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I also don’t like touching other people besides Hex. It’s a strange concept, considering how much I love coming to the club. Bodies packed around me can become too overwhelming. When I was a wandering spirit, I thought I could feel. I thought I was experiencing everything I had before. Now, I realize those feelings were echoes of real life. They didn’t compare to reality.
Still, I’ve tried to reclaim my life. Because I have been given a second chance, I have to actively choose to engage with the living with every moment. It hasn’t been an easy feat, and there have been several nights when I’ve cried in bed, worried I’m wasting this. But then Hex will pull me into his arms and kiss me sweetly, and I know I have a purpose.
Tonight, my purpose is to turn him on in every way imaginable. This particular club has several stripper poles. I pull him over to one as soon as I see it become available. He watches me, slack-jawed, as I climb up on the platform and twirl around the bar. In my previous life, I’d done pole dancing for exercise. I’m excited to put that training to good use.
I climb up to the top of the pole and flip myself over, spreading my legs and slowly lowering myself. I feel my hair swaying under me, and I look out to see him staring, swallowing hard. I smile at the evident bulge in his pants.
I hear the hoots and hollers of other club patrons, but there’s no one else in the world but Hex. I’m on display for a crowd of strangers, but this dance is for him. My feet return to the ground, and I hitch my leg around the pole to spin around, giving him a sexy wink. He’s reaching his wit’s end, so I drop back to the platform and bow.
He holds up his hands and helps me down to the floor. I feel his touch slide up my body as I go, and I need him again, this instant.
“Let’s go home,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd.
A few men whistle and catcall me, despite Hex’s hulking frame behind me. Others clap him on the back and tell him he’s a lucky man. I don’t have to look back at him to know he’s smiling, his focus solely on me.
For such a large man, he is gentle, and he tries his best not to get jealous. Lots of men try to hit on me at the bars, but rather than getting angry, he’ll slide up behind me and wrap his arms around my waist. He doesn’t need to threaten anyone to show them he’s claimed me in every way. And he knows I don’t have eyes for anyone else.
When we’re out in the chilly night air, he hails us a cab, not letting go of my hand for a second. In the cab, his hands move to my waist and up my shirt, groping and teasing, driving me wild. I never liked public displays of affection before him, but now, I’m always willing to put on a show. I grab the collar of his leather jacket and pull his face to mine, kissing him until we’re senseless.
Our cab driver has to cough several times to get us to pull away from one another when we reach the clubhouse. Hex keeps one hand under my shirt and throws a wad of large bills at the drive with his other hand. Then he pulls me out of the car and through the house until we’re back in the privacy of his room.
We’ve screwed in pretty much every club in town, but this is by far our favorite place to be together. For me, it’s the only place I feel like I can be myself. It’s where I can let go of the pressure of being alive and enjoy my man. For Hex, this is the only place where he doesn’t see ghosts.
That’s been another interesting adjustment for me, because I know he sees them all the time. Now that Anderson’s spirit is gone, they’ve flocked back into public places in force, or so he tells me. Most are so grateful to him, they don’t want to leave him alone, and he’s tired of them watching us get intimate.
The first time he told me it was happening, I was horrified. I hated the idea of having someone infringe on our private moments. Now, though, I get excited by the idea. I would never want to have sex in front of a living person, but knowing someone’s watching drives me wild. I like knowing someone is witnessing firsthand the kind of pleasure only Hex can give me.
It also helps that I can’t see them. I probably wouldn’t like it as much if that were the case. Still, in the privacy of our room, there’s only us. He’s fortified his room against the ghosts, something he says he should have done years ago.
He kisses me now, pushing me down against the bed. I immediately spread my legs for him, but he takes his time, trying to torture me. He stands in front of me and strips off his clothes, starting with his jacket and shirt, then seductively removing his belt. He stares at me intently while unbuttoning his jeans and dragging down the zipper.
I’m literally drooling for him, ready to see his naked form in front of me. I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of seeing him bare in front of me. I sit up at the edge of the bed, running my hands over his hard abs and holding his gaze. My hand slips down lower, at the same pace he removes his pants. Once he’s fully revealed to me, I gently take his cock in my hand and kiss the base.
He lets out a long, low growl and pushes me down again. His pace excites me. He clearly wants something new out of this experience, savoring the moment in a way we don’t usually do. Normally, we’re so desperate and hungry for one another, we’re racing each other to orgasm.
This is something else, something more thoughtful and completely electrifying. He runs his hands up the sides of my legs, and I relish the stark contrast between his rough, calloused hands and the smooth skin of my legs. When he reaches my hips, he hooks his fingers through the band of my panties, pulling them down.
He repeats this motion, this time removing my skirt. Then, he pulls me up into a sitting position, pulling my tank top from over my head and never breaking that deep, intense eye contact. It’s like he fucking me with his eyes, his gaze setting me on fire as if he’s using his hands. It’s exhilarating.
When we’re both naked, he cups my chin in his hand, pulling my face to his for a slow, sensual kiss. It’s not desperate and frenzied, but slow and thorough. There’s not a single inch of my mouth that he doesn’t explore with his tongue, not an inch of my lips he doesn’t cover with his own.
He hovers over my body, carefully balancing his weight over me as he trails hot, sloppy kisses down my neck and throat. I moan against him, arching my back off the bed. His hot kisses mix with the cool air of his room. Every inch of me stands at attention, ready to be touched.
His hands wander over my body gently but purposefully, groping and pinching in the areas he knows turn me on the most. He is an artist, and my body is his canvas. He’s learned my secrets and he’s exposing them to start a fire only he can put out. With each gasp and moan, I grow closer to release, but never quite enough to be satisfied. He’s drawing this out.
When he finally, torturously slides inside of me, his movements are so slow I distinctly feel every inch of him. He’s planned this, making sure we can both feel and experience one another thoroughly. It’s a painful game of self-control, but one I’m determined to excel at. He wants this to be good, and it could not be better.
He pulls out of me slightly before burying himself deeper, eliciting the loudest moan I’ve ever released. I don’t know where he learned this technique, but it deserves an award. All the awards. This unhurried, thoughtful lovemaking causes me to lose my senses more thoroughly than a quickie in a bathroom stall ever could.
All that exists in this space is his body. His skin meets mine with every thrust, his sounds mixing with mine to create a symphony. I’m surrounded by the scent of him, the salty sweat from the club, and the manly musk that naturally emanates from him. I close my eyes, letting each sensation become heightened. My mind is filled with just one word.Hex.
The pleasure he creates in me is so full, so lasting, I don’t think I’ll come down from it. He took his time bringing me there, each movement better than the next. I’m not sure if there is such a thing as Earth anymore. All I know is the feeling of bliss washing over me, drowning me. Two months together, and every time he gives me the best orgasm of my life. I shudder in anticipation of what the rest of our lives may bring.
She stays pressed against me for several minutes, shaking every now and then from aftershocks. Being so slow and careful was a sweet form of torture, and it paid off tremendously. She can’t stop gasping for air, so completely lost in her pleasure. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to relive this moment, to bring her such ecstasy.
“Fuck, baby,” she whispers. “Why don’t we do that every time?”
I chuckle and kiss the top of her head, lying down and pulling her on top of me. I run my fingers through her hair lazily.
