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“Thank God.” His voice is strained as he pinches my nipple.

My walls clench, my toes curl as my body completely takes over, convulsing with the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. He continues to thrust, but I’m lost, the reality blurred out into one amazing euphoria.

“Fuck, Saar,” he roars, and I feel him jerk inside me.

I drop my forehead, the coolness of the marble slowly bringing me back to reality. The metallic sound of his zipper snaps me out of my stupor. Is he going to walk away? Not if I do that first.

Not very elegantly, I scramble to crawl away from him.

He grips my ankle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He scoops me up and carries me upstairs.

Still dazed, I consider how to get away from him. I’m up for more orgasms, but let’s be realistic here. The aftermath—as he rightfully warned me—is going to be awkward.

But it’s hard to think about retreating when his muscles envelop me, his scent deepening the hazy feeling.

And his gaze… it has always been intense. But the post-orgasm Corm is looking at me like I’m a goddess.

There is still a dash of disdain, like he doesn’t know what to do with me, but it wars with something softer, and very contradictory to that contempt.

He enters his bedroom and drops me onto his bed before he walks away.

“Where are you going?” Fuck, I hate the need in my voice.

“The condom is still on my cock.” He disappears into his bathroom.

He has large windows on two sides of his room, meeting in the corner. The drapes are open, and the dusk colors the sky in a multitude of hues. It’s beautiful and peaceful. Unlike my hammering heart and my wandering mind.

What have we done? Frankly, if he left me on the stairs I would be less concerned, because it would follow our hateful pattern.

But he brought me to his bed. Is it for round two, or is it a new dynamic? Count me in for the former.

The latter? I don’t think I can survive that. I may be all feisty with him, but is my sass enough to protect me from him?

The bathroom door clicks, and I turn my head. And all the thoughts and conundrums leave my mind immediately.

Completely naked, Corm prowls toward me.

“Stop.” I stretch my arm, sitting up.

He does, his eyebrows drawing together.

I swallow and stare. So I knew the man was a hunk. That his forearms are works of art. That his face is gorgeous.

But seeing every bulking muscle, every delicious ridge, every hard sinew of his torso? The broad shoulders and trimmed waist. His athletic legs. How much does this man work out?

I used to spend my time around beautiful people. Around very attractive men who model underwear, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better-defined chest or pecs. This is not even a six-pack. This is…

Shit. I rake my eyes to his face quickly. What am I doing? Ogling him. Based on the smirk on his face, he not only caught me—obviously he’s not blind—but he enjoys my gaping.

“Like what you see?”

“Mm-hm.” I nod, not even trying to cover it.

He walks over and gently pushes me on to my back. Only then do I notice a white hand towel in his hand. He spreads my legs and cleans me.

A lot of things that happened today shocked me, but even after the two best orgasms of my life, this may take the cake.