I finger her as I lick up her clit, around it. There’s nothing sweet about the way she comes—she’s too wild for that. She dives straight in like an adrenaline junkie would dive off a cliff, without a second thought as to whether or not her bungee string is attached. She rides the waves with uncontrollable movements and a gasp in her throat, her mouth on my neck as she clutches me to her.
She’s still coming when I flip her to her stomach, lift her ass up, and drive into her.
She groans deep in her throat and another contraction hits her, tightening her pussy walls around every hard inch. I pump her hard and fast, unable to keep a lid on my groans. I stroke a hand down her spine. Cup her ass. Her tits. Bite her neck. Grab her by the hair.
The smell of her shampoo is in my nose. Her hip bone is in my hand. Her pussy grips me. Pretty soon I’m rocketing to the edge. Flying past it. I press her down on the bed and bury myself to the hilt, groaning as my release takes over me. I start jetting off, so full that I can’t stop my dick form jerking, the waves from crashing.
She likes it. Likes me holding her pussy in my palm and caressing. Likes me pinching her clit. I set her off a second time. Set her off so hard she buries her moans into my pillow, shaking beneath me for another five… ten… fifteen seconds.
“Oh my God,” she groans as she flips around.
We’re both breathing hard and coated with sweat as I sit back and try to reassemble what’s left of my brain.
She snuggles to my chest, and I ease my arm out from beneath her. I dread seeing her look up at me with stars in her eyes. I’m still too fucking drugged. It takes effort to step away and head to the bathroom to clean up.
I splash my face with water and meet my gaze in the reflection.
You fucking happy with yourself, Ford?
I brace my arms on the sink and exhale, then shove back and head to the room—not to the bed. No. To the desk. Where the majority of my papers are.
AFTER THE O
Sara
I need to leave, but I’m lingering, dressing at a tortoise pace. I slowly ease my panties back up my legs and fix my hair using the mirror above the entry table.
He’s scanning my ass, hungrily, as if I didn’t just give him a very big O. I’d never felt a man come for so long. He was filled to the brim. Yum.
“Your name?” I ask as I turn to face him. He stands bare-chested in slacks behind the desk. His gaze alternates from me, to the papers on the desk, back to me.
“I think its best that we leave it like this. I don’t do…” He motions between us. “I don’t do this.”
“Sex?”
“Clearly, I do that.” He smiles briefly. It’s a rather regretful smile, and it doesn’t last more than a second. But that second is all it takes to cause my last breath of air to get trapped in my throat.
I swallow. He means a relationship. Do I look desperate to him?
As casually as I can, I smile back at him, still not breathing quite right. “Well then, goodbye, stranger,” I say, starting for the door.
“Sara.” His voice stops me, and when our eyes meet again, there’s something dark and intense in his gaze. “I enjoyed you. And that hot little body of yours. Very much.”
“My pleasure, sir. Please consider staying at the Four Seasons on your next visit,” I say, trying to make light of the situation as I step out. I board the elevator, sigh, and lean my head back against the wood panel behind me, swooning inside.
Have I ever been bitten this much?
Have I ever been fucked this hard?
I thought my teeth would break, and I fucking loved it. I wanted to sink in my nails and drag them down every inch of his glorious, taut, tanned skin. The way he looked into my eyes when he ate me up, I get chills remembering. And when he had me on all fours, I wanted to scream from the pleasure of the wild, hungry way he drove into me. He tangled and pulled my hair. Why was that so hot?
I have never felt so full, or seen such a glorious dick in my whole life. My knees wobble thinking about it.
Aren’t you glad you shared that cab, Sara? Went upstairs? Let him get you off twice and get himself off on you?
Yes, yes, yes to it all.
I walk into my apartment an hour later, listening to the noises of my next-door neighbors playing video games. “Shut up!” I bang on our shared bedroom wall, sigh, and slip into bed with my laptop, checking the advertisements for anything Broadway related. There is…
Nothing.
I’m stuck as a concierge for now. I set aside the laptop when my neighbors start screaming at their video game again, and I groan and cover my head with my pillow, deciding noise-canceling earphones will be the first thing I buy when I have extra money. I keep telling myself this, but I always manage to spot a nice pair of shoes I want instead.
