Once the door closes behind us, I grab her from behind and toss her in the middle of my king-sized bed. I don’t want to talk about any serious shit anymore. I just want Kaya, and right now I’ll take her however I can get her.
“What are you doing?” she laughs boisterously.
“Finishing the discussion.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Strip, then get on your hands and knees. I need inside of that pussy again in the worst way.”
Kaya eagerly rids herself of her bikini and assumes the position. Her head is low, her hands clenching the sheets, her ass high in the air.
Fuck, it’s a beautiful sight.
And with all of my success in life, all my good fortune, I selfishly curse at the world that this woman can’t be mine.
It’s not fucking fair.
She turns head to the side and looks for me.
“How long are you going to make me wait, Brandon?”
Superman, meet your kryptonite.
I yank my trunks down and start fisting myself as her pussy glistens from a distance.
“Here I come, baby.”
Kaya
Morning creepsover my sticky body like a warm blanket. Neither of us ever pulled the drapes closed in the room last night and the sun is making sure that I wake up and take some accountability for what I’ve done.
I stare at the red string bracelet on my left wrist. On it hangs a small 14 karat gold shell. It was a gift from my brother when I turned twenty-one-years-old and I never take it off. It always reminds me that no matter how many times we argued over how long I took a shower or how often he threw a dirty sock at me, he was my big brother and he’d always protect me. Just like he did when he saved me from drowning in my own darkness when our father died.
I think about our tight bond as I stretch my sex exhausted body and peer over at his best friend. Brick is a beautiful man, there’s no doubt about that. A man who made my body feel things that I thought were impossible. I seriously believed that my friends had been lying to me for years about their sex lives. All this incredible sex they said they were having and all of these acrobatic stunts they were performing in the privacy of their bedrooms seemed unrealistic.
The boy who was my first was a horrible lover (admittedly we both stunk at it) and Elijah and I barely had sex at all (of course I now know why). I’ve never had an orgasm without the assistant of my fingers or someone else’s, but last night I had several by Brick’s hands, his dick, and his mouth.
I guess it’s only fitting that the boy who first taught me how to ride a bike would be the first to teach me how sex is truly supposed to feel.
I thought brick would be a heavy sleeper, someone who snored or fretted through the night thinking about whatever superstar NFL players have to worry about, but he’s perfectly still, curled on one side of his body in a slight fetal position and his hands underneath his head in a prayer position.
He seems at peace and while I’d love to wake him up for another round of earth shattering sex before we have rehearsal; I have a feeling that he hasn’t rested this soundly in a long while.
So I leave him be.
I quietly get up to use the bathroom and am shocked at what I see when I take a glance at myself in the mirror. My lips are a bit swollen and my nipples seem to ache just by the sheer movement of my breasts when I walk. I hold my breasts in my hands as I take a seat on the toilet to pee, and that’s when I notice just how sore my vagina is.
I can only smile to myself. I’ve been beaten up in all the good ways I’ve heard a night of unforgettable sex will do to a woman. After gingerly wiping myself clean with some bathroom tissue, I decide I better take a shower.
As the warm water pulses against my back, I lean into the cool marble tiles and stare at my bracelet again. This time I stare at the shell and I don’t think about the brother who saved me from the darkest time of my life with laughter and normalcy, but the man he is today. That man would not understand what has transpired in this hotel room over the last 24 hours.
How did I ever think this was a good idea? Becoming entangled with Brick is a complication that neither of us needs. I’m just getting out of a horrible relationship and should work on healing myself, not jumping into another man’s bed. And he’s got professional career drama around his break up and contract negotiations I can’t even begin to understand.
I pray Dena doesn’t share her suspicions about us with Kyle, because if he confronted me about it, I wouldn’t have a plausible explanation for him. I’m barely absorbing the enormity of what I’ve done myself.
The only solution at this point is to do what any self-respecting woman creeping around would do, and that’s sneaking out of this hotel room and taking the short walk of shame across the hall to my suite.
Back to reality.
