Again, she complied.
Leaning forward, she parked her hands on his chest and pistoned herself up and down his full length, her eyes glazing as the orgasm moved in. She curled her fingertips into his skin. Short, blunt nails would leave crescents.
He hoped they did. That he could wear them as a badge of their lovemaking for as long as possible.
Rachel began to ride him harder, grinding her pelvis against his. “Isaac!” she shouted, and that’s when he felt it. Her walls tightened and her sex worked him—squeeze, release, squeeze, release—over and over until he thrust into her one final time and his own orgasm claimed him. He worshipped her body, was a slave to sensation and a willing servant of pleasure’s demands.
Rachel collapsed on top of him.
Their breaths came hard and fast, their hearts pounding out competing rhythms with every thundering beat.
Isaac was relatively sure he could lie there forever and be content. And he was, shockingly, okay with that.
She was lying on her side, eyes declaring her satiation, her pale skin flushed from exertion and release. With nothing more than a soft, swift kiss, she left the bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Water ran, and he heard her moving about. She hummed a popular song. The tune was drowned outby the sudden squall of the hair dryer.
He took the opportunity to order room service and donned a robe to receive the meal when it arrived.
Rachel finished drying her hair before she emerged from the bathroom, naked. Crawling into bed, she pulled the sheet up and tucked it under her arms.
“Feel free to pamper me as you will. I like my coffee with two sugars and a lot of cream. Toast? Thoroughly buttered. I’m not skimping on calories this weekend.” Her dimples emerged. “Not when there’s fresh Irish butter to be had.”
“You’re the last one who needs to worry about calories.” He fixed her coffee and created a plate loaded with both sweet and savory goodies—including well-buttered toast—with that very statement in mind. He set it on the nightstand beside her, then leaned in for a swift kiss that would have undoubtedly led to more had her stomach not growled.
Dipping beneath the arm he had propped on the headboard, she snagged a strawberry and bit into the fruit with a groan. “I could get used to this,” she said after downing the entire berry. “I’m curious about what you do, though. Particularly how you got involved with Power Match. I mean, I know your brother is responsible for the new program, but how, exactly, didyouend up as a test subject?”
“Purelyby accident.”
She rubbed her hands together and waggled her eyebrows. “Sounds salacious. Do tell.”
He snorted and shook his head. “Far from salacious, I’m afraid. It was a mistake. Jonathan had to have an individual’s information to show how the software would pair that person to test-pool subjects. Having a known candidate allowed the board to see how the analysis worked, how it would pull from personality traits, preferences and more to successfully pair potential couples. He asked if he could use me since those sitting on the investment board knew me. I balked. He pleaded. I caved. That’s the short version.”
“And the long version?” she prompted before taking a sip of coffee.
“It involves structural planning, infrastructure of Jonathan’s company, staffing decisions, a few bloody fistfights, name-calling and some hair-pulling, the last of which wouldn’t be believable on the retelling.”
She choked, sputtering and wiping the coffee off her chin. “Did you just make a joke? As in, ajoke-joke?”
He gave a short bow. “My bag of tricks is endless, madam.”
“I’ll say,” she murmured, glancing at the part in his bathrobe.
He tied the waist tight again. “Lusty wench.”
She shrugged. “Your fault.”
“In that case, declare me guilty and get on with my punishment.”
She chuckled. “I’m an attorney, not a judge.”
“Do you want to be? A judge, that is.”
“No.” Her answer was swift, even a bit vehement.
He waited.
“I...” Rachel pulled the sheet up until it was tucked tightly under her arms. “It sounds so, well, I guess it sounds hypocritical to discuss glass ceilings and gender discrimination while I’m sitting here with you, naked, in a bed you paid for.”
“This—” he waved a hand between them “—has nothing to do with gender beyond the fact that you’re a deliciously sexy woman I wanted to treat to a weekend away. Okay?” When she looked down at the plate she had moved to her lap, he sat on the edge of the bed, curled his finger under her chin and gently lifted her face to his. “Okay, Rachel?”