Cross My Hart. Clare Connelly

       CHAPTER THREE

      HE IS SOME kind of sex god. Some kind of kinky, wild sex god. I can barely breathe. I think pleasure has taken up every square inch of my body, leaving little room for other optional extras such as oxygen and blood. No, the blood is there. It’s rushing through me, reaching every tiny little cell, filling me up with heat and fire and flame and need.

      More need—how is that possible? It’s like I’m one of those stock market charts and every bloody release I get just pushes me down for a second before a new need swiftly kicks in and takes over.

      I scramble onto my elbows so I can look at his dark blond head—between my legs—and I moan again because the sight of him like that should make me feel...squeamish or embarrassed, but it doesn’t.

      ‘You can just stay there all night,’ I joke, smiling like the cat who got the cream—the girl who got the best head in the world, at any rate.

      He looks up my body, over the curves of my breast to my eyes, and he grins then drops his mouth to my clit while he’s watching me and I watch him as he lashes me again with his clever, clever tongue.

      And I jerk because I’m so sensitive that the slightest touch feels like he’s attached live wires to me.

      He eases up, kissing me instead, just a gentle, soft kiss, and then he stands.

      His cock is so hard, so beautiful, and I stare at it, wanting him inside me even when my body is still burning up from what we’ve just done.

      ‘I want you,’ I say simply, because what’s the point in lying to a one-night stand? I don’t care if he thinks I’m some wanton, sex-addicted hussy. I’m never going to see him again and hell, I do want him.

      I’m already kind of high on the fact I’ve pushed my idiot ex way out of my mind, or at least erased his touch from my body. It feels kind of ceremonial—especially the timing.

      ‘Stand up.’ The command is gruff. I swallow, doing as he says, my eyes holding his as he takes my hand in his and pulls me towards the window.

      ‘I like this city.’ He positions me so I’m looking out of the glass.

      ‘Me, too,’ I say, my pulse thready as he spreads my legs from behind, my temperature skyrocketing. His hands on my hips steady me as he thrusts into me from behind, and I groan because I have missed him, the feeling of him buried inside me. He’s so big—my muscles had to stretch to accommodate him at first but now I feel like I’m made for this. I brace my arms on the glass, thankful for the heavy tint and the fact we’re high up above the city.

      He thrusts into me hard and then one of his hands comes around to my breast, cupping it, and I call out because my nipples feel like they’ve been coated in extra nerve endings or something, so sensitive are they to his touch.

      From this angle he reaches so deep inside me, my body is burning up with this.

      ‘I want to feel all of you,’ he says simply, as he pushes into me and his other hand comes around to my clit, brushing over it, as his cock pushes deeper and harder and I moan.

      ‘I am all yours.’

      He stills for a second, and then the hand that was on my breast drops to my hips and comes to my arse, curving around it, his fingers digging in slightly, and I whimper because the pressure feels so damned good.

      His thumb inches closer to the middle of my backside and I hold my breath as he brushes over my butt.

      Fuck.

      Desire surges inside of me and I push backwards a little, encouraging him, not even wondering what the hell has gone on in my mind that I’m contemplating this.

      He moves his fingers faster over my clit and I cry out as pleasure begins to break against me again and just the tip of his thumb pushes into me as he thrusts and I am losing all of myself in this moment, and gaining myself right back too. I look out at Sydney as I crest high above the earth and I lose my breath and my all.

      I don’t know what words tumble from my mouth, only that I am saying things over and over again, sounds and syllables, and then the hand that was on my clit clamps around my belly, holding me tight to him and, with his thumb pressed to my arse and his dick deep inside me, he comes, a fast, guttural thrust and a noise—low and so impossibly sexy. He throbs inside me and my muscles squeeze him tight, their euphoria undiminished, undaunted and, yes—even now—terrifyingly insatiable.

      He is strong and moves me easily, angling my body so I can see our reflection in the mirror across the room. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes hold mine and something surges inside of me because this is so, so intimate.

      I am completely open to him, naked, wanton, wild and uncaring. My hair looks like it’s been teased in some kind of tribute to the eighties, my cheeks are stained pink, my mascara has run around my eyes and my lips are swollen and full from the way I’ve been biting them non-stop.

      He straightens, pulling out of me, turning away, and something like fear slices through me, that he’s done with me, with this, but it’s only so he can dispose of the condom, and then he’s back, smiling, his eyes lined at the corners in a way that makes him seem so...nice.

      I swallow, not sure I want to know anything more about my one-night stand.

      ‘Now, I need a drink,’ he says, moving to the bar fridge and pulling it open. He lifts out an ice-cold beer. ‘You?’

      ‘Yeah, thanks.’

      He passes it to me then pulls out another, lifting his to mine in a gesture of salute, as he did in the bar.

      I’m trying not to feel self-conscious, but what we’ve just done is...unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. There was some kind of whirlwind and it consumed me and spat me out and I’m a little unsure what to make of it. I sip the beer and then put it down on the bench top.

      ‘Mind if I use the bathroom?’

      ‘Go right ahead.’ He nods towards the en suite bathroom.

      I smile at him as I pass and he grabs my wrist, holding me still, his eyes searching mine.

      He drops his mouth to mine, kissing me gently this time, slowly, tasting me, and I surrender to that kiss, my body arching forward, my tongue tangling with his. He groans into my mouth and his hands lift to my hair, thus explaining why it’s such a bird’s nest, as he weaves his fingers against my scalp, locking me where I am, completely imprisoned by his delicious kiss.

      My hands curve around him, finding his arse and then, out of curiosity, I move one hand to his dick, feeling it like I wanted to ever since he undressed. He’s semi-hard again and I am consumed by relief. Even as I know I need to unpack what just happened and how I feel about it, I know I want him again, too. I know I need him.

      And the fact he obviously feels the same is reassuring and delicious.

      I run my hand along his length, higher, my fingertips brushing over his tip, and his breath snags as he sucks it in and I smile against his mouth. I am totally here for whatever this night is going to be.

      One night, no strings, and we’ll never see one another again. Or a few hours, I think with a hint of regret as my eyes shift quickly to the cheap bedside clock that proclaims it to be just after nine. Like some kind of sexual Cinderella, I have my midnight curfew in mind and I must remember it. I’ve worked too hard to let anything