We hadn’t made it ten steps from the front door.
That had to be a fucking record.
Fucking record.
Heh.
My lips twitched, and Pierce brushed my hair out of my face. “What is it?” he asked softly. “What’s put that look on your face?” One brow came up suggestively. “I’m hoping it’s because you just experienced the best orgasm of your life?”
I chuckled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
“So, it’s not my orgasms?” His face fell, but I was wise to his tricks by now.
I lightly smacked his chest. “Yes, the orgasm was a good one, you big faker.” I tapped my chin, considering. “In the top hundred, for sure.”
He snorted, poked me in the ribs—
With his finger.
Heh.
Orgasm-drunk, but that wasn’t a bad problem to have. I giggled, both at my joke and then because he was tickling me.
“You’re drunk,” he accused, fingers dancing over my hip.
“I had one cocktail at lunch,” I teased. “It takes more than that to get an old chick drunk.”
“It was a joke,” he muttered and amended. “How about pleasure-drunk?”
“I was thinking orgasm-drunk,” I said with another giggle, but then he was kissing me and my laughter faded, thighs clenching instead as pleasure began slowly curling in my center. The man could fucking kiss.
“Bedroom?” He broke away to ask, scooping me up effortlessly at the same time.
Twenty-fucking-two.
Holy shit.
I could work with this.
Pointing down the hall, I said, “Last door on the right,” and then I made myself useful, running my tongue up his throat, sucking lightly, then kissing my way across his jaw.
His mouth teased mine, coming close, drifting away, but by the time we made it through the door to my bedroom, we weren’t interested in teasing.
The heat in his eyes matched the fire burning through me.
Pierce dropped me to the mattress, and I scrambled up, yanking open my bedside drawer to extract a condom and toss it next to the pillow. He was working on the button of his slacks, drawing down the zipper, pushing the fabric down and tossing it to the floor.
Black boxer briefs.
Yup, that was exactly right.
Especially when they were the punctuation mark on the most incredible set of abs I’d ever laid eyes on.
“Twenty-two,” I murmured, stroking a finger between the indentions. “Yes. Thank you, universe.”
He snorted. “It’s the not-having-enough-to-eat diet.”
My brows drew down, heart sinking. “What? You don’t—”
“Starving artist is a term for a reason, Artie,” he said lightly. “But I’m not starving anymore, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, I’ll be sporting a beer belly in no time.” He nipped her ear. “I was joking. I’m fine.”
I forced a smile. I wasn’t generally a soft mark, but I definitely didn’t like the idea of this funny, kind man not having enough to eat. “If you—”
He cut my words off with a kiss. “I’m fine.” A flick of his tongue. “Now, can we regain some focus? I don’t think that discussing my diet is all that sexy.”
“It gave you these abs,” I said, ignoring the twinge of emotion. “So, I find I can’t hate it.”
He laughed, tugged me so I was sprawled beneath him. “Now, where were we?”
“I think you were putting that sharp tongue to use.”
“I think you mean highly skilled.”
“I don’t care what you call it,” I declared, “so long as you get it in my mouth.”
A wicked grin. “I can do that.”
Then his tongue was in my mouth and there were no more words, just caresses and kisses and moans. He kissed me until I forgot all about starving artists and the real world. He kissed me until I was a writhing mess that could barely remember my own name.
He kissed me until my hands stopped stroking his chest and drifted south, slipping under the waistband of his boxer briefs to cup the hard length of him.
Groaning, he pumped into my hand, not protesting when I reached for the condom and rolled it on, not delaying when I lay back and spread my thighs, not hesitating to thrust deep and—
“Holy fucking shit,” I moaned.
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned.
Pure chemistry, or perhaps it was just that our personalities melded, though I couldn’t deny that he was really fucking hot—but whatever the reason, the feel of him sliding home, of filling me to the brim, had surpassed his mouth as the singular most pleasurable experience of my life.
He didn’t fuck like a twenty-two-year-old—fast and furious and single-minded.
He was intense, yes, but he was also calculating.
Deducing my pleasure down to precise movements, using deliberate touches and strokes, the man played my body better than anyone I’d ever been with. And I’d been with a whole variety—young, old, shy, arrogant, black, white, Asian. My work brought me all over the world, and I wasn’t a prude. If there was chemistry and I liked the man, and if he was into me in return, I went for it.
But Pierce was the best I’d ever gone for.
I was almost disappointed we would only be together this one time, that I would only ever allow myself one time with him.
Then I focused on how lucky I was to have this moment with Pierce.
Maybe I worked best in temporaries, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it for all it was worth.
“Hey.” A nip to my jaw, his hips slowing to a halt. “Where’d you go?”
I smiled up at him. “You’re doing great”—he snorted—“it’s my brain that doesn’t like to cooperate.”
“Hmm.” He dropped his head, so his mouth was very near my ear. “How about we do something to get that brain of yours to stop messing up what I happen to think was a pretty incredible . . .”
Hands weaving into his hair, I brought his lips to mine. “Fucking,” I murmured when we broke apart for air, thoughts fading, hips already moving against him. “Yes, it’s good. Yes, I’m into it. No, my brain never shuts the hell up.”
“As a person with a similarly annoying brain that can’t keep quiet”—Pierce darted out his tongue, tasting the corner of my mouth—“I have an idea about how to fix that.”
My lips curved. “I think I’m going to like it.”
A smirk. “I think you are.”
And then, true to his word, he took my mind off my thoughts. Mouth dropping to mine, he braced himself with one hand and slid the other down. He moved, thrusting deep, fingers delving between my thighs to circle my clit. Just like before, his focus was intense and perfect and because of him, for the first time in forever, my brain went completely clear of extraneous blips of reason. It was able to focus solely on him, on us, on what I was feeling.
Uh-oh.
But even I was too far gone to recognize that warning.
Instead, I wrapped my legs around Pierce’s hips, tilted my pelvis to allow his fingers better access to my clit, and held on as he rode me straight over the edge to orgasm.
Yup, I thought after my pleasure had faded and thoughts began invading my brain again, best fuck ever.