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“You feel so fucking good when you’re squeezing my cock,” he groaned, but he was still hard inside of me.
His arms went around me again, turning us so he was sitting off the end of the bed with me in his lap, my back to his chest.
“Ride me,” he demanded as his hands slid up my belly and cupped my breasts, palms squeezing, fingers rolling.
It took me a moment to be driven up again, but then I was doing little rocking motions, head falling back on his shoulder as the position hit all the right places.
“Harder, baby,” Detroit demanded, voice rough. “Fuck, yeah,” he growled as I started to move, rocking harder and faster. “Just like that,” he said as his hand slipped between my thighs to start teasing my clit, driving me up once again.
My walls tightened around him as my nails dug into the sides of his thighs as I held on.
“That’s it,” he hissed, jerking his cock upward into me. “Squeeze my cock,” he demanded.
Then I did.
Over and over and over until my legs gave up on me, forcing him up onto his feet, holding me up as he pounded into me until he found his release too, doing so with this savage curse that made another little mini O course through me.
“Always wake me up like that,” I demanded as we fell back onto the bed together afterward.
“I think I can manage that,” he said, turning me away from him, so he could tuck his body around mine, his arm draped over me, his heat warming my back, making me feel somehow safer than I ever had before.
I was asleep in moments.
I woke up cold, though.
I knew before my eyes even opened that I was alone. The spot behind me was even cool to the touch.
The disappointment was instantaneous and almost overwhelming.
But my gaze slid to the nightstand where there was a thermal travel mug and a plate with an apple turnover sitting there waiting for me.
I wouldn’t pretend to understand the workings of the club. So I figured maybe he had some sort of work to do that meant he couldn’t be with me.
So I sat up, grabbing the remote, and turning on a movie as I sipped my coffee and enjoyed my turnover in bed, warmed with the thought that he’d thought about me as he’d gone about his morning, wanting to make sure he made it clear to me that he’d been thinking about me.
Eventually, I climbed out of bed, showered, then made my way downstairs, and set my mind on cleaning up the mess since I had nothing else to do.
“Oh, hey,” a girl said, coming downstairs in her dress from the night before, eyes wide.
“Hey,” I called, giving her a smile. “Black stilettos or glittery gold flats?” I asked, noting her bare feet.
“Stilettos,” she said.
“Right on the other side of the couch. There’s a hoop too on the table there that I thought might go with the pumps.”
Her hand went to her ear.
“Oh, right, thanks,” she said, giving me a tentative smile.
“Here,” I said after she got her shoes on and slipped in her earring. Walking across the room, I handed her a sports drink. “Make sure you rehydrate,” I said as her car pulled up out front.
“Thank you,” she said, smile going warmer, more comfortable.
I watched her go, thinking that I would be okay with this being my little role in their world.
Being with Detroit.
Cleaning up after the parties.
