purpose that far outweighs any familial concerns that might be brewing. I pant into his ear to quell any outside disturbance, and he gives a riotous groan of appreciation. Morgan seizes me by the hips and thrusts me down over him again and again. He pulls me in by the neck and my body inches toward its pleasure but stops short like it does every single time. Instead I feel a pinch deep in my belly, and I inhale sharply as he pushes in deep.
I don’t know Morgan that well, or at all, but a part of me is dying to whisper something meaningful to him. I’ve never said “I love you” to anyone before, well, not of the male variety, and for some unknown reason the words want to form on my lips, they light me up like a flame on the inside, ready to climax out of me in a verbal eruption. There must be some reason they’re pushing to the forefront; maybe all I really want is someone to love—for sex to mean something for once—and maybe a part of me sees a glimpse of that on the horizon with someone like Morgan.
Our bodies rock steadily as his hips move beneath mine. It feels anything but “dirty.” For sure I don’t feel like a bad girl. If anything I feel good, better than good. It feels perfect.
“I’m coming.” He wrenches the words from the pit of his stomach, securing me down by the waist until I can feel his ceaseless throbbing inside me. “Shit.” He gives a gentle laugh of exhaustion as he topples us back to the pillows. “You’re a wild one, you know that? A spitfire, hell , a flamethrower.”
“A sword swallower.” I brush a finger against his cheek until his dimple ignites in a deep pool of black.
“I’ll need a demonstration of that last one.”
“I bet you will.” I round my hands over his rock-hard bottom as he slides the condom off and tosses it square into the trashcan.
“I’m good for now.” Morgan throbs a series of heated kisses up and down my chest until he reaches the nape of my neck. “I think it’s time for me to show you a few good tricks.” He strings his kisses all the way down to my hip before slipping his hand between my knees and pushing me open, exposing me wide for him to see.
“I’m good too,” I say, trying to pull him back up to the pillow.
“Whoa.” He holds out a hand. “Turnabout is fair play. I think if we’re going to put on a show we owe it to the audience to provide a full-bodied performance.” He runs his finger along the inside of my most intimate part, and I fold over him as if in agony, only there’s no real pain—it’s all one hundred percent pleasure.
“Morgan.” His name cuts through me like a train pulling into the station. “Maybe some other time.”
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He springs back next to me with a genuine look of horror on his face.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I don’t know.” It’s not like I’m going to fess up and fill him in on the fact I’ve never had the Big O. That the few times I have slept with a guy I’ve faked it because I felt sorry for their elusive and somewhat heroic efforts in trying to elicit one in me. It’s not their fault I’m defective. And besides, something in me doesn’t want to fake anything with Morgan, especially now that I know if it doesn’t happen he’ll be as disappointed as I am—and God forbid he feels inadequate. Morgan Jordan is anything but inadequate.
I press a heated kiss over his lips, soak in his sweet taste—memorize the soft velvet of his tongue, the framework of his teeth. I want to remember all of this, in the event it doesn’t happen again. In the event he sees me for what I am, like the rest of the world, and reduces me to nothing more than a bad girl. Or worse, Blair hogties him and claims him for herself. At least I’ll always know these intimate pleasures. Blair, or whoever Morgan ends up with in life, can never take that away from me.
Morgan
A blast of unholy light burns through my lids until they disintegrate. My body grinds and
I don’t know Morgan that well, or at all, but a part of me is dying to whisper something meaningful to him. I’ve never said “I love you” to anyone before, well, not of the male variety, and for some unknown reason the words want to form on my lips, they light me up like a flame on the inside, ready to climax out of me in a verbal eruption. There must be some reason they’re pushing to the forefront; maybe all I really want is someone to love—for sex to mean something for once—and maybe a part of me sees a glimpse of that on the horizon with someone like Morgan.
Our bodies rock steadily as his hips move beneath mine. It feels anything but “dirty.” For sure I don’t feel like a bad girl. If anything I feel good, better than good. It feels perfect.
“I’m coming.” He wrenches the words from the pit of his stomach, securing me down by the waist until I can feel his ceaseless throbbing inside me. “Shit.” He gives a gentle laugh of exhaustion as he topples us back to the pillows. “You’re a wild one, you know that? A spitfire, hell , a flamethrower.”
“A sword swallower.” I brush a finger against his cheek until his dimple ignites in a deep pool of black.
“I’ll need a demonstration of that last one.”
“I bet you will.” I round my hands over his rock-hard bottom as he slides the condom off and tosses it square into the trashcan.
“I’m good for now.” Morgan throbs a series of heated kisses up and down my chest until he reaches the nape of my neck. “I think it’s time for me to show you a few good tricks.” He strings his kisses all the way down to my hip before slipping his hand between my knees and pushing me open, exposing me wide for him to see.
“I’m good too,” I say, trying to pull him back up to the pillow.
“Whoa.” He holds out a hand. “Turnabout is fair play. I think if we’re going to put on a show we owe it to the audience to provide a full-bodied performance.” He runs his finger along the inside of my most intimate part, and I fold over him as if in agony, only there’s no real pain—it’s all one hundred percent pleasure.
“Morgan.” His name cuts through me like a train pulling into the station. “Maybe some other time.”
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” He springs back next to me with a genuine look of horror on his face.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I don’t know.” It’s not like I’m going to fess up and fill him in on the fact I’ve never had the Big O. That the few times I have slept with a guy I’ve faked it because I felt sorry for their elusive and somewhat heroic efforts in trying to elicit one in me. It’s not their fault I’m defective. And besides, something in me doesn’t want to fake anything with Morgan, especially now that I know if it doesn’t happen he’ll be as disappointed as I am—and God forbid he feels inadequate. Morgan Jordan is anything but inadequate.
I press a heated kiss over his lips, soak in his sweet taste—memorize the soft velvet of his tongue, the framework of his teeth. I want to remember all of this, in the event it doesn’t happen again. In the event he sees me for what I am, like the rest of the world, and reduces me to nothing more than a bad girl. Or worse, Blair hogties him and claims him for herself. At least I’ll always know these intimate pleasures. Blair, or whoever Morgan ends up with in life, can never take that away from me.
Morgan
A blast of unholy light burns through my lids until they disintegrate. My body grinds and
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