Waking Up in Vegas(77)

Twenty minutes later, when we were there precisely half an hour, we slipped away and had a private party on my mattress.



Jen had no idea she’d popped my cherry.

Friday night, sinking into her moist heat for the second time was truly a first for me. I was enthralled with learning what made her gasp, what made her sigh, with exploring each and every way to make her come.

Completely without regard to whether or not I did.

Just for the record, that was Jen’s department. And she supplied orgasms that had me seeing stars.

Sex had always been satisfying and a fun way to pass the time, but, before Jensen, making a woman come first had only been about the mechanics of it. About finding which of the tried-and-true ways worked for the lady I’d gotten naked with.

Exploring a partner for the pure enjoyment of it had been rare, and once I’d stretched on a condom, the mystery was always over before I’d even taken the first stroke. All that friction was just a downhill run to the finish line.

With Jensen, I wanted her shuddering into unconsciousness, screaming herself raw, and ending up a boneless heap underneath me.

Or on top of me.

Since my house had never been the place for my sexcapades, I had a lot of room-christening to make up for.

Today was Saturday, a full day off for us both, and by sundown every room in my house had been deflowered. Some more than once.

My ass hurt, my legs were sore, and my balls felt like a shriveled-up, deflated balloon. I didn’t think I could handle one more orgasm.

Problem was, Jen had morphed into some sort of sex monster, and when you consider that the most clothing she’d worn all day was her panties paired with one of my tees, you can see my conundrum.

I’d just have to keep my hands to myself until tomorrow. I’d sit on them, if need be. Besides, the dogs deserved a break, too; every time we started something in a room without a door, Lita and Angus got shoved out into the yard.

“Christ. I can’t move,” I said to Jen as she hobbled into the living room with a fresh bottle of wine and a bag of grapes. “The pizza should be here soon and I won’t be able to get up and answer the door.”

“I’m sore in places I didn’t know could get sore. I seriously need a break ‘til morning.” She plopped ungracefully onto the sofa next to me, narrowly missing landing in my lap.

“You are walking kind of funny.”

“And whose fault is that?”

I grunted as she elbowed me in the ribs—I was shocked to find they harbored a little ache, too.

“I’d raise my hand, but I don’t think that’s possible right now.”

“Poor Tack. I guess you’ll just have to get your nourishment by watching me eat.” She slumped into the cushions, taking a handful of grapes from the bag. She made a production of examining each one before popping it into her mouth with a groan.

I felt myself start to stiffen at her low, hoarse voice. And here I thought my poor dick was spent. Once again, Jensen proved me wrong.

Good thing I’d already paid with my credit card when I called to order the extra-large deep-dish. I stuck a ten-dollar tip on the door with a note to leave the pizza on the stoop.



Much later, as I drifted off to sleep with a belly full of Meat Supreme and Jensen using the nook under my arm for a pillow, I marveled at how things had changed. And how much they maybe hadn’t.

We’d managed to avoid any discussion of Jensen leaving. It was like a semi-truck was parked in the middle of the room and we were both working hard to pretend it was invisible.

Tomorrow, the thing would become solid and real and we’d be forced to deal with it. Because she was either piling into her car and leaving by mid-afternoon, or she wasn’t. And I still didn’t know which one it was.

Suddenly, the bed felt emptier with her lying next to me than when she wasn’t here at all.



***



I eased out from under Jensen shortly after ten on Sunday morning. She looked adorably sleep-rumpled, and too exhausted for me to wake her up yet. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and her breathing hardly altered as I tucked the covers back around her sleeping form.

Hoping a blast of steamy water would pound my knotted muscles into submission, I’d opted for a solo shower today. Plus, the time alone gave me time to practice faking my surprised face. I was certain that, sometime today, Jen would be fessing up that she’d changed her mind.

There’s just no way she could be planning to leave anymore.

Without warning, the memory of the shower we’d shared yesterday afternoon invaded like a freight train. I’d slammed her against the tile walls, wrapping her legs around my waist and hammering into her welcoming body until the water ran cold.