If I thought my orgasm earlier was miraculous, it has nothing on ours happening together. Nothing exists but the combined throbs, the sweat dotting our skin, the pulse of our bodies, and the thundering hearts in our chests.
“You’re crushing me,” I say with a wheeze after reality crashes back down.
The hand on my clit is locked between us, and I’m beginning to lose feeling in my legs.
He doesn’t laugh or apologize, and honestly, I didn’t expect him to.
I’m too lost in the euphoria to worry about a man I just met in a bar and fucked.
I’m breathless, boneless, yet cognizant enough to pray he has enough energy for another round before he leaves. I have a lot of shit going on in my life, and I’ll be busy for a while. No sense in letting a good thing go to waste. There’s no telling when I’ll get the chance for good sex again.
There’s a lazy smile on my face when he rolls out of bed and heads right to the bathroom. He has literally no tan lines, no delineation from his back to his ass, and as smooth as he was in the bar, that shouldn’t surprise me. His body is utter perfection, from his smile to his impeccably shaped almost beard. Hell, even his balls are manscaped flawlessly.
I roll my head on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. If only all aspects of my life could be as perfect as the man I ended up with tonight. I’m usually pretty selective, can usually spot a really good time from a mile away, but John went above and beyond. The man oozed confidence from the other side of the bar. Walking up and putting his hand on me before even opening his mouth was bold. He said two words before I stood, telling him he was welcome to join me in this room, but it wouldn’t have even taken that. The look, the swagger, the way he carried himself on the walk over was enough. He told me I was his for the night before he even reached me, and my body said yes, sir, my pussy growing wet before my brain had a chance to disagree.
Before he even leaves the bathroom, I’ve already decided I want more. I have two more days in St. Louis, longer if I get the job I came to interview for, and there’s nothing worse than the cat-and-mouse game. Why waste time at the hotel bar when I already know what I can get from this man?
I smile at him when the bathroom door opens. His cock hangs between his legs, still thick even at rest, and I lick my lips. I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip, lifting my eyes to meet his. He has a hand towel in his fist, but before I can open my mouth to call him a gentleman, he tosses it at me, hitting me in the face with it. I’m a little shocked, but I pull it away, laughing.
“Wow,” I say, lowering the thing with a chuckle because he has to be joking, right?
I can’t tell because he has his back to me. It’s a point against him, seriously, but he has a long way to go—because the sex was just that good—before he ends up in the red.
He bends, picking up his slacks from the floor, struggling to turn them right side out. Seems he was in as much of a hurry to get out of them as I was to see him naked. He shoves his legs into them before grabbing his socks and tugging those on. Next are his shoes. His shirt is over his broad shoulders.
I guess he has no interest in round two, and I can’t fault the guy. This was never meant to be a romantic interlude. His fingers work down the row of buttons on his shirt, his back to me the entire time, and all the charm and swagger he had down at the bar seem to have evaporated along with the sexual chemistry we had. At least for him. I’m still riding the sexual high. Hell, I haven’t even bothered to right myself after he rolled off of me. My body is still trying to calm down after two very spectacular orgasms, and I refuse to feel any sort of shame for what I’ve done despite the way he’s acting.
“Do you have plans tomorrow? I’m in town—”
“Can’t,” he says, reaching into the front pocket of his slacks.
I think he’s doing it to situate his pockets but then his fingers come out, the very two he used to pinch my clit earlier and send me over the edge. Fuck my life if he doesn’t have a goddamned wedding band between them. The bedside lamp glints off the gold as if I need the extra slap in the face.