She swirled her fingertip on the pre-come dripping off his penis. Then with the same finger, she gave his chest a tiny shove.

“What’s that about?” he demanded. “You pushing me away?”

She smiled at him, mysteriously up through her lashes. “No,” she murmured. “That’s me, pushing you off your knife’s edge.”

He shoved her onto her back. “You asked for it.”

“Sure did,” she agreed. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”

She wiggled beneath his big body while he rolled the latex onto himself, lungs locked with excitement. He nudged against her, pushing until her body finally yielded, until she was gasping with the pressure of that broad bulb, caressing her sensitive inner flesh. She tried to move, but she could barely budge. He shoved deeper.

She was so primed, she came almost instantly, with a gasping shriek. Duncan stopped moving as she convulsed around him, his breath hissing. When the climax had widened out to a glowing ripple of residual pleasure, he hooked her legs up over his elbows and began.

He rode her hard, and she loved it. She gripped his arms, bracing herself against each jarring thrust. She was a hot shimmer melting for him. Long, sobbing spasms of delight rippled out into everywhere.

He got up some immeasurable time later, got rid of the condom. Then he slid back between the sheets and clutched her against his big, hot chest. She snuggled against him, suspended in a liquid dream.

Only a tiny, needle-thin part of her mind stayed apart, wondering how long the dream could possibly last.

Duncan was disoriented when he woke. He’d trained himself to wake at a quarter to five a.m. He was used to having his eyes open while the sky was dark, mind clear and sharp and already generating a streamlined plan of attack for the day’s work.

The sky was not dark. The room was flooded with sunshine. And his mind was not sharp. It was drugged with a strange sensation of intense well-being. He was intoxicated with the scent of dark ringlets that tickled his nose. He was unbalanced by a rush of startled joy.

Nell. In his bed. He couldn’t get over how soft she was. Her skin beneath his hands, as fine as a baby’s. She slept, her back to him, her round, rosy ass pressed against his hips. With predictable consequence.

The urge to roll her onto her belly, mount up and slide into that hot grip of her luscious body took all his mental muscle to withstand. Too dangerous. He had no idea how she would feel when she woke.

Better that she not wake up with his cock already inside her.

He nuzzled her neck, instead. The graceful angle of bones and tendons under her soft skin, that little brown mole, the way the grain of her hair swirled in those wild vortices at her nape. The responsive skin there, perfumed and decorated with fine fuzz. The fine white-gold chain.

He scooted back, just far enough to let her roll onto her back, so he could properly admire her tits. God. World class. So full and soft, jiggling, the way they swelled out, the tight brown nipples. The glittering pendant lay on her collarbone, a bright point of light.

His self-control failed him. He cupped her tits in his hands and pressed his face against that soft bounty, and something snapped. He went wild with hungry licking and suckling. That woke her up in a hurry. She stiffened, with a gasp that soon became a whimper. Her arms twined around his neck, her back arched. Offering her tits to him.

He’d rolled over so that he lay between her legs, and now she opened them wide, tilting her hips in instinctive invitation.

His body had no hope of refusing it. He grabbed his rigid cock, held it at the right angle until he got it wedged inside, and shoved.

So good. Hot. A slow, excruciatingly tight, naked slide. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped. So much for eloquence. So much for poetry.

Her eyes popped open. She and Duncan froze. No need to speak. They both remembered the latex at the same moment. But it was too fucking good to resist. He rocked, sliding. So wet, so amazingly hot.

“I won’t come inside you,” he promised, his voice ragged.

“But I…we haven’t even discussed—”

“I’m safe,” he promised. “Tested negative for everything on my last physical. Never do it without condoms. Never. Only with you. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t…stop. You drive me out of my fucking mind.”

She wiggled around him, her eyes big and dazed. “I’m safe, too, diseasewise. But I’m not on the pill, or anything.”

He slid slowly deeper, until she hugged his whole length, and his cockhead pressed against the mouth of her womb. “I’ll be careful,” he begged. “I won’t come. I’ll be good. I swear.”

She laughed, jerkily. “You’re always good. That’s not the issue.”

“There is no issue. I just won’t. Please, Nell.”

She lifted herself against him in answer, and they were off at a wild, hard gallop. His body had an agenda all its own. He wanted to explode with each urgent stroke. The scalding liquid of her lube, the shocking immediacy of naked skin to skin, like nothing he’d ever dreamed, ever known. It revealed spaces in his mind that he’d never known were there. Sex had never taken him into other realms of consciousness before, much as he’d enjoyed it.

It was Nell who took him there. She was poetry, she was music, she was red hot, honeyed perfection. He lifted himself up so he could see every detail of their joining. The root of his cock, gleaming with her lube, her tender pink pussy lips stretched around it, kissing and caressing him as he plunged and surged, his body locked in motion. Her soft, shapely white thighs open for him, the lush curves, her tits jiggling with each hard thrust. The look in her huge eyes made something break open in his chest, but there was no time to be afraid of what he found in there, because his body was charging ahead, following the beacon of her impending orgasm. He drove her to the edge, over—

He wrenched his cock out just in time, spurted all over her belly, her breasts. He collapsed beside her, panting and shy. Hid his face against her neck. Felt the golden chain of her necklace against his lips.

“That was, um, crazy,” she whispered finally, after a few minutes.

He lifted his head. “No. That was excellent,” he replied forcefully.

She pulled away from him, and slid off the bed, mumbling something he could barely make out about taking a shower.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he called after her disappearing back, just before the bathroom door clicked shut.

He was incapable of being disheartened by that, after such explosive sex, so he just yanked on a pair of sweatpants and got up. His eye slid over the small silver digital clock that sat on his dresser.

Nine thirty-seven. His jaw sagged. He was usually up at four-thirty. Out the door before five. Working out at the gym until six-forty. In the office by seven, maximum seven-ten. Granted, yesterday had been an unusual night. So had this morning been. So far.

Well, hell. Being the boss had to be good for something. Who knew? He might even get lucky again. That happy thought floated him right up off his feet and into the kitchen, to root around for breakfast for her. The phone rang as he was rummaging in the fridge. Nobody used this landline. Everyone else he knew called his cell. It could only be his mother. Of all times. Christ. He picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“Duncan, honey! Thank goodness! I called the office, but you weren’t there! What on earth?” She paused, significantly. “Are you sick? Is anything wrong? You never stay home from work!”

“I’m fine,” he said brusquely. “Just taking a morning, working at home. What’s going on?”

“It’s Elinor. You will not believe what she’s done!”

Duncan dutifully responded to his cue. “What about her?” Elinor was his sister, a sophomore at New York University.

“She’s switched her major to theater arts! She dropped her business courses and signed up for theater history and dance! She wants to be an actress!” His mother’s voice cracked with horror.