“This is my bedroom.” I lead him through my hallway to the door at the end, pushing it further open and turning to see his reaction.
He looks around, but I don’t give him a chance to take in the purple damask wallpaper or the Regency dresser. Instead, I drop my purse and launch myself in the direction of his torso. He catches me, arms under my butt, hoisting me up closer to reach his mouth. I pass his erection on the way up, silently vowing to give the appendage more attention.
In a second.
We kiss, more urgent than the first time after our one-night abstinence. Hands tear at clothes and Beau sets me down when it’s clear that him holding me won’t get anyone actually naked. We keep kissing, becoming fully naked in the distance it takes for us to walk from the door to the bed.
Beau deftly navigates the small piles of purses, shoes, and books on my floor. I’m glad he still has some presence of mind, because falling and cracking a skull open would be a definite mood killer. But at the same time, how dare he have more mental capacity than me right now?
Am I more affected than he is?
But then I look down and see visual evidence that the man is indeed affected. Now naked, Beau lifts me up again, our bodies sliding against each other, creating a friction that makes me wetter with each movement.
I think we’re going to the bed, but instead he changes course and walks away from it. I make a sound of confusion and lift my lips from his to ask what’s going on, but before I can, he sets me on the same Regency dresser I wouldn’t let him appreciate earlier.
It’s the perfect height and I feel his hardness pressing up against my clit, sliding against the wetness it finds there. I rock my hips faster leaning back against the mirror, loving the way he feels rubbing against me.
And take a moment to wonder how many people have fucked on this dresser, now that I know it’s the perfect height for the activity. Hazard of the industry to imagine the past lives of old items.
Beau drags me back to the present by growling low, a sound that I’m going to tell him isn’t very polite when I remember how to talk, and pulls away, disappearing from view. I look up in confusion but then he reappears with his head between my thighs, and I close my eyes when his tongue touches my clit.
I writhe under his mouth, putting my heels on his shoulders as I sink down lower on the dresser, pressing me firmly against his mouth. His hot tongue swirls and caresses as I lose the ability to think clearly, becoming a being of sensation that’s centered around my clit. Just when I think he’s going to make me come, he pulls away. For the second time tonight.
I growl back in frustration but cut myself off when I see him grab a condom from his pocket and put it on quickly. I should really trust him and his disappearances more; they always end well for me. He stands back up and pauses to look at me sprawled on the dresser. He looks at me like an artist looking at a blank canvas, full of possibilities, contemplating where to put the first stroke.
I’ve got some ideas.
Ideas so strong they’re making certain body parts arch up to get closer to him, so he can catch onto what those good ideas are.
He’s not as indecisive as some of the artists we work with, because he grabs me by the sides of my face and kisses me. His lips stay where they are, tongue caressing mine while his hands travel two parallel paths down my body.
They lightly play with my nipples, before continuing the path and resting on my hips. They dig in, pulling me close to him as he slides the tip of his erection in, and then deeper. I gasp against his lips at the sudden fullness and wiggle my hips to accommodate the new addition.
He stops and lets me adjust before going in further. To help me along, he reaches down and starts playing with my clit, each stroke making me wetter and opening me up more to let him in deeper.
Once he’s all the way in, he tears his lips from mine on a groan. His eyes are closed and he rests his forehead on mine, savoring the moment. I let him have the moment but get impatient when he doesn’t move fast enough for me. I undulate my hips, deciding to get what I want even if he’s going to be obstinate about it.
“More.”
“Getting to it,” he grunts back.
On a strangled groan, he starts thrusting into me, one hand gripping my hip while the other plays with my clit. I throw my head back in abandon, hoping I don’t shatter the mirror, and brace my hands behind me, back arching to drive Beau even deeper into me.
My orgasm tears through me a short amount of time later, pushing Beau into his. I slump against the furniture and Beau collapses on top of me, his feet still on the ground and his body bent at almost a ninety-degree angle at the waist.
This can’t be comfortable for him. It definitely isn’t for me. But it’s very hard to move.
I wiggle from my position under Beau, breathing heavily, trying to get around the mass of muscle to my bed. After a minute of my sad attempts to get free, getting slowly more crushed by the weight, Beau rouses enough to get off me.
I might be glad my bones aren’t in danger of being crushed, but I do miss the feel of his skin on mine, and the scent of cinnamon that’s a lot stronger when he’s naked on top of me.
Before I have the opportunity to miss him too much, he slides one arm behind my back and the other under my knees. He lifts me off the dresser and walks me to the bed, depositing me on it and following me down. I pull the covers over us and push him to face the opposite direction so I can big spoon him for the night.
Because he’s so obliging, he goes quietly.
Settled in for the night, I take a look at my side table with no phone and sigh in relief that I don’t have to set an alarm tonight since it’s finally the weekend, because I don’t know where I threw my purse and my phone before we started to have sex.
I hope in my apartment, but who knows.
