He pounded and pounded, she thrust back, he stroked her belly, and created a tiny pain, the pain all blending with the creaming and the cum to split her voice into something fierce and low, until all that was left was a drained feeling, all sex and candy and heaven.
They came down, little aftershocks from the remainders of their sex, Dylan still in her, as he melted into her, trapping her, their wetness all she knew. She stopped thinking, her pussy done, her body relaxed, all sated.
“Oh, man...” he mumbled into her back, hot breath ticklish and sweet.
She turned around and pressed into him. “Oh, no. Oh, woman, ” she replied, a wicked grin plastered across her face as she kissed him.
How long had they been asleep? Laura wondered as she peered into the grey darkness, Dylan’s arm covering her bare breasts, the sheets tangled between them.
The post-coital haze lessened and reality sunk in. She realized that they were here in his apartment, and then it was— Oh, no!
When she checked her smart phone it read 3:22 a.m. Well, what was the right thing to do? Should she stay? She looked down at this tender, precious, hot, naked man who had just devoured her in every way possible, and felt a giant rippling sense of guilt.
He seemed to be into her in this whole one night-stand thing. She was frankly accustomed to bringing the guy back to her place and then having the guy leave right after everything was over. This was new territory for her and she wasn’t sure. Should she stay? Wake up early, make him breakfast? Lifting his arm off her, she slowly stood, stretching and examining the room.
As she looked around his bedroom, she started to notice pictures. Pictures of Dylan with a woman on the beach holding surfboards, a woman in a stringed bikini, and then another picture of the same woman in a sport bikini playing beach volleyball. And then another of what looked like the same woman standing at the ski slope along with another man. Yet another picture of the same woman on the snowboard doing some sort of flip in mid air.
What the fuck? Her heart started to pound. This was all wrong. He was definitely—this was just some one night-stand. Was that his wife? His girlfriend? Who? Every insecurity flooded her, everything fearful poured into her, and here she stood completely naked standing in the moonlight, staring over this guy who had just given her the best four hours she had had in years.
It was all a lie. A big, fat lie.
She scrambled to find her thong, her skirt, her sweater, her bra—where was it? Found it somewhere across the room hanging off of a doorknob of a closet.
Had they really been that, uh, acrobatic? Apparently. As the feelings all merged into one big bundle of sheer fright, she found herself flooded with shame—shame and despair. And most of all a massive adrenaline rush that just kept screaming, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out now.
She tiptoed, holding on to the straps of her heels, making sure she had her purse, her scrunchie pulling her hair together quickly so she didn’t look quite as ridiculous as she felt as she handled the walk of shame, clicking the door as quietly as possible.
The hallway was empty as she tread gingerly down the stairs in her stocking feet and then finally found herself outside in the cool night air, the streetlamps illuminating the path back home. Fortunately, there were cabs floating around at 3:30 in the morning now and she grabbed one, completely ignoring every comment that the cabbie made, hoping like hell he could read the fact that she had leaned back against the backseat and closed her eyes, wanting to be left alone.
Alone was safer.
Laura used every spare molecule of energy and focus to still her heart, to calm it back down to where it belonged, in the normal, boring, slow pace she’d experienced before the whirlwind of Dylan. She should have known it was too good to be true. Every damn moment of it. He just wanted a piece of meat on the side. A big piece of meat. A little variety was the spice of life, right? Her body was so different from his girlfriend’s, a sleek, muscled, athletic sculpting she couldn’t imagine.
Damn, damn, damn—here came the tears. They weren’t the great big heaving sobs that she felt after dating someone for months and then realizing that it just wasn’t working. This was more the scalding tears of reproach, of the fact that she should have known better, and of a bit of giddiness that she’d gotten something more than she’d expected out of the evening.
Dinner and mind-blowing sex was great, but apparently what she had just had with him was all she was going to have, because he was clearly involved with whoever that woman was and that woman had a bod that went on for miles. Damn, if she had 10 percent body fat, Laura would be amazed. And if that was his type, what was Laura? Just some cow he decided he’d grab onto for the hell of it, trolling some dating site. Whatever.