breaths, her heart pounding so hard it rang in her head. She clenched her fingers, digging into his waist. Another wave hit. She whimpered, unable to resist riding it, too. Her thighs trembled, clutching tight against his hips, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure she could get from his body.
“Incredible,” he breathed, his face buried in her throat. “You. Me. Us. This is amazing.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she peeled her eyes open to stare up at the man she loved. Yes, dammit, loved. Not had a crush on. This wasn’t some infatuation, as she’d hoped. Nope, it was bone deep, know the man inside out, love him despite his foibles and worship him for being a sex god. The real thing, capital L, love.
Thankfully, Paul’s eyes were closed, as if he was savoring the afterglow of his orgasm. His breath was shallow, his face flushed. A light sheen of sweat coated his chest.
She’d done that, she realized with a shaky smile. She’d made him feel that good.
At least it was something.
As if sensing her gaze, he opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy smile. With a soft, sweet kiss, he rolled away and dealt with the condom. Before she could do more than pull aside the bedding to hide under, he was back, pulling her into his arms.
As he curved his body around hers, she couldn’t resist the comfort of snuggling tighter against him, grateful he couldn’t see her face. She wouldn’t cry, she promised herself. She wouldn’t ruin this, or cause a scene, with tears.
Still, she couldn’t hold back one shaky sniffle.
She told herself she was glad her loss of control didn’t wake him. That she was thrilled that she—or jetlag—had worn him out so well that within minutes his arm was a heavy band around her waist as he gave in to exhaustion.
It was easier this way.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she slowly, carefully, slid out from under his arm. Away from his body.
Dedra shivered as she stood in just her garter belt and stockings, staring down at the man she loved.
She had to go. Now.
Scooping up her shoes, she tiptoed toward the living room. She stopped at the chair where she’d folded her clothes, setting the shoes on the stack of files there so she could gracelessly wriggle the too tight skirt over her pantiless-butt, and pull the barely-buttonable blouse over her thankfully-intact bra.
Her eyes glazed with tears, she hurried to the door. Her fingers wrapped around the handle as she realized the shoes were still on the table. The mantle clock chimed midnight. Paul stirred, the blankets rustling as he rolled over.
Her heart raced as Dedra tugged the door open. The shoes could stay. She had to get the hell out of here before something horrible happened. Like him forcing her to talk about what had happened. Or worse, her jumping his body one more time.
She pulled the door shut behind her and leaned against the cold wood, fighting back tears. Then again, how much more horrible could it get? How was she supposed to have known that the best sex she’d ever had would ruin her life?
Paul awoke gradually, a groggy fog layering with confusion. And worse, emptiness. Something was missing.
It took a heartbeat to remember the abruptly canceled vacation, the pending board takeover attempt and the crazy lengths he was going to in order to wrestle controlling interest in Chastain in the hands of, well the Chastains.
Slowly, reluctantly, he forced his eyelids open.
And frowned at the horrific view. Who the hell had painted his walls lime green? He blinked. Wait. These weren’t his walls. Or his house.
The last remnants of sleep disappeared.
As soon as Paul sat up, he realized what was missing.
Dedra.
She was supposed to be here, in his arms.
Paul Chastain had a damned good life, by anyone’s standards. He’d grown up with money, had the challenge of making the family company an even bigger success than it’d
“Incredible,” he breathed, his face buried in her throat. “You. Me. Us. This is amazing.”
Slowly, reluctantly, she peeled her eyes open to stare up at the man she loved. Yes, dammit, loved. Not had a crush on. This wasn’t some infatuation, as she’d hoped. Nope, it was bone deep, know the man inside out, love him despite his foibles and worship him for being a sex god. The real thing, capital L, love.
Thankfully, Paul’s eyes were closed, as if he was savoring the afterglow of his orgasm. His breath was shallow, his face flushed. A light sheen of sweat coated his chest.
She’d done that, she realized with a shaky smile. She’d made him feel that good.
At least it was something.
As if sensing her gaze, he opened his eyes and gave her a sleepy smile. With a soft, sweet kiss, he rolled away and dealt with the condom. Before she could do more than pull aside the bedding to hide under, he was back, pulling her into his arms.
As he curved his body around hers, she couldn’t resist the comfort of snuggling tighter against him, grateful he couldn’t see her face. She wouldn’t cry, she promised herself. She wouldn’t ruin this, or cause a scene, with tears.
Still, she couldn’t hold back one shaky sniffle.
She told herself she was glad her loss of control didn’t wake him. That she was thrilled that she—or jetlag—had worn him out so well that within minutes his arm was a heavy band around her waist as he gave in to exhaustion.
It was easier this way.
At least, that’s what she told herself as she slowly, carefully, slid out from under his arm. Away from his body.
Dedra shivered as she stood in just her garter belt and stockings, staring down at the man she loved.
She had to go. Now.
Scooping up her shoes, she tiptoed toward the living room. She stopped at the chair where she’d folded her clothes, setting the shoes on the stack of files there so she could gracelessly wriggle the too tight skirt over her pantiless-butt, and pull the barely-buttonable blouse over her thankfully-intact bra.
Her eyes glazed with tears, she hurried to the door. Her fingers wrapped around the handle as she realized the shoes were still on the table. The mantle clock chimed midnight. Paul stirred, the blankets rustling as he rolled over.
Her heart raced as Dedra tugged the door open. The shoes could stay. She had to get the hell out of here before something horrible happened. Like him forcing her to talk about what had happened. Or worse, her jumping his body one more time.
She pulled the door shut behind her and leaned against the cold wood, fighting back tears. Then again, how much more horrible could it get? How was she supposed to have known that the best sex she’d ever had would ruin her life?
Paul awoke gradually, a groggy fog layering with confusion. And worse, emptiness. Something was missing.
It took a heartbeat to remember the abruptly canceled vacation, the pending board takeover attempt and the crazy lengths he was going to in order to wrestle controlling interest in Chastain in the hands of, well the Chastains.
Slowly, reluctantly, he forced his eyelids open.
And frowned at the horrific view. Who the hell had painted his walls lime green? He blinked. Wait. These weren’t his walls. Or his house.
The last remnants of sleep disappeared.
As soon as Paul sat up, he realized what was missing.
Dedra.
She was supposed to be here, in his arms.
Paul Chastain had a damned good life, by anyone’s standards. He’d grown up with money, had the challenge of making the family company an even bigger success than it’d
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