Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(61)
Author: Mimi Strong

“Not bad. A girl could get used to flying.” I pulled off my torn shirt and cast it aside.

He nodded, catching on to the rules of the game.

“Did the staff here tell you about the wine that comes out of the taps?”

“Yes, they did.” I unbuttoned my lightweight travel chinos and slipped them off, so I was down to my bra and panties. “I’m on birth control now, by the way. Speaking of things spurting out of taps.”

He put his hand on my leg, but I swatted him away.

“But are you still f**king that other guy? Austin?”

“Adrian? For the record, I’ve never actually f**ked him, but I might.”

He glowered at me, but didn’t say anything until I unfastened my bra and slipped it off.

“Nice watch,” he said.

“My fiancé bought it for me.”

“On second thought, that watch won’t go with your ring.”

I blinked, trying not to let on I’d completely forgotten about the ring, during my hectic week of moving the store.

“I’m a stylish girl. I can pull off anything,” I said.

“Pull off those panties.” He sniffed the air. “I want to bury my face in there.”

Sighing, I said, “If only someone would ask me one more question.”

“Would you like me to f**k you two times before we have lunch with our families, or just once?”

I ran my fingertip under the waistband of my panties. “You can do better.”

“Fine.” He looked up at the ceiling, as though searching for clues.

We were both lying on our sides now, inches of space between our bodies. I reached over and walked my fingers up along his side, feeling his firm muscles and his ribs.

He asked, “When you were a kid, who did you want to be when you grew up?”

I batted my eyelashes. “I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, until I spent some time with a real four-year-old. Then I wanted to work in finance, or marketing, because it sounded glamorous.”

“Who do you want to be now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.” He reached over and yanked my panties down himself.

A few seconds later, my legs were apart and he was chin-deep in my pu**y, setting off all the fire alarms.

I gasped as he drove his tongue deep, then long.

Between ragged gasps, I asked, “What was the right answer?”

He growled, and continued to torment my cl*t with his lips and tongue.

I grabbed hold of his hair with one hand, my breast with the other, and writhed atop the bed.

“I’m going to come,” I moaned.

He pulled his head up and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Moving like a jungle cat, he crawled up along me, his torso over mine.

He blew across my nipple, then gave it a lick.

“Who do you want to be?” he asked again.

“I don’t know.”

He latched onto my nipple, sucking hard.

I shook with pleasure.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, moaning.

He pulled away, then blew on my wet nipple.

“The correct answer is… Mrs. Dalton Deangelo.”

With a thrust of his hips, he slid the full length of his c**k into me at once.

My eyes rolled up and my back arched, then I went limp with pleasure as he thrust into me, again and again.

I moaned some religious things, and then some even more profane things, and then I started to come, my legs wrapped tightly around his h*ps to keep him close as I shook with pleasure.

My inner tremblings set him off, and he thrust deeper than ever, jetting inside me, hot and creamy.

After cl**ax, we continued moving together, rocking slowly, coaxing more pleasure from each other’s bodies.

We stopped moving, and by the look of his heavy eyelids, Dalton was threatening to fall into a post-coitus slumber, right on top of me.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, and I pushed him off me.

He staggered off to the shower.

I gave him a few minutes’ head start, then I tried to figure out how to get in there to join him without making an absolute disaster of the sheets. Finally—and I’m so glad there were no witnesses—I squirmed off the bed with my hand cupped between my legs, and walked into the bathroom that way. I’d not had a guy come inside me in many years—the unplanned pregnancy being one of the last times. The doctor had assured me this new birth control was effective immediately, but I still felt weird, and tried to squeeze it all out into the toilet.

“Everything okay?” Dalton called out from the other side of the shower curtain.

“I’m not pooping!” I clapped both of my hands to my face. Damn it, that’s exactly what I’d say if I was pooping. Why am I such an idiot? And why am I talking about this? Let’s just pretend I didn’t mention the toilet, at all.

In summary, Dalton and I had the hot sex, we came together, and then, magically we were in the shower, just like sexy people in sexy TV shows.

Inside the steamy shower, Dalton poured some shampoo into his palms and offered to wash my hair.

And then, just like sexy people in sexy TV shows, we had a very sexy shower together, rubbing bubbles on each other’s sexy bodies and not doing anything awkward or embarrassing.

~

After the shower, I blow-dried my hair while Dalton started getting ready for lunch.

When I came out of the bathroom, I discovered he had opened my suitcase and taken out my clothes. My first instinct was to whoop his ass for touching my stuff, but then I realized he’d set my clothes out in outfits, the way he’d arranged his clothes in San Francisco. And it was so f**king cute.

He adjusted the boxer shorts he wore on his otherwise gorgeous and na**d body. He pointed to his green shirt and my green shirt. “These? Or are the colors too similar? Like we’re on some sports team?”

“You mean the Room Twelve sport-fuck champions?”

He frowned. “Your gray shirt is nice, but somebody ripped up my favorite gray shirt.”

Was he stalling for time, or really that worried about our clothes?

I wondered if he was nervous about me meeting his father, so I said, in a way I thought might be reassuring, “For the record, neither I nor anyone in my family has watched videos of your father. My mother swore she hasn’t. But she may have questions.”

He hunched forward. “Is it hot in here?”

“Not really.”

He leaned over, his breathing labored. “Can you open the window?”

“I can turn up the air conditioning.”