A strange, yet captivating moment.
I study her face. It’s as if my subconscious feels the need to commit her to memory. Shining dark hair with waves flowing over her shoulder. Skin the color of warm porcelain with a scattering of freckles adorning the bridge of her nose and cheeks, giving a hint of character that only serves to draw you in further. She’s impossible to ignore. There’s a glint in her enchanting eyes, hinting at a depth you want to dive in and explore.
She may have the appearance of an ordinary college student roped in to work the event, but one look at her and you know that she is so much more than that. And fuck me if I don’t want to find out exactly what that is.
What has me perplexed is why a simple introduction, a simple handshake, can have me overthinking the interaction.
As if it actually means anything to me.
She’s just another woman. I could probably click my fingers and have her in my bed, naked and begging for more within the hour if I wanted to. Then again, there’s something about her, something I can tell just from looking at her that tells me she could be different from any other woman in this room. A diamond in the rough.
I find myself leaning forward into her space, watching my thumb as it brushes over the top of her knuckles as I get closer. Her breathing quickens, and her hand becomes clammy inside of my own. I blink twice as I lift my gaze from our hands into her widened eyes.
What the hell just happened there?
I pull my hand back and step toward Grant who has been drawn into a conversation with one of our old college professors. I nod once in the young woman’s direction to silently dismiss her.
There is nothing about me that could cater for a woman like her, irrespective of any connection or moment we might have had. She looks young and undoubtedly innocent, someone deserving of big gestures and declarations of never-ending adoration. What I can offer is nothing more than a short physical liaison that would be mutually satisfying but emotionally dormant.
What I truly want is far more extreme, and in no way sentimental. Something that would have her running for the hills.
A minute later, I look back toward her only to be met with her retreating back as she walks away. The subtle swing of her hips is a telling sign that she knows I’m watching.
A jolt of lust shoots through me as I rake my eyes over the curve of her waist, rounding her hips and fixating on her ass. Having dismissed the idea of pursuing her further, I suddenly want a do-over. I want my charming, panty-dropping mask to slip into place so I can try talking her into something she’s probably not equipped to deal with. But the selfish man inside of me would take whatever I could get from her.
I’ve felt lust before. I’ve also succumbed to it. It’s what leads me into my dark thoughts, the idealistic fantasy to truly let go.
For someone like me, lust can be a dangerous emotion. Lust leads to want. Want leads to need. A need that leads to the undeniable struggle inside of me to resist what I truly desire.
What I truly crave.
“Harder . . .” She moans, her dewy skin slipping against mine as I continue to drive my cock into her, each stroke deeper, more forceful, bottoming out inside her every time.
Jodi is a one-night stand from months ago who never quite got the hint that I wasn’t looking for more. I met her at a client’s charity dinner I attended with Grant.
The night ended with Jodi pulling my cock out in the limo on the ride back to the hotel. I may have my issues but I am still a man, and if a woman pulls your cock out and wraps her lips around you, you’d be a saint if you stopped her—and I was drunk enough to not care.
Since then, when I’ve felt the need, I’ve called Jodi to discreetly meet up. Tonight I needed release so I called her, and with every well-angled thrust into Jodi’s writhing body underneath me, the tension from the week is slowly dissipating. Melodramatic in her responses, her screams and whimpers—which are no doubt genuine—are being played up in a concerted effort to please me. Unfortunately for Jodi, I’m immune to her efforts.
I’ve been distracted by thoughts of the woman at the function last Saturday. The salient sable-haired Lucia, a name that sounds so good as it rolls off your lips. A name representing light, innocence, an untainted beauty that would likely be marred by my desire. I do not feel worthy of such purity to even contemplate the meaning of such a name. This woman, who I’m unlikely to ever cross paths with again, has preoccupied my thoughts.
Jodi’s hands are bound above her head at her request, the black satin scarf adorning her wrists knotted around the steel tube center of the hotel room’s headboard.
Her flaxen hair is fanned out across the pillow, her face a picture of pseudo ecstasy, a sheen of sweat glistening off her skin as I continue my welcomed assault on her body.
Her legs circle my hips, the four-inch red heels I insisted she leave on digging into my ass.
“Mmm,” she whimpers as I rake my hand down her body, placing my thumb inside her alongside my cock, stretching her farther. Running it back up to her clit, I taunt her with teasing circles, getting closer and closer but never touching.
My sole focus is to get off—her first then me. The chance to taunt her is just an added bonus.
Her muscles clench tightly around my cock, catapulting my own release. I plunge inside of her one more time and an image of Lucia’s flawless body lying beneath me flashes in my mind, her exquisite bright eyes gleaming with heat, shining up at me in Jodi’s place. Overwhelmed with desire and my mind focused on my impending orgasm, I grip the headboard with one hand and move the other up her torso.
Cupping her breast, I squeeze her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. When she leans forward in an attempt to coax an unwelcome kiss from me, I’ve had enough.
Increasing my thrusts, I focus on the end result, buoyed by her cries of pleasure culminating in that moment she comes apart beneath me. Endorphins rush through me and I come hard, closing my eyes and seeing a face that is definitely not the same as the woman’s beneath me.
What is wrong with me?
With my body braced over her, I try to calm my breathing. I pull my head back when I feel Jodi’s lips brush against mine. My eyes snap open and I look down to see her soft eyes and sly smile. This is not what Jodi and I do, and her attempt to push the boundaries simply reiterates to me that my message about this not being anything more than sex has not been received, and has definitely not been accepted.
I’m careful to discourage intimacy. It’s something that’s definitely not wanted and to be honest, has simply never been there with her or any other woman I’ve been with. I’ve never been able to let myself go completely with a woman. The guard is always and forever will be, up in that regard. Call it a well-honed protection mechanism, one crafted out of both necessity and experience.
Jodi’s legs go limp around me and I pull back from her, easing my body to the side of hers and untying her. Carefully keeping my distance, I rise up off the bed and give her a quick once-over. She looks up at me with doe eyes and a drowsy smile, looking well sated and relaxed. I decide it’s time to end this charade.
“Should I call you a car?” I ask, my voice devoid of any emotion. I need to make sure my words cannot be misconstrued as anything other than the finality I’m striving for.
Her smile falters and she shakes her head, the unmistakable collection of tears in her eyes speaking volumes. Anger builds up inside me because there is nothing I hate more than being lied to. Jodi’s actions have unwittingly confirmed that her previous affirmation of wanting a purely physical relationship was as genuine as the $10,000 silicone implants on her chest. She said what she thought I wanted to hear in order to get back in my bed, thinking that she could ensconce her way into my life.