“Tired of it? Never. I’m just exploring new and fun things just for the two of us, Brea.”
I turned around and saw that while I was opening—heh—myself up to new experiences, he had stripped himself down to nothing, his cock throbbing with need for me. I heard a condom packet tear.
When I lay back on the bed, he climbed on top of me, even as the vibrator hummed along. After a brief kiss, he guided himself into my pussy, ready to fuck me as I was already being fucked.
I gasped again as Mark thrust himself in. Yeah, he was a whole lot more than the vibrator, and I’d enjoyed him so much already, but this was new. Quite the intense feeling arose from the war in my most sensitive parts, both of them fighting over my attention.
I just murmured and struggled a bit as he slid inside me, my insides wonderfully crushed between his cock and the vibrator.
From the sound of his harsh breathing, I could tell what I was doing to him. I wiggled against him and moaned at the sensation, the tightness this was causing within me. More than ever, my pleasure was his pleasure. I stammered, nibbling my lips as he fucked me, but I was soon overwhelmed by sensations.
He quickly went to fucking me hard. The intensity pushed us both beyond our normal stamina, and we peaked toward our ecstasy fast.
The intensity of the orgasm that hit me...crashed over me…was like nothing I’d ever felt. Mark was right there with me, a panting, growling mess.
Mark pulled the vibrator out, leaving me sore yet so very satisfied. He cleaned us up then curled up next to me on the bed, pressing soft kisses to my face.
“That was—” Amazing? Intense? Unlike anything I’d ever done with a guy?
But Mark was lying back on the mound of pillows, breathing deeply. I brushed a lock of hair off of his forehead.
I had saved some food from the party. I wasn’t going to tell him, but I had been craving chicken wings all night, and I went to the kitchenette in the next room to grab one or five out of the fridge.
My phone lit up with a call, and I hastily answered it so it wouldn’t wake him.
“Memphis Eve,” I said warily. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Mom admitted who our father is,” she told me over the phone.
I yawned. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s Jack Holbrook.”
47
Mark
Brea wasn’t there when I woke up the next morning. Her clothes were gone, and so were her bag and coat.
I tried to remember the previous night. I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink. I thought we’d had fun. Maybe I had been a little harsh on the games she’d set up. I texted her but got no response.
Wes and Liz were awake. Liz was eating leftovers and drinking a sparkling water when I knocked on the suite door.
“Don’t worry!” Liz said when I asked in a rush about Brea. “She is supposed to do my final dress fitting today. I’m sure she’s at home sewing!”
“But she didn’t say anything,” I said.
“She can be a bit scattered. She’s one of those creative types,” Liz assured me. “She probably had a random thought and just decided she needed to work on it without waking you up. I bet when you two move in together, you’re just going to find her in her studio working at odd hours of the night.”
“You’re a workaholic too,” Wes reminded me. “During family functions, you’ll periodically wander off to answer emails or work on one of your equations.”
“I guess,” I said.
But I still hadn’t heard from Brea that afternoon when Liz had her dress fitting. Wes had been banished to my apartment. I didn’t need to be at the dress fitting, of course, but I needed to see Brea.
She was efficiently pinning the strips of fabric around Liz with color-coded pins and making notes in her book. I stood shifting my weight as Brea worked. I cleared my throat when she was at a stopping point.
“Hi, Mark,” she said then went back to her notebook.
