I don’t need sex. I need a bullet.
“Get in the shower and sort yourself out.”
“It’s not the same,” I growl at my hot coach.
“And I thought you were a real man.” We exchange a look, and that was a low blow. “Get in the fucking shower and sort yourself out, and maybe…”
“What?”
“Maybe I’ll lean in the door and coach you.”
I gulp, and it’s getting kind of hot. “What? Talk dirty?”
She does not say anything. I yank off my clothes angrily, and I am hard. I toss my suit on the tall lampshade where it hangs.
We share a look as I walk past. I am hard, and I am angry. The look we share is charged. It is also edgy and loaded.
I walk into the marble bathroom, wanting blood. I turn the shower on and pause. I walk straight back into the suite, naked, and I walk past Sam.
We exchange a glance, and I grab the expensive whisky bottle. As I walk back to the shower, I catch Samantha checking out my butt and my eight-pack.
I leave the large glass shower door open and the bathroom door.
Steam starts to cloud the air, and it feels like the fog in my mind. Inside, I lean against the cold marble and slump to the ground.
With the whisky bottle in one hand, I think of her tight, wet pussy and that tight butt. I take my cock in my hand, and I pump. It feels amazing, and I won’t last long. I am charged.
After a long and amazing minute, I feel eyes on me. Like the eyes of a large predator or a cat.
Sam walks through the steam, watching me from across the marble bathroom. Holding a champagne bottle in her hand, she is wearing only black lingerie and high heels.
That is a lie. She is wearing a look. A filthy look. She watches me as I watch her.
It’s beyond hot.
She walks closer as I fist my cock. She then stands behind the glass. After a minute, she turns and rubs her butt against the wet glass. I growl like a savage, and I want her bad.
I am also close. Too close.
Sam reaches around and she passes me the champagne. Putting the whisky on the marble floor, I knock back champagne.
As I fist my raging hard cock, I pass the champagne back to her. As I do, I try to grab her hand. She laughs and whips her hand back, fast.
“Come for me,” she demands.
“The hell I will,” I say, angry and so darned close.
“You need to come for me,” she commands.
I hate that she is flipping things on me, and she knows. Knows that is my fucking line. My control trigger.
She drinks more champagne and unclips the front of her bra. It drops, and she pours the rest of the cold, sparkling champagne over her breasts and nipples. I growl.
Finally, I’m there, and I groan. I close my eyes, mere seconds away.
Suddenly, I feel long hair across my thighs. Then, my pumping, angry fist is swatted aside. I open my eyes in alarm as Sam’s mouth plunges down on my cock.
It is fast, and she is gifted.
