Page 42 of Forged

Her eyes dart between mine. “So, you just assume I’m clean and on birth control?”

“Are you clean?” I ask.

She nods, her hips rocking, searching for friction. “Yes, are you?”

“Yes.” I dip my head down and circle her nipple with my tongue and feel it harden between my teeth. “And I don’t give a fuck about birth control.”

“Well, I do.” I bite her nipple and she takes an aggravated breath. “I’m on the pill.”

I move to her other breast, licking, sucking. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Her eyes widen, but I don’t give her time to protest, lining up my cock with her entrance and pushing inside. The connection is overwhelming. Skin to skin. I’ve never gone bare with a woman and the sensation of her warm, tight, wet pussy clenching around my dick hits me so hard I have to brace myself on my arms to keep from losing it right there.

She gasps my name, back arching, and I swear to God I see stars.

“Fuckkkkkk,” I breathe, pressing my face into her neck. “My wife is so wet, so ready for me. I’m going to make this pussy mine, Neomi. I’m going to paint your walls with my cum.”

She tightens around me like my words affect her. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I start to move, slow and deep, every slide of my cock inside her drawing out a gasp as I stake my claim.

I thrust harder, kissing her mouth, her jaw, beneath her ear, whispering her name. She meets me in every movement, every breath, every sound she makes when I sink deeper.

“God, Lars, I’m going to come.” Her voice is raspy.

“Come for your husband, Bella. Soak my cock.”

“Fuck!”

“Shit, I’m close, Bella.” My hips move faster, chasing my orgasm. “Call me your husband again. Say it.”

Her head tilts back, her perfect tits bouncing in time with my hips. “Come with me, husband.”

That does it. I’m spilling into her as soon as the name leaves her lips.

“Fuck yes. Fuck!” I say through clenched teeth.

I feel her walls pulsing around my cock as I ride through the crest with her, watching in wonder as she comes, her body shaking underneath mine. I stay there long after, unwilling to pull away, hand sliding up her side, thumb tracing slow circles against her skin.

She smiles lazily, eyes heavy, utterly unguarded. And I’m not sure if it was the night, the tequila, or her body, but I know right now that I’m falling in love with her.

Fuck.My fucking head.

The thought of opening my eyes makes my skull throb in warning, my body sending up flares like it’s negotiating a ceasefire. Dry mouth. Heavy limbs. Regret humming just under the surface.

Goddamn Vegas.

I’m halfway through replaying fractured images of last night—bright lights, too many drinks, Neomi’s laugh, the sweet older couple—when I feel her shift against my side.

“Lars, you’re breathing too loudly,” she complains, rolling onto her back while my arm stays trapped beneath her neck. She groans softly. “Jesus. Why do I feel like I’m going to die?”

I crack one eye open and immediately regret it. Sunlight unapologetically slices through the gap in the curtains, bouncingoff glass and marble and whatever sins we committed after midnight. I squeeze my eyes shut again.

“What time is it?” I ask, my voice rough.

“Too early,” she says, then swears under her breath. “The last thing I remember is shots at the craps table. Please tell me you can call room service and order coffee and toast. Maybe bacon.”

My stomach turns traitorous. “Don’t talk about food.”

She pushes herself upright slowly, the sheet slipping to her waist, revealing her bare skin and the soft curve of her breasts. For a moment, my hangover recedes enough for me to take in the view.