Afterwards by Nia Forrester

Author:Nia Forrester [Forrester, Nia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary Women, African American, Literature & Fiction, United States, contemporary fiction, Women's Fiction
Amazon: B00G757PB4
Goodreads: 18684785
Published: 2013-10-23T00:00:00+00:00

19

Robyn slid down Chris’ torso, tonguing his chest, along his sternum, pausing at his abs and kissing him there, moving lower still.

They were supposed to be getting ready for dinner. For their last night in Paris, Etienne was taking them all out for a celebratory meal and a night in the clubs where the “music that matters” was played. Chris liked that; that a French guy could call hip-hop the music that mattered. So he was looking forward to it, but as soon as he and Robyn shut the door to the suite, she attacked him, stripping on the way to the bedroom, dropping items of clothing on the stairs as she ascended.

“You were . . . so . . . so . . . sexy with that guitar,” Robyn breathed against his stomach now. “I wanted to rip your clothes off right there . . . and then when you . . .”

She didn’t finish her sentence because she had taken him in her mouth and the stunning, sudden pleasure of it made a choking noise escape the back of Chris’ throat. Robyn was not a woman who got shy when faced with hard dick, that was for damn sure. Her tongue curled around the shaft, her jaws hollowed as she sucked him deep, swallowing as though she wanted to detach it at the root.

“Damn, baby,” he gasped, lifting off the sheets.

Robyn raised her head and smiled, looking for a moment sweet and innocent, if that were possible for a woman engaged in her present activity.

“I love it when you call me that,” she said.

“I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Chris closed his eyes and felt the slow build of pressure at the pit of his stomach, the inevitability of his what would come next. But so far it had been all about him, so he forced himself to pull away. Robyn licked her lips, pulling her the lower one in and looking up at him. Her hair was disheveled in that sexy, just-been-fucked way. Except she hadn’t been fucked.

Not yet.

Chris sat up and pulled her toward him, turning her over onto her stomach. In bed, always, no matter how he moved her around and arranged her body, she complied, without even the barest hint of hesitation. His eyes fell to the bruise on her tailbone that had become that strange shade of yellow, the purple fading to black; Chris leaned over and kissed it, his tongue swirling in circles over the tender area. Robyn sighed, her buttocks arching up toward him.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

Robyn groaned and turned over onto her back, throwing an arm across her eyes.

“No, Chris, it doesn’t hurt,” she said. “And I’m getting tired of talking about it, honestly.”

“You don’t want to talk about it because you don’t want me to remember that you threw yourself off the bike.”

She looked at him, blinked and then sighed. “Thanks for killing the mood.”

“I just don’t want you to be hurt,” he said, before he could stop himself.

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