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Andrew briefly shut his eyes and sighed. Then he opened them again and spoke firmly. “I need you to let me cum in your mouth...” His voice was raspy. “And I need you to swallow every f**king drop...”
I gripped his knees and sucked him faster and faster, and his c**k began to throb in my mouth. I could feel it pulsating, constricting, and as he leaned back and finally let go I felt spurts of warmness slipping down my throat.
His cum was salty and thick, and I honestly loved the taste of it. As the last drop landed into my mouth, I looked into his eyes and he looked back at me. The expression on his face was one of pure satisfaction and awe, and I was more turned on than I’d ever been in my life.
He stood—pulling me with him, and pressed his lips against mine. “That was f**king perfect.” He turned off the water and led me out of the shower and back into his bedroom—not bothering to dry me off.
He grabbed me by my waist and tossed me onto the bed. “Spread your legs.”
I let my legs fall apart and he climbed on top of me. Crashing his lips against mine, he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth.
I could feel the tip of his c**k rubbing against my pu**y and I lifted my hips—encouraging him to f**k me.
After being with him in the shower, I didn’t want to do much foreplay and I didn’t want to talk.
I just wanted to be f**ked. Now.
His hands caressed my br**sts and I pushed them away. “Fuck me, Andrew.”
“I am.”
>I looked over at him, ready to say something, but then I saw him fiddling with a green parking pass and I looked out the front window—seeing where we really were.
Outside of a Hilton hotel.
“Your idea of taking me on a date is bringing me to a hotel?”
“It’s more about f**king you in the hotel.”
“Andrew, this is where you take all your other dates...”
“And?”
My heart sank. “Do you not see why bringing me here would hurt my feelings?”
“Would you prefer the Marriott?”
I blinked.
“They don’t have the same standard of room service,” he said, “but if that’s what you prefer—”
“Just take me home—right now.” My voice cracked and I leaned against the window, shutting my eyes again. “I’ll deal with my parents...”
***
I woke up on a plush leather couch, tucked underneath a soft black blanket.
Sitting up, I saw that my shoes had been taken off and placed in a rack on the other side of the room. A tray of fresh fruit and chocolates were sitting on the small table in front of me, and there was a bottle of wine sitting next to two stemmed glasses.
The room looked as if it’d been plucked from a magazine: silk white draperies, taupe walls, and portraits framed in silver. One of those portraits was of a f**king hotel, making it clear exactly where I was.
I immediately tossed the blanket off—ready to find Andrew and yell at him for bringing me here against my wishes. I walked down the hallway, slowly noticing that the pictures hanging on the wall were of him.
In one picture, he was standing on a beach, looking off into the distance. In another he was standing in front of a NYC cab, and in another he was lying against a city park bench.
He was young in all of these photos—his eyes held a more boyish charm, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked happy. Extremely happy.
In between all of the larger photos, were small wooden blocks in the shape of an entwined “E” and “H.” At first I thought that the “A” for Andrew’s first name was simply missing, that one of the pieces would bear it, but that wasn’t the case: In the last frame at the end of the hall there was a photo of a huge “E” and “H” that were solely compiled of pictures of New York.
