I was sprawled naked over the man’s godlike body, too many hours and orgasms beyond caring about anything except Lucian’s cock and the endless pleasure it gifted me.
He landed a stinging swat to my rear end.
“Ow.”
“My limbs still work,” he said smugly.
His limbs and the superhuman dick that was still semihard and wearing the last condom in my house.
I lifted my head and looked around. “Oh good. We made it upstairs to the bedroom finally.”
He pulled me back down, cradling me against his chest, but not before I caught a glimpse of an honest-to-God smile on the man’s beautiful face. I decided after the seven orgasms he’d delivered, I could let him have this moment.
Teenage Lucian had been affectionate, I recalled. He’d snuggled with me in this same bed, playing with my hair, stroking my arm or back. He’d submitted to all the hugs and back pats and shoulder squeezes from my parents with a rueful smile. Like he’d craved physical contact but didn’t want to let on.
My heart clenched for the boy who’d deserved so much more.
He stroked a hand through my hair, letting the strands fall against my back, and I felt my eyes go damp.
The panic was rising again.
That was what had propelled me out of my own hotel room after four orgasms and less than two hours of sleep. The realization that I was muddling the no-strings-attached present with the feelings of the past.
Neither of us was the same person we’d been back then. I couldn’t afford to let my feelings for teenage Lucian get tangled up in what was clearly just a physical thing.
A very physical thing.
“Are we going again?” I asked nonchalantly, hoping not to let on that my entire body was too tired and too sore.
Lucian sighed. “Much as it pains me to admit, Pixie, you’ve bested me. I’m going to need an ice pack, a bucket of ibuprofen, and a four-hour nap if you want one last last time.”
“Loser,” I muttered into his neck. “I’m ready to go again.”
“Liar.”
He tugged on my hair until I looked up at him.
“Okay. Fine. I’m back to being nauseated by the thought of sex with you,” I teased.
“So we’re officially done then?” His face was once again guarded. It was somehow worse after having seen him in so many shields-down, orgasmic moments.
I shrugged one shoulder. “I guess so. I suppose I could feed you before I send you packing.”
As if on cue, Lucian’s stomach rumbled.
I feigned a gasp. “I didn’t know vampires got hungry.”
He lunged for me, his teeth grazing my neck. “Hold still, you snack-size human.”
I gasped with laughter and collapsed against him again. Playful Lucian was an entirely new creature to me. Like Edward after Bella had discovered his secret in Twilight. Only I hadn’t discovered Lucian’s secret. I’d just had a whole lot of sex with him.
His hands gentled on me. “You have a beautiful laugh.”
I sat up again and frowned. “Okay. You’re officially delirious. Come on. I need lunch and electrolytes since you dehydrated me via my vagina.”
“My cock is sore. As in the-day-after-leg-day-at-the-gym sore,” he complained as we crawled out of bed.
I pulled on a blue bathrobe with daisies while Lucian yanked on his underwear. He frowned down at his dress shirt. It was missing a few buttons and had a questionable wet spot on the sleeve.
“Hold on.” I limped into my closet and found the sweatshirt I was looking for. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him.
He caught it and his frown turned into a scowl. “Whose is this?” he asked, holding up the extra-extra-large Penn State hoodie.
“Mine now,” I said.
“Whose was it?”
“An old boyfriend. We dated for a couple of months after I graduated college and was working in Hagerstown. He was a social studies teacher.”
“Blake.” He said the name like it was an insult.
I raised an eyebrow. “You know, Unfucked Sloane would be giving you shit for knowing my ex-boyfriend’s name from fifteen years ago. But Well-Fucked Sloane is too tired and hungry to start a fight.”
He threw the sweatshirt back to me. “I’m not wearing this.”
“You’re missing out. It’s comfortable and it’ll fit you.”
Lucian picked up his ruined dress shirt and stubbornly shoved his arms through the sleeves. “You probably think of him every time you wear it.”
“Fondly,” I said, not above adding just a few drops of lighter fluid to the flames. “Come on. I’m starving.”