“Oh, you mean this?” His hands run over my thighs. “A little cellulite,” he whispers. His fingertips dust over my stomach. “A few stretch marks.” He grabs the little pouch of fat on my stomach and gives it a tug, and I smile against his lips. “C-section scar.” He runs his finger over the large scar on my lower stomach. His hands go to my breasts, slightly saggy and not full like they used to be before the kids. He tweaks my nipples, which are large from breastfeeding.
My heart races as he touches all my insecurities.
He holds his hands out wide. “Do I look like a man who doesn’t like what he sees?” he whispers.
My eyes lower to his large erection, and then I drop my head.
“Claire.” He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face up to meet his. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers as he kisses me. “So fucking beautiful.”
He kisses me again, and it’s soft and tender and caring and not at all what I expected.
“You wear your insecurities here.” He pinches the bottom of my stomach. “Mine are on the inside,” he whispers. “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“I knew it.” I smile against his lips.
He grabs my hips and throws me on the bed and then crawls over me.
“Be gentle, please,” he teases. “Don’t hurt me.”
I burst out laughing, because that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. “You idiot.”
He reaches down and swipes his fingers through my sex. His eyes flicker with arousal. “Hmm . . . so wet.” He bends and takes my nipple into his mouth and gives it a hard suck as he slides two fingers in deep.
“Oh . . . God.” My back arches off the bed as he begins to pump me.
“Spread them.”
I open my legs back to the mattress, and he goes slow at first to let me acclimatize. Then he picks up the pace. He really begins to ride me hard with his fingers.
This feels so foreign and new, and I push the fearful thoughts out of my mind.
It’s one time . . . just enjoy this.
My entire body jerks up and down on the mattress from the pressure.
Fuck yes . . . I need this . . . I so need this.
The sound of my wet arousal sucking him in is loud in the room, and the look of triumph in his eyes is so fucking hot. “Clench, baby,” he whispers. “Give me a taste of what I’m about to get.”
I clench hard, and his eyes roll back in his head. He pumps me harder, and I scream out as I come hard. I shudder, and my convulsion lifts me off the bed.
He screws up his face as he pumps me through my body’s rippling around his fingers.
He climbs over me with urgency.
“Condom,” I stammer through my fog.
“Shit.” He bounces up and grabs his trousers and fumbles around in the pocket for his wallet, and then his face falls in horror. “Fuck it. I only have one. How do I only have one?” He opens it and rolls it on.
I look up, surprised. “What kind of player are you?”
“Unprepared, obviously.” He lies back down over me and brings my legs up around his hips, and in one sharp movement he slides home deep. His eyelids flutter. “Fucking hell, Anderson,” he pants as he slowly slides out.
I smile up at him in wonder.
“Happy to report . . . the vagina is a perfect specimen,” he pushes out through gritted teeth. “No insecurities here.”
I burst out laughing. “Shut up, you fool, and fuck me.”
He widens his knees and slides in deep, and we find a rhythm. He does a circular thing, and it drives me wild. I begin to thrash beneath him.
His eyes are rolled back in his head.
“You have an ugly sex face,” I say.
He bursts out laughing. “I told you, no talking.”
We both laugh, and then he falls serious and watches me for a moment as he pumps me deep. This just feels so raw and real.
“You need to come. You need to come,” he stammers. “I can’t stop it. You need to come,” he begins to chant. “Anderson.” He screws his face up, as if in pain.
“No,” I snap. “I’m not ready.” I ride his beautiful deep pumps . . . so good.
“Oh . . . fuck it.” I feel the telling jerk of his cock, and he moans, deep and loud, and then goes into a frenzy of deep pumps to completely empty himself.
God, I want to do this all night. “Tristan,” I whisper. “What the fuck . . . too quick?” I tease. If I’m honest, I love that he couldn’t hold it. I love that he was so turned on that he had no control. This isn’t about orgasms for me. It’s about a connection that I’ve been missing, but I’ll never let him in on my little secret.
“It’s not my fault,” he stammers in an outrage. “You shouldn’t feel so fucking good. That never happens to me.”
“One condom,” I whisper. “Are you serious?” I pant.
“I have another way to fuck you that won’t result in pregnancy.” He smiles darkly down at me.
I giggle up at him. Oh, he’s fun, all right. “Forget it, Mr. Miles. You only got one go.”
I roll over and feel a hand on my naked hip bone, and I frown. Huh? Oh shit.
My eyes snap open. Tristan Miles is in my bed.
We had sex.
I had sex with Tristan fucking Miles.
Shit . . . you idiot.
I shake him. “Tristan,” I whisper. I shake him again. “Tristan, wake up.”
“Huh?” He frowns and props up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to go,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering; nobody can hear us.
“What?” He looks around in confusion. “Why?”
“Because it’s five a. m., and everyone is going to be up soon, and I don’t want anyone seeing you leave my room.”
He frowns over at me. “Why not?”
“Because then I’ll be the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”
He lies down and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are the groupie who fucked the lecturer at the conference.”
“This isn’t funny,” I whisper. “Quick. Get out.”
“You’re hurting my feelings, Anderson.” He smirks as he climbs out of bed. “Kicking me out of bed in the middle of the night. I’ve never heard of such coldheartedness.”
“Shut up,” I whisper. “Go.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
He smiles and pulls his trousers up. “How dare you use my body in this manner?”
I flop back down on the bed. “You’re such an idiot.”
He leans over the bed and smiles down at me. “And you’re fucking hot.” He kisses me. “Good night, Anderson.”
I smile up at him. “It’s morning.”
He stands and puts his jacket on and turns toward the door.
“Mr. Miles.”
He turns back toward me.
“I believe it was you that moaned my name first,” I say sweetly.
He rolls his eyes. “That’s debatable.” The door clicks closed behind him, and I smile goofily up at the ceiling.
That was . . . surprisingly fun.