“Yes,” I groan as his hand slips between my legs, fingering my opening. If he didn’t have such a tight hold on my hair, my head would have dropped to the bed already. My legs tremble beneath me as I feel the head of his cock stroke me from clit to ass.
“You feeling adventurous tonight, babe?”
I stiffen, knowing what he is asking of me. It is the only thing I haven’t allowed him to do yet, and I’m uncertain if I am willing to try. It would just be another level to our dirty sexcapades, but I already moved up the ladder on his last visit when I let him fuck me against the window in broad daylight, for the entire city to see. If we don’t pace ourselves, we’ll run out of things to do to each other.
His low laughter pierces my thoughts. “You’re thinking too hard. I’ll make it easy on you, then. Tonight, no anal, but next time I want inside this tight hole.” I am still reeling over his words when he shoves his way inside me, stretching me to capacity.
Sex with my mystery man is never nice. It is hard and fast and sometimes it leaves marks. For instance, I know my scalp is going to hurt tomorrow. He is riding me like a cowboy on a bronco, yanking and tugging on my hair so hard, it’s difficult to concentrate on the hard cock between my legs. The hold he has on my hip is going to bruise, too. The force of his body slamming into mine is something I always relish, though. It’s our connection. As long as he’s buried inside me, I can pretend he’s mine.
“Touch yourself,” he demands, his words grating past his clenched teeth. He’s getting close, and if I don’t rub one out now, I’m going to lose out. What I learned early on is that he chooses when I get to orgasm and how. Sometimes he takes the extra time and care to work me out. Other times, like tonight, he plays then dives in. He doesn’t wait. If I don’t take care of it now, I’ll be taking care of it later, alone in my bed.
The thing is, and what the romance books won’t tell you, that sometimes it’s friggin’ impossible for a woman to get off, no matter how hard she tries. She can concentrate until she is blue in the face, or relax and let it come to her, but it’s all a joke. Orgasms are like bobbing for apples. Sometimes you get one, but most of the time, you just ended up with wet hair, smeared makeup, and a backache.
Tonight, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get there. So, I do what any woman would do who wants to please their man—I fake it.
“Ohhhhh ahhhhh,” I moan into the bedding, really laying it on thick as I clench my inner walls around him. He thickens almost immediately, grunting as he comes inside me. Thank fuck for birth control and condoms. The man is so potent, it’d be stupid not to double up.
Dropping down on top of me, my arms collapse under his weight. The only sound in the room for several minutes after that is our sawing breaths and the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears as I struggle for adequate oxygen.
Finally, the pressure leaves me as my mystery man rolls away. From out of nowhere, I hear the loud crack and my ass cheek burns accordingly. “Mother fuck!” I screech, no longer in my sex-hazed delirium. There is no buffer to ease the sting this time. Shooting off the bed, I grab my cheek and send him a death glare.
His smirk is both an act of defiance, and a challenge. “Remember that next time you decide to fake it.”
My mouth gapes open as he walks toward the bathroom. My indignation over being hit out of context and the shock of getting caught, burns away like fog on a sunny morning when I realize where he is going. Heat takes its place. “Need someone to wash your back?” Usually, he’s good for at least two rounds—sometimes more. But he always takes time for a little aftercare. Those times are my favorite because it is the only time he’s sweet. His behavior could almost fool me if I wasn’t so accustomed to his ways.
“If you’re offering. There are a few other places that could use some special attention, too.”
A smile blossoms on my face as I push open the door and step inside. The water is already running in the shower, and the view of his naked ass, round and solid with muscle that rolls up to a smooth, toned back with broad shoulders, nearly sends me into a tizzy. A lesser woman would drop dead from the sight, it is so damn perfect. Me? Screw the washcloth. I plan to lick every inch of that skin.
He takes me twice more that night—once in the shower, filling my mouth with his cum, and the last in what is apparently his new favorite spot—in front of the window. Yes, my mystery man is a dirty boy, and I love it.
When the alarm on his phone goes off at five in the morning, just a few short hours after we fell asleep in each other’s arms, I’m not ready to get up.
“Get up,” he says, the words clipped. “I’m checking out in twenty.”
Rubbing my eyes, I roll out of bed feeling as if I have one foot in reality and the other still in dreamland. “Why are you leaving so early? You usually get up at seven.”
“I have to be somewhere.”
“This early?” I’m immediately aware of my tone. He doesn’t like complaining. A fact I’m reminded of as he glances over his shoulder—those harsh, onyx eyes threatening to level me if I don’t shut my mouth fast.
Holding up my hands in surrender, I search for my clothes and begin dressing. “Forget I mentioned it. You want me out, I’m out.”
I refuse to let his kicking me out hurt my feelings. Still, there’s no denying the rejection stings a little.
Meeting me at the end of the bed, he places his hands on my shoulders, and I pause as I look up into his eyes. Is that regret I see?
“Don’t let anyone see you when you go.”
Nope. My mistake. A dick. That’s what he is. And yet I keep coming back because I’m a stupid shit. “Of course. Same time next week?” I ask hopefully, hating myself for sounding so eager. If I had any self-respect, I’d tell him to fuck off.
“Unless something else comes up.” That is always his answer. I don’t know why I keep asking, because it never changes. He lowers his mouth to mine, and for a brief, fantastic moment, I am sucked back into the blissful state that he provides as our mouths fuse together.
I am breathless by the time he pulls away, and my head feels light as I slip from the room the same way I came in—silent and unnoticed.
THREE
“Joe, wait up!”
I turn at the sound of my name and see Annie rushing toward me, her blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. As usual, she’s running late. Or, at least, she thinks she is. Annie is the type of person who thinks the clock is working against her the minute she walks out the door. In reality, she’s always on time, if not early, for everything.
Stepping back so I’m not blocking the sidewalk, I wait for her, amused. A yard separates us, and I can tell from here by the pink in her cheeks and the intense look in her bold green eyes, that she’s experiencing a freak-out moment. Beside me, Annie is petite, bordering on munchkin size and a perfect mixture of cute and drop-dead gorgeous. A bolt of shame strikes me briefly, because Annie would never be caught dead doing what I do for a living. She’s too sweet, too pure. Combined with my late-night rendezvous, I feel soiled and used up standing beside her.
I shake the soul-damaging thought away as Annie reaches me and fall into step with her as she continues on. “You’re really cutting it close,” I tease her. “There’s only twenty minutes left until class starts. We’ll be lucky to get a front-row seat.” Today I start my first art class, and I get the added bonus of sharing the experience with my best friend.
Annie shoots me a mock glower but increases her pace a fraction. “Not funny, Joe. I don’t want to be late for this class. Everyone says the same thing: Professor Scott is a total ball-buster.”
“Well, good thing we don’t have any of those.” I nudge her playfully, but I can see that Annie is in The Zone. Her playful side won’t be free for at least another hour. “I’m surprised you haven’t given yourself an ulcer already. Relax, would you? It’s Art Comp. How hard could it be?”