Part 21 (1/2)

His fingers trails back to my s.e.x, and he toys with me a little, that obnoxious grin still plastered on his face.

And then he slides his finger inside.

Finally...

I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the sensation. He's so wonderful at this. I can feel myself responding to his touch, so strongly, so quickly. I don't want to climax like this, but I let him tease me a little more, enjoying the building pressure.

And finally when I'm nearing the edge, I force myself to pull his hand away. I want to be with him. ”Weston,” I whisper. ”I want you.”

His kiss trails down my neck to my shoulder, and he grabs my rear. He pulls me up against him, and I wrap my legs around his hips.

He carries me across the room, and everything's a blur-the living room, the dining room, the entire s.p.a.ce. I feel light in his arms-my body fits perfectly against his-like it belongs there. He throws me on the bed and leans down on me, his body heavy. My legs are still in tangles around him, and I don't want to let go.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and looks at me, his gaze soft. I stare at his beautiful eyes, his sensual mouth. His touch is suddenly gentle as a feather as he undoes the pearl b.u.t.tons on my blouse, not taking his eyes off me. We're in slow motion-time seems to stand still. Finally, he leans in to kiss my collarbone. I pull his face to mine, and kiss him...completely caught up in him.

Desperately wanting him inside me, I tear my mouth away from his. ”Do you have...” I ask him, my words breathless, my hands buried in his boxers, the warm smooth skin of his rear on my palms.

He doesn't say a word and reaches into his pocket.

I realize I've never used a condom. I've always been on the pill, and I've only been with Gabe. I struggle and Weston helps me-he seems to sense my lack of experience. Finally, I gently slide the condom on, my heart pounding.

He buries his face into my neck, and touches me again, sliding his fingers in and out. I don't want to come just yet. I don't know how long I'm going to last. I want to make love.

”Please,” I plead. ”Now...”

He pulls his hand away from my s.e.x and wipes his wet fingers along my thigh. He trails kisses along the lacy edge of my bra and pulls my breast out of its cup and kisses it with such gentleness, I almost melt.

His kiss travels softly to my neck as he sinks into me. His heat fills me. And it seems my whole body sparks. But as wonderful as it is, it does feel somewhat foreign-another man inside me.

He buries his face in my hair. ”You are beautiful.”

He's slow and gentle at first. We kiss softly, hands tangled in each other's hair.

But before long, his grasp pulls at my hair, his lips tear away from mine, and he pushes into me harder, driving deeper and deeper into me-I love every thrust. I moan so loudly, I am practically screaming. I want him to hear how amazing he makes me feel. He breathes hard into my ear, and I think he whispers my name-his voice is so soft, I'm not sure.

I'm coming closer and closer to the edge. The louder I moan, the harder he pushes, my climax building.

He owns it. My pleasure is in his hands.

Finally, the tension in me releases in waves of pure ecstasy. I cry out and dig my nails into his back, the cashmere soft against my fingers. He pushes hard into me and stills as his climax follows mine. His moans are slow and soft, his breath is warm against my ear.

I feel slightly numb.

And wonderful.

His face is still buried in my neck. I don't dare look at him. I realize we are both still fully dressed. I hadn't imagined our first time like this-in my fantasies, we were both completely naked, exploring every single inch of each other's bodies. But reality is never quite like fantasy. Reality, in this case, was still pretty amazing, I tell myself, still recovering from one of the best o.r.g.a.s.ms I've ever had.

His weight suffocates me.

I push him off me. ”Weston...”

He slides out of me slowly and pulls away. I almost reach for him. But he moves swiftly to the edge of the bed. He stands and turns from me. I catch a glimpse of his a.s.s as he pulls his pants back up-he has a great a.s.s. He leaves for the washroom without looking back.

I sit up, pop my breast back into my bra, and smooth down my skirt. My heart sinks. I don't know what to think.

What was I expecting? Cuddles?

I should have expected this-he warned me.

This is about s.e.x. Plain and simple.

I hear the running water.

No words. No kiss. I still can't believe it.

He comes back and his pants are done up, his hair is smooth, and he's wearing his gla.s.ses.

He smiles at me and grabs his satchel off the floor. ”You were wonderful.”

Well, there's something.

He kisses the tip of my nose. ”I'm sorry, but I do have to run. I'm running late. My date with the kids...”

I b.u.t.ton up my blouse and stare down at my sensible black ballet flats-s.e.x with my shoes on-how wild. ”I understand.”

My heart sinks even deeper. I want to cry. But I can't let him see me crumble. He has warned me about this. And I promised him I could handle it.

He reaches into his satchel. ”Feel free to stay.” He pulls out his wallet, and for a brief moment, I have this horrible vision of him giving me money.

”Here's a card for my car service. Call them when you're ready to leave,” he hands me the card, ”You can order room service if you wish. You barely ate a thing at lunch.”

”I might.” I try to act normal, even though I'm dying inside.

”Good, I was starting to wonder how you keep your curves,” he teases. ”I've barely ever seen you eat a thing.”

”What are you trying to say?” I ask, a little self-conscious.

He laughs. ”You're beautiful,” he a.s.sures me. ”You're perfect. Please don't ever lose an inch.”

”You've never seen me naked.”

He scratches his chin. ”Yes...” he says, ”we'll have to rectify that, won't we?” he adds as he walks away.

”Next time, I want to see you,” he says as he reaches the door, ”every inch of you.”

And just like that, he's out the door, and I'm left with a business card in my hands and no panties.

I feel like such a wh.o.r.e.

When I get home, I kick off my shoes and practically sprint to see the girls. They're lying on the sofa downstairs in the rec room, eating potato chips and watching a movie they've seen a million times before. I hug Chloe tightly and guilt washes over me. How could I have done this? To her...to Claire? This kind of thing never ends well. And they're the ones who will probably suffer for it...I feel the familiar lump in my throat.