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He half-laughed, half-groaned and went rigid in my arms, his hips pumping and thrusting until he’d released everything he had.
I held him as the aftermath of his orgasm shuddered down his spine and wondered if I could ever forget this night.
He’d marked me as permanently as any tattoo.
* * *
He hadn’t been bragging. He had plenty of stamina. After taking me on the desk, he stripped off the condom and grabbed a water bottle I had assumed was empty. He doused his dick and then placed a couple of handfuls of cool water between my legs. We found ourselves on the couch—him on his back with my knees around his head while I took him in my mouth. He was much better at multitasking than me.
Because he’d already come, he lasted longer too. I felt I was orgasming every five minutes while I sat on his face. While I rode cowgirl, which really worked me over. While he bent me over the back of the sofa, one hand on my neck and the other clamped around my hip, pulling me back to him every stroke.
He didn’t come again until we were in the tiny shower in the back of the trailer. There wasn’t room for one person, let alone two, and water was everywhere, but Finn said to ignore it. He was. He was too busy driving his cock inside me.
I tried to memorize it all because this was my only time with him. We dozed on the couch for a little while, and when I woke, little fingerlings of dawn were creeping into the trailer through the slatted blinds.
I took him into my mouth, slowly savoring the musk of his body, inhaling the warm sleep scent of him.
He grew hard and too long for me to take in entirely, so I added my hands, cupping the base and working him at the top until he was pulling my hair away.
“Gonna come,” he said in a gravelly, barely awake voice.
I pushed forward until he hit the back of my throat, and I didn’t stop until he was coming in long, lovely spurts into my mouth.
“I’ll return the favor when my brain falls down from the sky,” he muttered sleepily. I smiled sadly and waited until he fell asleep.
Then I gathered up my clothes and left.
It was a twenty-minute walk back to the café and then a fifteen-minute drive home, but it felt like the longest journey of my life.
3
May
FINN
"Is that Winter Donovan over there?" Adam yelled in my ear. The strip club was loud enough to be a dance club. The idea must have been to blind the customer with lights and deafen with music.
Slim build, long curtain of black hair, button nose, defiant look? Yeah, that was Winter Donovan all right, and while I wouldn't have been surprised to see her sister here—I'd actually heard a vague rumor she was stripping—seeing Winter was a shock. This wasn't her scene, never mind that she had given up her paintbrushes for the tattoo gun. Winter was as straight an arrow as they came. She didn't drink, smoke, or do drugs. As far as I knew, she had only one tattoo. And I'd know better than most, better than almost anyone. I still saw her sweet sex when I crashed into my bed at night. I fantasized about tonguing it and her coming all over my face. It was high-end spank bank material, but I was tired of one-handing it. Seeing Winter here in her short shorts and tight top was like a punch in the nuts. Painful. Unforgettable.
Behind me I felt a slight push. Fucking Henry. "Are we going to stand here all night, or are we going to see some pussy?"
The urge to retort with a sarcastic remark flooded my mouth. Any other guy in my crew who'd acted so obviously insolent, I'd have fired immediately. But Henry had me over a barrel. He was the foreman of the crew working to bring my dad's dream project to fruition, and I had to make nice with him. This strip club idea was his. We'd started out at the High Life, drinking beers and shooting the shit, but as one hour slipped into another, no one wanted to go home. They'd been granted a night out to get to know their dead boss's son, and they wanted to take full advantage.
Henry was busting my balls because he didn't think a pissant like me should be running a multi-million dollar project. Privately I agreed with him, but this was my dad's legacy, and I'd be damned if I didn't finish it, on time and on budget.
Henry had probably started out the night with every intention of ending up here. No doubt he and my old man had come here more than once. My dad was friendly, overly so, with women.
"I'm looking for a place to sit," I answered coolly.
At midnight, Riskie's was crowded enough that we couldn't sit beside the stage, but mirrors were everywhere so the action couldn't miss even if one wanted to. What was going down on the stage held little interest for me. Instead, I watched the bar like an alcoholic who hadn't had a drink in five days, which was a pretty apt description. I hadn't seen or talked to Winter in two months. Not since the night she ran out on me.
I'd been in my first strip club when I was fifteen. Dad and Uncle Patrick had taken me to a place in Chicago where twenty-dollar bills were shoved down the G-string of a woman, not one-dollar bills. The women there were finer than anything I'd seen in high school. At that point, I didn't realize how much a woman's body could be cosmetically enhanced—from breast implants to butt implants, those ladies were surgically sculpted “perfection.”
Dad told me he wanted me to learn to be a man, which included knowing how to please a woman in bed. If I could get a whore off, I could get anyone off. I loved my dad and missed him so much, it felt like I was missing a limb, but I would be the first to admit he was fucked up when it came to women.
Because I loved him but didn't want to be him, I'd avoided the family construction business when I got out of college, opting to flip houses instead. And I'd tried hard to treat every woman in my life with respect. But the one woman who mattered, I'd fucked up with. She hadn't taken my calls, answered my texts, or responded to my emails—the ones I’d sent after I realized I’d screwed up. I knew what she was thinking—that we’d made a mistake, and I had let her think that while I sorted out my own head.
The only real mistake was letting her run for so long.