Thoughts of money lead to thoughts of my impending rent payment. My roommate has moved out and I’m finally alone, but now I have to cover the entire bill. I sit up, open my computer, and start drafting a want ad. Dark eyes flash in my mind. My heart stops for a beat before resuming. God. What a yummy motherfucker he was.
Ian
Two days ago…
The droning sound of her voice over the telephone goes on and on and fucking on. I exhale and growl, “Talk to my lawyer,” and I slam the receiver into the cradle.
I glare at the phone and grind my palms into my eyes before exhaling and dropping my hands to my lap.
What the fuck happened?
We dated all through college and, after graduation, took the next logical step and moved to New York. I made money. I kept making money, giving her more than she ever dreamed we would have: a four-bedroom West End Avenue penthouse with views of the Hudson, generous shopping sprees at Bergdorf, exotic vacations via chartered private jets. I thought only of earning more, providing more—until the day I walked into our apartment to find a pair of cufflinks that weren’t mine.
I asked if she’d been fooling around.
She denied it.
Like a fool, I believed her story about buying them as a gift for me. I ignored the fact that they were already open and there was no empty package. I took them. I even wore them to our next event. Like a goddamn fool.
Eight months later, I walked into our apartment to find two glasses of wine in the sink, her shoes on the floor, and a string of underwear leading to our bedroom. I stood by the door, listening to them.
THEM.
My wife, and someone else.
My whole body trembled as I yanked the door open and charged at him.
I grabbed him off her, turned him around, and sent him flying to the wall.
“We’re done,” I spat at her, gathering the man’s shit and shoving it into his chest. “And you—never, ever step back here if you know what’s good for you.”
He was some young accountant who worked for the firm my film company hired, who was helping my wife with her personal expenses. Ha!
“Ian,” she begged, “you’re never here.”
“You,” I snarled, “are here because of me.” I motioned to the apartment, every luxury she could ever want on display. “You’re fucking here because of me, Cordelia.” I looked into her eyes, once so innocent and sweet, a girl who used to bake me cakes she served with homemade ice cream when it was my birthday. What happened to her? What happened to us?
“You’re never here,” she sobbed. “I’m twenty-five years old, Ian. I have needs!”
I shook my head, the disappointment in me, in her, in us crushing me to the point that my lungs could hardly pull in air. “You could have talked to me.”
She’s still coming when I flip her to her stomach, lift her ass up, and drive into her.
She groans deep in her throat and another contraction hits her, tightening her pussy walls around every hard inch. I pump her hard and fast, unable to keep a lid on my groans. I stroke a hand down her spine. Cup her ass. Her tits. Bite her neck. Grab her by the hair.
The smell of her shampoo is in my nose. Her hip bone is in my hand. Her pussy grips me. Pretty soon I’m rocketing to the edge. Flying past it. I press her down on the bed and bury myself to the hilt, groaning as my release takes over me. I start jetting off, so full that I can’t stop my dick form jerking, the waves from crashing.
She likes it. Likes me holding her pussy in my palm and caressing. Likes me pinching her clit. I set her off a second time. Set her off so hard she buries her moans into my pillow, shaking beneath me for another five… ten… fifteen seconds.
“Oh my God,” she groans as she flips around.
We’re both breathing hard and coated with sweat as I sit back and try to reassemble what’s left of my brain.
She snuggles to my chest, and I ease my arm out from beneath her. I dread seeing her look up at me with stars in her eyes. I’m still too fucking drugged. It takes effort to step away and head to the bathroom to clean up.
I splash my face with water and meet my gaze in the reflection.
You fucking happy with yourself, Ford?
I brace my arms on the sink and exhale, then shove back and head to the room—not to the bed. No. To the desk. Where the majority of my papers are.
AFTER THE O
Sara
I need to leave, but I’m lingering, dressing at a tortoise pace. I slowly ease my panties back up my legs and fix my hair using the mirror above the entry table.
He’s scanning my ass, hungrily, as if I didn’t just give him a very big O. I’d never felt a man come for so long. He was filled to the brim. Yum.
“Your name?” I ask as I turn to face him. He stands bare-chested in slacks behind the desk. His gaze alternates from me, to the papers on the desk, back to me.
“I think its best that we leave it like this. I don’t do…” He motions between us. “I don’t do this.”
