Gasping, she writhed upon the table as wave after lush wave pummeled her body. Her inner channel continuously contracted around Sam’s cock, squeezing and clenching, making her acutely aware of every hard, thick centimeter of him.
His fingers tunneled through her hair, pushing it away from her nape. A second later his growl brushed her skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth. The inherent possessiveness of the gesture hurtled her completely over the cliff, and she cried out, her body jerking with uncontrollable spasms. Sam held her tight to him, his palms a cushion between her breasts and the wood grain as he pounded into her, shaking the entire table. A moment later, his thrusts faltered and he gave one last pump of his hips before a broken groan tore from him and his body shuddered on top of her.
For several minutes they lay on the table, their harsh breaths the only reprieve from silence. Just as she was about to drift off, Sam’s weight lifted from her. She cracked one eye open and was treated to the mouthwatering sight of his muscled glutes as he bent to pitch the used condom into the wastebasket under the sink.
He turned and caught her eye. “Don’t plan on getting much sleep tonight.” With that preemptive warning, he scooped her into his arms and strode toward the bedroom.
Chapter Nineteen
Somewhere around three in the morning, Sam let Marabella get some rest. Unable to take his eyes off her, he watched her face while she snoozed. Even in the darkest hours of night, her inner sunshine proved a radiant beacon.
Shit. If anyone fit the image of an angel, it was her. The damn writing had been on the wall all this time, and he’d been too blind to see it. Well, not entirely. His body sure as hell had read the signs and responded to her angel light like it was an intoxicating drug. Hence their recent eight-hour sexual Olympics.
The really scary part? He wasn’t even close to being sated. In fact, he was damn tempted to wake Marabella up and go at it for another eight.
So much for exorcising her from his mind.
Rather than give in to his baser urges—and risk landing himself in traction for pulling an overused groin muscle—he climbed from the bed and ventured into the living room. After yanking his jeans on, he sprawled onto the couch and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours as he processed the multitude of disturbed thoughts tumbling around in his brain.
He didn’t know who he was anymore. With each passing second, he imagined one more layer of his old self flaking from his soul and withering away into nothingness. He scrubbed a hand over his face. I need to get a damn grip. Grabbing the remote, he clicked on the TV and muted it. He whiled away a few more hours focusing blankly on the silent images flashing across the screen. Finally the first pink rays of dawn streamed through the windows. He abandoned the couch and returned to the bedroom.
Marabella stretched on the tangled mess of the sheets and gifted him a sleepy smile. That was all the invitation he needed to strip out of his jeans. Tossing aside his prior resolutions like yesterday’s garbage, he climbed onto the bed so he could relearn her body all over again.
Starting at her bellybutton, he lapped a slow path toward her breasts. For several minutes he contented himself laving her nipples into stiff peaks and listening to her choppy breaths. Reversing his course, he kissed the valley of her abdomen, even stopping momentarily to dip his tongue into her navel before settling between her legs and spreading her pink folds with his thumbs. The previous sexual marathon made him well acquainted with her pussy, but that didn’t hinder his desire to become a true expert on her sensitive anatomy.
Aware that she was likely tender from his prior devotion, he kept his oral caresses limited to soft, gentle licks and barely there flickers of the tip of his tongue across her clit. Her hips arched and an incoherent cry spilled from her as a steady pulse thrummed through the slippery nub beating beneath his tongue.
The delicious essence of her lingering in his mouth, he rolled to the side and fumbled to reach the box of condoms resting on the nightstand. Impatience making his fingers clumsy, he wrestled with one of the foil packets and freed the ring of latex. He smoothed the condom over his aching erection. Positioning the head of his cock at Marabella’s entrance, he braced a fist on the mattress and thrust inside her. Wet, silky heat enveloped his cock. There was no damn way he’d last long. Four strokes later, he proved the validity of that thought as he came with a strangled shout. His limbs shaky, he slumped to the side.
He must have dozed briefly because the gentle glide of Marabella’s hand on his spine roused him with a groggy start. A grunt fell from him when he realized he hadn’t even pulled out of her. Leaving the bed yet again, he went to dispose of the condom.
He grimaced at the semi-erect state of his cock. “Down, boy. You’re gonna sprain something if you keep this up.”
Shit. He was talking to his fucking cock. He was even more broken than he’d originally thought.
He walked back into the bedroom and noticed Marabella was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he hiked his jeans on and traipsed from the room. He followed the sound of her cheery singing and ultimately found her in the kitchen pouring water into a coffeemaker. He eyed her hips as they swayed beneath her pink satin robe, keeping time with her a capella tune.
His dick hardened with renewed interest, but he ignored it. “You’re a morning person. I shoulda known.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The cordless phone resting on the counter rang, snagging her attention. She plunked the jug of water down and went to answer the call. “Hello? Oh, hi, Cass.” She absently wound a strand of hair around her pinky. “Yeah, we’re decent. Pop in whenever you want. I was just about to get breakfast going.”
A breeze of air behind him announced the expedient arrival of his cousins. “I’m starved,” Nikki announced without preamble. “What are we having?”
Marabella snatched two more mugs from the cupboard. “Do you like French toast?”
Sam snorted. “It’s food, so yes.”
Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “You better be nice to me. I haven’t decided if I’ve forgiven you for throwing my shoe at me yesterday.”
“You threw it at me first.”
“Merely a technicality.”
Cass gave her sister and him a look that amounted to the visual equivalent of children behave before she leaned against the counter next to Marabella. “Did you guys get things worked out last night?”
A blush crept over Marabella’s cheeks. “In a manner of speaking.”
Cass’s wide smile damn near lit up the room. “Good.”
He wanted to point out to his matchmaking cousin that he and Marabella boinking like bunnies for hours on end didn’t change anything. They were still two species on opposite ends of the cosmic spectrum. Their insatiable appetite for each other didn’t solve that complication. Shit, it only added to it, since it made it damn difficult to keep his head on straight long enough to remember he’d be a hell of a lot saner staying out of Marabella’s bed.
The sooner they got to the bottom of this mystery with Pricilla, the better. Then he could move on and put all of this behind him. Including Marabella.
Especially Marabella.
Another of those odd stitches of pain cramped his heart, and he rubbed the area until the burn lessened. “Did you ever hear from that bozo Hal if he tracked down info on that address?”