“Slow next time.”
“Yes.”
He slides inside me, filling and stretching me, and we both groan-sigh together.
“Heaven,” he breathes, thrusting into me again while I arch my hips to meet him.
“More,” I whimper.
“So tight.”
“So hard.”
“So fucking good.”
He hits that magic spot inside me, and I cry out. “There, Hayes. Oh my god, there.”
“Louder, Begonia. Scream for me.”
“You… feel… so good.”
He’s a wild animal, completely unleashed, bucking his hips and slamming into me, hitting that sweet spot with every stroke, making my nerve endings tight and deliciously anxious as my release builds inside me, everything tightening and coiling inside me.
“Begonia,” Hayes gasps. “Bluebell, I’m so fucking close. Baby, I need you to come. Come all over my cock.”
And that’s all it takes.
I cry his name as my release washes over me, throbbing and pulsing and squeezing him while he stills, his neck straining, his eyes locked on mine, lips parted while he groans through his own orgasm.
“Begonia,” he pants.
I can’t speak.
I’m babbling incoherently, my words drifting away into the cool night air while I ride wave after wave of my climax.
It’s like my body has been saving up for this for years.
And it probably has.
Hayes collapses on top of me, his breath tickling my neck, before the last tremors of my orgasm have finished sending shivers through my body. I stretch my toes, let my legs fall more open, and my arms collapse to the ground too.
And then I giggle.
“Dear god, you’re going to murder me with sex, aren’t you?” Hayes murmurs.
“Can we do that again?”
“Correction: You would murder me with denying me sex. I would die of blue balls.”
I snort-laugh.
He sucks in a breath, his body going still, and I realize my vagina is squeezing his spent cock.
I love this moment.
I’m so very vulnerable. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
But also safe.
I know to the deepest parts of me that while this may only be a side benefit of our arrangement, Hayes won’t hurt me.
Not on purpose.
I trust him.
He lets me be me.
“Are you hungry?” I murmur into his hair as I find the strength to run my fingers through it once more.
He settles his head deeper onto my shoulder. “No,” he murmurs. “I’m too content to be hungry.” He kisses my collarbone. “Begonia?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for being you.”
My eyes go hot, and I blink the sensation away as quickly as I can.
This might not be permanent, but it’s good, if only to show me what I truly want in a relationship.
To show me what relationships can be.
And I will never settle for anything less again.
26
Hayes
For the second night in a row, my dinner tastes as though it’s been sprinkled with fairy dust and dipped in flavors newly fallen from the heavens.
It’s a simple charcuterie picnic, with cheeses and prosciutto and capicola, grapes and figs, honeycomb and cornichons, crackers and dipping sauces.
But it tastes better for watching Begonia enjoy it.
Correction.
It tastes better for helping a very naked Begonia enjoy it.
“What kind of cheese is this?” she asks, leaning over to hold a cube to my mouth.
I eat it off her fingers and chew slowly while she watches me. “No idea. I need another.”
I’d swear her smile blossoms from the depths of her soul. It’s so wide, uninhibited, and joyful—so very Begonia. “Mr. Rutherford, are you trying to get me to feed you again?”
I offer her a fig, which she eats off my fingers. “What good is it to have a Greek painting brought to life if she doesn’t let me lie with my head in her lap and feed me grapes off the vine?”
“I am not a Greek painting.”
“Correct. You’re much lovelier.”
She scoots closer, her bare chest brushing mine as we recline on the blanket in the comfortable summer evening, and she dangles another cube of cheese over my lips. “You may have another sample, but not until you tell me if you’ve ever camped.”
“Like this?”
“No, like in a tent in the woods, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over the fire and telling ghost stories until you can’t sleep because every raccoon or squirrel sounds like the claw coming to get you.”