“Ah, Jonathan,” I whispered, stroking his hair. He spread my legs farther, kissing between them. He slipped his finger into my wetness, and I gasped and remember the afternoon and Sam’s desk. This time was different. When I looked down at him, his eyes were closed with intensity as he flicked his tongue over my clit. I think I said his name again. He flicked again. He was so light with it. Like he didn’t want me to come.
As if he read my mind, he stood up, undressing so quickly I had only a second to admire his body, with its light hair and perfect angles. He flipped a condom out of his pocket and got it on without missing a beat, then lodged himself on top of me, his dick like a rock and everywhere it should be except inside me. We kissed. He tasted perfectly of whiskey and desire. I wanted him. I wanted every inch of him. He was right outside, pressing in, the head of his c**k a tingle at my opening. I twisted my hips to move him in, but he backed off, picking his head up to look at me.
“Please,” I said.
He slid his dick up my snatch without entering me, rubbing the length of him on my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me. I was so wet, he slid back and forth. I spread my legs as far as I could and moved with him. I could come like this, but I didn’t want to. I wanted him inside me. This would feel like mast***ation compared to his c**k being where it belonged.
“Please,” I said again.
“Jesus, Jonathan. What do you want?” My sex ached for him. It didn’t feel empty. It felt full to bursting, a throbbing, pounding hunger filling my skin.
“I want you to want it,” he said.
“I do. My God, I do.”
In response, he pushed harder, increasing the pressure without entering me. “No, you don’t. Not enough.”
I knew what he wanted, and I was willing to give it to him. “Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be anything you want. Just don’t—“
He drove his dick into me with a ferocity that shocked me and turned the last word into a cry. He stopped for a second, as if he’d been shaken by the violence of his initial thrust.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Don’t make me beg again.”
He buried his face in my neck and f**ked me, pushing inside, pressing his body against my clit, his c**k rubbing with each stroke, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and then he stopped.
“What?” I groaned.
“You want to come?”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes.”
“Beg for it.”
“Fuck you.” I pushed his chest. I was on fire, so close to orgasm, nearly unable to think complete thoughts. He pushed himself in me once, then stopped. It was a burst of sensation between my legs, then nothing. I looked up at him. He was enjoying himself, and he could keep going as long as he needed to.
“Please. Fuck you.”
“Close.” He stroked again, a taste of what I could have. He went slowly, too slowly, moving enough to keep me hot, but not enough to get me off. I put a hand between my legs and he grabbed both my wrists, holding them against the mattress with all his weight, rocking his hips back and forth just a little.
I had never felt anything like that. It wasn’t an orgasm, because I had not an ounce of release, only the firing nerve endings and blasting heat between my legs. I was sweating everywhere. Tendrils of hair clung to my face, but his hands held mine down, and I couldn’t move them.
“I want to come,” I groaned.
“I want you to come.”
“Let me. Please.” I said it so softly I didn’t even think he’d hear me. “Please. Please. Please…” With every please, I got more desperate and more quiet. On the last plea, he pulled out of me and pushed back in, all the way, and then again, until everything went hot red. I said his name over and over, going limp everywhere, and still the orgasm went on and on. His mouth was at my ear, and I could hear his groan as I finally stopped coming. His arms wrapped around me, tightening as he came, a guttural ahh rattling his throat with each slowing thrust.
“Holy f**k,” he whispered into my neck.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you.”
He propped himself up on his elbows and kissed my face from my chin, to my right cheek, to my forehead, and back down my left cheek, and to my chin again. His eyes flicked to his watch.
“Sun rises at 5:38 a.m. You’re mine for four more hours.”
“I don’t think I can take four more hours of that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” He rolled off me, and we just stared at the ceiling, letting our breathing get back to normal.
I had never experienced anything like that, not with Kevin and certainly not with Darren. I didn’t know I could sit on the brink for that long or just how many brinks there were. I didn’t know I could give someone else control over what I felt.
It felt as though, after that orgasm, I should have to sleep for hours, or I wouldn’t want sex for at least a month, but neither was the case. I was energized, and I wanted it again.
“Where are you flying off to tomorrow?” I asked.
“Korea. I’m putting a hotel up in Seoul.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Your house. You have all the original everything in here, and the hotels are, like, white and chrome.”
“This house was built for a family a hundred years ago. It was a home. People want to feel like they’re away from home when they go to a hotel.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
“I thought you were going to bail on me.”
“I got held up talking to my manager. Ex-manager. Jerk-off.” I tucked my head on his shoulder and ran my fingertips up and down his chest. I couldn’t keep my hands off him.
“This the guy who disappeared?”
I propped myself up on my elbows and kissed his shoulder and down his chest. I could still smell some of the dusty cologne past the sheen of sweat built up from our sex. “This guy from WDE was at Frontage and called him. He wants his boss to see me. But I fired Vinny, and now he won’t give me the contact.”
“Why’d you fire him?”
“Because he’s an ass**le. I’ll find a way to get Testarossa to take my call myself.” I worked my way down his stomach, over his hip bones, with my lips and tongue. I was aroused all over again. He put his hands on my shoulders.
“WDE? That’s Arnie Sanderson, right?”