“Play with yourself,” I tell her, my voice coarse with lust.
She smirks at me. “You’re really bossy.”
“Again, so are you.”
Kayla gives me a triumphant look then keeps her eyes locked with mine as her hands and the sponge dip between her legs. At this point, most girls would look away, feeling like they are display, exposed. But she has no problems baring all to me. She stares deep into my eyes until her own pleasure makes her break. Her head goes back, her eyes pinch shut, that gorgeous, fuckable mouth opens as she moans.
Yeah. I can’t handle much more.
I walk over to the shower and she shrinks up against the wall to give me room.
“Keep the door open,” I tell her. “Brace your hands on the edge.”
“The floor will get soaked,” she says, but still complies.
“You have towels.”
She shrugs, and I see a hint of tension in her brow. It’s not quite worry—she just doesn’t know what’s coming next.
“Should I go get a condom?” she asks.
“It depends,” I say. I grab her hair and force her head down so she’s bending at the waist, and her slick, soapy arse is pressed against the length of my cock. She fumbles for the handle of the open door, holding on with both hands. The mirror across from us displays us perfectly, though it’s slowly getting fogged up.
“Depends on what?” she asks, but I can tell she already knows what I have planned.
I slide my fingers between the cheeks of her arse, up and down, probing at her cunt and then further up. “This okay?” I whisper, tracing my fingers around in circles.
She nods but doesn’t say anything. I slowly push a finger in, then take it back out, making sure it gets extra slick and soapy before it goes back in. She clenches around me, and I have to breathe in deep, making sure I don’t lose it before my cock even has a chance to slip inside.
I squeeze a dollop of the body wash in my hand, my eyes meeting hers in the mirror as our features gradually fog over. I rub it along my length and then with one hand holding her hips and the other at the base of my cock, I push myself in the tightest space imaginable.
She gasps but pushes back into me to let me know I should keep going. I take it as easy as I can, my movements slow and deliberate.
“This still okay?” I murmur, hoping she’s at least getting some thrill out of it, even if it doesn’t match mine. Before she has a chance to answer, I let go of her hip and my hand slides between her legs. It’s hard to tell if she is wet from the shower or from her own arousal. I like to pretend it’s all for me.
She immediately relaxes into my fingers, her feet taking a wide stance on the slick tiles. The muscles along the length of her back smooth out, and her head hangs down limply as she gives herself to me.
“Look at yourself,” I whisper to her gruffly. I want her to look at her reflection, at us, at the juxtaposition of our bodies. The darkness and the light. “Look at me.”
She carefully raises her head, and I meet her warm eyes, holding them in place. I push in and out, and her arse is so goddamn tight that I don’t have much time—I’m lost to her slick grip, the full milky skin of her cheeks. I’m lost to her.
Thankfully I can multitask. My fingers work faster as I pump harder, with as much control as I can muster. I can’t seem to get enough air in my lungs, and the lights are starting to flicker, even though it’s all in my own head as I try not to break eye contact with her in the mirror.
I know she’s close to coming when her face begins to contort, her jaw open and locked, her eyes fluttering, fighting to keep staring at the foggy version of me when all they want to do is close. She comes hard, shaking so violently she almost falls to her knees, and I manage to keep her upright, all her weight on my hand, my arm straining while my fingers extract every last drop of pleasure from her swollen clit.
I don’t look away. Not once. I’m going back to Scotland alone, and I need every single memory of her ingrained in my mind.
I come fast. Abrupt. It catches me off-guard, and my cries echo in the washroom and I pour into her. It feels so bloody good, I can barely stand. When I manage to open my eyes again, Kayla’s blurry reflection is staring back at me in the mirror.
“You’re a dirty boy,” she says. “A lucky boy,” she adds. “Anal already?”
I can’t help the dazed grin on my face. I shrug before slowly pulling out of her. “I’m not missing an opportunity with you around. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was spending every spare minute from now until Sunday with you.”
“Too bad you can’t come to my office in a few hours,” she says. “Maybe go down on me under my desk.”
I lick my lips. “Just say the word and I’m there.”
She grabs a towel and wraps it around her waist, leaving her beautiful tits bare. “Don’t tempt me. I’m so close to quitting my job already.” She nods at the shower. “Take your time,” she says, then walks out of the washroom.
I quickly put some body wash in my hair, not too picky with what goes on my head, and in minutes I’m out and toweling off.
I stride into her bedroom naked. Flaccid, yes, but from the look in her eyes, she’s still damn impressed. Somehow she’s already dressed for work, and the sun is just starting to rise in the east.
“You’re fast,” I tell her.
She gives me a quick smile as she puts an earring through her ear. “Might as well get ready.” Her eyes trail over my body. “So, the next time I see you, I hope you’re ready to finally tell me about your tattoos.”
My smile falters. I swallow, not ready to bare myself in that way. “I’ll tell you some stories. The rest will bore you to tears.”
“Lachlan,” she says, and the way she says my name nearly makes me hard again. She saunters over to me and puts her hand at my jaw. “You are the furthest thing from boring.”
I grunt, shrugging. She can find me as fascinating as she wants for the time I have with her, but I’m not about to sink into the truth. She’s becoming one last, much needed fling before I return to rugby, dogs, my normal life. In this kind of limited arrangement, there is absolutely no room for reality.
I grab her hand and kiss her palm. “When am I seeing you again? Can you come over after work?”
She seems to think about that for a moment. “How about around eight or so?”
I nod. “Sounds perfect.”
Her hands trail to my chest, running her fingers over my tattoos again, like she’s reading Braille. “Do you want a ride home? You’re not far from my work.”
Normally I would insist on getting my own ride, but I don’t for some reason. I’m starting to squeeze the minutes here. “That would be lovely,” I tell her.
It’s not long before I’m dressed in the suit from last night, and she’s dropping me off at my flat. The sun is shining down on the city and not a hint of fog is in sight. Everything sparkles with new clarity. Everything.
I lean over and put my fingertips under her delicate chin, tilting it toward my lips. I kiss her softly. “Thank you.”
She flushes, the pink creeping into her cheeks, and she nods. “I feel like I should be thanking you. A lot.”
“For what?”
She smiles. Embarrassed. “For finally succumbing to my charms.”
I grin at her and shake my head. “I succumbed to them a while ago, love. I was just waiting for my brain to catch up. I’m glad it did.” I kiss her again and give her a wink before getting out of the car. On the sidewalk, I lean over so I can see her in the driver’s seat. I raise my palm in a wave. “See you.”
“See you,” she says before biting her lip and driving off. I watch her go for a moment before I suck in the morning air, the only time the city doesn’t feel as dirty. I head into my flat, ready to tackle the dogs and whatever else the day is going to throw at me.
I have to admit, I’m kind of useless the rest of the day. I do what needs to be done—taking the dogs to the vet, following up on a possible adopter for Ed, hitting the gym—but my brain isn’t really into it.