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"Carly," he breathes, and grabs my hand in his, nipping at the fleshy part below my thumb. "You belong to me now."
That's all it takes for me to have the hardest orgasm of my life. I come with such force that my body goes rigid underneath him, my pussy clenching tight around his cock as he drives into me. Kassam thrusts a few more times, then groans, and I feel the liquid heat of his release wash through my body in the most curious way. I've never felt that before, I realize. I've never actually felt my partner's seed inside me. It's…odd.
"We…didn't use a condom," I pant as he rocks his hips against mine one last time. That's bad, I remind my pleasure-addled brain. I'm not on the pill, either. Maybe I need to hunt down a pharmacy in the morning and find a morning-after pill.
Kassam slides out of my body, leaving me feeling ever-so-slightly bereft, and rolls onto his back with a sigh. "What is a condom?"
I wake up to a delightfully sore pussy and an empty bed. I yawn, feeling lethargic and yet wonderful, trying to recall the events of last night.
They flash through my mind immediately. Alley. Kassam. Shower. Sex. More Kassam.
Like…four times more throughout the night. He'd just wake me up, roll onto me, and the next thing I knew, we were having incredible sex. No foreplay, no conversation, just a deep dicking that sent me to places I'd never been before.
I look over at the empty side of my bed. The sheets are mussed, still damp from last night's drippy post-shower sex, and the room reeks of fucking, but I'm alone. I hear the distant clank of silverware against a dish and realize he's in my kitchen.
The enormity of what I've done hits me like a ton of bricks. Oh fuck. I found a man in an alley—a stranger!—and took him home and fucked him. Fucked him a LOT. A dirty stranger, to boot. He's probably a hobo.
I had hobo sex and it was fucking great.
I put my hands over my face. What the hell am I doing? How do I get rid of him? My head's clearer now, at least. Last night I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was fucking the guy. Last night, he'd seemed incredibly sexy. The way he moved, the way he talked, those flashing silvery eyes. This morning, though, all I can think about is that I invited a dirty, weird stranger into my home and my body.
We didn't even use a condom.
I bite back a horrified noise and try to remain calm. Maybe I accidentally got splashed with a roofied drink or something last night. Maybe a drop landed on my finger and I—I don't know—licked my finger. Somehow. A roofie seems more logical than me finding a filthy stranger in a back alley and deciding I'm down to fuck.
The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it's a roofie. Or Spanish Fly. Wouldn't that explain why I spontaneously orgasmed when he touched my hand? That must be it, I decide. Sure, it's awful, but I'll get over it. At least the sex was decent if not particularly creative. Just all business.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I see my Mom's name light up on the message.
Oh god. I resist the urge to crawl back under the covers. My mother. It's like she knows what I was up to last night and is sending me vibes of disapproval through the phone lines. I reach over and flip my phone over so I can't see the screen, as if that will somehow make things better. Okay, Carly, I tell myself. Be rational. You made a mistake last night. Actually, you made a lot of them. Now you get to clean up your mess. Go out there, talk to the nice man—Kassam—and tell him that he needs to go home. Then you go to the pharmacy, get some morning-after pills, and pray that you weren't fertile…and pray that he has no diseases. You learn from this mistake and never, ever repeat it--
A dish shatters in the kitchen.
Fuck. I need to get up before he destroys my place. I close my eyes, visualize myself taking control of the situation, and then get out of bed. I grab a shirt from the pile of laundry in my room, throw it on, and then head out of the bedroom and into the hall. As I approach my kitchen, that languid, foggy, almost dreamlike sensation takes over my senses. Maybe that's why I don't panic when I see Kassam standing in the doorway to my open fridge, buck-ass naked.
Instead, I smile.
I'm aware that my head is messed up again. It's weird in that I know it's messed up, but…I just don't care. It's like all caring goes out the window when I'm around him, which makes it really, really hard to think straight. I came out here for…something. Something.
