“Can’t take us anywhere. Look at the sheets, and the room is wrecked; there’s sand all over the floor now. Can we call for maid service?”
“No,” I boomed, taking the tray off the bed as he grabbed a napkin and tried to rectify the spillages. Multiple ones. Like we’d had a little party here that had got out of hand.
In reality? Things were surprisingly…nice. Calm even. Him in my clothes. Me? In my clothes. “The housekeepers are not our slaves.”
I drained the last of the wine into his glass, smiling as I let the now-empty bottle drop into the bin.
“Recycling is a thing,” he muttered. “And the sheets smell of gravy.”
“I’m sure this place recycles and all of that,” I said back, carefully wringing my hands. What I wanted? I wanted to grab more condoms and the bottle of lube that was now neatly stashed in my bag, back where it all belonged. I wanted him, on the bed, and I wanted to rip his clothes off and I wanted sex. All the sex. I wanted…
“Do you think,” he said, stopping to carefully place his wineglass back on the bedside table.
“Do I think, what?” Stupid. But then? Fuck.
Because here I was, lunging at him. Throwing my entire body over his and letting my hand slide up under the T-shirt, smooth skin and coarse hair under the palm of my hand. Fingertips over nipples. All the things that cranked me up. Zero to one hundred in an instant.
“Please,” he whispered.
“Please, what?” I needed words. I needed him to say it. Make me certain that what I was doing was…correct. Appreciated.
Wanted. The way I wanted him.
“Please fuck me,” he panted out, ripping the T-shirt over his head. All that skin. Those curls. His face, so beautiful, yet…he was not young. He was no male model in a magazine, but he was…rugged and handsome and the way he looked at me? It made everything inside of me ache.
Well, who was I to make any kind of decisions here? The shorts covering him up were now gone as I carefully helped him lift them over his foot. His thighs, being pushed up as I did all the things I wanted to do. My mouth on his stomach, nuzzling into the trail of hair down to his groin. The scent of him everywhere. Lips against skin. My tongue on his shaft.
There was no reality in which I was any kind of master at this, but I didn’t think it mattered, not right now. The headspace I was in was overwhelming, and he was spurring me on, his hands in my hair, his mouth spluttering out words and syllables and noises.
There was no way he wasn’t into this. Or maybe he was faking it?
The fear shooting through me was sharp and painful, and my head shot up, only to be jerked back into this weird state again. Because his mouth was hanging slack, his eyes glazed over, and he then gently bit his lip before tangling those fingers in my hair. Yanking hard. Like he wantedthis. Positioning my mouth back to his dick and nodding as I slowly parted my lips. Let the tip play against my skin. Small soft strokes. Dizzying kisses.
Scents had always been my thing. If something didn’t smell right? I was not interested. Everything about him made me interested. My mouth was now full of him, as far down as I could push him. And his hand, heavy on my head. Then tugging at my hair to make me rise off him. And back down. Guiding me the way he wanted me. Taking all his pleasure from the wetness in my mouth. My tongue. My hands smoothing up to his chest, rough movements, gripping at his skin.
I wanted to feel all of him. Taste all of him. His hips were now meeting me halfway, sliding further down so he could get the angle right into my mouth. Me? I was just here for the taking. My thoughts too dizzying to make sense. I wanted to suck him off. I wanted those hard nipples under my fingers. His chest bruised from my grip.
I came off him and instead buried my face in his pubes so I could breathe him in, at the same time lifting his thighs up, his little yelps not helpful in controlling my arousal. I was jerking against the sheets, humping into thin air as I got myself up and properly put him in his place. That little hole of his twitching invitingly at me.
“Fuck,” he gasped.
“Patience,” I huffed back.
I stilled, just watching him. All the beauty that he was. I had lied, saying he wasn’t some kind of male model. He was perfection. Gorgeously mine. Everything about him turned me on. His silly chatter, his openness, his absolute honesty and the way he looked at me? Right now?
“You’re…” he started. Then he shook his head, just gently, like he was trying to figure everything out. I couldn’t have helped him with that, even if I’d had a gun to my head. Because he was just him and I was just me and fuck everything else.
“This okay?” I asked. “You want this?”
“Yes, fuck yes. You can do anything. Just fucking make me feel you. Please.”
That? That I thought I could do. My tongue dive-bombed into his arse, and my lips pressed against his skin. Tasting him. Sharp flavours and heady smells. Everything that he was dialling me up even further. The way his body shivered and jerked, his strangled breaths, the desperate way his fingers tugged at my hair.
“I’m going to…” he gasped out.
I didn’t care. I honestly didn’t mind. I wanted him to. I wanted to give him all of this. Tease every little gasp out of his lungs, the roar that followed and the way his hips rose off the bed. His leg suddenly over my shoulder as he twisted around.
I caught sight of the spurt of come that landed on his hip. And another. His hand now around his cock, heavy-handed tugs and his head fully bent back. Just a mass of curls against the pillow.
