Page 43 of The Dating Proposal

Being this close to him trips a switch in me. Pleasure tightens and intensifies, a warning signal. “I have to tell you something,” I whisper.

“Tell me.”

“I think I’m going to come again. Really soon. Can you go a little harder? Faster?”

A groan takes over him as he thrusts harder, pumps up into me. “I can fuck you however you want. I can fuck you fast and dirty.”

“Yes.” Pleasure zips down my spine as he fucks up into me, rocking his hips, driving me wild. Sending me racing to the edge.

My belly tightens. It coils, and I’m tipped over, past the point of no return, as another orgasm washes over me.

I shudder, crying out in pleasure and then in surprise when he pulls out, flips me to my back, and drives into me again. He hikes up my thigh, going deeper and chasing his own release.

Digging my nails into his back, I urge him on. “I want to feel you come,” I say, growly and desperate for his release.

There’s something incredibly freeing about sex with Chris.

It’s wild and open and honest.

And I want his pleasure as much as I want my own.

The sounds he makes are carnal and filthy. He’s nothing but a string of grunts and curse words, and I love it. I absolutely love his abandon. And the filthiest word of all is yes. That’s all he says—a long, raw, brutal yes—as he comes hard and deep inside me.

A minute later, after we stop panting like we’ve run a race, he tosses the condom, returns to my side, and runs his fingers down my stomach. “So, you still want to play my Q*bert?”

I laugh out loud, not expecting those words but loving how perfect they actually are. “Only if you think I’ll score as well as I did just now.”

“There’s only one way to find out.”



This might be my new favorite sight ever.

The beautiful naked woman playing a game I built.

Wait. Let me revise that.

The beautiful naked woman who called out my name, who’s completely awesome, and who’s as into me as I’m into her playing a game I built.

Yes, that’s what makes the sight fantastic.

Right now, as I relax on the couch, I’m enjoying the view a helluva lot. Her ass is spectacular, all heart-shaped and soft where it needs to be and firm where it ought to be, and so tempting.

As if she’s worshipping the console, she runs a hand across the control panel, stroking the joystick against her palm. Her fingers trace the name in its big balloon-y print. Resting her cheek against the screen, she sighs contentedly.

“You sure you don’t want me to leave you alone with it?” I tease.

“Yes, please. I need several moments,” she says then jerks her head up, clearly distracted by the Galaga machine to the right and the Donkey Kong next to that.

“My God, you have your own arcade, Chris.”

I park my hands behind my head. “Would you be impressed if I told you I built them all myself?”

Her eyes pop. “You built all these arcade games?”

“You make it sound like I made a time machine out of a DeLorean. It wasn’t that hard.”

“Wasn’t that hard?” she parrots back. “How do you make an arcade game?”

“I dusted off a computer, found some source code from a non-profit development project that preserves old arcade games, tweaked it up a bit, and then built the cabinet.”

“This is amazing. You can fix and you can build. You have some serious skills.”

“That is true. I’ve already introduced you to some of my finest ones tonight. Now get playing, woman, so I can give you another orgasm.”

A wicked smile stretches across her gorgeous face. “This is the first time I’ve ever played it wanting to get killed, but with you dangling that kind of prize . . .”

“The way I see it is you win either way—you get the high score or you score again.”

“That’s definitely what I call a win/win.” She winks, spins back around, feeds the machine a quarter from a stack on the console, and goes to town, jamming on the joystick.

Gamer that she is, she doesn’t just roll over. She plays hard, and it’s hot as hell watching her.

So hot that by the time she finally plummets off the side of the pyramid, I’m good and ready for another round in bed, and she is too.

This time, we’re slower. We take our time, kissing as we go, exploring each other. She’s warm and pliant, and as she lifts her knees higher and pulls me in deeper, it feels like she’s giving herself to me. It feels like I could do this with her for many, many nights. Nights I don’t want to end.

After we finish, I ask her to stay over.

“I was hoping you’d extend an invitation,” she says, then hums a happy sound.

Tags: Lauren Blakely Romance