Times Square(13)

When I move to push his jeans lower my hand hits his wallet, so I pull it out, but I'm a terrible pickpocket because I immediately wave it in his face and ask if he's got a condom. Please let him have one in his wallet, because I don't think I can wait long enough for him to retrieve one from the bathroom or wherever the hell he stashes them.

Max nods as if to indicate for me to retrieve it myself, so I flip open the wallet while he watches, his mouth on my breast. On the left side there's a New York driver’s license in a clear window telling me Max the non-model somehow still manages to take a great ID photo, which everyone knows is near impossible, and that his name is Max Hunter. I smile at that because I didn't know his last name till just this second. On the right side of the wallet are three credit cards in staggered slots and behind that one long pocket for cash. I dig my finger behind his license and am rewarded with not one, but two condoms.

"Two," I say, holding them up and tossing the wallet aside. "I like your confidence."

"I hope you still like it tomorrow when you have trouble walking."

"Oh, game on." I rip one of the condoms open and examine it in the dim light to make sure I have it flipped the right way and then slide one hand up the length of him while placing the condom on him with the other.

I roll it down slowly, inch by inch. His cock is hard and heavy in my hand, the condom slick. When I've finished I turn my eyes to his while placing my palm on his abs, lightly scratching with my fingernails. Then I yelp as he slides me lower on the couch while spreading my thighs wide and settling between them. He maneuvers me like I weigh nothing, positioning me to his liking. He's got one of my legs over his shoulder and the other resting in the crook of his arm. Then he guides himself to my entrance and slaps me with his dick. He does it again and I groan.

"Stop fucking with me and put it inside."

"You want it inside?" he teases, nudging his tip at my entrance.

"Yes." I arch my back and grip the armrest over my head. "Yes, dammit. Now."

"I don't know," he says, pausing and easing back. "I'm not sure. Do you think we're ready for this, Lauren? Maybe we should wait?"

"Are you kidding me right now?" I move my arms back and slap them against the couch, trying to pull myself up enough to argue with him. I'm dripping on his sofa and he's playing hard to get. Unreal. I knew he was too good to be true. This city is filled with weirdos. Hot, dimpled, sex-withholding weirdos. It's probably his fetish, getting women worked up and spread eagled on his sofa. Teasing them about how good it's going to be and making promises about being unable to walk after and then not delivering. Son of a bitch.

"Yes, I'm kidding," he says, and then he confirms it when he slides into me in one long thrust.

One hard thrust. Perfectly positioned.

A thrust that stretches me with the most delicious ache.

It's perfect.

He's perfect.

He slaps my tits lightly and then pinches my nipples simultaneously. Quick, rough and unexpected. I bow my back off the sofa and scream his name.

"I'm going to fuck these next, Lauren," he says while gripping my tits so hard I wonder if they'll bruise. I don't care if they do—totally worth it. Every touch and pinch and pull makes me wetter, my nipples a direct ticket to my arousal. I squeeze around his cock in rhythm to his thrusting and squeeze harder when he does.

"So good, Max. So good. Just like that." I should be shocked by my wanton behavior with him. Or have a moment of modesty over the sounds we're making—the slapping of skin and the sound of his cock sliding in and out of me. The indeterminate sounds coming from my mouth and the dirty words coming from his. The mess we are surely making on his couch.

But I'm not. All I care about is how good this feels. The pressure building in my pelvis. The heat, the sweat, the way it feels when he leans forward enough to cause contact with my clit as he brushes his lips across mine. The words he whispers about how beautiful I am and how good it feels to be inside of me. The way he tugs my hair to position my neck for his mouth.

That's all that’s on my mind right now.

"I'm close," I tell him, but he shakes his head and shifts his hips, sliding out of me.

"No."

"What do you mean no? I want to come!" I whine.

"Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet? Can't you catch up?" Then I mouth the word 'please' silently and he laughs.

"Good things come to those who wait, Lauren."

"The early bird gets to come, Max."

"Jesus," he says, but he's grinning. "I should have been paying more attention to women who read. Who knew that bookworms were so mouthy in bed?"