ll let it go. I can live with you not loving it. On one condition.”

“What?”

“That you never change. That you’ll always be happy . . .” He stops, his eyes dark with emotion.

I blink. “Okay.”

He rolls over to his nightstand and opens a drawer, then comes back and places a small box in my hands. His words, when they come, are hesitant. “I got you something in Austin on my last day. I hope you like it. As soon as I saw it, I knew it had to be yours.”

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