She grabbed his hair in both fists and said, "A slow, hard fuck against the wall, just like you said."
"Where do you want me?"
She shuddered as if the very thought had her near orgasm. "Inside."
"Inside what?"
"M-my vagina."
"Your pussy?"
Her hands tightened in his hair, and the last shred of her resistance crumbled. "My cunt. Fuck it hard, Trey."
He lifted her off the floor, pressing her against the door for leverage, and then directed his cock inside her. He loved losing himself in mindless fucking. No worries. No heartache. Just pleasure. He gave her what she wanted, possessing her with hard, deep, slow strokes, but she gave him what he needed to. A temporary reprieve from his turbulent thoughts and his perpetually broken heart. Trey concentrated solely on sensation. He felt no emotional connection as he thrust into her. Never did. Hadn't since Brian had made love to him back in high school and he'd tossed his heart at the guy's feet. Twelve years of sex without love. Twelve years of love without sex. And now that Trey had given up on Brian ever loving him or making love to him, he just felt hollow. Empty. Desolate. He doubted anything could fill the empty chasm inside. Certainly not some pretty nurse he'd just met and was fucking in a supply closet. He didn't even know her name. Didn't care to.
When she came, he followed her over the edge, his release bringing him that state of tranquility he craved. He wished it lasted longer than thirty seconds. And didn't have to be followed by a whole lot of awkwardness. He pulled out and removed the expended condom, tossing it in a convenient garbage can on the janitor's cart, and then refastened his jeans and belt. He let her find her panties and scrub pants. Waited until she was dressed before he looked at her. Not that he didn't want to watch the hot stranger he'd just fucked slide her panties up her legs. He just knew that if he did, she'd start seeing things that weren't there. Feelings. With feelings came attachment. With attachment came complications. That was the last thing Trey ever wanted.
"I … " she said breathlessly.
"You don't have to say anything," he said. He pinned her with the look that got him almost anything he wanted. He'd perfected it as a child, modified it as a man, used it unabashedly. She flushed and leaned against the door for support.
"Sometimes a beautiful woman just needs a hard, slow fuck against a wall with a perfect stranger. I understand."
She gazed at him, looking more dazed than a pothead at a Grateful Dead concert. "Yeah … Perfect."
"I'll leave first. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble."
"Yeah … "
He waited for her to collect enough sense to move out of the way of the door. One hand on the doorknob, Trey took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed her trembling lips. "That is the best sex I've ever had against a door in a hospital supply closet."
"Yeah … "
"You're an amazing woman."
"Will you call me?" she gushed.
He shook his head slightly. "I want to keep my memory of this moment untainted. Let's not complicate it. Let it be what it's meant to be. Pleasure for the sake of pleasure."
Her face twitched with disappointment, but she nodded.
He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and then let himself into the corridor. He strode toward the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.
Hot nurse a fuzzy memory already, Trey dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called his brother.
"What's up?" Dare answered.
"Brian and Myrna had a boy." Trey smiled at the thought of holding Brian's perfect son for the first time. "They named him Malcolm Trey."
Dare sniggered. "What the fuck are they thinking? Poor kid."
"You home?"
"Yeah, but I'm busy."
Trey grinned. "Busy, huh? What's her name? I'll help you entertain her."
"Not that kind of busy. Remember that stupid contest our publicist came up with: Guitarist for a Year with Exodus End? Today we're auditioning studio musicians to identify the winner. We do need to find someone to take over for Max on rhythm guitar, but this is fuckin' stupid." Max was the lead singer of Dare's band, Exodus End. Max had also played rhythm guitar until recently. "We hoped his carpal tunnel surgery would get us out of this mess, but the surgery fucked up his hand even more. He can't stand the pain of playing, and he's been advised not to move his wrist for several weeks."
"That should make jerking off a challenge," Trey said.