We find a rhythm, and I pound my hips backward taking him deeper with every thrust. My head pushes into the pillow muffling my cries.
“Is this good?” he asks between thrusts. I almost want to laugh. He’s always so worried about my pleasure when I couldn’t possibly imagine feeling any more than I already do.
“Yes,” I try to say, but it comes out as a gargled sound. “Keep going. Keep fucking me.”
“I can’t hear you.”
He leans forward, and his fist tangles in my hair. He drags my head up away from the pillow. Pain shoots out of my scalp, but it only adds to the pleasure coiling inside me.
When he loosens his grip, I push back into him, trying to tell him it’s okay; whatever he wants to do to me is okay. I feel safe with him controlling my body.
I throw a look over my shoulder, and it’s the first time our eyes have met since we woke in the night. He looks wild, as full of desire and need as I am.
“I. Said. Keep. Fucking. Me.” Every word comes between another thrust.
He releases my hair, and his hand travels down my back, slick with sweat.
I grab hold of the headboard, and it bangs against the wall. Keeping the beat for us.
“Touch yourself.” His voice is gritty and commanding, and there’s no question of not obeying.
I reach between my legs, and my palm finds my slickness. I reach farther, and with every thrust, my fingertips trail over his balls.
He drives into me harder and harder until my orgasm breaks like a dam, and I cry out as my body releases all the pent-up energyfrom the past two days. He slams into me a few more times than lets out a bellow as he releases into me.
Every part of me is tingling and alive, and afterward, he pulls me close and kisses me on the forehead. Gentle kisses that show nothing of the rough way he took me.
A thin dawn light breaks through the curtain as we doze off, our bodies wrapped together. My limbs are heavy, my body sated, and the ache in my chest banished.
7
RYAN
When I wake again, sunlight peeps through the window, and Rose sits on the side of the bed. She’s pulled a t-shirt on, but it does nothing to hide her curvy figure. She has the room service menu open on her lap, studying it. With the sunlight catching her hair, she looks like a nymph perched on a water lily.
Her creamy thighs are exposed, and desire stirs inside me. I glance at the digital clock by the bed, and it reads 9:10 a.m. If checkout it at 10:00 a.m., then there might be time for one more round.
As I reach for her, my chest pings with regret that this may be the last time. My hand lands on her thigh, and she glances up.
Her face is streaked with last night’s makeup, and her pixie cut is sticking up at odd angles.
“You hungry?” she asks.
I squeeze her thigh. I want to wash her makeup off, I want to reveal who “Rose” is underneath, and I want to leave her with some happiness, not the sadness that’s snuck back into her eyes.
“I’m hungry for you.”
My hand slides up her thigh and finds the edge of her panties. She swats me away with the menu, but she’s grinning.
“I need to eat first.”
I pull her onto the bed, and she squeals as my arms wrap around her. “I’ll eat you.” I make a show of pretending to munch on her like a monster, and she squeals and wriggles away from me.
She scoots up to the top of the bed where the pillows are and holds the menu out like a shield. “I’m ordering room service first.” Picking up the phone, holds the receiver up like a threat.
I grab hold of one of her ankles, and she squeals. “And after…?”
“And after”—she dials the number for room service and holds the phone to her ear— “you can do what you like to me.”
