In the few weeks since I’d arrived back in England from Houston, I’d thought of him too much. Wondered where he was and what he was doing. If he thought of me.
I’d regretted not asking for his number, but he’d not asked for mine either. The couple of nights we’d spent together were meant to be just that, only clearly, they weren’t because he’d walked into yet another hotel bar where I was.
I did believe in serendipity. I did believe in fate. I’d also believed in Father Christmas until the last possible moment, which had led to a sack full of disappointment, but I got over it eventually.
The lift doors opened. I entered first, feeling his heat as he stood close behind me, one of his hands going straight onto my waist, grounding me. His other hand pressed for the eighth floor and the doors closed when his lips pressed against my neck, both his hands wrapping around me from behind, his body shielding me if the doors should open.
“How wet am I going to find you?” One of his hands moved to my breast, cupping it roughly, finding my nipple though my blouse and lacy bra and pinching roughly.
His other hand moved down, over my skirt, running along the skin just below the hem.
“Very.” No point lying.
His words, the whole seeing him in the bar, the suit, the fact that every time I’d made myself come in the last few weeks I’d pretended it was him.
His fingers, travelling to the very place where I’d pretended they’d been. I spread my legs a little more, leaning my back against his chest.
The first touch against my clit made my pussy clench, the first entry of his finger inside me made me gasp. There was no slowness after that. The hand that was near my breast helped hold me up as he fingered me to an orgasm that had me wondering whether my legs could stand the onslaught, or even if I’d be able to walk out of there or whether he’d need to carry me.
He could carry me.
I wasn’t proud.
The doors opened when we hit the seventh floor, my head tipped back against his shoulder, facing the back of the lift, the metal dull enough to not reflect any of my sated expression of the fact that his hand was still in my underwear.
A man got in, judging by the overpowering stench of cologne.
Mork removed his hand from my underwear, straightening my skirt, then rearranging us so he was holding me to his chest. The lift stank of my arousal, and I could feel the heat in my cheeks, praying that the other passenger didn’t notice.
As soon as the doors opened on floor eight, we were out, pushing, dragging each other along the corridor, even though Mork didn’t know where we were going and my brain was too addled after my orgasm to be cognizant to remember which was my room.
The part of my brain that helped me remember my lines, or where I’d left my keys when I was drunk kicked in, my hand fumbling for my key card in my bag, while his hands pulled my blouse from being tucked in to my skirt, roughly palming my tits and seeking out the clasp that he knew would be at the front.
We bustled through the door, one of us banging it shut, and then my back was pressed against it, skirt round my waist, mouth being devoured by him. My blouse was open, bra undone, his mouth travelling everywhere. My hands undid his belt, yanking out his shirt and pushing down his trousers and underwear, fisting his cock. He was hard and thick and long, my body bracing itself for its invasion.
“Condom.” That same part of my brain that remembered keys remembered that too. I was on the Pill – my job required control over my body as periods weren’t a reason to halt the filming of certain scenes if they turned up unexpectedly – but nothing was a hundred percent effective and neither babies nor STDs were on my wish list right now.
“Wallet.” He backed away a step, bending down to reach for his trousers, taking one of my nipples in his mouth on his journey back up.
Seconds later, after the tearing of foil, my legs were round his waist and my back against the door, my hands pressing into his shoulders, nails digging hard enough to leave marks as he fucked me like I was the place he’d been planning to visit all his life.
There were no words. The dirty talk that had peppered the afternoon, and even decorated Houston, was gone. This was desperation. This was need.
Everything else in the world had stopped and disintegrated. I was only aware of the feeling of his cock pulsing into me, the bite of his mouth on my neck and the pressure of his hands under my thighs as he held me against the door so he could fuck me into oblivion.
Fuck.
I loved that word.
I loved what it described right now. I came hard and noiselessly, holding onto his shoulders, aware that my bones had somehow turned to spaghetti.
He gripped me tighter, his eyes only focused on mine as he found his own release, coming with a growl and a cuss.
Our foreheads pressed against each other, him still holding me, his strength seemingly thoughtless. It felt like minutes until my heart rate had levelled, my breathing becoming deeper, my nails extrapolating themselves from his skin.
“Bed?” I didn’t want him to leave now. I wanted another Houston, only it would have to be condensed into one night.
He nodded. “After a shower. Bed. How much sleep do you need?”
