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When we return to the hotel, we’re both sweating.
“I need a shower,” Lyndsey says with a devilish twinkle in her eye. “Join me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I say.
Lyndsey grabs my hand and pulls me into her hotel room, locking the door behind us with a click. She grins as she pulls off her sports bra, laughing as I ogle at her gorgeous tits. Her nipples are large and dark, almost mauve. I take one in my mouth and suck.
She presses her hand to the back of my head and threads her fingers through my hair. Before she can protest, I scoop her up and carry her to the bathroom, continuing to ravish her chest. She groans.
“I should work out with you more often,” she murmurs as we stumble into the bathroom.
The shower is gigantic, concealed by glass planes, and plenty big enough for two people. We strip out of our clothes, and I turn on the water, amazed by the pressure. Lyndsey walks in first and groans as the conveniently placed jets pulverize her sore muscles. “The bus could never. Jesus Christ.”
Lyndsey tilts her head back, letting the stream of water wash over her, tracing her curves. I’m already hard. She grins when she notices before taking my dick in her hands and slowly teasing the shaft. I groan in pleasure as she continues to work the shaft and kiss my neck, nipping occasionally. She wraps a leg around my waist, testing.
I clutch her ass. “I’ve got you,” I whisper as I capture her lips. I step back as she shifts her weight toward me, and I hoist her upward. She settles over me, ready to receive me as I thrust into her. She cries out in delight and clutches my shoulders, sinkingher nails into my shoulder blades. Pleasure and pain mingle. It feels wonderful.
“Fuck, Vince,” she cries. I continue to thrust, establishing a steady rhythm. I can see Lyndsey’s ass bobbing in the reflection of the shower door.
She’s so wet; it’s maddening. Her muscles clench around me, and I’m dizzy with ecstasy as she bares down, enveloping me in the soft flesh of her thighs and stomach. She’s a goddess, shaking the rafters as she comes, yanking my hair back. It feels so good. I’m so close.
We continue, and Lyndsey cries out, knocking the complimentary shampoo off the tiny shelf as she leans back against the wall. I fuck her harder and harder, and she yells in delight, clenching her legs around my waist.
I come in a burst. Then I kiss her temples and her neck as we disentangle. I can see a bruise forming on the back of Lyndsey’s shoulder that looks suspiciously like the shower tiles. Lyndsey laughs it off while we soap ourselves clean,
“I like it a little rough, y’know?” she says.
She pulls me in for a kiss and bites my bottom lip, teasing her fingers along my back. I trace the line of her jaw, feeling the hot point of her pulse. Lyndsey pins my hands above my head and grins, stretching her legs.
“You can be such a tease sometimes,” I say.
“Look in the fucking mirror,” Lyndsey replies.
She steps out of the shower and grabs a towel, wrapping it around her waist.
“I only tease you because it’s fun,” I say, kissing her neck. I find two complimentary hotel robes hanging off the hook on the door. I towel off and slip one on before handing the other to Lyndsey. The fabric is luxurious enough for me to ignore the hotel’s hefty price per night.
“Did you eat breakfast at all? I’m starving,” I say as we walk into the main room and flop onto the bed.
“No, not yet. Do you want coffee or something?”
“What do you say we maximize our day off and order room service?” Lyndsey’s brows burrow in thought as she reaches over to the bedside table and grabs her glasses.
“I’m not about to spend thirty dollars on pancakes when there’s a diner down the block,” Lyndsey starts.
“I know. But if I do this at a diner, I might get arrested for public indecency again,” I say, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss. Lyndsey groans and shifts toward me. Our foreheads bump as she threads her fingers through my hair.
“Fine,” she grumbles as we pull apart.
“Plus, we can’t wear our robes to the diner. I love this robe. It speaks to me.”
“It is the comfiest thing I’ve ever worn,” Lyndsey admits.
We order room service: cinnamon rolls the size of dinner plates and egg benedicts. We spend the rest of the morning alternating between eating in bed and fucking. Lyndsey scratches the headboard. I nip the soft flesh of her inner thighs, breakable and sweet like fresh plums. It’s delightful.
By 2 p.m., Lyndsey insists we put on clothes and starts ranting about ‘wasting the day.’ She’s pacing around the room, refreshing her email for the umpteenth time, a tornado of worry.
“I mean, we’ll be fine for the show tomorrow, but still.” I get up and cross the room, grabbing her waist and stopping her in her tracks.
