He picked her up and tossed her in the center of the bed. She laughed until she saw the intense expression on his face. He climbed on top of her and plunged deep with one hard thrust. Her pu**y had never felt hotter or tighter. He thrust into her hard and deep, finding that if he ground his hips, it moved that plug in his ass in ways that made him quiver inside.
“Oh God,” he groaned, having never experienced this level of pleasure. It felt like he was coming, but the feeling never abated. Instead, each gyrating thrust intensified it. Made him feel like he was coming harder. And harder. How?
Still thrusting, Eric unbuttoned Rebekah’s sexy little suit jacket and shoved it open. Finding his progress impeded by a white blouse, he ripped it open and grabbed her br**sts. Pushing them together, he tried to fit them both in his seeking mouth, bra and all. Rebekah arched her back and reached behind to unclasp the garment. She fought with her clothes, trying to get naked. Watching her thrash around impatiently fueled him to thrust faster.
“Oh God, Eric. Your c**k is so huge.” She managed to get one arm out of her suit jacket and blouse. She grabbed his hair and pulled.
He winced in pain. Fucked her harder.
“Pull my hair, Eric.”
When he complied, her body buckled, and she came. He shuddered as he tried to come with her, but the c**k ring held his release back. His vision blurred as pleasure coursed through him and then receded enough to let him keep going. “Oh dear God, thank you for inventing the orgasm.”
Rebekah chuckled. “I second that.”
“And the c**k ring.”
“Hallelujah!”
He continued to plunge into Rebekah’s spent body until his next orgasm gripped him. This one was hard enough to make him spurt despite the tight ring around the base of his cock. He almost passed out, it was so intense. He clung to his woman, crying out in bliss, and then collapsed on top of her, breathing hard from his exertions.
She trailed a lazy hand up and down the sweat-drenched skin of his back. “Has my naughty boy been sufficiently punished?” she asked, kissing his shoulder tenderly.
“Ask me that again in an hour.” He snuggled his face against her neck. “Right now, I can’t even move.”
Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind that he was squashing her beneath him. “Eric?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to keep seeing each other even when we’re not on tour, right?”
“Of course.”
“Do you live in LA?”
“I’m kind of out in the country actually.”
“Really? Can I come visit you?”
He was almost asleep, so he spoke without thinking, “I’d prefer if you just stayed with me the entire six weeks.”
“Okay,” she agreed immediately.
“Okay?” He lifted his head to look at her. He figured she’d protest. At least a little.
She smiled and nodded. “Make sure you bring all our costumes. I plan on working through your entire essay and then giving you some new things to fantasize about.”
Chapter 21
Eric pushed the button to open the garage and waited for the door to lift. He glanced at Rebekah, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He’d always believed in luck, just not his own. And now, with this woman in his life, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.
“I’ve got to ask,” she said, straining to look at the house through the window. “What’s with the Pollyanna house and the white picket fence?”
His heart sank. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s great. For someone’s grandmother. But you’re a young, hot, very hot, single-but-taken, hot, did I mention hot, man.”
He laughed at her description and then shrugged. “I liked it, so I bought it.” He’d always wanted to live in a big Victorian-styled house with intricate woodwork, a huge porch, a picket fence, and a tire swing in a big oak tree, so when he’d found this place, he had to buy it. Not that he was home often. Not that it didn’t remind him that he had no one to share it with. Not that it wasn’t frivolous and huge and expensive. But he had hoped Rebekah would like it as much as he did. He wasn’t sure why that was important to him.
When they pulled into the garage, she gasped. He followed her gaze over his shoulder. “Is that a ’68 Camaro?” she squealed.
She didn’t like his showcase house, but liked the rusted out, beat-up muscle car that wouldn’t start. He had to chuckle. “Yeah. That’s my next project. After I finish the Corvette.”
“Let’s get to work!”
She climbed out of the car and went to inspect his tools and the spare Corvette parts scattered across the bench along one wall of the garage. “You have every part imaginable here!”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what I needed, so anytime I find parts for this model, I buy them automatically.”
Rebekah opened the Corvette’s hood and peered at the engine. “I can’t wait to get started, but the engine’s too hot.”
Was it possible for this woman to be any more perfect? He didn’t think so. “Let’s take your stuff into the house,” he said, dropping a kiss on the back of her neck. “Are you hungry?”
She looked up. “Not really.”
“Horny?”
Her grin made his heart stutter. “Getting that way.”
Eric grabbed his duffel bag and Rebekah’s overnight bag out of his trunk and unlocked the door between the garage and the kitchen.
She stepped inside and looked around the huge kitchen with its white cabinetry and chef-sized appliances.
“You don’t cook, do you?”
He shook his head.
She smiled. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”
“Why don’t we try them all, and you can count them?”
“Six?”
“Seven,” he admitted.
“There’s something I’m missing here,” she said, wandering farther into the kitchen and setting her purse on the pristine slate countertop at the breakfast bar. “It looks like Martha Stewart lives here.” She examined the bowl of fruit on the counter.
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s a spectacular house. Just not what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
She laughed. “I dunno. That you live in your mother’s basement?”
Eric grimaced.
She misinterpreted his pain for insult. “I’m sorry. You’re probably a millionaire or something.” Rebekah snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You inherited it from your great-aunt Edna.”