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Samantha squirms in my arms until I settle her on her feet, and she quickly tugs her dress back into place. “S-sorry,” we both mutter sheepishly.
The man who opened the door glares at us as he points a white-gloved finger at the closet, “You can’t be in there.” He looks older, possibly in his fifth decade of life, and wears a black blazer with subtle white pinstripes, matching pants, and a maroon vest.
Samantha apologizes again, and the adrenaline of being caught has us racing toward the elevators. Our chests heave once we’re inside, and we burst out laughing at the awkwardness of the previous moment.
How it happens is unclear, but our lips find each other, the way they always do, and I haul Samantha into my arms, pressing her back against the wall of the elevator. The doors slide open, and she wraps her legs around me, squeezing tightly as I break into a full sprint down the hall toward our room. I slow my pace at the end of the hall, and I don’t put her down as I swipe the key card and slam the door closed behind us.
She wiggles out of my grip as she pushes my suit jacket down my arms. An adorably frustrated huff leaves her lips as she attempts to loosen my tie, and I relieve her of this task by untying it myself.
We don’t make it to the bed and instead become a mass of limbs on the floor in the center of the room. At some point, though, something shifts, and our pace slows way down. I spend more time tasting her skin, and I revel in the way her touch lingers on each part of mine. It feels natural to savor each other this way despite neither of us communicating a desire to linger.
I end up on my back with her straddling me, the short pile and rough texture of the carpet scraping my skin. The silky fabric of Samantha’s dress ends up under my head, and as I push it away, I notice the full-length mirror directly behind me.
Samantha sinks down on my cock until our hips meet, and I become entranced by the view of her in the reflection, her breasts bouncing each time she impales herself on my length. Lifting my hips, I meet her halfway, her mouth falling open and her belly jiggling with each thrust.
“Look at yourself, Samantha,” I rasp, pointing to the mirror. “Look how beautiful you are.”
Her eyes widen when she notices her reflection, and I notice the instinctual movement of her hands to cover her body from even her own eyes.
Before I reach for her hands to pull them away, she drops them to my chest, and I notice the way her mouth curves up on one side as she admires her naked body. Leaning forward, she keeps her gaze on the mirror as she rolls her hips, the new angle causing my sac to tighten against my body. If she keeps this up, I’ll be coming in seconds.
Her fingernails bite into my chest as she sets a slow pace. But the lack of speed isn’t remotely a problem. Each time the walls of her hot cunt clench around me, the pleasure mounts at the base of my spine.
I reach up, squeezing and rolling her nipples between my fingers, and she throws her head back with a loud, keening cry.
“Samantha,” I growl, “keep your eyes open.” I don’t want her to miss this. I want her to see what I’m seeing. “Watch yourself come.” She follows my command, keeping her gaze locked on her reflection as she bounces up and down on my cock, her expression pained as her pace turns erratic.
I reach a hand between us, pressing my thumb into the side of her clit, and she comes, the wild jerking of her body creating friction that sends me careening over the edge. She collapses on top of me, her delicious body sweaty and spent as my come fills her.
Even after our chests stop heaving, something feels different. I hold her close as she presses lazy kisses all over my chest, and I can’t stop my hand from running up and down her spine. There is a deep, visceral need pulsing through me to keep her right where she is for as long as she’ll let me.
Is this…
Is this what making love feels like?
Refusing to chase that thought, I keep her in my grasp as I haul both of our bodies onto the large plush bed.
Samantha curls herself around my body, her leg draped over mine. I stroke her back as she snuggles against my chest, her hot breath fanning across my nipples. We spend most of the night like this, just lying together, our bodies never separating, as we talk about everything and nothing.
“Thank you for tonight,” she says, lifting her head to meet my gaze. “You were the perfect fake boyfriend.”
I chuckle softly as I pull her in for a kiss.
She stares at my mouth, a shy expression flashing across her face. “It almost felt…real.”
“And?” I ask, prodding her to continue. I sense where this conversation is going, but I need her to state her intentions clearly.
“And what?” she asks, intentionally stalling.
“How did it feel,” I begin, turning on my side so can I see her face, “pretending to be mine?”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “I liked it.”
I prop myself up on my elbow. Samantha’s chin dips as if she cannot look me in the eye. Crooking my finger beneath that rounded, perfect chin of hers, I lift it. “I liked it too.”
“Is it something you’d be interested in trying? You know, for real?”
“A relationship, you mean?”
