Isaac
We crashed into Sunny’s motel room, the door swinging into the wall and her room key—a literal key with a plastic rhombus attached—clattering to the floor and getting kicked somewhere into the darkness. I barely noticed, because I was already slamming the door shut and shoving Sunny against it, eating her surprised moan right out of her mouth with a hungry, licking kiss.
She shoved her hands into my hair and pulled hard enough to make me grunt, and with a whispered “Bad girl,” I lowered my mouth to her jaw and bit down. She moaned my name, her hands moving from my hair to my unknotted bow tie to my tuxedo jacket, as if too frantic to know where to start undressing me.
I knew exactly how she felt, because I’d been jerking off to the memory of her for the last two years, to the memory of that unforgettable night we spent with Jack Hart. Once I’d seen Sunny’s glorious tits, her lush mouth—once I’d had my cock in that wet squeeze of a cunt—I was ruined. Sunny Palmer wastattoos and attitude and a body sent straight to earth from a wicked god. That, along with Jack in the mix, had been enough to kill a man, and could anyone blame me for having obscenely high hookup standards after a night with two porn stars?
I couldn’t get Sunny’s clothes off fast enough, and once I got her cape off her shoulders and onto the floor, I stopped trying. Instead, I pushed her against the door again and mouthed my way to her neck, her dark, silky hair brushing against my forehead and smelling like a beach in summer.
Coconut.Fuck.I’d been haunted by the smell since our night together here in Christmas Notch. I couldn’t even look at an Almond Joy without getting hard these days.
I felt her tits and stomach pressed against me, and I was already leaking precum—had been erect since the closing guitar twangs of “Hopelessly Devoted to You.” The fact that we’d managed to walk the three blocks to this dismal motel without me tackling her to a snowbank was some kind of Christmas miracle.
She found my hand and raised it to her breast, making me squeeze. I could feel her nipple and the slender barbell of her piercing through her bridesmaid dress, and then I bent down and mouthed the stiff peak hard enough to wet the fabric of her dress.
“That’s my greedy Sunny,” I murmured as she arched to my kiss, her hands going back to my hair to press me harder against her.
“I’m going to die if you don’t get greedy back very soon,Todd.”
“I’m already there. Greed incarnate.” I slid my hand up her leg, my stomach clenching at the way she let me, the way she reached down and hiked her dress up to her hips. When I cupped her over her panties and found the lace soaked through, she gave a shudder.
“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse, triumphant and agonized at the same time. “Please. I can’t go slow tonight.”
God, me neither.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about this pussy the entire wedding,” I told her. “How close it was. How available under this pretty little dress.” I angled my hand into the front of her panties and skated my fingertips over her clit. She widened her legs, chasing my touch with her hips until I breached her opening and worked a slow finger inside. She was slick and soft and tight enough to fight a war over. “Anyone could have walked right over and touched it, couldn’t they? Anyone could have stroked you, fingered you. Pulled you down over their face.”
“All you had to do was ask.” She shamelessly rocked against my touch, fucking herself on my finger. I gave her another one and pulled back to watch her ride my hand—as much as I could watch in the near darkness of her motel room. There was only a wedge of faint gold coming from a gap in the curtains, and so all I got were flashes of the tattoo on her thigh, the gleam of light on silk, the glisten of my fingers every time she moved.
I could barely breathe. The feel of her, the sight. Thesound: wet, wet, wet. My cock shoved against my zipper, eager to get out and play. The urge to fuck was a pounding thing in my blood, in my bones. It had been years—two years, in fact—since I’d touched anyone, and suddenly I needed to touch Sunny everywhere. I needed to feel her, palm her, make her half as feral as I felt right now.
I reached inside a bra cup with my free hand and plucked at her nipple. She made a mewling sound that nearly murdered me.
“Isaac,” she said hoarsely. “I meant it about going slow. I can’t handle it. Not tonight.”
I couldn’t see her face in the dark, just the shine of her hair and of her eyes, the suggestion of a high cheek and a mouth sofull that the lower lip had a subtle cinch in the middle. But I could see that her eyes were on mine, that her lips were parted. I could feel her ribs heaving as I toyed with her pierced nipple.
I didn’t ask her why she needed it so badly tonight. I didn’t ask her if she felt a sword in her throat when Bee and Nolan said their vows. I didn’t ask if she sometimes felt like happiness was an impossibly faraway thing, a thin scrap of cloud whispering under the stars.
I didn’t ask because it didn’t matter.
I needed it just as badly as she did.
I slipped my hand free and sucked my fingers clean. She whimpered, and I took her jaw in my hand and kissed her until she could taste herself, sweet and the tiniest bit tart too. Perfection.
She made another helpless noise, about to reach for me, but I broke the kiss and pulled back. “No, Sunny. Keep holding that dress up for me.” And I retrieved a condom from the inner pocket of my tuxedo jacket.
She obeyed, keeping her dress fisted at her waist, her gorgeous, thick thighs inked and quivering in the light. And I enjoyed her little gasp as I unfastened my pants and then tore open the condom wrapper with my teeth.
I’d come to the wedding prepared to fuck—I didn’t know why, precisely. Maybe it was because I’d suspected I’d need some kind of outlet after watching a wedding, a beginning, when my life felt like nothing but endings. Maybe it was because I knew a certain bridesmaid would also be there.
And when I’d seen her profile picture pop up on my app—Sunny sporting an adorable little snarl while holding up an also-snarling cat—I’d known tonight was the night “Todd” would swipe right.
I rolled on the condom as quickly as I could, gritting my teeth at the feel of my own hand as I worked the latex down myswollen shaft. It took longer than I wanted—two years ago, with this very person, had been the last time I’d needed a condom and I was out of practice—but I got it on. Sunny was reaching for me with one hand while the other kept her dress hiked up. A low, impatient whine came from her throat.
I grabbed her hand and pinned it to the door above her head. “You want it that bad?” I murmured. “You can’t wait?”
“Waited long enough,” she panted. Her chest was moving up and down in sharp, broken breaths. Outside, I could hear the wind pick up, blowing snow and ice against the window. My heart was going like a jackhammer.
