“I promise you’ll have none,” he whispers and devours my mouth again as I shove his suit jacket off his shoulders.
This boy can kiss. He’s dominant and forceful and it’s hot as hell. He owns my mouth. He knows it too, I can tell, and the competitive nature that has always driven me doesn’t even seem to care that it’s being owned. Because every kiss, every pass of his tongue over mine, every nip of his teeth on my bottom lip leaves a hint that giving in will be worth it.
He’s made some big promises. And it’s been so long that if he doesn’t fulfill them, I might actually cry. His sexy smirk and snarky mouth and mind-blowing kisses are the only reasons I suddenly want to be satisfied by something other than my own hand so please,pleasemay he deliver.
His hands slide over the silky green fabric of my dress, slipping over my sides and my hips until they reach the hem, and then he starts to slide back up, under the dress, and I don’t even feel the slightest inclination to stop him. In fact, when he reaches edges of my thong I whisper, “Take it off.”
I don’t even know who I am anymore, but it doesn’t feel as wrong as I thought it would. Somehow it feels like this version of Shayne Beckford has always existed, locked away somewhere inside of me, but no one ever had the key—not even me. This stranger, Sebastian—hell, I don’t even know his last name—he has the key. I know that revelation will scare me later, when I’m home alone and overanalyzing the crap out of this. And I know that will happen because the Shayne Beckford that exists normally is still alive somewhere inside of me. She’s just been hog-tied and locked in a closet.
His fingers feel oddly rough for an accountant or lawyer or whatever hell he is as they trace the hem of my thong, scraping the inside of my thigh and making me shiver. He smiles into the kiss we’re sharing, and so I slip my hand in between us and cup his hardness through his pants. Just as I was hoping, it makes him shiver back. Good. Now we’re even.
Except we’re not even. Nothing about this feels like fair game. The way my body is responding to him, he’s definitely got the advantage. And as I rub my hand up his length—wayup—I realize he’s got the advantage on a lot of men too. In fact, if you took both men I’ve been with and put them together, they’re probably the size of what Sebastian has in his pants. Oh man, I am really going to do this.
His fingers move out from under my dress, and he suddenly grabs my hips and lifts me, dropping my ass on the edge of the dryer. Then as he attacks my neck, sucking on the sensitive flesh, he pushes my dress up over my hips and hooks his fingers into my thong. He drops my underwear onto the floor without glancing at them, thankfully, because they’re soaking wet and not very sexy, just plain cotton, heather gray—the kind I wear under my yoga pants. I reach for his belt.
Panic starts to seep into the edges of my lust. I still want him, I do, but I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know the etiquette for this. Should we set rules here? Are there rules? Do I ask if he has a condom, or just give him the one I shoved in my bra earlier? Is that hot? Pulling a condom out of my bra? Or is it slutty? Oh God, I’m clueless.
I get his pants undone and start to shove them off his hips but it’s hard because he has such a tight, hard ass. Seriously. It’s like a rock. A big, round, hot, sexy rock. His hands slide up my thighs, and once his pants are at his ankles I start to slide my own hands under his dress shirt. His stomach and chest are just as hard as his ass. Seriously, he must spend all his free time working out. That either means he’s already a member at another gym and I’ll never see him again or that he’s a workout-aholic and he’s going to be so impressed by this place he joins. I don’t know which scenario makes me more nervous—never seeing him again or seeing him every day after this.
“Shay…baby…” His voice is soft but chastising, his accent heavy. “I’m about to touch you for the first time,reallytouch you, and you’re frowning.”
I realize I’ve been stuck inside my head and I didn’t even realize his fingers are pressing against my inner thigh, inches from…And then two are inside me and my mouth opens in a wordless gasp. He covers it with his own mouth and his tongue starts to move in rhythm with his fingers and I start to tingle—downthere. Oh my God, I can’t come. It’s too soon. He’ll think I’m like some weirdo who never has sex. It’s too needy and desperate…isn’t it? Besides, if I’m coming, I’m not doing it without him. Oh God. I am going to…
I push him back. He looks startled for a second and then he smiles—it’s victorious and I blush. “You don’t want to come?”
“Yes, I do. I just…” I scramble in my head for a way to make this hot. But I’ve never been the sexy, sultry type of girl. So I just pull the condom out of my bra and lean forward and press it into his rock-hard chest. “I want you to earn it the old-fashioned way.”
He looks at the condom against his chest and smiles, his blue eyes flickering with something that looks like excitement and desire. Thank God I didn’t turn him off. “Challenge accepted.”
I’m really going to do this, I realize as I watch him drop his boxer briefs without any hesitation or modesty. He’s got a pretty dick. I can’t believe that’s even a thought rolling through my head, but it is. I’ve never thought that about any dick before, but his is long and thick without being too thick, and it looks like a work of fucking art. I think I’ve lost my fucking mind.
He rips open the condom package and slides it on with one hand as he reaches out with his other hand and grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me into another kiss. “Slow or fast? Light or hard?”
“Surprise me.”
I spread my legs, making room for him between them, and his hand slides down my neck to my back and then to my ass. He holds me on the very edge of the dryer and slides into me in one steady movement. I drop backward onto my elbows, arching my back, and he makes this sound in the back of his throat. Yeah. This is insane and I fucking love it.
The next several minutes are a blur of sensations—no thoughts, just tingles and friction and groans and moans. Somehow we end up with my legs over his shoulders as my whole back is pressed to the dryer and wall behind it. The bottom of my dress is up to my rib cage now, my lower half completely on display to his roaming eyes, and I don’t even care—in fact, it gets me hotter. He’s moving hard and fast and then he leans over me, pinning my legs between us, and pushes in deeper than I think I’ve ever experienced in my life and—he hits the on button and the dryer spins to life, shaking my whole body, and then I explode. I swear I see fireworks and God, and I bite my lip to keep from screaming as my orgasm destroys me.
A second later he arches his back and grunts and then drops onto me. His skin feels warm and damp through his dress shirt, and he sucks gently on the skin just below my right ear and whispers, “You are the sexiest woman I have ever—”
The doorknob twists. It’s as loud as a car bomb for some reason, and we both jump. I suddenly crash back to reality. I’m at the opening of my brother’s gym—the place where I teach yoga and nutrition—and I just fucked a stranger in our laundry room. Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with me? I push him away, jump off the dryer and grab my underwear off the floor.
“He has a key!” I whisper furiously. “If that’s Trey, he has a key!”
Sebastian’s face morphs into panic as well, and he burst into motion, shoving his underwear up over his condom-covered dick and reaching for his pants at his ankles. I try to smooth my hair and reach for the door just as the handle starts to turn again. And it opens.
Thankfully, it’s not my brother. It’s my coworker Sara, who will teach Pilates when this place officially opens on Monday. I smile at her like a drunk cheerleader after a pep rally. “Hey! I was just giving Sebastian a tour.”
Sara’s eyes are about to bulge out of her head. I’m too scared to look back. Is he dressed? Please let him have his pants on. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, and all I can hear is the empty dryer rumbling as it spins. Oh God, this is so awkward.
“Someone spilled some beer in the lobby. I need towels,” Sara says in a weird tone. “The door was locked.”
“Oh. Oops.” I shrug and push past her. Once in the hall, I turn back and see that Sebastian did get his pants up. But his dress shirt is rumpled and untucked and his chestnut hair is completely askew. I am so busted.
“Trey is still looking for you,” she says pointedly.
“Right. Okay.” I glance from Sara to Sebastian and then, in a high-pitched voice with an awkward wave, I say, “Bye!”
