One
Crew
“Open your eyes . . .”
My head is heavy on my pillow as a flirty voice whispers in my ear. I offer a moan, still half-asleep and unable to form a coherent response. A hot pink fingernail, manicured to a point, traces down my bicep before spreading into an open palm, slipping under the covers, and taking a detour south. I roll to my back and squeeze my eyes, silently bargaining with myself to do everything in my power to wake up.
My body wants to sleep for at least another couple of hundred years.
“Come on,” she coos, climbing under the covers. Three impatient seconds later, her tongue is working my shaft, coaxing me to life one teasing lick at a time.
Yep. That’ll do it. I’m up.
I clear my throat and tuck my hands under my head, basking in what’s surely about to be the most glorious morning head I’ve had in months. When my eyes have a chance to adjust, I slide my phone off my nightstand and check the time as her head bobs up and down under the covers.
9:02 AM.
Fuck me, it’s early. We left the strip around two thirty, cabbed it to my place, and then fucked until the sun came up. Literally. I’ve had all of a couple of hours of sleep.
I drop the phone and settle back into the mattress as her left hand snakes up my thigh, careens through the grooves of my abs, and presses flat against my chest.
I’d probably feel bad about the fact that I can’t recall her name if last night’s highlight reel wasn’t on instant replay in my head. My Neanderthal brain can only focus on one thing at a time.
“Feel good for you, Crew?” Her purred words are stifled from the blankets.
Apparently, she needs more reassurance than my fully engorged cock can provide.
“Yeah, baby, don’t stop.” I yank the sheets off so I can secure a front-row seat to the action below.
Lyric. That’s her name. Lyric. She’s a dancer at The Tropicana. She’s twenty-two . . . and that’s about all I know about her.
She slowly slides my cock out of her mouth, carefully dragging her lips over the tip, before we make eye contact for the first time this morning. The outer edges of her mouth pull up, and her makeup-stained eyes flash.
“Fuck me one more time.” Her breathy voice is complimented with a saucy smile and accented with a quick rake of her tongue along her lower lip. Lyric moves toward me, her dancer’s legs straddling my hips as she rocks back and forth. “One last time before I leave here and never see you again . . .”
She speaks my language, this one.
My hands hook on her lower back and slide up the curve of her waist.
“Give me one sec,” I say.
She moves aside, pouting. Crossing her arms across her taut breasts, she sighs, blowing a wisp of sandy hair out of her eyes.
“Don’t take too long. I might have to start without you,” she teases.
“That a threat or a promise?”
I rifle through the top drawer of my nightstand, flinging an empty condom box to the side in hopes that one fell out and got lost beneath a bottle of hand lotion, a deck of playing cards, and a spare phone charger.
“Let me check one other place,” I huff, lacing my fingers through my hair and tugging.
“I’m waiting,” she sing-songs.
I hurdle the massive pile of dirty laundry I’ve ignored for the last two weeks and hit the wall switch for the bathroom. Three drawers later, I find a spare rubber enclosed in a perfectly untouched, gilded packet.
It almost feels as good as winning the jackpot at a high-stakes poker tournament.
Which I did last night.#p#分页标题#e#
For the fifth time this year.
“Got it.” I clear the laundry pile and head toward the bed, where Lyric grins and traces her pointed fingers along her collarbone.
“About damn time,” she scolds, reaching for me. “Shame on you for keeping a girl waiting like that.”
I stick the packet between my teeth and climb over her, gripping the backs of her perfect thighs and positioning her hips below mine.
Her lips find my neck as her nails dig into my back, subtly pressing my cock against her wetness.
“Did you hear that?” Lyric’s lips abandon my flesh as her head jerks toward the far wall. “I think someone’s knocking at your door.”
“We’re busy,” I say, the packet still between my lips. I sit up and yank it out, tearing the corner before I hear it too. A loud, urgent kind of knock—the kind that always comes with bad news.
Lyric sighs, her brows arched high as if to ask if I’m going to fuck her or not.
Another insistent round of knocks echoes through my apartment.
“They’re not going away,” she says, her eyes falling to my hardened shaft. “It’s okay. Go get the door. I’ll be right here when you get back.”