Chapter Fifteen
“I was thinking… sex?” Susan molded her body to Andrew’s, and he swore he felt her skin through his shirt.
He dragged his fingers up her bare back, memorizing how soft her naked body was against his palms. He didn’t remember how her clothes came off, but he wasn’t complaining. “I was thinking you’re brilliant.” He kissed along her neck, burning her sweet scent into his mind.
She gasped and squirmed against him with each new touch. When she reached for the hem of his shirt, he pushed her hands away. Her pout made his rigid cock ache with the need to thrust between those full lips. “Why not?” she asked.
He didn’t know. Couldn’t put it into words. “Because I said so.” He nipped at her skin and moved one hand to her breast. We’re not going to do this. The faint voice nudged the back of his mind. Apparently, they were. She was willing. So was he. No reason to stop now.
He wanted to memorize every detail of her body. Where her freckles were. The color of the nipple he tweaked and pulled, to elicit a delicious series of sighs. None of it stuck in his mind, except her voice and intoxicating smell. They would have to do. He lowered his head and dragged his tongue along the hard nub. She gasped and pushed into his mouth, writhing under his touch.
He continued to suck and lick, while he glided his hand down her stomach and between her legs. Fuck, she was slippery. He wanted to prolong this—make her come over and over—but he wanted to be inside her more. He found her clit, swollen between her folds, and traced circles around her tender button. She ground against his touch, squirming and moaning. When she drew her nails up his back, he felt the sharp sting on one side, but not the other. That didn’t make any sense; the scars didn’t run that far.
He expected screams when she came, but her whimpers weren’t bad either. She fumbled with his zipper, and he helped her slide it down. Time slowed as each tooth separated, humming in his head. Buzzing. Taunting him.
That wasn’t a zipper. What was it?
He didn’t care. He wanted to feel her cool fingers around his shaft. Wanted to slide inside her soaking pussy. Stretch her out.
His eyes flew open, and it took a few seconds for him to make sense of the dark hotel room. The hammer of his pulse in his ears drowned out any other sound. He struggled to process his surroundings. Fucking dream. He was surprised he didn’t wake up humping the bed, as turned on as he was.
The rest of the world swam into focus, as consciousness set in. Susan lay on the other half of the mattress, curled around a spare pillow and sleeping soundly. Great. They fell asleep talking, clothes on, about as far apart from each other as possible, while still being in the same bed.
He hadn’t told her the complete truth about why he wouldn’t have sex with her, but what he said was mostly accurate. It wasn’t simply about wanting to keep her friendship or not wanting her to get attached. If he crossed that line with her, he’d have a hard time letting go. She wasn’t going to be happy with a guy who was so far from wanting a commitment, it wasn’t funny. Considering most things were funny in the right light…
And staring at her, thinking about sex—including why they weren’t having it—didn’t make his hard-on go away.
Careful not to wake her, he extracted himself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He didn’t turn on any lights. Didn’t want to disturb Susan or see confirmation in the mirror that he wore a pained, haunted look. He splashed cold water on his face. Instead of chasing away the lingering traces of the dream, it froze the images in his head, making them vivid.
His dick strained against his jeans, aching and relentless. What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He either went after the girl, if he wanted to get laid, or walked away and found a different outlet. He yanked down his zipper, reliving the pressure but not the agony. When he wrapped his hand around the shaft, he had to bite the inside of his cheek, to keep a groan from escaping.
Desperation flooded him while he stroked his cock. The dream superimposed itself on reality, drawing him into the unfinished fantasy until he swore he could feel Susan’s tight, wet pussy snug around him, milking and urging. He pressed his free hand to the wall for balance, jerking hard as he fell into the images. How she would feel. The sweet scents of sugar and vanilla. Her soft cries when she climaxed.
He came hard, thrusting his hips, and a spasm rolling through him. He didn’t ease up tugging his dick until he was spent and worn out. He took a few minutes to catch his breath, cleaned up the mess on him and the counter, and zipped up again.
The clock near the bed said it was only one in the morning. He wasn’t going back to sleep any time soon. Not with her in the room. His phone hummed on the nightstand. That was what had woken him up. He grabbed it and pulled up the text message that arrived half an hour ago.
It was a picture of a blonde, taken from above, with a fantastic view down the front of her dress. She looked familiar. Susan’s friend? No. Friend wasn’t the right word. Rissa—that was her name. The note with the selfie read, Can a girl get a ride?
How’d you get my number? he asked.
Snagged it from Jodie. Is that a yes?
That was the last time he did someone a favor like pass along a business card. He looked between the photo on his phone and Susan sleeping in his bed. His cock throbbed, already half-hard again.
Fuck this. He needed an outlet. I wouldn’t mind you riding me. Where are you?
Seconds later, he had an address. He scribbled a short note for Susan, barely aware of what it said. The brightness in the hallway was a shock to his senses. Stepping outside into the parking garage didn’t clear his head. He spent the ten-minute drive to the bar pushing the fucking sleeping vision to the back of his mind.
Rissa was waiting outside when he pulled up. He rolled down the passenger window. “Need a lift, gorgeous?”
“I was worried you’d never ask.” She bit her bottom lip—a gesture that looked scripted—and hopped into the SUV. “My place or yours?”
“I’m hoping yours is closer.” He let his mouth run on auto-pilot. If his brain took over, he’d be talked out of this before they started.
She laid her hand on his thigh, gliding higher as he drove, until she reached his cock. She drew her nails lightly over denim. “And I thought I was eager.” She traced the head of his dick.
“A good picture always gets me started.” There was no way he was telling her the erection lingered from the dream and had nothing to do with her. He could convince both of them this was about Rissa if he focused on the now.