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I haven’t realized I closed them, but I open them, stare directly into Braxton’s deep, dark eyes. His lids are half-lidded, mixed with sleep and desire and yet even as he continues teasing me, alternating between sliding his finger inside of me, rubbing it along my clit, he makes no effort to give me more.

“I was an ass last night.”

It takes me a moment to remember our fight, and my body tenses, but he shakes his head, bends down, and sucks a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh God.” I arch into him. So freaking good.

“I want to be more than just the man you’re raising a child with.”

“You are.” The admission bursts through me, he’s making me drunk with pleasure, annihilating my senses, everything that generally screams at me to hold back. But everything he’s doing to me feels so good, I’m mindless. “You are more than that.”

He examines me, dark penetrating gaze bouncing back and forth between mine. “Good. I care about you, Cara. I don’t want your parents hurting you.”

“I really don’t want to talk about my parents right now.”

His lips tilt up and then he’s pulling his fingers from me, himself, rubbing the tip of him through my wetness and it’s so beautiful so see. His thick, perfect cock sends jolts of heat to my body as he rubs it against my clit, and then he’s there, pushing in slowly, dropping to his elbows and we’re connected—condoms kicked to the curb last week when his tests returned clean.

Every brush of his chest against mine causes friction on my nipples, and I’m already so close, and he’s moving so slowly, shoving a hand beneath my back to lift my hips.

“Oh God,” I moan against his throat. “So perfect. Faster.”

“No. Slow. I want it slow.”

I want him to have everything he wants. My hands move to his hips, his back. He’s hot, already slickened with sweat, good God, how long did he play with me before I woke up to have both of so close already.

It doesn’t even matter. He fills me completely, stretching me, hitting the end of me so deep inside, his pelvis putting the perfect pressure against my swollen bundled nerves it’s not long before I’m gasping.

“Braxton,” I cry out, biting down on his shoulder as my orgasm heats my skin. I’m burning, and it’s beautiful, and he’s moving so slow, long measured strokes that make me reach for him, dig my hands in to speed him up, but he refuses.

The room fills with the sound of our flesh, the mingled groans from him and whimpers from me.

My body is so well primed, it doesn’t take much, I’m trembling, he shoves deep inside of me, throwing me over the edge of my orgasm. Bright lights spark behind my closed lids and my fingers are digging into his skin, holding him against me while my body falls apart beneath him and he’s grunting my name, cursing the heavens, and slams deep inside of me.

He pulses, emptying himself, and his teeth are at my shoulder, biting down as he groans out his own climax, immediately following mine that’s refusing to dissipate.

“Cara.” My name is a groan, ripped from deep in his throat and my hips are still shifting, riding the pleasurable wave and my God it’s insane how long it’s lasting but when he tries to pull off me, I arch into him. The friction is unending, the pleasure so intense I’m screaming his name and clawing at him.

“Oh my God,” I gasp as I finally feel my climax recede. “That’s insane.”

“That might be a world record in length.”

I laugh, kiss his throat down to his shoulder. I’m pulsing around him, my orgasm finally dissipating but lingering aftershocks roll through me.

“Crazy.” I can scarcely catch my breath, and his weight on top of me is divine.

I thrust my head back, away from his throat, until I can look into his eyes. “Good morning.”

A heat spreads on my cheeks, nothing to do with the orgasm or the slow, sleepy sex. Embarrassment at what he said, bringing up my parents, our fight last night slides into the forefront of my mind. “I’m sorry about last night too.”

“I want you,” he says. He’s still inside of me. This is the most ridiculous time to have this conversation, and yet every time he slides out, and pushes in, he’s drawing honesty out of me in a way I can’t hide. “I like you.”

He stresses “like,” giving me a hint he means more. I blink, unable to respond with anything less than the truth, but, good Lord, it’s terrifying.

I try anyway. “When I woke up that morning after the wedding, I’d just had the best weekend of my entire life with a guy, and I was utterly terrified that to you I’d been just a way to spend the weekend.”

“What?” His head jerks back. “Why would you think that?”

“Inexperience?” I shrug my shoulders. I’d told him part of the truth. I had felt like a disaster, but mostly it was just because I didn’t know how to do one-night stands, but also because what if he didn’t think of me the same way I had him? “I gave you more than just my body that weekend, Braxton. I was scared to risk getting hurt.”