“Sex?”
“Clearly, I do that.” He smiles briefly. It’s a rather regretful smile, and it doesn’t last more than a second. But that second is all it takes to cause my last breath of air to get trapped in my throat.
I swallow. He means a relationship. Do I look desperate to him?
As casually as I can, I smile back at him, still not breathing quite right. “Well then, goodbye, stranger,” I say, starting for the door.
“Sara.” His voice stops me, and when our eyes meet again, there’s something dark and intense in his gaze. “I enjoyed you. And that hot little body of yours. Very much.”
“My pleasure, sir. Please consider staying at the Four Seasons on your next visit,” I say, trying to make light of the situation as I step out. I board the elevator, sigh, and lean my head back against the wood panel behind me, swooning inside.
Have I ever been bitten this much?
Have I ever been fucked this hard?
I thought my teeth would break, and I fucking loved it. I wanted to sink in my nails and drag them down every inch of his glorious, taut, tanned skin. The way he looked into my eyes when he ate me up, I get chills remembering. And when he had me on all fours, I wanted to scream from the pleasure of the wild, hungry way he drove into me. He tangled and pulled my hair. Why was that so hot?
I have never felt so full, or seen such a glorious dick in my whole life. My knees wobble thinking about it.
Aren’t you glad you shared that cab, Sara? Went upstairs? Let him get you off twice and get himself off on you?
Yes, yes, yes to it all.
I walk into my apartment an hour later, listening to the noises of my next-door neighbors playing video games. “Shut up!” I bang on our shared bedroom wall, sigh, and slip into bed with my laptop, checking the advertisements for anything Broadway related. There is…
Nothing.
I’m stuck as a concierge for now. I set aside the laptop when my neighbors start screaming at their video game again, and I groan and cover my head with my pillow, deciding noise-canceling earphones will be the first thing I buy when I have extra money. I keep telling myself this, but I always manage to spot a nice pair of shoes I want instead.
Thoughts of money lead to thoughts of my impending rent payment. My roommate has moved out and I’m finally alone, but now I have to cover the entire bill. I sit up, open my computer, and start drafting a want ad. Dark eyes flash in my mind. My heart stops for a beat before resuming. God. What a yummy motherfucker he was.
Ian
Two days ago…
The droning sound of her voice over the telephone goes on and on and fucking on. I exhale and growl, “Talk to my lawyer,” and I slam the receiver into the cradle.
I glare at the phone and grind my palms into my eyes before exhaling and dropping my hands to my lap.
What the fuck happened?
We dated all through college and, after graduation, took the next logical step and moved to New York. I made money. I kept making money, giving her more than she ever dreamed we would have: a four-bedroom West End Avenue penthouse with views of the Hudson, generous shopping sprees at Bergdorf, exotic vacations via chartered private jets. I thought only of earning more, providing more—until the day I walked into our apartment to find a pair of cufflinks that weren’t mine.
I asked if she’d been fooling around.
She denied it.
Like a fool, I believed her story about buying them as a gift for me. I ignored the fact that they were already open and there was no empty package. I took them. I even wore them to our next event. Like a goddamn fool.
Eight months later, I walked into our apartment to find two glasses of wine in the sink, her shoes on the floor, and a string of underwear leading to our bedroom. I stood by the door, listening to them.
THEM.
My wife, and someone else.
My whole body trembled as I yanked the door open and charged at him.
I grabbed him off her, turned him around, and sent him flying to the wall.
“We’re done,” I spat at her, gathering the man’s shit and shoving it into his chest. “And you—never, ever step back here if you know what’s good for you.”
He was some young accountant who worked for the firm my film company hired, who was helping my wife with her personal expenses. Ha!
“Ian,” she begged, “you’re never here.”
“You,” I snarled, “are here because of me.” I motioned to the apartment, every luxury she could ever want on display. “You’re fucking here because of me, Cordelia.” I looked into her eyes, once so innocent and sweet, a girl who used to bake me cakes she served with homemade ice cream when it was my birthday. What happened to her? What happened to us?
“You’re never here,” she sobbed. “I’m twenty-five years old, Ian. I have needs!”
I shook my head, the disappointment in me, in her, in us crushing me to the point that my lungs could hardly pull in air. “You could have talked to me.”
