His hands circled my hip bones, pressing me down to the mattress as he devoured me, stroking me with his tongue, occasionally stopping to suck my clit into his mouth, nibbling on it softly. He knew what he was doing. Normally, I’d find it commendable. Experience didn’t always equal good performance. This time, though, my heart squeezed. Like Past Christian was supposed to know Present Christian would meet me, somehow, and had to wait it out. Which was absolutely, atrociously stupid.
There was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was doing it all wrong. This was New York, and we were in our thirties. Usually, I went through a routine. I needed to see a clean medical bill. To have the Talk. To ensure he’d come with a pack of condoms. With Christian, I breezed past the technicalities like they didn’t exist.
“Condoms,” I panted, feeling my first orgasm slithering its way up my skin. From my toes, up my legs, climbing higher. “Tell me you have condoms.”
He shook his head, which was still buried between my thighs, just when my eyes dropped shut and my body began to quiver with my climax. I shook all over, and when I opened my eyes again, I saw him propped on his elbows, staring at me, absorbed in thought.
“I’m clean.”
I don’t want to get pregnant.
For a second, I imagined how that’d go. If I accidentally got pregnant with Christian’s child. What would Conrad think. Beatrice too. A panicked giggle bubbled up my throat, but I managed to swallow it down.
“I’m not on the pill,” I said. He began kissing his way up my abdomen, his mouth hot and damp, his breath carrying the earthy, feminine scent of me.
“I’ll pull out.”
“Are we in high school now?”
“What we are is in complete lust with each other. I can’t wait. I’ll pull out, then go downstairs and buy condoms for the next round. And there will be a next round.”
He ascended up my body until our faces were aligned. His eyes were mesmerizing. Clear, icy blues. Calm water over gleam-tipped icebergs. My resolve collapsed, just like it always did where this man was concerned. I closed my eyes and nodded once.
Christian was inside me.
He was still wearing his suit when he entered me. He was big—bigger than average—and he closed his eyes, not moving, just relishing the moment. I stared at him in awe. Everything about what we were doing felt monumental.
He began to move inside me, flinging one of my legs over his shoulder as he stared deep into my eyes. It surprised me. The intensity of it. After all, we hadn’t known each other for that long. I circled my arms around his neck while he filled me to the brim. I rolled my hips forward each time he pushed into me, meeting him in the middle. Another climax tickled inside me.
“Arya.” Christian’s forehead dropped to my chest as he picked up the pace. “Please tell me you’re close, because I am.”
“Yes.” I nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m very close.”
Christian groaned, pulling out of me and squeezing himself hard, staving off his climax. He tore his gaze away and looked to the floor, concentrating on a spot before pushing back into me. Already aroused and sensitive from the friction, that was all I needed to fall apart in his arms and come again. The minute he felt me clenching around him, he mumbled, “Thank you,” pulled out of me, and came. Ribbons of his release coated my belly. It took me a few moments to descend down to earth and realize what we’d done. Christian rolled next to me on the bed. We both stared at the ceiling. There was the distinct feeling that we were like teenagers who’d just done something bad.
“You didn’t even take your clothes off.” I stared at my ceiling in a daze, wondering if he’d call tomorrow.
“No,” he said in wonder, turning his face to look at me. “Let’s rectify that. Shower?”
“First door to the left.”
He grabbed my hand. Squeezed. “Come with me.”
“I just did.” I grinned.
He laughed, tugging me gently from my bed. “Here we are. One step. Then another. Not so bad, is it?”
Our mutual shower was scorching. A slow-burn make-out session. We embraced, making out under the hot water. There, I could appreciate all of him, in his entirety. His defined six-pack, the coarse dark hair on his chest, his broad shoulders. Our kisses were hot and lingering, openmouthed, and I tried to remember the last time I’d felt so happy and content. Not in this decade, I suspected.
When we got out, Christian got dressed. “I’ll go downstairs to get some johnnies. Should I bring back takeout? How about Chinese?” He buttoned his shirt, perched on the side of my bed, not bothering with the tie.