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Kelsey rocked up to meet him, loving the guttural groan she tore from his throat when
she did that, and the wonderful pressure on her insides as he filled her up. Unbelievably, before
she had a chance to think about it, her body convulsed uncontrollably for the second time that
night, and Clint followed not long afterwards, arching into her, grabbing her tight to him and
moaning long and low as his body pulsed and he flooded himself into her.
His big body collapsed on top of her, totally boneless. Kelsey loved the feel of him, the
weight of him on her, the way he draped over her, covering her completely like a hairy warm
blanket . . . with lips. Lips that were nibbling at her collar bone very lazily.
Kelsey indulged herself, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders - he was so broad
they didn't meet in the back. Clint chuckled as she started to massage him lightly.
"Mmmmmmm, that feels great, but I should get off you. I'm too heavy."
"No, you're not," Kelsey pouted, but he was already half off her.
"Don't worry - I'm not going far." His lips took hers. "Ever again."
Kelsey awoke earlier in the morning than usual, with Clint snoring loudly right next to
her. He'd barely let go of her all night, preferring instead to bring her to ecstatic end over and
over until she fell asleep in his arms, sated and exhausted, as secret, womanly smile on her face.
She turned to look at him, and he was just as devastating now as he'd been last night -
maybe more so, since she knew intimately what he could do to her. But thoughts niggled at her -
and not good thoughts, either. This morning she wasn't thinking of the incredibly pleasurable
excesses of last night, even though her body reminded her when some new and previously
unacknowledged place twinged with each movement
She was thinking about the fact that she'd slept with a man who, until very recently, she
would have purported to hate outright - that the whole town knew she detested. And yet, she'd
let him do things to her that she hadn't even let Randy consider after several months of dating -
not that he'd shown any inclination to do so, but still.
Despite the fact that they lived together, they'd never even been out on a date. But there
he was, stretched out beside her like a Playgirl model. Better than a Playgirl model, she mused,
reaching out to tickle her fingertips over his firm, smooth skin for just a second, careful not to
wake him. He knew her - played her - better than she played herself.
But what did all this mean? Had anything really changed? Where did they go from here?
Those were the thing she was actively pondering, all serious-faced, when he awoke a
while later from her restless roving under the covers. His first act of the morning was to press
himself into her, hoping to still her movements, or at least put them to good use.
If she had had any inkling of what he was going to do, she would have tried to get away
from him, but she was his before she could do anything about it, filled to the brim with him,
taken, possessed, truly, and in the best sense of the word, nailed. There was nowhere to move
but closer to him, and, as he dragged himself in and out of her, her body gave her no choice but
to follow its dictates. He pulled moan after toe-deep moan from her on the way to a mutual
implosion that must have shuddered the rafters, and afterwards, he did not roll away, or even fall
asleep, but rather he gathered her to him, spoon fashioned, and kissed her temple, stroking her in
a calming, soothing manner meant to help her get her errant, ragged breathing under control.
"Why were you looking so serious when I woke up?" he whispered into her ear.
Kelsey did not want to talk about it right now. "Nothing," she said, sliding away from
him, out of his arms.
Clint knew her well enough by now that he didn't believe that, but he decided not to push
it.
For now.
He had to go back to work, and for the first time in his life he really didn't want to. He
didn't want to leave her. She'd start to think too much and would over-think things, and no good
could come from that. Clint kissed her a lingering goodbye and went to face the stacks of
paperwork he knew would be piled up on his desk.
He called her mid-day, to tell her he missed her, trying to be romantic and affectionate,
but she sounded distant, even now. Clint knew he'd have his work cut out for him by the time he
got home.
That was hours and hours later, much later than it should have been - later than he'd told
her to expect him. He entered the house all prepared for a fight - even though she'd never
hassled him about being late before. They hadn't slept together before. Women had strange
notions about relationships and sleeping together, and he kinda figured that she would figure that
they had graduated - by virtue of having had sex - to a deeper level of intimacy and were a
"couple" now, or were at least well on their way to being one.
And he was fine with that. He wanted to be a couple with her. As long as he could take
his rightful place in her bed - or with her over his lap getting a paddling, as the case may be - at
night, he was all for whatever made her happy about their relationship. She could tell people
they were Charles and Camilla for all he cared. Although, he thought with a rueful smile, that
would be selling the both of them short in the looks department . . .
She was sitting right where he expected her to be - at her computer, typing away.
"Hi, honey, I'm home!" he yelled enthusiastically, and with much less sarcasm than he
usually did.
Her "hi" was disappointingly soft and distracted. "Dinner's on the stove. I haven't had a
chance to put it in Tupperware yet."
Regardless of whatever else was going on in his life, his stomach took precedence over
every other part of his body except his penis, which was nicely sated from last night - although
ever watchful. He followed his nose to the stove, where a marvelous concoction of steak slices,
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