But I can imagine that if we keep this up, if we keep seeing each other and having sex like this?
I’ll be a dirty talking, blabbering idiot in no time.
I wake up in the middle of the night to find a curvy woman wrapped completely around me. Her face his tucked into my neck, her arm draped across my chest, her leg thrown around mine. I pull her in closer, burying my face in her sweet-smelling hair, and the swell in my chest is an old, familiar feeling.
A feeling I can’t have for this particular woman because we are definitely not meant to be.
Not many people know this about me, but I’m a fall-hard kind of man. Meaning, if I make a connection with a woman, I will fall completely head over heels for her.
Even if it fucks me up and is a complete disaster.
The first time it happened, I was in high school. Her name was Emily, but everyone called her Em. Rebellious and troubled, she was kind of a nightmare. But man, I loved that girl. She truly believed my faith and belief in her helped turned her rebellious behavior around. She graduated high school even though, at one point, everyone believed she’d fail or drop out. I went away to college on a mostly full scholarship while she stayed at home and attended the local community college near where we grew up.
And she stuck to that plan. We grew apart, though, and mutually split up within months of me going away to school. I was completely depressed for almost a solid year. She met another guy within two months of our breakup, and she’s still with him to this day. They have a kid, and the funniest thing of all? She’s a teacher.
She fucking tortured our teachers all through school and now she’s one of them.
Em wasn’t the only one I fell for. There were a couple of others. One named Mary, and oh my goddamn, did she about finish me off. Our senior year in college I was so fucking sprung over that girl, and she knew it. She cruelly smashed my heart to bits again and again, ending it with me only to come crawling back. And I took her back. Three times.
She about broke me.
That’s the reason I gave up on relationships. I fall too hard, too fast. I’d rather keep it impersonal and have the occasional hookup, though even those don’t appeal to me as much anymore.
But now…there’s this woman wrapped all around me like she never wants to let go. Naked and smelling sweet and skin so damn soft, I can’t stop from touching her.
I grope her lazily, my fingers playing with her full breasts, tweaking her nipples. My cock rises halfheartedly to the occasion, but I don’t really think I want to fuck her. Not now.
I’m still too tired.
Minutes tick by, though, and I’m lying in bed wide awake, fucked up by the time change. Exhilarated from the outrageous sex we just had. Seeing that innocent face and those lush lips wrap tight around my cock? Yeah, talk about too much. This woman just about undoes me.
The weirdest part? I don’t even know her. Not really.
“Mmm.” She rustles against me, her fragrant hair brushing my face, her foot brushing against my calf. “You are so hairy.”
“What?” I’m chuckling. What a random thing to say.
“I don’t normally like hairy men,” she continues, her lips brushing against my chest as she talks. “But I like you.”
“I’m not that hairy, Sus.”
“Oh, but you are.” She lifts her head, her sleepy gaze meeting mine. Her hair is a tousled mess, her lips are swollen and she has razor burn on her face, all because of me. “Your chest is hairy.” She touches the hair there to prove her point. “And your legs are super hairy.”
“Kind of like your bush?” I reach down and play with it, and she slaps my arm.
“You say the rudest things,” she accuses, but she doesn’t sound that mad about it.
“You like it.”
“Hmm. I might.” She takes a deep breath as she rolls away from me and grabs her phone from the bedside table where she must’ve left it. I don’t remember her doing that. “It’s three in the morning.”
“Can’t sleep.”
She looks at me. “Oh. The time difference?” When I nod my answer, she says, “That must be so—difficult.”
“It is,” I say with a sigh. She rolls over on her side again, her back to me, the sheet having fallen down and putting her magnificent ass on full display. Unable to help myself, I reach out and give it a gentle slap.
“Hey!” She turns to face me, her expression full of shock. “You slapped me.”
“You don’t like a little ass play?” I ask innocently.
“Ass play?”
Those two words said in her elegant British accent is kind of a turn on, I’m not gonna lie. “Yeah, ass play. I’m guessing you’ve never done anything like that?”
“What exactly are you talking about?” she asks slowly, her gaze…
Curious.
Hot damn.
I bet if I play this right, I can indulge in a little more ass play with Lady Susanna.
“Nothing too crazy. A little slap here and there, nothing too painful, but just enough to sting. A finger inserted. Maybe some anal sex,” I explain, trying to keep it casual.
She blinks at me. We never did close the curtain, so there’s some light in the room. Just enough so I can make out her beautiful features, see her voluptuous body. She has a body that’s made to fuck, and I know that makes me sound like a complete asshole, but it’s true. Her body is curvy, sexy perfection.
And despite the fact I have to get up in a few hours and play football on international television, my cock is on high alert, and I’m ready for more.
“I’ve never done…anything like that before,” she says, her big blue eyes extra luminous in the light.
“Do you want to?”
Susanna presses her lips together.
“If not, no big deal,” I tell her.
She shifts toward me quietly, pushing at my shoulders so I’m flat on my back. She crawls up the length of my body, dragging that lush body across mine until her tits are crushed against my chest and she fits all snug and perfect to me. “I’m willing to try just about anything with you,” she says just before she kisses me.
