But first I just wanted to preface and explain that as I got to the end of chapter 16, and realized I had to have something going on in the bedroom at the end of this chapter between Sabrina and her now husband, Vasyl (vampire). I'm not a romance writer. I've said this time and again. I do show the nitty gritty in my novels at times, but really, unless it has something to do with the plot, I see no reason to go into the blow-by-blow (okay, I could have used a better euphemism, but really, it works here, don't you think?) of two people going at it.
Plus, I'm lazy.
So, my little bitty brain came up with such a crazy after-the-dust-settles scene I nearly blew a gasket trying get it down without laughing myself silly. So, without further adu, here you go. Enjoy.
Please be advised this is rated P(X)G. And the Eff word is in there a few times as well.
I opened my eyes and found that the bed had moved at least a foot away from the wall due to my rocking motions. The amazing part was the bed wasn't on casters, and it rested on carpet.
Drenched in sweat, I was balanced precariously on top of Vasyl, in the last throws of ecstasy. The mattress below us had moved as well. It was now pitched at a forty-five deree angle, more or less, and my balance became jeopardized by weakened leg muscles from all my activities for the past two and a half hours. My knees had about four inches on either side of Vasyl's hips and that was it. The mattress buckled below my right knee, I pitched over, and tumbled to the floor.
"Ow." My hair, soaked from sweating profusely--because of the heat from both having sex with a vmapire and the too-warm room--fell down in my face.
Vasyl's laughter rang in my ears.
"Right. You try balancing on a two foot-wide mattress, buddy!"
He laughed harder, holding his hand to his stomach as though it hurt from laughing so hard. Then, pointing at me, he said something in French that sounded like an insult, yet sexy as hell.
I mopped matted hair out of my face and scowled, even though I found myself wanting to laugh, now looking at how we'd recked the bed and room, and the way I must look. He, on the other hand, looked entirely too comfortable with himself, like a nude study by Michelangelo. In contrast, my skin was coated in sweat. I needed a shower. I felt like I'd been mud wrestling. This had been the third or fourth time the mattress had wiggled askew from our love making. We had both fallen on the floor together before this. But this time Vasyl had somehow managed to remain poised on the top corner of the stupid little bed.
I threw a pillow at him and he easily swatted it away, still reamining banalnced on the edge of the bed. Bastard. I tried to move my feet. Couldn't. The sheets were twisted around one of my legs. Son of a bitch! I couldn't locate the bedspread. At this point it didn't matter. I worked to untie myself from the sheet, which was somehow anchored somewhere beneath the mattress. Vasyl reached down and pulled the sheet and freed me easily, his laughter finally dying.
"I am sorry, but you looked so silly," he said.
"Eff you," I spat.
"He chuckled sinisterly. "I think you already did. Would you liked to eff me more?"
"No. I'm taking a shower." I struggled to my feet and looked around. I realized I had no clothes up here except the ones I had on. I was not going to put a sweater and jeans back on over my sweat-soaked skin.