Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

She collapsed back on the mattress, one arm thrown over her eyes. Eli wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, unbuttoned his too-tight jeans to give his dick some respite, and then moved up to force her to look him in the eyes some more. She didn’t seem inclined to, and he waited patiently, a knight seeking an audience with his beautiful, iron-willed queen.

“I should have condoms. Somewhere in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom.” Her voice was still raspy from the cries. “I don’t think they’re expired yet, but . . .” She arched off the bed in a deep, lazy stretch, and when she stayed like that, a perfect bow of elongated muscles, Eli hooked a finger in the hem of her shirt and pulled it up. He stared at her full breasts, mesmerized, willing himself to be patient.

“We don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“We can do anything that you—”

“I know.”

Her arm moved, and her peaceful eyes were on him. His heart was louder than he could remember. “So I did cure you with the unique prowess of my magic cock.”

“You have healed me. My appendix scar has disappeared. I’m not allergic to pollen anymore.”

He huffed. “They weren’t my best performances.” He wasn’t embarrassed, per se. He’d enjoyed fucking her too much to attach anything but highly positive feelings to the act.

“It’s a turn-on, to see you like that.” She bit into her lower lip. “You’re not the only one who enjoys giving pleasure to others.”

His vocal cords felt paralyzed, so he went to the bathroom. When he caught his reflection, what he found in his eyes was terrifying. He’d told himself to be careful with her, over and over. To keep his guard up. He’d failed, miserably.

You’re fucked. Completely, irrevocably fucked.

Rue had taken her remaining clothes off. She gave him a small smile and took care of him, undressing him slowly, methodically, and Eli was transported to another reality—one in which at the end of a stressful workday, Rue was the thing he’d been looking forward to since morning. In which he’d spent his meetings deconstructing the scent of her skin. Time was stale from nine to six. The subject of every email contained her tranquil eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she murmured, kneeling in front of him to rid him of his jeans. A spectacular image he was going to treasure in his old age.

“Like what?”

She shrugged.

“Like I want to fuck you?” Like I want you? “I can’t make it stop, Rue.” Believe me, I’ve tried.

She stood, and he buried his head in her shoulder, laughing at his own idiocy.

“You’ll have to put it on,” she instructed, handing him the condom.

“Want me to teach you how?”

She shrugged. Her breasts bounced—a masterpiece of gravity. “It’s not a skill I have particular interest in acquiring.”

Fuck, he liked her. “No, you wouldn’t.”

He wasn’t certain how they ended up with him lying back against the headboard and Rue on top, her hands balancing on his shoulders, slowly sliding him inside her, inch by torturous inch. He wanted to tell her that she was killing him. Wanted to order her to get the fuck on with it and let him just be inside her. But he let her take her time, and eventually he was as deep as he wanted, and she was taking all that he had to offer, and that was simply overwhelming. Once again, he was grateful for the condom dulling the sensation, or it would have been all over, right now.

“How does it feel?” he asked. He didn’t have the tightest reins on his control.

“It feels . . .” She moved experimentally. He bit back a groan. “Full. Nice.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulders. “You know what I like best?”

“My preternaturally medicinal cock?”

She laughed. He nearly choked on his breath. “Sure. But also, when we do this, you practically vibrate.” Her fingertip traced the taut curve of his triceps, nail lightly scraping. “Every single muscle in your body is tense, and I can feel how much you want to move, and yet you’re not, and it makes me . . .” She tilted her hips at a perfectly disastrous angle, and he had to grip her hips and force her to be still and take a deep, shuddering breath before his third time fucking her turned out to be even more lackluster than the first two.

“Jesus Christ, Rue.”

She nipped at his earlobe, and he couldn’t help himself anymore, so he closed his fingers around her waist and began moving her, up and down. For a second he lost himself to the feeling of it, the tight squeeze of her muscles, the taste of her tits in his mouth, the soft yield of her ass under his fingers. He hooked his arms under hers and was moments away from chasing his orgasm, but when he looked at her face, she was staring down at him, interested but detached, and everything inside him screamed, Fuck, no.

Not this time.

“Rue.” He let out a breathless laugh. “If only you knew how fucking good this feels to me.”

“That’s nice.” She bent down to kiss his cheek. “I want you to feel good.”

He groaned. “Okay, new plan.” He guided her off him. “I’m going to turn you around.”

“Around?”

“Yeah. That way I should be able to . . .” He arranged her to face the wall, then guided her until her palms were on the headboard. He pushed back inside without giving her time to adjust. Her gasp matched his grunt. “I can control my thrusts better. And I can touch you more easily.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the valley behind her ear. “And even if you don’t come, at least you can . . .”