But he’s dipping his head down again and his fingers are curling inside me, rubbing at the perfect spot. I can’t speak anymore. I can’t think. All I can do is feel. Monroe. I go over, losing the battle.
My back arches off the bed, and my fingers lock in his hair. I cry out like a crazy person, the sensations fanning out like the waves of a bomb blast. I can’t even try to be demure or sexy about it. I just freaking lose it. I’m calling his name. I’m begging him to stop, to keep going, to yes, yes, yes. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
And when I’m finally left in a gasping, panting lump made of The Girl Formerly Known as Natalie, Monroe gets up and shucks the rest of his clothes, and I’m ready to die all over again. Good God. Men shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.
Usually after an orgasm, I’m done. Tension released, let’s move on and watch some late-night TV. But right now, I feel far from done. I don’t just want him. I need him. Inside me. Preferably now.
Lucky for me, he seems to have the same idea. He wrenches open his bedside drawer and comes up with a foil packet. The condom is rolled on in record time. “You okay?”
“So very okay,” I say, and scoot up the bed.
He smiles and climbs onto the bed, and I realize just how big of a guy he is. I feel small beneath him. I like it.
“I want to kiss you.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s asking permission. And maybe I should be weirded out that I’ll taste myself, but somehow it doesn’t feel strange. Because I want to kiss him, too. We’re sharing all of this. And nothing feels awkward or gross or out of bounds. I wrap my hand around his neck and draw him down to me.
He makes a greedy sound in the back of his throat and we kiss, long and languid. He grabs my knee, situating himself between my thighs, caressing me along the way. I’m melting into the bed. I feel him at my entrance, and my fingernails dig into his back. I want to absorb him. I almost can’t take the anticipation.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips.
And he answers my plea, pushing inside me—easy at first, making sure I’m okay, and then sliding deep when I tap his back like he’s some racehorse who needs to pick up the pace. I make some oh-God-yes noise at the feel of him, at the way my body stretches to accommodate him. Sweet pressure and fullness. We’re joined. Me and this stranger who wanted to make my birthday a happier one. For a moment, we stay that way, him inside me, our lips kissing whatever they can find, hands mapping.
I’m having a one-night stand. Somewhere that thought floats through my head. But this doesn’t feel anything like I expected. I thought it would be a fun thing—wild, physical. And this is physical. But it feels like so much more than that. Because when Monroe braces his arms alongside me and holds my gaze while he moves inside me, I feel like this is bigger than a hookup. This is what sex is supposed to be like. Not just a whole-body experience, but a whole-mind one. And even though this will only be one night for us, I know somehow that there is a bar being set in my life. There will be no going back to the world of Before.
I will want this.
I deserve this.
“You feel so good,” Monroe says as he reaches back and grips my thigh, somehow sinking even deeper. “And you’re so damn sexy when you come. I can’t wait to see it again, to feel you lose it around me.”
I close my eyes, drunk with the feel of him. “I’m not sure I can. I’ve never done that twice in the same night.”
“Mmm,” he says, obviously getting lost in his own sensations. “Maybe you’ve just never had a guy who was dedicated enough to make that happen. Just let go and trust me to take care of you.”
If Caleb had said something like that, I would’ve felt like it was some edict. Like if it didn’t happen, it would be my fault somehow. But with Monroe, I don’t feel any pressure. And really, this isn’t about reaching some destination for me. The journey is more than good enough.
Monroe teases my earlobe with his teeth, sending goose bumps across my body, and then he whispers, “Turn over for me.”
“What?”
He leans back, slipping out of me, and gives me a devilish grin. “Hands and knees, princess.”
Okay, this is new for me. “I—”
Monroe leans down and kisses me. “Trust me. If you hate it, you can turn back over.”
I nod, getting a little nervous, and roll over into position. Good God, if I felt vulnerable and self-conscious earlier, that had nothing on this. Meet my naked ass, Monroe Hawkins. I drop down to my forearms and bury my face in his pillow.
Monroe strokes down my hips and plants a kiss on my tailbone. “You look so damn sexy like this. The minute you climbed on my bike, I had really dirty thoughts about bending you over it. About seeing you surrender to me like this. All that red hair fanned out over your back.”
I groan into the pillow. The pillow that smells like him. And another flood of arousal goes straight downward. I know I have to be embarrassingly wet at this point. There’s no hiding anything in this position. But I have a feeling Monroe will just see that as a job well done.
He tilts me more toward him, putting a deeper sway in my back, and I feel his fingers against me. He slides his thumbs along my folds and spreads me open. I tense, imagining what I must look like to him right now. But then his tongue is on me again, and I lose all motivation to be modest. I whimper into the pillow, the feeling altogether different at this angle. Everything is already sensitive, and the lush sensation of his mouth on every tender spot is making me feel a little crazed inside. The ball of need is building again, tightening.
And when it almost feels like I’m going to go over again, he eases back, situates himself behind me, and thrusts forward. I arch with the pleasure of him filling me again, my fingers knotting in the sheets.
“Still on board with a little roughness, princess?” Monroe asks, and I can hear the strain in his voice now. He’s charging up his own mountain.
“Yes,” I manage, angling back to meet his thrusts, needing just a little more to send me into the stratosphere.
“Good.” He wraps an arm around me and finds my sweet spot with his fingers. Then he’s rocking into me with more speed and force. The bed is squeaking and the headboard is rattling. And everything inside me goes electric and hot.
I’m sweating. He’s grunting. I might be drooling.
It’s the sexiest I’ve ever felt in my life.
And with one more stroke, I’m breaking apart, the orgasm crashing over me and stealing my breath. I can’t even make noise. I’m gasping.
Monroe’s left hand is in my view, and the sight of his knuckles going white against the sheets as he finds his release is so unbearably hot I can hardly stand it. He thrusts deep into me and lets loose this long, gravelly moan that holds pure, unadulterated lust and satisfaction. I want to roll around in that sound and bury myself in it.
I ride the release with him, my own orgasm seeming to go on and on until we finally collapse into the sheets together. His full weight presses me into the mattress, but at the moment, I don’t care. I’m flying in the afterglow.
Happy birthday to me, indeed.
Chapter 8
Natalie
I wander into Monroe’s living room, wearing a pair of his boxers and a T-shirt that has a picture of a pig with all the cuts of meat outlined on the body. I still can’t believe he’s such a food nerd. And I’m kind of sad that I’ll never get to taste his cooking.