It’s a delicious kiss, full of sighs and whispery moans and searching tongues. My hands wander, as usual, smoothing up and down, over her ass. She spreads her legs wider, so they fall over my hips and she’s straddling me.
Leaving herself completely open.
But I don’t touch her there. Not yet. I gotta lead up to this. Instead, I keep stroking her ass. I stroke her pussy too, and find it wet and creamy and hot as fucking fire. My cock lets me know it wants in, like soon, and I tell it to wait.
I have other things to take care of first.
Shit, and then there’s the fact that I don’t have any more condoms…
“Roll over, baby,” I tell her, and she does it without protest, lying on the mattress for me, spread eagle with every inch of her on display. Her pussy is wide open and ready for me so I dive down and give it a lick, tongue playing with her clit, making her shudder and squirm beneath me, her hands going to my hair, tugging and pulling and making me wince.
Yet I don’t stop. It’s like I can’t let up.
I want her coming all over my lips.
“I need you inside me,” she whispers, and I lift my head to study her, regret crashing down on me, knowing what I have to say.
“No can do, baby. I don’t have any condoms,” I tell her.
“What?” she practically screeches, her eyes wide. She lets go of my hair, the disappointment written all over her.
“I only had the one from my wallet.”
“This—this won’t do.” She leaps out of bed and flicks on the lamp, making me blink against the harsh yellow light that fills the room. “They might have a box somewhere in this room, right? This is a high-end hotel.”
“And high-end hotels don’t usually provide their guests with condoms,” I say. Not the ones I stay at, at least.
“You never know.” She goes into the bathroom a
nd I hear drawers being opened and closed, mysterious things clacking and dropping, a few whispered curses.
This girl is fiery when she’s determined, which is totally unexpected.
The bathroom light shuts off and then she’s standing next to the bed, the room phone in her hand, and when the operator answers, she starts talking.
“Yes, I was wondering if it would be possible to have a box of condoms delivered to Mister Cannon Whittaker’s room?” She pauses as the person on the line speaks, and I sit up in bed, shocked at what she’s saying. “Yes, I know it’s three in the morning, but it’s rather important.” Another pause, then she smiles. “You’ll send them up in fifteen minutes? Lovely. Thank you so very much.”
Susanna hangs up the phone, looking rather pleased with herself. “We’ll have condoms in fifteen minutes.”
“Damn, woman, that was sexy,” I tell her, crawling out of bed so I can grab hold of her. But she’s a slippery thing, and she’s keeping me on my toes. The moment I reach for her, she yelps and starts running around the room like a crazy woman, buck-naked with her hair flying and her tits bouncing, and I chase after her. I catch her when I get her cornered near the door, a triumphant smile on my face when she realizes she’s stuck. I grab hold of her wrists with one hand and pin her, my cock like an insistent third friend between us.
“Gotcha,” I whisper, my face drawing closer to hers.
“I might get away,” she threatens, and I laugh.
“You can’t. I got you.” I kiss her, trying to drug her with my lips, and of course, it works. She’s returning my kiss with gusto, and I keep my hold on her wrists as I break the kiss and drop to my knees, my mouth landing on her pussy.
We’re like that long minutes later, two orgasms in, her legs shaking, her throat hoarse from her screams. My face is covered in come, and when there’s a knock on the door I pull away from her, both of us wide-eyed.
“Hello! Package for Mister Whittaker!”
“Shit,” I mutter as I rise to my feet, scrubbing my hand across my face. My dick is sticking straight out like a pole, and should I mention just how big it is?
Because it’s big. And obvious.
“Get a robe on,” Susanna suggests in a hushed whisper just before she runs to the bathroom.
“With my dick sticking out of it as I open the door? I don’t think so,” I mutter.
The knock sounds again. “Mister Whittaker? Are you in there?”
“Give me a minute!” I yell back, wincing at the sound of my agitated voice.
I’m such an asshole.
“Here.” Susanna exits the bathroom, wearing a white hotel robe and clutching another one in her hands. “Wear this and answer the door.”
I take the robe from her, letting my gaze run over her. “You answer the door.”
“What?” She rests a hand against her chest. “No. I couldn’t possibly.”
“Why not?”
“They’ll know what I’ve been doing,” she says, her voice squeaky.
“Yeah, well, they’ll figure out what I’m going to do here in a minute, even if they weren’t delivering condoms.” I drop my gaze to my dick, which is still thrusting straight out.
Susanna covers her mouth, smothering a giggle. “I can’t answer the door like this. I look like I’ve been…”
“Thoroughly fucked? Yes, you do.” I lean in and drop a tender kiss to her lips before pulling away. “But it’s okay. You’ll never see this person again.”
She looks doubtful. “I don’t know.”
“Then I guess we won’t get the condoms.”
Determination crossing her features, she shoves me into the bathroom, runs a hand over her wild hair and then unlocks and opens the door. “Hello,” she says breathlessly, clutching the front of the robe to her.
