Free Attitude by EC Sheedy

thrust and bucked, painfully deterred, in her hand.
    She drew him to her, rubbed the slick head of his penis along her labia. Released him. He quickly replaced the sheath of her hand with a condom.
    She opened her legs wide—in the invitation women have given a heated male from time's beginning—and offered herself. All of herself.
    Cal loomed over her, centered himself, and plunged deep, his moan, as he entered her, pure male satisfaction.
    She lifted her hips, rocked into him, her mind drugged by the fullness of him, the burn of him. The absolute rightness of him inside her.
    "You're like velvet," he murmured, his voice husky. "Crazy beautiful." He groaned, pulled out, came back to go deeper. Again.
    And again. His slow easy moves, the weight and length of him, broke her apart. Her breath shortened, then stopped when her body clenched around his, desperate to hold him, claim him.
    "And you feel amaz—oh, no..." The orgasm, sudden and tumultuous, blindsided her. Her body folded into itself, flaming hot. She struggled to breathe, bring air to her lungs.
    Cal thrust again, pounding his hard shaft, slick with her moisture, to her deepest inner reaches.
    And taking her on another wild, nerve-spiking, heart-stopping ride to a place where breathing was the last thing on her mind.

 
     
     
    Chapter 5

     
    Cal shook his head in an effort to rattle his brains back in place.
    What the hell had just happened?
    He heard Ginger moan, and a couple of his synapses fired, strong enough to make him realize he was crushing her. Taking his weight on his elbows, he looked at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and damp hair lay across her forehead, across her cheek. He shoved it back, then blew a stray curl from her ear. His chest was so constricted, he could barely draw in breath enough to replace the air it took to do that. Blood roared through his veins, but he shivered, the sheen of sweat over his shoulders and down his back icing up under the cool night air. Or was he just trembling like a goddamn adolescent after his first mind-bending fuck?
    He rolled off to his side and tucked Ginger close to his shoulder. He waited for his body to return to something resembling normal, concentrated on figuring out how he and Ginger had gotten from her front door to a riptide climax in a time he was pretty sure would beat any and all world records. For him, a new, and damned dubious, distinction.
    Ginger propped her forearms on his chest, met him eye to eye. "Not bad, Beaumann. On the recreational sex scale, damn near a ten." Her tone was light, but Cal saw something darker in her eyes. Sadness? Regret? He'd hate that.
    "You make it sound like a game of touch football."
    "Isn't that the idea?" She pulled her eyes from his, as if it were hard for her to meet his gaze. She rested her cheek on his chest, and her hair, catching the light from the low wattage bedside lamp, looked as if it were streaked with fire.
    He cradled her head in one hand, ran the other down to the sensual curve where butt and back dipped to form her waist. Her hair was soft and springy to the touch, and her skin, still dewy from their lovemaking, was warm gold. "Want to know what I thought?" Hell, he didn't know what he thought, but he figured it had something to do with life-altering coitus, bone-deep curiosity, and wanting a lot more of what they'd just had.
    "Uh-huh, but only if it's good. Otherwise I'd prefer a nap."
    Cal decided to take a second or two to get his thoughts in order. For him, post-fuck conversation was uncharted territory.
    Her head popped up; she looked spooked. "You're not saying anything."
    "No."
    "Not as good for you as it was for me?" she asked, her tone flat, one eyebrow raised in question—or threat.
    Not that there was a chance of it, but he wondered briefly what she'd do if he said no; tear his face off, castrate him? He decided this was not the time to tease. "Ginger, sex with you is spectacular"—he kissed her—"and I plan to launch a