by Portia Moore
“Are you ready to—” he starts, but I finish the sentence for him.
“Fuck?” I whisper, and his eyes light up at what I’ve just said. “I wouldn’t have come here if I wasn’t.” He picks me up and carries me over to the couch. It’s massive and probably cost three times more than the dress I was wearing.
“You are a goddess,” he whispers, his fingers trailing over my skin, before he lies on top of me. I can feel him, so hard and already throbbing for me. I’m greedy. Right now I want him more than I’ve ever wanted a man.
I arch myself up to kiss him, reaching down to unbuckle his suit pants. He groans as he springs free and slips a condom on. His size is more than impressive and my eyes go wide at the sight of him. Not only is he long, but thick, and my insides clench at the promise of what they’re about to have. “You get right to the point, don’t you?” he asks, his tone sending shivers up my spine.
“I do,” I mutter into his mouth as I take it in my hand and stroke it. He groans and I rub it against me, playing with him, teasing him, feeling it throb against me. He pushes me on my back and attacks my mouth. Our tongues battle before he slides into me and I involuntarily let out a gasp. He’s so much bigger than Ryan, but I adjust quickly and begin to move with him.
“He was a fool for leaving you,” he whispers in my ear, as his thrusts become faster. I don’t correct him that I left him.
“Oh God,” I moan, throwing my head back. “Jackson.” I whimper his name. I feel it coming and I’m shocked at another orgasm building, strictly from him being inside of me. That never happens. My vision is becoming blurry and I’m almost afraid of it happening.
“Oh shit, I think I’m about to cum!” I shriek, almost confused.
He looks down at me with a devilish grin. “There’s no thinking, sweetheart. You’re about to, because I happen to be an expert at making women cum.” A slow deep thrust followed by another excruciatingly slow and pleasurable one, and I cum.
Oh my God, I’m dying.
No, I’m being born. My body is more alive than it’s ever been before and my climax is unlike any I’ve ever experienced—an explosion that tenses my entire body, my vision almost leaving me. The shriek I let out is embarrassing, and my body stills from pleasure as I come down in waves. His smile is magnificently cocky before he lays me back down again and positions me so that I have the full girth of him inside of me. I moan, feeling him stretch me, and close my eyes.
The thought of actually giving this up is driving me crazy. He tenses and I feel his thighs tremble and the warmness of him spilling inside of the condom. I’m still panting, my body trembling next to Jackson, who is panting in ecstasy himself. After a few moments he rests his hands on his sculpted forearms and turns towards me.
“That was amazing,” he manages. I smile, and to my surprise he rolls over and pulls me into a cuddling position. “You’re good. You shouldn’t give up,” he jokes, reminding me of the proclamation I made earlier.
He kisses the back of my neck and wraps his arms around my body.
I know this is the part where I need to get up, grab my clothes, and leave. I did what I hoped to do: him.
And the sex was spectacular, but anything more than that and this can get dangerous. I start to sit up but his hand makes its way between my thighs and begins to play there.
I know I’m not going anywhere.
I don’t remember falling asleep but somewhere in between him rocking my body throughout the night, I must have passed out, and now it’s morning because the dark and beautifully lit sky is now bright. I’m also in his bed and no longer on the couch where we started at last night. I get up and see him in the living room bare-chested, on the phone, wearing cotton pajama bottoms.
I need to leave.
It’s the perfect opportunity to. I grab my things and clumsily put them on. He snaps his fingers at me and holds up a finger as if to tell me to wait a minute, but I can’t. I have to get out of here. This is crazy! I went home with a stranger last night old enough to be my dad…even if he doesn’t look like it. He shouldn’t be anyone’s dad. Maybe a hot older brother.
“I’ll call you right back,” he tells the voice on the other end of the phone.
“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.
“This was fun—beyond fun—but I’m not crazy. I know it was just sex so the pleasantries, or whatever you think you may need to show, aren’t necessary,” I reply, and a warm smile spreads over his face.
“I had fun too,” he tells me and I grin.
“Well, we should leave it at that,” I tell him, not recognizing the sadness in my voice, but I head to the door, willing myself forward.
“Does it have to be over?” he asks and my heart flinches.
“I mean, the fun…” he says, his voice warming me up. I can feel him behind me. My body remembering all the things he did to it last night.
“I need to shower,” he says simply, stepping in front of me, forcing me to stare at his hard chest.
“Want to cum?” he asks, savoring the innuendo with a challenge in his eyes. I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge and my body is threatening to revolt if I turn down one last chance at orgasmic bliss.
The shower is large enough for me and five friends to be in it. I can’t help but feel shy for some reason as he strips and heads in, waiting for me to join him. I take off last night’s clothes for the second time and walk into the warm water streaming from three different shower heads. It feels amazing on my skin.
