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I steadied my legs, pushed up from the bath, and turned to that sexy voice.
The shower mist had soaked me, and I wished I hadn’t glanced in the mirror because a hideous creature from a poor B-grade movie looked back at me. My mascara had smudged to panda eyes, and my black wig was far beyond the smooth bob that I’d had when I arrived in this room.
Mickey, on the other hand, had his back up against the tiled bathroom wall, oozing the epitome of calm, except for his raging cock that stood large and proud as if waving for attention.
His pants were still around his ankles, and the tool belt at his hips remained in place. His eyes met with mine and he lowered them to his groin as if I hadn’t already seen his cock.
He needn’t have worried; he certainly had my attention.
“My turn.” He bounced his cock, teasing me.
I sat my butt on the edge of the tub, thrust my chin at him and beckoned him forward with my finger. I tried to ignore the trickle of water running down my back as I examined the exquisite man before me. Mickey was an Adonis. Muscles in all the right places. Rippling abs. Olive skin.
He was playboy material. . . my playboy!
He shuffled toward me as best as he could with his shorts around his ankles, and his tools rattled with each movement until he stopped right in front of me. He smelled of pine and leather and hot-blooded man.
His eyes were wide. His pupils were large black discs taking me in. His lips were parted, and his breath shot in and out to match the rise and fall of his hairless chest. Mr. Magazine Shoot wanted me, and damned if that didn’t make me wet and horny all over again.
I clutched one hand around his balls, taking their heavy weight into my palm. I wrapped my other hand around his cock and pumped up and down. The skin glided beneath my fingers with ease. The fine mist from the shower made the head of his cock glisten like a jewel. I leaned forward and ran my tongue over the smooth skin. He was soft and silky, yet rock-hard.
Swept up in a glorious haze of arousal, I wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, sucked the pink crown into my mouth, and glided my other hand up to meet my palm. Mickey groaned as I rolled my tongue around his head and repeated the movement with my hand. He thickened beneath my touch, lengthened.
Hardened even more.
I’d never given head before. Sure, I’d licked a man’s shaft, and I’d rolled my tongue around the glorious crown, but to draw that length into my throat and not choke was a skill I was yet to explore. With my insides squirming at my view of Mickey the Fixer, I was ready to give it a try.
It helped that he was smoking hot.
It helped that we didn’t know each other because if I gagged and threw up, I could run away and never see him again.
It also helped that he was slicked wet and glorious beneath my touch.
I was ready.
I rolled my lips down his cock, taking it slow and easing him into my mouth. I took him in stages, down a bit, then back up. Then down again, a little farther. Each time I claimed him, deep moans tumbled from his lips as my tongue danced across the taut skin. Finally, I glided down his perfect specimen, taking his full length right into my throat.
It was fucking glorious. Ultimate control was mine; I was in charge, and my magazine-worthy man was putty in my hands.
Giving head was like nothing I’d experienced before. It was power and pleasure and fucking amazing.
I slid my lips down his full length and paused to curl my tongue around the thick shaft. His cock stiffened, and his fingers dug into my shoulders. A deep growl erupted from his throat, and I released him from my suction to finish his orgasm with my hand.
My timing was perfect to see him release a glorious long stream of white gold over my shoulder and into the bathtub. With each glide of my fingers, he pumped more. He clutched the sink as his spent cock softened beneath my grasp, and his entire body seemed to crumble with the release.
I wriggled out from my position on the edge of the tub and grabbed a towel off the rail to dab my face, and then wiped between my legs. I was surprised to note that other than my shredded underpants I was still fully dressed.
Aware of the ticking time and my vacant post at reception, I grabbed my shoes off the floor and my knickers, which looked more like a scrap of black lace, and walked barefoot toward the front door.
“Wait. Wait. Please, what’s your name?” Mickey called out.
I turned as he pulled up his shorts.
“Memphis.” I reached the door.
“Well, Memphis, you can tell the chick downstairs that I’ll fix her plumbing anytime.”
I resisted a laugh. “Sure.” I walked out the front doorway, and when it shut behind me, I ran to the elevator.
