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“You’re wonderful,” he murmurs against my lips.
I don’t have time to respond because he presses a whisper of a kiss to my lips, and then holds me there, mere centimeters between us. It’s intense and intimate and everything I’ve ever wanted from a gorgeous man after sex.
But this can’t be anything. This isn’t anything. That’s not how this works. And I don’t want to embarrass myself.
I force out a light laugh and push back off of him, letting him slip out. I try to be somewhat elegant as I climb off the bed and go to the bathroom. But as I sit on the toilet, I wonder what the hell just happened.
Derek is incredible. He’s a catch. And somehow, I caught him. Maybe it’s just for the night. Probably. And now that I’ve had him, he’s ruined me. Sex will never be the same. I can’t just go back to polite sex with polite guys who are nice enough to let me sleep over afterward.
But the reality is that this is it. He’s had me, and he’s going to want to leave. I mean, how many orgasms can a girl expect in a night? I’ve just had three.
And what was the deal with the spanking? My core throbs at the memory and my nipples tighten. Does that actually turn me on? Or is it just because it was with him? I try to imagine anyone else doing that to me, and my veins run cold.
I shiver, embarrassed to even think about it. But he wasn’t embarrassed. Not for himself or for me. He was turned on. I felt his erection after he spanked me. Fuck, he speared me with it. My core clenches and my chest flushes. I want it again. I wanthimagain. Already.
Enough. I need to put on my big girl panties and go say good night. Deal with this. I flush the toilet and push out into the hotel room. To my surprise, Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed.
Still naked.
His dick is at half-mast, and my center pools with heat. He looks up at me, and I freeze, standing naked before him. His eyes graze down me like he’s starving, as if he didn’t just come inside me.
“Come here,” he says, reaching out his hand.
I walk to him, the carpet scratchy against my bare feet, and I take his hand. He pulls me into him, between his legs, and he buries his face between my breasts. He takes a deep breath and exhales, pressing a kiss to my breastbone. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I comb my fingers through his hair. His arms circle my waist, his fingers digging into my spine.
“I need more,” he says. His mouth runs along the inside seam of my breast, and he pulls my nipple into his mouth. He gives a sharp little suck and I moan at the pull.
“Now?” I gasp out, a little louder than I meant.
He laughs, and I do too. He cups my cheek while holding me with the other arm. “I’m not done with you yet,” he says.
There’s a hard intensity in his eyes that pulls me in, and I feel it deep in my core. I nod, understanding. And I let him sweep me down on the bed. I let him suck and nip and kiss me from neck to thigh. I let him knead my back, my breasts, my ass. I let him push himself inside of me again, from on top, from behind. And then again, after we’ve slept some, and he wakes up in the middle of the night, needing to be inside me again.
He fills my ears with the filthiest things I’ve ever heard, and I obey his dirty commands, beg him to violate me in ways that make him fuck me harder and faster. And when we’re spent, I let him hold me, I let him stroke me, I let him whisper things in my ear that I’ll never remember. But I’ll never forget the way his words make me feel. Desired. Adored. Revered.
In the morning, he kisses my forehead and tells me he has a team meeting. I kiss him back and tell him he can text me if he wants. He gives me a sad smile.
He’s done with me now.
I close my eyes and pretend to fall back asleep so he’ll leave before he sees the resignation in my expression. I knew what this was.
So why am I so disappointed?
CHAPTER8
MEGAN
MAY
“If I haveto clean jizz off the pleather tonight, I’m going to scream,” Molly says between long drags of her menthol light cigarette.
I snort as I lean against the magenta-painted brick wall under the overhang. The rain falls in sheets, heavier than usual, causing the smoke from her cigarette to settle around me. All I want is some fresh air, a break from the cloying, stale heat inside the club.
Usually it doesn’t get to me this fast, but a bachelor party showed up early tonight, and I swear they must have bathed the groom-to-be in tequila and bad decisions.
“You coming?” she asks, smacking her gum. She must be all of twenty years old, but she carries her five foot two frame with the jaded exhaustion of forty-two. On the other hand, she handles conflict with the grace of a thirteen-year-old girl.
She’s delightful.
