Tangled Page 37

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But then she opens her eyes and looks up at me. And I can’t look away. I feel like a king—like a f**king immortal. And any self-control I had just vanished. I push into her, fast and merciless. Pure heated pleasure swells in my stomach and down my thighs.

Sweet Jesus.

Our bodies slap together over and over, hard and quick. I hook one arm under her knee and raise her leg up over my shoulder. She feels even tighter, and I can’t help but moan, “Kate…”

“Yes, like that. God, yes! Drew…” And then she goes stiff under me again, her eyes closing as a strangled moan leaks from her lips.

That’s when I let go. I ram into her one last time before the most intense orgasm of my life rushes through me. I groan loud, flooding the condom inside her to the frigging brim. My arms collapse, and my full weight falls on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. The moment I’m down, she’s kissing me—my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth. I struggle to catch my breath, and then I’m kissing her back.

Un-fucking-believable.

Chapter 14

I READ AN ARTICLE ONCE that said having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Kate and I are going to live forever. I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. It’s like a mosquito bite—the more you scratch, the more it itches.

I’m just glad I bought the extra-large box of condoms at Costco.

And in case you couldn’t tell from my reactions, I’ll just come out and say it: Kate Brooks is a fantastic lay. A spectacular piece of ass. If I wasn’t sure that Billy Warren was a complete dumbass f**kwit before—since I’d sampled what he threw away—now I’m completely certain of it.

She’s adventurous, unapologetically demanding, spontaneous, and confident. A lot like me. We’re a perfect fit, in more ways than one.

When we finally come up for air, the night sky outside my window is just turning gray. Kate is lying quietly, her head on my chest, her fingers tracing its contours and occasionally stroking the dusting of hair there.

I hope after everything I’ve told you that this doesn’t come as a shock, but I don’t “cuddle.” Typically, after a woman and I are done, there is no spooning, no snuggling, no frigging pillow talk. I might, on occasion, have a nap before I head out the door. But I can’t stand it when a girl braids herself around me like some mutant octopus. It’s annoying and uncomfortable.

With Kate, however, the old rules just don’t seem to apply. Our warm skin is meshed together, our bodies aligned, her ankle over my calf, my thigh under her bent knee. It feels…peaceful. Soothing in a way I can’t fully describe. I have absolutely no desire to move from this spot.

Unless it’s to roll over and nail her again.

She breaks the silence first. “When did you lose your virginity?”

I laugh. “Are we playing First and Ten again? Or are you wondering about my sexual history? Because if that’s it, I think you’re a little too late, Kate.”

She smiles. “No. It’s not like that. I just want to know you…more.”

I sigh as I think back. “Okay. My first time was…Janice Lewis. My fifteenth birthday. She invited me to her house to give me my present. It was her.”

I feel her smile against my chest. “Was she a virgin too?”

“No. She was just shy of eighteen—a senior.”

“Ah. The older woman. So she taught you everything you know?”

I smile and shrug. “I picked up a few tricks over the years.”

We fall quiet again for a few minutes, and then she asks, “Don’t you want to know about mine?”

Don’t even have to think about that one.

“Nope.”

Don’t want to spoil the mood, but we’ll pause here a second.

When it comes to a woman’s past, no guy wants to hear about it. I don’t care if you’ve f**ked one guy or a hundred—keep it to yourself.

Let me put it this way: When you’re out at a restaurant and the waiter brings your meal, do you want him to tell you about every single person who touched that food before you put it in your mouth?

Exactly.

I also think it’s pretty safe to assume that her first time was with Warren—that he was her one and only. And he is the last f**king person I want to be discussing at this particular place and time.

Now, back to my bedroom.

I turn on my side so I’m facing Kate. Our faces are close, our heads sharing one pillow. Her hand’s tucked under her cheek in an innocent kind of way.

“There is something I want to know, though,” I say.

“Ask away.”

“Why’d you go into I-banking?”

I come from a long line of white-collar professionals. Alexandra and I weren’t expected to follow in our parents’ footsteps—it just sort of happened that way. People always gravitate toward what they know, what’s familiar.

Like professional athletes. Have you ever noticed how many Juniors there are in major league baseball? It’s to distinguish them from their Hall of Fame fathers. The Manning quarterbacks—same deal. But I wonder what attracted Kate to investment banking considering her adolescent years of petty crime.

“The money. I wanted a career where I knew I’d make a lot of money.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

She looks at me knowingly. “You were expecting something more noble?”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

Her smile dims. “The truth is, my parents got married young—had me young. They bought the diner in Greenville. Mortgaged it to the gills. We lived above it. It was…small…but nice.”

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