“Louis?” She whispered as her fingers traced the veins on the steel arm beneath them, feeling his power as his muscle contracted with her touch. They continued along a path leading to a taut six pack before settling in the warmth of his hand. Her face rose from his back, her chin rested on his shoulder. Her eyes twirled as the room continued to spin. Confusion. “Louis?”
His voice held a lullaby that comforted her. She sunk back down to her pillow, her fingers retracing their path, continuing to trace absently down his back and under the sheet. His warmth rotated as he rolled to face her, his own fingers finding the peaks and valleys along her flesh. The vodka flowing through her veins heightened her awareness. A gentle breath across her chest left her nipples hard. She shuddered as the heat of his mouth found her intimate places, scorching, teasing, quenching, scorching again. Her body responded in waves that rolled from her toes, up her thighs, crashing in the wake of her golden shore. Stiffness pressed against her thigh, her muscles spasmed in expectation. He did not disappoint.
His thrusts were gentle at first, then intensified with urgency. His back arched, his golden body glistened in the moonlight, his voice shattered the silence, bringing her over the edge with him. He crumpled on top of her, exhausted, still stiff inside her, moving slowly, both unwilling to break the bond between them. Her hands moved over his back, her hips danced in cadence with his, her long lashes rested on her cheeks, not quite containing the tears that sliced down her face. Her heart ached with the same fierceness her body was responding to his with. Each thrust was a dagger, piercing her soul. Her gasps were a mix of pain and pleasure, until she finally let it go. She soared with angels before crashing back to earth, only to go soaring once more. Each crash landing became less explosive as the last until the fire quieted within her. He still held her, their legs and arms in a confused jumble, as the sandman carried them away to their separate dreams.
Blair woke the next morning feeling like Gulliver after wrestling a town full of Lilliputs. Hammers attacked her skull, pit bulls battled in her stomach, and she felt like cotton balls had absorbed every last trace of saliva in her mouth. The soothing aroma of coffee filtering through her apartment brought visions of bacon piled high on a plate to her mind. Traces of her evening began filtering through, reminding her of the journey she had taken to get to this point.
Oh crap! What have I done?
Her brain raced for something to say as she heard footfalls on the soft carpet just beyond the bedroom door. In a sudden burst of uncharacteristic modesty, she gathered the covers around her, her cheeks red as an electric burner set on high.
“Oh good. You’re awake.”
Anthony’s voice was huskier than she remembered, but her body had not forgotten his. She felt a particular yearning coming back. Her cheeks went scarlet; she feared he could read her mind.
“I’ve made coffee, but I don’t know how you take it. I thought you might want a shower first anyway. You were pretty sloshed last night.”
Sloshed was not the word she was thinking about at that moment. A shower sounded delicious. A shower with him sounded even better. The lump in the silky boxers slung haphazardly over his bronze hips told her he thought the same thing.
“A shower sounds heavenly.”