over the edge and beyond, to a place where nothing existed but the infinite pain and pleasure of their joining. A place where he could do nothing but wallow in the need that arced between them like the most violent lightning.
It started at the base of his spine and spread out from there—through his dick, his stomach, up his back, around to his chest. Pleasure, pain, passion roaring through him, flowing from him to her and back again as he emptied himself inside her in a series of powerful, all-encompassing waves.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T hey landed in New Mexico too soon. A trip that had started out as interminable had turned too short in the space of one measly hour. As she shrugged back into the tank top and skirt she had put on in her apartment that morning, Phoebe tried to block out the ramifications of what she had just done.
But that was easier said than done, especially since she wanted nothing more than to climb back on the bed and go another round—or twelve—with Dylan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good, her body loose and well used and more than a little sore, but in the best possible way. Judging from the way he was staring at her as he buttoned his jeans, Dylan’s feelings were similar to her own.
A part of her couldn’t believe she’d done it, couldn’t believe she’d climbed into bed with a man she barely knew. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, had had numerous lovers in her life, but every sexual experience she’d ever had had been well thought out. Every partner she’d ever taken, carefully considered. After watching her mother make mistake after mistake with men, she’d made sure not to follow in her footsteps.
But with Dylan, she hadn’t considered, hadn’t planned, hadn’t done anything but react. She had acted impulsively—she, who planned these things out and considered the ramifications from every angle, had thrown caution to the wind and slept with a man because he was hot. And sexy. And made her horny as hell.
Not to mention, gave her so much pleasure that her senses were still on overload.
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed there were a lot of worse, less pleasurable things she could have done.
Still, she had slept with Dylan. Had devoured him, and had let him do the same to her. And now, when she could least afford to be, she was totally and completely adrift. What the hell was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? What was she supposed to say? None of the rules she’d spent her adult life living by applied here. Etiquette for situations like this was completely foreign.
No matter how many times she’d had sex in the past, it had never been with a man like Dylan. Never been with a man who had so totally and completely consumed her that she gave him everything, holding nothing back.
Now that it was over, Phoebe felt so vulnerable, so unprotected, that she could barely look at him. Bending down to buckle her sandals, she prayed that he would give her a few minutes to get her game face back before he started in on her.
But her prayers went unanswered as Dylan ran a hot, calloused palm down her bare arm. Even after everything they had just shared—or maybe because of it—shivers worked their way down her spine. Her body trembled, her pussy clenched, as she thought of the incredible pleasure that waited for her in Dylan’s arms. All she had to do was—
Standing up so abruptly she nearly hit him in the chin with the back of her head, Phoebe took a quick step away from Dylan. “So, which airport are we at? I forgot to ask when we got on the plane.”
“We’re at my private airstrip.”
Of course he had a private airstrip—he had the most luxurious private airplane she had even seen. Why was she even surprised? Why wouldn’t he have his own estate somewhere, complete with runway and helipad?
Private plane, private airstrip, the ability to throw around three million dollars like it was pocket change. And
It started at the base of his spine and spread out from there—through his dick, his stomach, up his back, around to his chest. Pleasure, pain, passion roaring through him, flowing from him to her and back again as he emptied himself inside her in a series of powerful, all-encompassing waves.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T hey landed in New Mexico too soon. A trip that had started out as interminable had turned too short in the space of one measly hour. As she shrugged back into the tank top and skirt she had put on in her apartment that morning, Phoebe tried to block out the ramifications of what she had just done.
But that was easier said than done, especially since she wanted nothing more than to climb back on the bed and go another round—or twelve—with Dylan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good, her body loose and well used and more than a little sore, but in the best possible way. Judging from the way he was staring at her as he buttoned his jeans, Dylan’s feelings were similar to her own.
A part of her couldn’t believe she’d done it, couldn’t believe she’d climbed into bed with a man she barely knew. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, had had numerous lovers in her life, but every sexual experience she’d ever had had been well thought out. Every partner she’d ever taken, carefully considered. After watching her mother make mistake after mistake with men, she’d made sure not to follow in her footsteps.
But with Dylan, she hadn’t considered, hadn’t planned, hadn’t done anything but react. She had acted impulsively—she, who planned these things out and considered the ramifications from every angle, had thrown caution to the wind and slept with a man because he was hot. And sexy. And made her horny as hell.
Not to mention, gave her so much pleasure that her senses were still on overload.
In the grand scheme of things, she supposed there were a lot of worse, less pleasurable things she could have done.
Still, she had slept with Dylan. Had devoured him, and had let him do the same to her. And now, when she could least afford to be, she was totally and completely adrift. What the hell was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? What was she supposed to say? None of the rules she’d spent her adult life living by applied here. Etiquette for situations like this was completely foreign.
No matter how many times she’d had sex in the past, it had never been with a man like Dylan. Never been with a man who had so totally and completely consumed her that she gave him everything, holding nothing back.
Now that it was over, Phoebe felt so vulnerable, so unprotected, that she could barely look at him. Bending down to buckle her sandals, she prayed that he would give her a few minutes to get her game face back before he started in on her.
But her prayers went unanswered as Dylan ran a hot, calloused palm down her bare arm. Even after everything they had just shared—or maybe because of it—shivers worked their way down her spine. Her body trembled, her pussy clenched, as she thought of the incredible pleasure that waited for her in Dylan’s arms. All she had to do was—
Standing up so abruptly she nearly hit him in the chin with the back of her head, Phoebe took a quick step away from Dylan. “So, which airport are we at? I forgot to ask when we got on the plane.”
“We’re at my private airstrip.”
Of course he had a private airstrip—he had the most luxurious private airplane she had even seen. Why was she even surprised? Why wouldn’t he have his own estate somewhere, complete with runway and helipad?
Private plane, private airstrip, the ability to throw around three million dollars like it was pocket change. And
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