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I hopped off the counter and lowered myself to the pillow he’d laid out for me. His eyes ran over my body, and he kept stroking himself.

I gazed up at him, licking my lips. I wanted him to move closer, but I loved the sight of him touching himself too much, so I waited.

“I’ll try not to make a mess this time,” I said, trying at playful.

His voice was a groan. “Don’t bother. I want to leave a mess on you.”

I don’t know why that turned me on so. I felt heat rush through me, flushing my skin and pooling in my loins. He moved closer and I grabbed him with both hands.

He made a rough, delicious noise when my mouth surrounded his tip. His gripped his hands in my hair and eased his thick length into my mouth.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, “Rub your clit.”

I kept one hand on him, jerking off his base as I sucked his tip and fingered myself.

I got us both off at the same time. There was something so heady about that, having the power to pleasure both of us at once while all he could do was moan and pull my hair. I felt it when his body tensed to come, everything going stiff, his balls drawing up tight. The very air changed in that moment. It was utterly intoxicating, and it brought on my own release.

I couldn’t help it, I cried out as I came, and my mouth released him with a wet little pop.

One of his hands stayed in my hair, the other reaching down to cover my hand on him. He jerked his cum out into the air. It hit my lips, my chin, my collarbone, and lower. He spent extra time spurting onto my tits.

“I meant to swallow it, I really did,” I said when I caught my breath.

He laughed, a breathless, surprised rumble out of his throat, and pushed himself back between my lips. I licked his tip and was surprised when I felt his cock jerk another little stream of cum into my throat. It just kept going.

“There’s always next time,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

Next time, indeed.

He pulled out and away, tucking himself back into his pants. Why not? He was good to go, I’d licked him clean, meanwhile I was a complete mess. From the way his eyes lingered on me, I could tell he loved the sight.

“Rub it into you tits,” he groaned. I looked down at myself, rubbing his sticky cum into my flesh, massaging the firm, perky globes of my breasts. I kneaded at myself, getting it everywhere.

He moaned, rubbing at his crotch like we might just go another round.

I twisted my nipples between my fingers. I wanted him to suck on them, cum and all. I was disappointed when he told me, “Enough,” in a hoarse, heavy voice.

He helped me up, then gave me his back, going to wash his hands.

That was when I noticed his tattoo. I’d never seen his naked back in the light before. I moved toward him, studying it. It was a small rose rendered in lovely intricate detail on his shoulder blade. I wanted to trace it with my fingers. “What does it mean?” I asked him.

His head turned until I was looking at his profile. His mouth twisted. “It means that you can never really know another person. Not their mind and not their heart. It means that you should never trust a gold digger.”

Such a bitter explanation for such a beautiful piece of art, I mused. That was when I spotted the letters worked into the flowing lines. Spelled out in small, subtle precision was the name FATIMA.

I knew that name. I felt myself go cold.

I stepped back from him instinctively.

He turned to study me, but I was already heading back into the shower. I should’ve learned by now not to bother getting clean until I was sure he was done with me.

He didn’t follow. Good. I told myself I wanted it that way. Certainly I needed a few private moments to compose myself.

When I emerged from my room, I saw that my hair and makeup people were waiting. Probably had been for a while.

Oh yeah, that’s right. I had an important charity brunch to host with my mother-in-law at eleven.

I said good morning to everyone.