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I shrug. “Just taking it a day at a time. Rent is crazy expensive, everyone I know is in no place for houseguests, and school is a distant memory. Honestly, I just want to forget about it all tonight and pretend like I’m a rich person who can afford this nice room at this fancy resort.”
“I get it,” he says, wandering toward me as though he sees how desperate I am for him to go along with my plan. “So… what would a rich person do on their last night of vacation?”
I smile and look toward him, watching as his muscles flex beneath his t-shirt. He’s handsome as hell, and super sweet, but that’s not usually my type, so I’m not sure how to approach him. Normally I go for super cocky men who grab before asking and throw themselves on me long before the pleasantries of getting to know me.
“I don’t know,” I say, lowering my gaze. “Maybe a rich person would do this.” I fall into old habits, wrap my arms around his neck and lean into his lips, kissing him softly, praying he doesn’t reject me. I’m not sure my ego can take the shot.
He doesn’t. He kisses me back, wrapping his big strong arms around my waist. The scent of his cologne is a mix between a nice, clean scent and something woodsy I can’t identify.
“I wanted to do this the second I met you,” he says, kissing his way down my neck and toward my collarbone and back up again.
I arch my neck, letting him in, my eyes closing as he sucks the lobe of my ear and whispers something inaudible that does nothing more than heat me up.
His hand fades toward my ass, cupping upward with a squeeze as I lift his shirt up and off his body, revealing more tattoos and a solid core. He’s built, tight, and muscular, his gaze on mine as I lean against the warmth of his chest.
I should tell him now that I’m a recovering addict. That I’m addicted to sex. That being filled by a big, strong man is the only sense of reassurance I get. I should tell him that the air of power that surrounds him by default spills onto me—that I crave it. That I feed off it like an energy vampire. That male attention is like some sort of high for me, and right now I need that high more than ever. It’s the best possible escape. A few moments in time where I’m completely relieved, where I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m needed and wanted by someone, anyone.
I lock eyes with Brad and begin the dance, dragging my lacy panties to the floor, stepping out of them slowly, my gaze never leaving his as I bend forward on the bed, tossing my dress up behind me to present my ass like a wild animal, ready to be used in the way I need. But I don’t feel his body behind me, only a chill from the air conditioning unit blowing toward the bed.
I turn back toward him, watching as he unbuckles his jeans, letting them fall to the floor as I reach back and run a finger over my clit. “I’m so fucking wet for you,” I whine, playing up the slutty girl vibe I’m destined to play.
He strokes his large cock in his hand, pumping it over and over as he steps toward me slowly, a condom securely pressed into place.
I let out a moan, letting him know I’m desperate—that I need him.
His gaze goes dreamy as he grips my hip and edges in toward me. His cock brushes the soft lips of my cunt, my juices coating the tip.
He stays there for a moment too long and I begin to panic.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, a streak of anxiety in my voice. This isn’t how my dance works. I always get fucked. It’s when I feel most complete. I need it.
He looks at me, a gently sympathetic look in his eye, and I get the feeling he’s not going to fuck me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me. “I don’t do this. I mean, I have sex… but I don’t do this. This… this… this whole one-night stand thing. I don’t—”
“It’s fine,” I quip as a tingling sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face. “I don’t either. I just—”
He grips my arm and turns me over, guiding me onto the bed next to him. “You’re beautiful, Sara. I just… I want to take my time. I’m not a fuck and forget kind of guy.”
My gaze catches his and I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never been in a scenario where someone refuses to fuck me.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, pulling the strap of my dress back up onto my shoulder.
He shakes his head and leans me back onto the soft pillow, his hand rising and falling over my curves. “Are you kidding? You’re perfect. I just want to move slower. I want you to feel appreciated, and I want to know this isn’t the last time I’m going to see you.”
I have to admit, it feels kind of nice to have the tips of his fingers on my skin slowly ambling about. That’s definitely not a sensation I’m used to.
“But you’re in Miami and I’m in San Francisco,” I say. “We’re kidding ourselves if we think we could keep in touch.”
“Maybe, but I’d like to try,” he says, kissing my shoulder. “Besides, you’re in between stages of your life. Who knows… you might find yourself looking for work in new cities soon.”
I laugh. “I’ve been a California girl all my life. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself anywhere else.”
He kisses the inside of my elbow, the sensation like a soft tickle as his shadowed beard sweeps past the most sensitive points.
“There’s a reason I’m here with you tonight, though. Don’t you see it?” His lips brush past the tips of my fingers as he lays my hand down on the bed and moves back up to my collarbone. “Like fate maybe?”
My nose scratches at the thought of anything being fate. “I don’t know if I believe in destiny. I think life is more of a trial-and-error thing.”