“Good morning.” The man in the suit isn’t that much older than either of us, and he’s not bad looking either. He’s eyeing Susanna with undisguised interest, the rat bastard. “Is Mister Whittaker available?” he asks.
“He’s—predisposed at the moment, but I can take the delivery.” Her cheery voice can almost make me forget I had her pinned to the wall and my mouth on her pussy only a few minutes ago.
I watch as she holds out her hand and the man slaps the box of condoms in her palm.
I gotta give it to her, Susanna keeps her composure while accepting those condoms. I’d never know she was frazzled or embarrassed. The only thing giving her away is the pink in her cheeks.
“Thank you very much,” she tells the man as she starts to shut the door.
“Have a wonderful morning,” he tells her just as the door closes.
I need to remember to somehow give that guy a large tip for his discretion.
“Ha, we will,” I say as I exit the bathroom, grab hold of Susanna’s waist and haul her over to the bed.
Where I show her all the ways I can make her morning wonderful.
I’m exhausted. I barely got any sleep, yet I’ve never felt more alive.
“I want you to come to the game,” Cannon says yet again, after I’ve already turned him down. Twice. “Come on, Sus. Say yes.”
“Cannon. I wouldn’t understand what I’m watching. I know nothing about American football,” I protest, though that’s not the real reason I don’t want to go.
Cutting him off is smart. We had our fun, and now it’s over. Going to his game would just draw this entire situation out.
“I can explain it to you real quick,” he says, and I shake my head firmly.
“No, you really can’t. You need to take a shower and leave.” I sound like a mother, but it’s true. He has to go soon and we’ve already wasted so much time.
Not that I view my time with Cannon as a waste. It’s been magical, really. My whole body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt.
“Take a shower with me and I’ll explain it all in there,” he says, his voice, his face so hopeful, he looks like a young boy.
He’s no young boy, though. Not with the way he touched me last night and this morning. I’ve lost count of how many orgasms I’ve had.
Lost. Count.
That’s just…insane.
“If we take a shower together, that will lead to other things,” I say primly, glancing down at my chest. I’m wearing one of his T-shirts—and my plan is to keep it forever—so at least I’m not completely naked. And Cannon is walking around the room in a pair of black boxer briefs and nothing else.
Leaving his chest and abs on perfect display, and I can’t stop staring.
“Come on, Susanna. I really want you there. Just say yes.” He stands at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, biceps bulging.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say with a sigh, my gaze straying to his biceps. I want to touch them. Feel those strong arms wrap around me again…
“I’m stubborn. It’s an important thing you should know about me. When I want something, I won’t take no for an answer.” He raises a single brow, something I wish I could do, but I’ve never been able to manage it.
He’s sooo bloody frustrating.
“I should go home,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Yeah, you should. Go home, change into something more comfortable, and go to the game. I’ll leave your name everywhere, leave you a ticket at will call, whatever I’ve got to do to get you in there. Just please, Susanna.” He sends me puppy dog eyes, his lips formed in a cute little pout. “Come to my game.”
I roll my eyes. Make an irritated noise. “Fine.” I throw my arms into the air. “I’ll go.”
He tackles me. Throws himself onto the bed and takes me down with him. Though the entire move is gentle. He doesn’t hurt me. More like the move is protective as he cradles me in between those thick arms.
“Thank you for agreeing,” he says, his voice sincere, his gaze boring into mine. “I’m glad you’ll be there. Let’s do something together after the game, too.”
“I’m not—”
He steals the rest of my w
ords with kiss, and I give in.
I’m digging through the tiny wardrobe in my tiny flat, lamenting over my lack of anything casual yet pretty, when my phone rings. Considering it’s under a pile of jumpers in various shades of gray, I’m surprised it’s still ringing when I finally find it.
“I’ve done something, and I’m afraid you’ll think me totally mad,” I answer as I go through my gray jumpers once again.
“Please tell me what you’ve done. I need to focus on someone else’s drama for once in my life,” says my best friend Evie.
We’ve known each other forever. Our fathers are close friends too.
“You won’t believe it if I told you.” I glance at the clock on the wall and see that I have maybe an hour before I need to leave. Thank goodness I’ve already taken a shower, and hopefully traffic won’t be too dreadful.
But it probably will be. It’ll take me forever to get there, to find parking—because I currently have my father’s old Mercedes, so why not drive it?—and when I finally do make it to the stadium, most of the game will be over and I’ll have to fake it to Cannon that I saw the entire game.
“Give it a try. I’d love to hear what you consider a wild story.” Evie’s tone is dry, edged with sarcasm, and that’s because she loves to give me a hard time about being…boring. Not in a mean way, it’s just facts. She’s the wild child in our friendship. The one who’s drawn to rebellious men, who can’t keep a job even though she really doesn’t need to, considering how wealthy her family is. Over the years she’s dyed her hair a variety of colors, pierced her nose, her bellybutton and some part of her vagina I told her I didn’t want to know about, and she has secret tattoos.
They’re secret because she knows her parents will have coronaries if they ever found out about them.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” I’m teasing her. Drawing this out. But I need to get on with it. Time is limited.
“Jesus, just tell me already.”
Thinking About You Page 6
