But instead, my grin’s cocky as she clamps down on me, drawing my own release out from under my control, making me roar with it. As I press my forehead to hers for those last thrusts, I get to watch as she comes, and comes,and comes.
When she goes limp beneath me, however, my cockiness fades away.
My mind takes me back to her car yesterday when she passed out… and to the shower late last night.
But when I’m reminded that I’m a moron for fucking her, not only because of my real role here but because she OD’d yesterday, her eyelashes flutter again.
When she looks up at me, there’s still a haze, as if she’s not focusing well, but then her spaghetti arms loop around my neck and she hauls me down, mumbling, “Never, ever, ever have I come like that—”
She’s tiny, and I’m a heavy motherfucker, so I roll us over so I’m beneath her. Cupping the back of her head, I nuzzle my face against her throat, on the other side this time, and I find the same spot and tease it with my tongue.
“Mmpff,” she rumbles, little shivers rushing through her as she lies on top of me.
Everyone’s got a happy spot—seems like I’ve found two of hers.
A soft, keening noise escapes her as I continue marking her.
When I retreat and position myself so I’m more comfortable, I whisper, “So, my Belle, where are we going?”
When she settles her head on my chest, her arms tangle around me. She’s uber clingy but I love clingy chicks, and feeling her tits smashed up against me makes it ten times fucking better that she’s like an octopus.
“You want to come with me?” she whispers.
Hell, it’s so soft that I almost don’t hear her.
“Why not?”
It’s a blasé response, but it’s the only way I can make this make sense.
She can’t think I’m too eager. Who picks up their life on a whim for the waitress who always remembers your order and puked on your Brioni shoes after you rushed her to the ER?
“Why not?” she repeats, her confusion clear. It has her peering at me like I’m from Mars. “Your life is here.”
“I’m a New Yorker.” I wink at her. “Can’t you tell from the accent?”
Her lips twitch, but a slither of fear seeps into her eyes. “I did recognize it. Whereabouts are you from?”
“Hell’s Kitchen. You ever been there?”
She shakes her head.
“Best place on earth. People call my neighborhood hell. Ha. They’ve never been to L.A. before.”
My joke makes the remnants of fear in her eyes drift away. “You don’t like it here? Is that why…”
“Why I feel like picking up and taking off for parts unknown?” I shrug—pretending to be nonchalant is hard when so much is riding on this. “I guess.”
“What about work?”
This is where shit gets dicey.
With a lie incoming, I smooth my hand over her hip. Letting it follow the line of her thigh, I trickle my fingers inward, dragging one down to her pussy.
She’s soaked with my cum and hers, and I take full advantage of this position by coating the digit in it and finding her clit.
As I stroke her there, hitting differently from this other angle, her eyes widen and I say, “I’m a digital nomad.”
“A—” She releases a sharp breath. “What’s that?” Her hips start rocking.