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Hank kills the lights, making the view outside the windows pop, and my pulse kicks up a notch. I toss back the covers and settle against the pillows.
As I watch him roll on a condom, anticipation thrums through me, heady and hot.
“I know you said you wanted to make it last,” he says, climbing on top of me. “But you come first. Got it?”
This is the loveliest kind of danger I think I’ve ever experienced.
There are numbers I can call back home—numbers I do call, often—when my vibrator isn’t cutting it. My regulars aren’t bad guys; they’re discreet, they’re kind, and they always make me come.
One thing they didn’t do? They never showed such sincere concern about my orgasm the first time we hooked up.
I shove the comparison from my thoughts. Maybe Hank likes to take care of his partners in bed. But I bet his consideration and his generosity don’t extend much beyond that. Not in real life, anyway.
I’ve learned that sharing real life with real men results in whatever the opposite of bliss is, domestic or otherwise.
Good thing Vegas isn’t real life. And Hank—the guy he’s being tonight—he can’t be real. He’s a fantasy, a flash in the pan whose combination of hot and kind is so excellent it must be fictional.
I reach for Hank’s dick, and he holds up his hips, allowing me to wrap my hand around his length. I give him a solid tug, thumb lingering over his slit. Or what I can feel of it, anyway, through the latex. I settle him at my entrance.
Hank’s eyes are lit up with the reflection of the lights on the Strip, a smattering of tiny stars that give him an ardent, earnest look.
Talk to me, those eyes say. Tell me everything.
I close my eyes.
This is sex. I love sex. I’ve gotten pretty damn great at it over the years since my separation.
I am determined to enjoy this sex for what it is. Gloriously hot and epic in all the right ways.
He rocks his hips and slowly sinks inside me. This time, my eyes really do roll to the back of my head behind my closed lids.
“This all right, honey?”
I nod, swallowing, and grab his ass to push him all the way inside. “So good.”
Our mouths meet in a hungry kiss, tongues tangling as I wrap my legs around his waist. He starts thrusting, gliding in and out of me with ease, and I revel in the feeling of fullness he gives me with each lingering swivel of his hips.
Our bellies are flush, and he’s grazing my clit as he moves. Just enough to make me want more, but not to make me come.
The tease, the tension—it has me making sounds I don’t recognize.
Hank cups the back of my knee and guides it to my chest. The feeling of fullness increases.
“Yeah.” I bite his shoulder. “Yes.”
He’s starting to sweat, his skin sticking to mine. I lick his skin, tasting the salt. He groans and spears me with a hard, deep thrust. I like this.
I roll onto my side, reaching for his cock when he slips out of me. He hikes my leg back toward my chest, but at an angle this time so that I’m spread wide. He gets on his knees and holds me by my calf and hip. He gently enters me again. I thrust my pelvis, welcoming him inside.
I like this too.
My heart is pounding, and now I’m sweating too. Turns out sex with an athlete is, well, athletic. My tits bounce on every thrust, and Hank watches them move, eyes hazy.
He’s stronger than me, bigger, but he still lets me take the lead, gladly following me wherever I go.
I roll onto my stomach and prop myself on my elbows, raising my ass in the air. Wordlessly Hank settles behind me, thighs flush against mine as he enters me from behind in a modified doggy style position.
I like it. I like the sound his balls make when they slap against me with every thrust. I like the way Hank holds my hips, thumbs massaging the small of my back as I meet his movements.
He’s moving a little slower now, our bodies rocking in a deeply satisfying rhythm. This angle makes me feel full, like I’m being stretched, pushed, and I turn my head, close my eyes again, and open my mouth, flexing my jaw at the delicious overwhelm of it.
He reaches between my legs and thumbs my clit. Sensation spirals through me, tight and hot, and my legs start to shake.
His grip on me tightens, holding me up. Keeping me from shattering.
My heart swells, and I know I should slow my roll, I should pull away a little so he’s not touching me everywhere, but I can’t. I don’t want to.
I like feeling adored and exquisitely cared for.
