Sure Thing(8)

Spoiler: it lasts longer.

Magic Mouth is also some kind of orgasm genie because he seems to know exactly how to keep me on the brink of coming, leading me right up to the edge then backing away. It’s agony.

“Please let me come,” I whine. “Please, please, please.”

“You are quite the delightful little surprise, love,” he responds as he rolls us over so I’m on top.

“I am?” I gasp. This new position is unexpected and I pause for a moment. I don’t really like to be on top.

“You are.” He cocks an eyebrow and taps my hip, indicating the ball is in my court.

I usually feel conspicuous on top. Exposed. But fuck it, I’m never going to see this guy again and I want to come. And I am in control up here. Plus, the way he looks at me is exhilarating. Like my tits aren’t too small and my stomach doesn’t look pudgy from that angle. No, I see nothing but lustful attentiveness in his eyes. I run my eyes over his chest again and lift up on my thighs just a little and slide back down onto him. He really does have a nice chest. Sculpted and toned with a smattering of chest hair that’s hot, not unruly.

“Touch yourself,” he commands and my eyes fly back to his. His hands have moved to my thighs, his fingers resting against my skin seductively.

I swallow and avert my eyes for a second, then look back to him as I move my hand to my clit. Then I rub two fingers over myself while setting the pace on his cock. Rocking back and forth, in and out. He watches me intently and when his eyes drop to where we’re joined my fingers still for a moment until he says, “Don’t stop,” his voice low and seductive, lids low, a groan coming from his chest. So I keep going, emboldened. His lust is encouraging. Empowering. I pick up the pace on his cock and with my fingers until I come.

It sneaks up on me, fast and hard. I drop my head forward, my hands braced on his chest for balance. He stills deep inside of me while I spasm around his cock, his hands on my hips holding me tight until the pulsing slows, and then he’s hammering into me from below, his own orgasm following with a ragged, “Fuck, love,” passing his lips as his eyes close, his head tilted back in ecstasy. His jaw tightens along with his grip on my thighs when he comes and I think he’s beautiful. I catalog his features in my memory before collapsing on his chest.

That was perfect.

The perfect one-night stand.





CHAPTER FOUR


Jennings

 Bloody hell, last night was unforeseen. The American girl was something, I muse as I wipe the remnants of shaving cream from my jaw. I wonder if I should have gotten her number? But no, I’m only in Washington for another day before I have to board a godforsaken bus and play happy tourist. Besides, I never even got her real name—surely she wasn’t giving me her number.

Anyway, she left without saying anything. Looked at the clock this morning and bolted out of bed. Dressed and was out the door within a minute. “Thank you!” she chirped with her hand on the door, her body already halfway into the hall. “It was nice meeting you!” she added as she released the door and disappeared from sight.

It was very nice meeting you, love. Not sure I’ve ever heard it phrased quite that way the morning after, but very nice indeed.

I love women. I love taking them to dinner. Walking them to their door. Caressing their cheeks as I cup their jaws and kiss them before they invite me inside. Most of all, I love fucking them. I love discovering what gets them wet. What causes their breath to hitch and their toes to curl. What combination of moves will make a woman scream my name and come all over my cock.

Rose—or whatever her name is—is not what I’m here for, not at all. But she made me laugh. The way she lied about her name as if having an assignation with a stranger is a covert mission. Perhaps it was for her, but it still made me smile. And the way her eyes lit up when she asked if I was British, fuck. Later she asked me to “say something British” to her while we lay naked on the bed.

I shake my head and laugh out loud at the memory. And that ridiculous champagne cocktail she was drinking. Another lie. That drink isn’t hip in any country. And I can’t recall the last time a woman ditched me after sex.

Perhaps I’ll find her in the hotel bar again tonight. Maybe. Do I want to? I don’t normally look for a redo, but I wouldn’t pass on another night with that girl.

Why the hell did I let her run off this morning? She caught me off guard with her exit; I was still blissed out on sex, and catching up on the change in time zones. And then she was gone, the scent of coconut gone with her while I committed the vision of her wide-eyed smile to memory. The look on her face when I made her come—multiple times. The vision of her hair spread across my pillow. The way she hesitated for a moment while astride me and then ran her fingertip down my chest before flattening both palms against me and rocking herself to another orgasm.