She started pushing back against him, meeting the thrust of his cock, slamming her ass against him, wanting to punish him for talking to her like she was gone. He growled, his fingers pinching harder on her nipples, snapping some invisible cord that held her together. Sensation swelled through her, starting at her sex and rolling out all the way to her toes.
He chuckled, low and deep, the sound rasping against her nape. “That’s right.” He slipped a hand between them, rolling the tender nub of her clit. “Who owns this?”
She shrieked, convulsing against him, hating and reveling in his utter arrogance. As her orgasm ebbed and faded, she let go of the couch and squeezed out from under him, fully aware that he had yet to reach his climax.
“Huntley, what—”
She turned and pushed him back down on the couch, her palms flat on his chest as she straddled him, wrapping a fist around him and guiding him back inside her. She sank down on him, a huff of breath escaping her at feeling him like this. Impaled upon him. She had never felt a man so deep and hard. Not that she had a wealth of experience to draw from, but it was almost like he was reaching up into her heart. Truly a part of her. If this was to be their last time, then she intended for him to remember her.
His hands dropped to her waist. He gripped her, ready to move her up and down, but she wasn’t having it. She seized his wrists and pushed them up by his head. She locked gazes with him and held herself still over him.
“What are you doing, Huntley?”
“It’s my turn.”
Heat flared in his eyes. “Then start moving.”
She shook her head at him. “You’ve had your way. It’s my turn to do this my way.”
“Your turn? You’ve gotten off twice. I’d say it’s my turn now.”
Bending her head, she bit him on his pec. He made a short sound, part growl, part moan, as her inner muscles tightened around him.
“Feel that?” she asked, loosening her fingers around his wrists.
His hands came down and smoothed over the rounded swells of her ass. “Yeah.” He croaked, his fingers digging and flexing on her in a way that made her ache and clench around him again.
She framed his face with her hands and kissed him slow and deep, her tongue tasting, stoking the kiss until it became something hot and wild between them.
Her sex continued to pulse and squeeze around his cock as the kiss grew feverish and intense. He tried to move his hips and she broke the kiss, pushing a hand down hard on his chest, pinning him to the couch. “You don’t move,” she reprimanded.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “I have to move.”
The desperate words were almost her undoing. Her inner muscles worked, squeezing, wringing his cock, eager for increased friction and pressure.
He arched his throat on a moan. “I feel that. You want it, too. Let me go.”
“I set the pace.” She shifted, easing out a fraction and then coming down and seating herself fully, grinding on him and rocking her pelvis.
Leaning down, she kissed his throat, inhaling his scent, scoring the taut skin with her teeth. She trailed kisses all over his throat and collarbone, loving the salty taste of his skin. At his ear, she bit down on the lobe and lifted her hips, treating him to another slow and easy pump.
A hoarse, broken cry was her reward. As she came back down, she squeezed tight around his hard length, gasping at the friction. His fingers dug into her hips, hanging onto her like his life depended on it. His head rolled side to side on her couch, sweat beading his forehead. She had never felt so empowered—or so utterly feminine.
His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering the taut flesh of his cheekbone. She fanned her fingers against his cheek, kissing him and savoring his mouth before sliding her lips along his square jaw in a flurry of kisses.
“Huntley,” he begged in a voice she had never heard from him. From any man. Arching, she began to rock her hips, moving above him sinuously, sinking down slowly and dragging back up. She reached a hand around her and cupped his balls, squeezing them gently in her fist.
He surged up, his hips lifting her as he came in a guttural cry, releasing himself deep inside her, his fingers digging so firmly on her hips she knew she would bear marks later.
He collapsed back down, his face slack with pleasure, eyes closed. His beautiful chest slick with perspiration.
She dropped over him, their bodies glued to each other, breathing as one.
“As far as fucking goes, that might have been … the best.” His voice gusted over the top of her head.
She smiled, supremely satisfied with herself. “I might have to agree.” Her fingers rested on the hard plane of his stomach, tapping lightly.
His voice rumbled over the air. “I’m going to miss this.”
Her satiated smile slipped at the drop of his words.
Why the hell had he gone and said that?
Did he find it necessary to remind her that this wasn’t permanent? That it couldn’t be lasting? She hesitated for a moment before pulling away. Without looking at him, she snatched up her top and pulled it over her head, not bothering with a bra.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She looked at his face, not quite meeting his eyes. “Nothing.” As she slipped on her panties, her gaze grazed over him on her couch. Every gorgeous inch of him that wasn’t hers. She blinked against the sudden burn in her eyes.
He propped up on his elbows, watching her closely. “You just went from hot to cold in ten seconds flat. Is it what I said?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
Nothing except that he seemed eager for her to move back to Georgia. It would make all of this easier. Give whatever this was between them an end date.
She stepped into her leggings, her movements stiff with anger.
His dark eyes narrowed. “Let’s not bullshit each other here. If you’re angry say it.”
“Fine. I’m angry.” She planted both hands on her hips, feeling liberated at admitting it.
“Really? You’re mad?” He shot up off the couch, standing in front of her without a care in the world for his nakedness. “Because you’re the one talking about moving right after we started sleeping together. I’m not the one leaving.”
She stared at him, outrage washing over her. “Beck and my family want me to move back. I—I haven’t decided.”
“Any why not?” he accused. “Why haven’t you decided, Huntley?”
This was it. The moment she could declare herself and say: I’m not going. I’m staying because of you. Just a few words, but they terrified the hell out of her and stuck like a golf ball lodged in her throat. What if he didn’t feel the same way about her?
She squared her shoulders, her pride surfacing. Why couldn’t he say it? Nothing was stopping him. Why did it have to be here? Why did she have to take the risk?
Cullen watched her, unblinking, his eyes fastened on her face. His naked chest lifted on a breath and his eyes cut her like glass, dark as night waters. “Maybe you should just go.”
The words cut, burrowing deep. She watched his face carefully. Nothing. His expression was impassive.
“Maybe I should.” The words tumbled out of her, a stupid mistake the minute she said them and yet she couldn’t take them back.
They stared. After a long moment, he turned, grabbed his shirt off the floor and tugged it over his head. He snatched up his briefs and jeans next. “You need to do what’s right for you, Huntley. What makes you happy.”
The words weren’t issued with any heat. There was no anger in them. On the contrary, he actually said them kindly. Magnanimously. But they still felt like the cruelest jab.