The Resistance(34)
Dear Mr. Outlaw,
Fantastic show. Thanks for coming to Las Vegas. We hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.
Sincerely,
The Palatial Hotel Staff
Not sure when Dalton will walk in, I set the note down and dig into the platter. I’m hungry and can’t imagine he’ll take this with him tomorrow. I slip onto the table, letting my legs dangle, waiting. As the minutes pass, I start to feel a little ridiculous, a little stupid, and doubt starts creeping in.
Dalton enters, startling me when the door flies open. It bounces back from the impact and closes behind him. His energy is different than when he performs, more like coming down from an adrenaline rush rather than riding high on one. His eyes lock on mine and he comes toward me as I bite into another strawberry. He tosses a handful of condoms on the table beside me. I gulp.
With strawberry still on my lips, I glance at the condoms, then ask, “How many girls were you planning to sleep with this weekend?”
“I wasn’t. My bandmates gave them to me because we already used what I packed.”
My mouth is licked and the strawberry stolen from between my lips. “Fuck, Angel. You’re delicious.” The tray is pushed across the table and the fruit basket knocked off entirely. Leaning over me, he asks, “You ready for me?”
Surprised by the commotion, I nod, suddenly turned on and food forgotten.
“Get naked. Now,” he demands. Leaning back on my elbows, I tilt my head to the side and start to pull the rubber band from my ponytail, but he grabs my wrist. “Leave the hair up.”
Shit.
I unbutton my jeans, sliding the zipper nice and slow, the sexual tension already thick in the room. Music starts playing as he sets his phone on the bar behind him and I lift my ass up off the wood tabletop, balancing on my elbows. He takes my shoes off and then my jeans, yanking them off by the hem, pulling hard enough for me to end up straddling his waist. Dalton looks down at my exposed lace panties while rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip several times in a calculating fashion.
When his eyes meet mine, my desire flares to life, and he asks, “So I’m going to ask you nicely, do you want to keep these panties?”
I know how to respond this time. “No.”
“Right fucking answer.” He rips them on one side and then the other, exposing me. Bending down, he licks me, his tongue slips deeper and my head hits the table with a thud. He squats at the end of the table and pulls me even closer, draping my legs over his shoulders. His tongue double thrusts inside me while sucking where I want him most.
My fingers weave into his hair and pull unintentionally as he continues pleasuring me with his mouth. Closing my eyes, I feel every nerve he flames and hear his every breath and moan mingling with mine. My hands grip as he holds me tighter. He doesn’t relent. He sucks, and with my back arched, my orgasm hits me hard.
I squeeze my thighs together, his head trapped between until the vibrations cease. I fall back, my body weak from the release. I hear him undoing his belt then unbuttoning his jeans. It’s not going to pretty or graceful. He’s going to fuck me just like I asked him to earlier, and my body trembles in anticipation from the thought.
When I look up, our eyes connect and we still, only for a quick moment, and I read something deeper in his expression than either of us would say. He takes a condom, putting it on before his fingers slip between my legs. Bringing them back to his mouth, he slowly sucks them in. Reaching down, he touches me again and guides himself inside. Grabbing hold of my outer thighs, he pushes forward until his pelvis is pressed against mine. A sharp breath is forced out. I take a deeper one, then encourage him, “Move.”
His eyes are closed, his face is contorted in his own sweet agony. When told to move, he starts moving. Thrusting. Fucking. He gives no reprieves, takes what he wants, what he desires and needs. His hands plant firmly down on the wood surface and I hold the edge of the table while wrapping my legs around him, holding me in place. His shoulders are strong, every muscle in his arms working toward the common goal. “Fuck, you feel good, Angel.”
I grab onto his shoulders and he lifts me up, still inside of me and moves us to the edge of the kitchen counter. I push against him, our rhythm out of sync, making me feel every thrust even deeper. The sound of our bodies together is an aphrodisiac for all the more we spoke about.
Suddenly my hair is grabbed and pulled back, exposing my neck to him. His body quickens as his teeth scrape along the front of my throat and downward, his tongue teasing the dip at the base. “I’m gonna come so hard,” he says. I’m getting close, but by his erratic movements, he’s closer. He grabs me by the ass and slams into me, feeding his orgasm. “Fuck!”