The Pregnancy Test (NY Girlfriends #1)(27)
Author: Erin McCarthy

"Just do it," he repeated, practically growling.

Their hands were stroking in tandem over him now, and he wasn’t sure who was creating the movement, but he wasn’t going to worry about details.

Mandy nodded. "I had just come to that same conclusion. This holiday is about sensation and freedom and going with instinct. What feels good. And you feel so good, I have to feel you under me."

Damien exercised the extreme willpower he had learned in the last three years and yanked himself away from her. With one swift motion, he dropped his pants and boxer shorts and stepped toward the bed, groping for the condoms he’d left on the nightstand.

Mandy didn’t wait for him to lie down. She attacked him, hands everywhere, lips racing frantically, legs tripping up with his until he fell flat on his back. Good to see he wasn’t the only one who had utterly lost control of the situation.

He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t even sure he was conscious, afraid that this wasn’t real, yet at the same time steeped in the certainty that this was happening, it existed, and it was fabulous and powerful and the most amazing experience of his life.

Grabbing her waist so she didn’t tumble down onto him, Damien gazed up at her, trying to decide lips or breasts first to take with his mouth, when Mandy sat up, legs on either side of his.

And spread herself with her fingers, aligned herself with his cock, and dropped down onto it.

The girl didn’t mess around.

He’d always known she was efficient.

It was the hormones. It had to be. Mandy shuddered over Damien, afraid to move, shocked at her aggressive behavior, stunned at how swollen she felt, how her body clasped around his hardness and tingled.

Never had she experienced anything like this, a total surrender to anything but how her body felt, a desperate urgent need to take.

Damien thrust up into her, stretching her, and she gripped the bed sheets, swallowing hard. Looking down at him, his pale illusive blue eyes locked on her with agonized pleasure and aching vulnerability, she groaned.

It wasn’t pregnancy hormones – it was Damien. It was the way he looked at her, the way he wanted her, the way he needed her, that had her spreading her knees apart so she could take him in farther.

Normally she didn’t like to be on top – the ballet lessons Mother had forced upon her were useless for the coordination required to move up and down on a man and look sexy at the same time. She figured she usually looked more as if she was in the throes of an epileptic seizure.

But Damien was just going to have to get past it.

Mandy wiggled a little to brace herself better, leaned over and kissed Damien, and took a deep breath.

He looked amused, his hands tightening on her bottom. "Show me your stuff, cowgirl."

With pleasure. "Just remember, you asked for it." She lifted, until only the tip of him remained inside her.

His eyes had narrowed, and he wet his bottom lip. "Oh, I’m asking all right. I can even beg if you want."

When she sank down on him, they both groaned. "No begging required," she panted.

"Good, because I’ve lost the ability to speak." He squeezed his eyes shut while his fingers convulsed on her hips.

She knew the feeling. All her energy was focused on not whimpering as she moved up and down, up and down, finding a slow, delicious rhythm that sent shots of pleasure clear through to her toes.

"Oh, yeah, baby," he said, eyes popping open to watch her with flared nostrils. "That’s it, you’ve got it."

"I do, don’t I?" She did. She’d found the perfect pace, the perfect spot, and for this, right now, right here, the perfect man.

It was that thought, the sheer surprise of it, that had her widening her eyes and pausing. Damien reached between them and strummed his thumb over her clitoris.

"Damien!" She rolled her eyes back and skittered over into an orgasm. It was a smooth, drawn-out, wave after wave of ecstasy, her inner muscles clenching on to him still imbedded deep in her.

"Aah," she whimpered, relaxing her hold on the bed, and tossing her hair out of her face.

Ready to slide off of him and collapse in a puddle of gratitude at his feet, Mandy’s head snapped back when Damien ground her hips down onto him.

"Just give me two minutes," he said, thrusting with short, hard bursts that set off aftershocks in her body.

She tried to tsk, but it came out a breathy sigh. "That’s what you said last time."

"This time I mean it."

And apparently he did, because after two more pounding thrusts, he pressed his lips together and paused. Then exploded in her, the condom inflating a little as he filled it.

"Oh, my," she said, reaching up to push her damp hair back.

"Oh, fuck, yes," he said with a sigh, collapsing his head back onto the bed.

Legs wobbly, Mandy lost her balance trying to untangle her curls and pitched forward onto his chest. Yes, Mother had wasted all those hundreds of pounds on ballet.

Damien caught her before she could slam her nose into his, or break his teeth. "Hey, easy now. You’re baking a bun, remember? Got to be careful."

He eased out of her and settled her gently on his chest, caressing along her spine, and Mandy had the stupid overwhelming urge to cry. This was so right, yet so wrong. Damien was her boss, a Caribbean fling, and yet he had more concern for her unborn child than the baby’s father.

And when he pressed a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggled into his hard chest, she did start to cry. Her child was never going to have a father, and when they got back to New York, this wonderful intimacy with Damien would be gone.

Embarrassed, she buried her face in his downy hair and tried to suck the sobs back, hold her shoulders still so he wouldn’t know.

But of course he did. "Are you crying?" He sounded terrified.

"Hormones. It’s nothing."

Making shushing sounds, he kissed her again, body tense beneath her. "Do you want a chocolate?"

That drew a startled laugh out of her, and she lifted her head to give him a wobbly smile. "No, thank you. I’m fine really, though you get points for a brilliant suggestion."

He searched her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. "No regrets, right?"

"No. None." Without thinking, her fingers trailed over his lips, and he kissed the tips. "A few months ago my roommate Jamie brought a psychic to our apartment. At the time, I might have been pregnant but didn’t know it, or was on the verge of conceiving. This man, who was a bit of a loon, by the way, told me when he looked at me, he saw pastries. Sweet, sticky things."