His words made me glance down to his slacks. To the impressive tent that awaited my attention. My eyes snapped back up to him. “Sorry, pal. My time with you didn’t chart in the first twenty memorable fucks I’ve had.”
Devon grinned, little crinkles of happiness decorating his jewel-colored eyes. “Liar.”
He turned around and strolled out of the bathroom, all confidence and suaveness. I seized the opportunity and launched out of the shower, jumping in front of him, and blocking his way. I pushed him back toward the bathroom, my body soaking his tux with water.
“Not so fast, Duke of Cuntington. I believe it’s your tur—”
Before I could finish the sentence, he pushed me against the wall, and covered my mouth in a punishing, bruising kiss.
His hands roamed my back, running down to my ass and cupping it with strong fingers. He pushed me against his erection through his pants. The air around us buzzed with rage and frustration and darkness. We were both starved.
He tore his mouth from mine, rolling his thumb over my lips, erotically prying them open.
“Now, now, Sweven. Don’t be so upset. I knew I needed to wake you up to be inside you, and touching you before I boarded a plane to England was of paramount importance.”
“When are you leaving?” I darted my tongue out to swirl it over his thumb. His lips parted, a half-drunk look forming on his Adonis face.
My fingers unbuttoned his slacks. My body lit up like a live wire.
“Tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Business.” His mouth dipped between us, to my breasts, and he took one of my nipples between his teeth, gazing up and smiling at me before it disappeared inside his mouth when he sucked.
“But what if we miss my ovulation window?” I let my head roll backward, a low moan escaping me. I threaded my fingers through his hair, the intense pleasure of being in his arms coming back to me in full force.
Devon’s lips quirked. “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to go through another month of fucking one another. Remember, you have five months before I discard your lovely arse.”
His cock sprang free from his slacks as his knuckles brushed my slit. I knew he wasn’t going to finger me. It wasn’t Devon’s style. There was something outrageously proper about the way he fucked. He screwed you in a way that felt both clean and dirty. It was why I was so obsessed with him—in bed—in the first place. My body trembled with anticipation the way it had all those years ago, when he cornered me in Cillian Fitzpatrick’s cabin and dared me to let him make me come five times in one night. He’d delivered on that promise. In spades.
Devon fisted his thick, engorged cock, rolling it along my slit, slapping my clit with it. We both watched intently, our hot breaths mixing together.
He pushed his tip inside me to find that I was completely soaked. His eyes traveled up. We both grinned at each other. I nodded once, giving him permission.
He slid his entire cock inside me, grabbed the back of my thighs, and began fucking me against the wall. The cold surface behind me dug between my shoulder blades.
And yet I didn’t care.
Didn’t care Devon was still fully clothed.
Didn’t care it was the middle of the night and I was moaning loud enough to wake up people in Wisconsin.
Did. Not. Care. About anything other than the moment we were sharing.
The intense pleasure of having him inside me again was gratifying, but it was the possibility of creating another life that made me feel frenzied.
We came together, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me. It was different from the times before. The orgasm was great, but when he started to come and I felt the hot, sticky liquid spilling inside me, we both held each other’s gazes, quivering in each other’s arms, smiling. The fact that he was so present exhilarated me.
He lowered me down to the floor carefully, taking a step back. I read somewhere in one of my internet hunts that it was a good idea to lie on the bed with my legs up to increase my chances of conceiving. Suddenly, I was slammed with a hurry to do just that.
“Well.” I swayed my hips as I plucked a robe from a hanger, wrapping it around me, feeling less dignified than I looked as traces of his cum slithered down my inner thigh. “Thank you for your services. Now if you could kindly get the fuck out of my apartment, I would appreciate it greatly.”
Again, I used the same fake British accent I hoped was going to make him dislike me.
His pants—or trousers, if to go by what he called them—were down to his knees. He re-tucked his shirt into them, taking his time to make himself presentable.