The familiar sound of foil being torn had her turning her head to one side and watching with anticipation as he slipped a condom over the length of his hardened cock.
“You do things to me,” he said softly, not looking at her.
“What kind of things?” she asked, trying not to smile at the sound of her voice—so satiated—and failing.
He lifted one shoulder. “Things I can’t really articulate.”
Then he moved between her thighs, nudging them wide and then wider, before taking her left leg and draping it over his shoulder. She must’ve looked a bit surprised because he smiled as he propped himself up and slipped his free hand under her ass.
“Better—” he rapidly thrust forward and down “—penetration.”
Rachel lost her mind as he filled her, stretching her sensitive flesh and driving into her without slowing. She thrashed beneath him, trying to move in time with him, but the way he held her, the way his cock thrust so rapidly and his pelvis ground against her clitoris, all she could do was experience.
One moment she was caught in the throes of passion, and the next her fourth orgasm of the evening was wracking her body. There was no warning. No sense of impending release. It simply happened, threatening to tear her limb from limb as she thrashed beneath Isaac’s weight, crying out and demanding more, demanding cessation.
Both.
All.
None.
Until she couldn’t take it anymore and simply gave herself to the pleasure, to the man who owned her body and played it like a maestro.
She was coming down, every muscle lax, when Isaac made a small sound that drew her gaze to his. He watched her; never looked away. Muscles in his neck were corded with the strength of his own release, and his movements became less and less controlled until he pumped his hips in a frantic way and then she felt it. The pulse of his orgasm. The way it worked down the length of his shaft.
Lazily lifting her hand to his shoulder, she felt the desperation leave his muscles and he collapsed atop her, his lungs working like an industrial bellows as he fought to regain control of his breathing.
She’d brought him to this point, this place where he’d nearly given up control.
And she liked that she’d been the one to make it happen.
Almost, anyway.
Without a word, he rolled to the side, pulled her against him and spooned her, his hand cradling her hip.
Her eyes grew heavy and she let sleep come. She was almost across that dark threshold when she thought Isaac said something—something that sounded suspiciously like “We’re far from done.”
She hoped that was exactly what he’d said.
But first, she needed sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SUNLIGHTBREACHEDTHEwindowsill and crept across the pillow until it struck the strand of hair Isaac had been rolling between his fingers. Rachel was lying in front of him, her lips, still slightly swollen from the night before, parted just a bit as she breathed deeply and slowly.
Asleep.
He knew the agreement they’d had—they would enjoy each other for a night. They’d done just that. Man, had they ever.
He wondered which direction she’d take things this morning. Would she bolt? Would she linger? Maybe insist they share a leisurely breakfast? Would she try to get him to confess to having some unnamed feeling for her?
Chances were good she wouldn’t try to make their night anything more than it had been. More realistically, she’d discover they were docked and call for a ride—either the friend she’d referred to last night or a cab.
Would she ask to see him again?
He wouldn’t bet on it.
He scowled. What was it aboutthatthat pissed him off? Women routinely wanted to see him again, wanted to create something where nothing existed. Those women were easy enough to gently send away. No need to hurt feelings. But Rachel was...different. Could he let her leave, let things go under the pretense that nothing really existed between them?