He pinched my nipple as he smiled wickedly. “Oh yes, I’ll handle it.”
I watched, spellbound, as he yanked open a drawer on the nightstand with too much enthusiasm, sending the lamp to the carpet with a soft thud. “Bollocks, we’ll worry over that later,” he muttered as he fisted the lube.
I yearned to touch him all over but lay there, unable to move at the sight of him flicking open the lid and squeezing out a lot of lube, reaching down and starting to prep himself. I was stunned, unable to move, and did nothing but watch his sexy freaking fingers in his sexy freaking hole.
“That’s a lot of lube,” he said, his fingers coated with slick, and he stared at it as if he couldn’t recall what he was doing.
“Are you okay?” I asked, and he removed his slick fingers from his hole, took hold of the tube with both hands, and squeezed a glob the size of an Easter ham onto my chest. I gasped in shock. Jamie splayed over me, lube smooshing out between us as if we were overstuffed Oreos. The sound was atrocious but hot. As was the slip-slide of his body over mine. I grabbed at his head to lead his mouth to my lips. He slithered off to the left with a snort of amusement, righted himself on top of me, and then eased his tight hole down over my cock. I forgot all about kissing him. I arched up, trying to get a hold of his hips, but was unable to. He winced and moaned as I dug my heels into the mattress, my fingers biting into the edge of the bed. His ass was magical. Hot as hell, tight as a fist, and slick.
“Fucking hell. Your cock.”
“Your hole is so tight,” I managed to croak out.
Dirty talk wasn’t my forte. When I had a gorgeous man riding my dick, my brain tended to short out. Thankfully, having sex didn’t require me to read a manual. Jamie and I were doing just fine. Better than fine. As he began to undulate on my cock, I boosted the word from fine to extraordinary. I slapped my hands on his chest so I could pluck at his tight, dark nipples. He wentfrom sexy, polished intellectual to unfettered wild man in the blink of an eye.
“Keep that… doing that… fucking hell yes!” he shouted, his lean thighs powering him up and down like the pistons on a steamship engine.
Wow, my head was still with the ships to some extent. Super. I pumped up into Jamie to drive the niggling boat info from my skull and was pleased to see he liked when I did that. He liked it a lot. His mouth formed a perfectO, and his head fell back. I did it again with more energy, and his bouncing cock spurted as he roared his release. I took him in hand, stroking his pulsing dick, eager to mix the scent of his cum into the cloud of cologne, sex, and whatever floral smell was on the sheets.
“Did I hit your sweet spot?” I asked roughly.
“Yes, yes, oh fucking fuck yes!”
“Good to know.” I pounded up into him, each glide into his snug channel rushing me closer to my orgasm. When it hit, and it hit like a shoulder check from a rampaging buffalo, I howled like a wolf. Jamie rode me slowly, rolling his hips, milking me with his constricting ass until I had to beg him to stop.
“That was just… yeah… perfect,” he huffed, then fell over me, his nose buried in my neck, his softening cock pinned between us in a thick coating of cum and lube. I flopped an arm over his back, balls still pumping spunk into his ass, and smiled at the ceiling.
“Yeah, so perfect,” I mimicked in a dreadful British accent.
He snorted like a pig and then promptly fell sound asleep. Not wanting to shift even if I could, I inhaled the scent of us as my eyes grew heavier and heavier. A short nap would be fantastic. Just a few minutes to catch our breaths, and then we’d do something about the cum gluing us together.
Yep, just a five-minute power nap, and everything would be all… sorted… out.
Chapter Three
Jamie
I wokewith my head hammering to a screaming alarm, and as I peeled my eyes open, the sunlight streaming through the blinds felt like an assault. Why hadn’t I shut the blinds? Every movement was sluggish, each thought fighting through a fog.
“Fuck my life,” I muttered; my mouth tasted like something had died in it. I made the age-old promise that I would never drink again. Ever. I couldn’t recall what had happened, as I regretted all my life choices, and then it hit me, and the regrets changed from me over drinking to me throwing myself at a man who’d been avoiding me.
“Bollocks,” I told the curtains.
Slowly, the room came into focus—the familiar mess of clothes strewn about, the bottle of water on the bedside table, my clock showing it was six-thirty a.m. And then, the emptiness of the bed next to me sank in as I shifted to face where Craig had been, a twinge in my arse underscoring the fact that, yep, there had been sex.
So, I hadn’t imagined him… he had been here, hadn’t he?
I sat up, my head protesting with a sharp jab of pain, and surveyed the room. No sign of the sexy skater. No note, no forgotten jacket. Nothing but the tangled sheets bearing theunmistakable, slick evidence of last night’s escapades. The lube was everywhere—on the sheets, a testament to my drunken state and the speed with which lust had grabbed us. I grimaced at the mess, the physical residue making his absence more pronounced.
He’d gone.
Had it meant anything to him? The night had blurred into a sequence of sex, touches, and laughter. It had felt real, felt right. But the space beside me spoke of a different truth—one where he’d slipped away without a word, leaving me to wake alone with my thoughts and this throbbing headache.
Great. Just great.
I swung my legs out of bed, the cool air hitting my skin, making me shiver. I should clean up and start erasing the traces of what had happened before someone saw it. Yet, I hesitated, a part of me not ready to wipe away the last vestiges of his presence, messy though they were. What if last night was just the one time? What if he’d been avoiding me for a reason and then gotten drunk, and I’d gotten drunk, and then we’d made equally bad decisions?
As I sat there, the weight of those decisions pressed heavily upon me. What had I been thinking? Random sex wasn’t me. I wasn’t a man who went for reckless encounters, especially not with someone like Craig—someone I liked and maybe wanted more than one night with.
