He came, and came, and came. An endless, wrenching explosion.Some instinct of self-preservation had prompted him to clap his hand over her mouth. Damn good thing, too. She was a screamer.She was still whimpering and moaning, wiggling deliciously. Everything about her was so soft, so lush, so strong.That orgasm had detonated from some place so deep, it blew him apart. He should be in a state of bliss. Relaxed, goofy, floating.He wasn’t. He felt awful. He was thinking now, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d rather be lost, in the slick pounding magic of mindless fucking. Nothing happening in his head but instinct, impulse.Too bad. The thoughts came, like hammer blows. Liv didn’t want him to throw himself at her feet and offer to serve her for all eternity. She didn’t want confessions or justifications or excuses. She wanted a well-hung stud to lick her until she was juicy and hot, and put it to her deep and hard. His dream scenario. White hot, guilt-free sex with no strings. Every man’s secret fantasy, whether he admitted it or not.So why did he feel like ten different kinds of shit?He pressed his face against her cool, fragrant hair, still damp and deliciously humid.
