"You're making a big mistake," he said. "I could…"
"You can go straight to hell!" Sara interrupted, her voice even, almost devoid of emotion. "Now if you will excuse me," she added, brushing past him.
"You're a fool," he said, following her into the living room.
"Was. Not any more," Sara said, slipping into her torn dress. It would hold until she got into the car, where she could pin it together. "Good bye," she said flatly.
Greg was stunned, wondering if all this was a dream. Just a few moments ago they were molded together – giving, accepting pleasure, and now she was actually walking out on him. Just because [missing text].
"I don't understand you," he said, touching her arm, trying to pull her back.
She resisted, yanking her arm away, and opened the door.
"What's to understand? I will not be used. Not by you, not by anyone. If you consider yourself a one-man stud farm, fine. But I'm not going to be part of it." She looked him in the eyes and said, "You no longer exist."
After she slammed the door in his face, Greg picked up a priceless pre-Columbian statue and flung it across the room, crashing it into a gilt framed mirror said to have been owned by George III.
"Bitch!" he shouted.
Sara heard the crash and his outburst as she scurried down the walk to her car. She felt hot tears sting her cheeks, her heart pounding in her throat. Her hands were shaking visibly as she started the engine and drove off, her tires screeching on the pavement.
When she arrived at her apartment, the telephone was ringing, and kept ringing until she finally lifted the receiver, then hung up. When it rang once more, she unplugged the cord from the wall and stumbled into her bedroom, falling in a heap on the bed.
A short while later, there was a knock on the door – demanding, insistent. It was useless to ignore, because it got louder. Finally she pulled herself to her feet and answered it.
"OK, you win," Greg said. His face was serious, an expression of defeat written all over it.
"What do you mean?" Sara asked, wanting to hear him say it.
"Just that. You win. I lose. I want you. On any terms." He grinned suddenly, looking very boyish. "Besides, I can't afford not to have you," he added, thinking of the statue and the mirror. "We have just enough time to catch our plane. Let's go."
"Can we take a later plane?" Sara asked.
"Will I always be saying yes to you?" he asked, his eyes dropping to the angle of her tits as they jutted from her torn dress.
"Probably," Sara said.
"We can take a later plane," he said. He crushed her in his arms, biting down on her mouth. "I just wish someday I'll love you as much as I hate you right now!"
"You will," Sara replied, matching the intensity of his kisses.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sara lay back in the huge bed, fingering her pussy. Greg had been gone for more than two hours, and even though they had torn into each other's bodies like two animals, she still wasn't satisfied.
"Damn!" she said, looking at the traveling clock, knowing before she saw the hands that it wouldn't read much later than when she had looked at it before.
She gazed around the hotel room, perhaps the best, most expensive one in all of New York. There was even a white grand piano in one corner. The suite had every creature comfort anyone could ask for, except one thing – a big hot cock ramming into her burning pussy!
Greg had said it might be near midnight before he returned, and for some strange reason, he hadn't wanted her to go along.
"Because we'll be inspecting an unfinished skyscraper," he said, "walking over loose boards, riding in an open elevator hundreds of feet above the sidewalks. And I don't want anything happening to this cute little ass of yours."
She had balked, naturally, but when she saw the splendor of the room and had enjoyed his violent fucking, she'd agreed. Now she wished she hadn't. At least she could have looked at him, perhaps stolen a couple of seconds to touch his hard, lean body – even run her fingers over the pulsating curves of his thick, meaty crotch.
"Ohhhhh!" she moaned, thrusting her middle finger over her rubbery clit, feeling it explode in empty orgasm.
Her pussy was on fire, begging to be filled. She gave another low groan, then stopped short.
"Yes?" she called out, hearing the light tap on the door.
She heard a muffled sound, hoping it was Greg. Quickly she bounded out of bed and raced into the sitting room. Without thinking of her nudity, she opened the door and reached out.
"I want you…" she said, then choked when she saw that it wasn't Greg.
"I… I think I want you, too," the young man whistled, his eyes dropping to her slicked-up cunt.
"Who?"
"Room service," the man answered, his eyes crawling upward, locking on her jutting tits. He turned very slowly, his eyes still on her body, and picked up a silver tray. "Your… uh… Mr. Martin asked me to send this up."
Sara looked at the champagne and, next to it, a small bouquet of pink roses.
"Where shall I put it?" the man asked, his tone extremely suggestive.
Sara looked at the waiter, her mind still confused. It hadn't even dawned on her that this good looking blond giant could possibly be on the staff here. He belonged on a tennis court, or standing at the helm leading a Nordic expedition through the icy breakers off Scotland.
"Put it anywhere you… uh, over there," she said, standing aside. Only then did she realize that she was totally naked. It had seemed so natural standing before him like that. "I'm sorry," she spluttered, "I don't usually greet people at the door like this."
She scurried toward the adjoining room but stopped when she heard him speak. His voice was soft, yet carried command.
"No," he said. When she turned and looked at him, his hands were outstretched, his eyes twinkling wickedly. "I know what you want," he said. Then after a slight pause, he added, "And I know what I want."
The next few moments had a dream-like quality.
Sara felt herself float toward him, his strong arms around her waist, his hungry mouth brushing over her parted lips. A few seconds later they were in bed, his mouth covering her tits with kisses.
"Oh, fuck me!" Sara moaned, spreading her legs. She humped her cunt upward, working it over the thick bulge in his trousers, feeling his cock vibrate with life. "Shove your cock in me and… God, fuck me!"
The man shucked off his clothes without letting his mouth move from her body. When he was totally naked, he nudged his knees between his thighs and lowered the underside of his hard throbbing prick over her steaming mound of pussy.
Sara squeezed her hands between them and clutched his dick, swirling her fingertips around the huge base, poking the cum-filled balls. Holding his shaft at an angle, she pushed the monstrous cockhead into her opening and lifted her hips upward.
"Yes!" she whispered, her body aching so badly for an orgasm that her mind was about to explode. "Give it to me! Fuck… fuck me, you stud!"
The man held her shoulders and bit down at the hollow of her throat, darting his tongue over the soft perfumed flesh. He had wanted her the minute he saw her, but now, sensing her hunger, he would have killed to fuck her tins, sucking hole. As he plunged the remainder of his dick into her cunt, he had to flinch to keep from blowing his wad that very second. Hers had to be the hottest little pussy he would ever know. Her slit was like a mouth, sucking and pulling furiously on his prick.
"Goddamn!" he grunted, slowly withdrawing, then stabbing back in. "You always fuck like it's your last time?"
"Always," Sara answered. "Especially when I have such a huge cock inside me!" She began thrusting her hips up to meet his hard lunges, taking his prick in and out of her hole with increasing speed. "Fuck me, you bastard, then I'll suck you! I'll suck out your cum and gargle it!"