“It’s all right.” Charity’s face was an inch from his. She was somber but her body was trembling. All on its own, her little cunt clenched again and they both moaned. “It’s not the right time of the month, so there shouldn’t be any prob—”

Whatever else she was going to say was lost in his mouth. He closed the little distance between them, holding on to her tightly, ravishing her mouth, thrusting hard up inside her while coming in long, almost violent spurts that shook him from his toes to his head. He ate at her mouth, as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He felt one long hot liquid pull through his body, from his mouth to his cock, drowning inside her.

He shook and groaned throughout the climax, grinding himself into her, totally out of control. He left her mouth because he was afraid he’d bite her in his excitement, and buried his face in her hair, hanging on to her as if he was drowning and she was his lifeline to shore.

His skin prickled, his chest felt tight, he was burning up. He felt especially hot in his groin, right where he was joined to her. Hot and wet. He’d spurted so much come into her, they were wet to their thighs. It should have been a turnoff, but actually it was a huge turn-on. Huge. Knowing his seed was inside her. And in particular, knowing she was now wet.

Not wet because he’d managed to get in a little foreplay, no, not that kind of wet. But still. Wet is wet. Wet meant he could move in her without hurting her.

First, though, some amends. “Sorry about that,” he whispered. His breath moved a lock of her shiny dark-blond hair. Sorry. Nick didn’t believe in a God, but if he did, he deserved to be struck down by lightning immediately because he wasn’t sorry. Not sorry at all.

Not only was he not sorry in any way that he was buried to the hilt in the warmest, tightest little cunt he could ever remember being in, but he was not sorry for anything about the situation. Her soft breasts were plastered against his chest, rubbing against him with every breath she took, his arms tight around her narrow rib cage.

“That’s okay.” Was that a wheeze he heard in her voice? Though it cost him, Nick gentled his hold slightly. She had to breathe.

Since his mouth was right there, he blew another perfumed lock of hair away from her neck and began kissing her, running his lips along the soft skin of her neck, kissing the even softer skin behind her ear. Her hair tumbled over his face and it was like being in a soft, perfumed dark-blond cloud.

His lips picked up the beat of her heart, fast and light. He could feel that beat against her left breast, too. Was it excitement?

Only one way to find out.

He eased back a little, wondering which hand to use. They were both extremely happy exactly where they were. If there were any justice in this world, he’d sprout a third hand so he could touch her where they were joined without letting go, but he’d learned long ago that there wasn’t.

So which hand to use? The one that was cupping the back of her head or the one wrapped around her back, fitting precisely into the sharp indent of her waist? God, what a choice.

Finally, reluctantly, his right hand left her waist, trailed around her back, over the top of her thigh and rested on her mound.

Charity wiggled a little on him and he surged and lengthened inside her. She caught a little breath, the sound loud in the silence of the kitchen.

“You’re still, um—” she wiggled on him some more, the movements so exciting his stomach muscles jumped. “Still…hard,” she finished breathlessly.

Hard? Oh yeah.

He brought his mouth around to hers and kissed her deeply, like plunging into a sea of warm, scented flowers. He opened his mouth more widely, taking in a sharper taste of her.

Her arms curled around his neck, one hand toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Nick fisted his hand in her hair and pulled gently. Her head fell back and he admired the long line of her white throat. Wow, maybe vampires weren’t so dumb after all because right now, he felt like growing canines and feasting. Failing that, he nipped her, right where her neck met the smooth line of her shoulder.

Charity jolted. Inside and out. A sharp clenching of her cunt and he swelled inside her. She gasped and twined her legs around the legs of the chair, impaling herself more heavily on him.

It was all he needed. Wrapping his arms around that narrow back, Nick began moving inside her, sharp short thrusts, made easier by the gallons of come he’d flooded inside her.

It was as intense as hell and couldn’t possibly last. When she gave a sharp cry and started climaxing, he shouted and thrust up into her in one last, hard jolt and exploded.

He had no idea how he had all that come in him, seeing as how he’d just climaxed. Maybe his spine melted and drained straight into his dick. Maybe he was using up all the liquid in his body and would dry up and blow away into dust.

Whatever.

“Wow,” Charity whispered. She lay with her cheek against his shoulder, arms looped around his neck, body completely relaxed against his.

Their groins were wet, stuck together by his juices and hers. He was still just hard enough to stay inside her. If she moved, he’d slip out but for now she wasn’t moving and he loved being inside her still.

It was…pleasant. More than pleasant. She was the softest thing he’d ever felt beneath his hands, soft and warm and fragrant. Nick felt like he could stay like this forever.

She flattened her palm against his back in a small caress, then stopped, puzzled. A swift pass over the spot as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

He knew exactly what she was feeling. A circular puckered scar on the front with a matching circular scar on his back.

“That’s my most embarrassing scar,” he said easily, running his hand up and down her back. “I never tell anyone the story, but I’ll tell you, if you promise to feed me whatever it is you cooked in the oven.”

“Cinnamon buns. Deal.” He could feel her lips move as she smiled against his shoulder. “Unless they’re burnt. And if they are, it’s entirely your fault.”

“Fair enough.” He kissed her hair. “So this is the story. When I was eighteen, my aunt Milly moved in next door. She only stayed a year but in that year, she elected me her own personal slave. I helped the moving guys bring her furniture in. She loaded me down with too much stuff, mostly for the upstairs bathroom. One of the moving guys had dropped a soap dish on the stairs. I tripped and fell. Straight onto a brand-new steel curtain rod. Skewered me but good.”

She shuddered. “Ouch. Talk about no good deed going unpunished.” Charity fingered the scar on his back, then bent to kiss the scar on his shoulder. “That must have hurt.”

Like a bitch.

And it hadn’t been a curtain rod; it had been a 9 mm round. The round that had nicked his lung and finished his army career.

He pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “Now how about those buns?”