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What a complete load of bullshit that for ten years she had condemned herself to riding a golf cart when she could have been in a sports car.
Mind blown.
“Thank you,” she said, earnestly. “You’ve, uh, opened my eyes.”
He pulled a face that she couldn’t interpret. She wasn’t sure if he was amused or if he was going to say something or not. Instead he kissed her, a slow, easy kiss, while he teased at her nipples with the pad of his thumb.
“Touch my cock, Sloane,” he murmured.
He removed the condom and set it on the nightstand.
Touch it. Sure. She could do that. Reaching down, she lightly brushed her fingers over the smooth skin of his cock. He was only partially erect, but even so, he was impressive. Not that she’d been around a lot of naked men, but she had not been inflating his ego when she’d said he had a huge dick. It really had filled her and stretched her and damn, had it felt good.
She stroked him, squeezing the base of his shaft as she remembered what it had felt like inside her. His breathing changed, grew deeper. Her breathing changed, grew shallow.
“Yeah, baby,” he murmured, his green eyes slumberous, half-closed. “Squeeze it hard. Make that cock big for you.”
It was already growing, hardening. She used her other hand to explore his balls, tugging at the soft skin, learning his body. The harder she squeezed his cock, the more he seemed to like it. He wanted it rough, which she found hot. He was fully hard now and she felt a sense of accomplishment. She’d done that.
Rick pulled her leg over his so that it rested on his thigh. He reached behind with an impressive dexterity and grabbed a condom. Her heat was tantalizingly close to his cock in this position and it took everything inside her to stay put and not rock onto the tip. But she hadn’t entirely lost her mind. He needed the condom on first.
She knew now to anticipate the fullness of him pushing inside her. She was still wet and ready for him and he sank into her easily. This time instead of shock, she sighed in pure satisfaction.
“You like that, beautiful?” he asked, voice low and rumbling.
Sloane stared at Rick, suddenly overcome with emotion. This was intimate. This was locking eyes with a man she’d only known as a boy, yet feeling safe with him. Their bodies were entwined as they lay on their sides, his cock sliding in and out of her with a slow, slick rhythm. His hand gripped her hip, holding her in place as he rocked into her. Her bedroom was dark and small and there was nothing but her and Rick, surrounded by moving boxes.
A sensual cocoon of skin and pleasure. Her breasts brushed against him, the friction teasing her nipples into tight peaks. She felt relaxed, open, stimulated in an easy, deep way. Her orgasm built slowly, swelling. There was a pause, then she crashed, gripping his arm and moaning softly. “Rick…” she said, and she wasn’t sure why.
His nostrils flared, like her orgasm turned him on even more. “Yes, Sloane?”
Her eyes drifted shut. She couldn’t take the intensity of his gaze. “I’m coming,” she said, which was probably obvious but she felt she needed to let him know. He deserved all the credit for all of this.
Rick laughed softly. “Good. Ride it, baby. Enjoy it.”
When she finally relaxed, fully satisfied, he slid his palm around to her ass and pumped her hard against him, upping the rhythm. Then he came with a sharp exhalation of air and her name.
“Damn.” He leaned his forehead against hers and gave her a soft kiss.
Sloane had to look away. It was almost too much. Too intimate.
She felt the weight of his arm on her hip, and it felt too heavy. She rolled onto her back, breathing hard. “I need some water.”
“I’ll get you some in a second. Or maybe two seconds.” Rick’s phone started ringing, a jarring ringtone in the dark cozy room. “Fuck, who is calling me?”
He grappled around the night stand for his phone and then dropped it onto her mattress between them.
Sloane could see the image that popped up on Rick’s phone screen was that of a young blonde. She couldn’t be more than twenty. Instead of her given name he had her in his phone as “Brat.” Except Sloane knew exactly who she was—she was the woman who had rented her the apartment. Her name was Rachel and she had been nice. Young, but nice.
Rick sighed. “I should answer this. She wouldn’t be calling at this time of night unless it was important.”
“Sure,” Sloane said and she heard the chilliness in her own voice. Who the hell was Rachel? It didn’t matter. Or it shouldn’t matter. But it still annoyed her. One night, that’s all she wanted and she didn’t really want the real world to intrude in on that.
Apparently, Rick didn’t care if she found out who Rachel was because he answered the phone on speaker, leaving it on the nightstand like he was too tired to hold it. “Yeah?” he demanded. “What do you need?”
“It’s River. She’s fussing and wants to come home. You know I can’t deal with her like you can.”
Sloane stiffened. And who was River?