I try to search my memory of every sexcapade I’ve had and shower sex has never happened because the showers were never big enough. Obviously this isn’t a problem here. I instantly relax as I feel a sponge softer than any I’ve ever used glaze across my back. My hair is sticking to my skin, long wet dark tendrils draping my body, and he plucks each of them so they’re off my back and covering my breasts. This is one of the most erotic things I’ve ever experienced. It’s insane that I’ve known this man less than 24 hours and I’m already this vulnerable around him. Seeing someone at the brink of pleasure, completely sincere, creates a connection. But this is creating something entirely different.
“Why were you trying to run out earlier?” he asks gently, washing my body.
“I wasn’t running,” I counter, slightly defensive.
“I think you were.” He firmly turns me towards him. Our bodies touch and I can already feel that he’s hard as it bumps against me.
“Maybe I was. I thought it’d work out for both of us. Save the awkwardness of the conversation you have after a one-night stand,” I counter, and he grins slightly.
“You have a lot of those?” he asks, a hint of possessiveness, or maybe jealousy, underneath his tone.
“Maybe,” I say cockily.
“I doubt that. It’d take a hell of a man to only get one taste of you and not come back for more.” His voice is deep and full of desire, and when he kisses me it’s slow but urgent. His tongue plays with mine and I’m dizzy, which reminds me of the night before. I’m almost giddy with what will come next.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says, kissing my neck as his finger slides inside of me. First one, then two. And it still doesn’t compare to the width of him.
“Go and get one,” I beg.
“I just want to see your face in the light, like how it was last night,” he tells me, pushing further and getting a rhythm before he pushes down on the most sensitive part of me, and I’m moaning, my body already awake, expectant. His mouth is on my breast, my stomach, and I stop him, and edge him back to the stool, demanding him to sit.
“My turn,” I tell him, forcing him to sit. He watches me curiously, he looks magnificent, his body shimmering with water. I kneel down and take him into my mouth slow at first, savoring every inch of him. The groan he lets out causes me to throb. His hands tangle through my hair and I move my tongue against him, feeling him grow harder. His groans become guttural and when he explodes I swallow every bit of it. I stand up
and watch him just like he watched me, vulnerable in ecstasy. He pulls me on top of him when his strength comes back, just holding me close. My body is still aching with need, wanting him to finish what he’s started. I kiss him long and deep and I’m lost in it. He’s hard again and I’m trying to think, knowing that he doesn’t have a condom, both of us fighting our desire…until we give in. He slips inside of me and the feel of him with no barrier between us is insane. He grips my hips as I ride him, both of us panting, our breathing almost in sync. I feel it coming and as his grasp tightens on my waist I know he’s about to come too, and he does right after me. He grips my hair, the pain of it pleasurable and only heightening the body-numbing orgasm that’s gripping me.
“Are you going to run now?” he asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. I’m still catching my breath.
“No, too hungry,” I tell him, relishing how good my body feels. It’s like I’m floating, every bit of stress and anxiety I’ve experienced the past few months gone. I’m on a cloud and I can’t tear the smile off my face.
After we used the shower for its actual purpose of getting clean, we sit in the kitchen—him in a navy satin robe, me in one made of the softest cotton I’ve ever felt before. He orders room service and fluffy golden pancakes, fresh fruit, crispy bacon, and seasoned potatoes arrive. Both our plates are piled high as we stuff our faces, giving our bodies the fuel they need from the exhaustion we caused each other.
“So, what are you doing here with an old guy like me?” he asks, wearing a charming smile. I roll my eyes at him.
“You’re not that old,” I scold him.
“Old enough to be your f—”
“Please don’t ever say that,” I tell him emphatically, and he lets out a glorious chuckle.
“How old are you?” he asks, his eyes twinkling at me.
“I turned twenty-three in March,” I say matter-of-factly. The corner of his mouth turns up.
“Twenty three and already proposed to? I can’t say I blame the poor guy,” he says with a shrug.
“Change the subject,” I breathe, hating the direction this conversation is going in.
“Are you out of school?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yeah, I have my bachelor’s and I freelance doing graphic design.” He nods.
“And you?” I ask him. He must be really good at something to have the car he does and a place like this.
“I’m in real estate,” he says simply.
“You don’t live in Chicago?” I ask him curiously, wanting him to say no. If he doesn’t it’d be perfect. We could theoretically keep things super casual and have amazing sex whenever he’s in town.
“I live a lot of places,” he tells me and nervous butterflies break out in my stomach.
“I’m on the road at least ninety percent of the time,” he adds, and that makes me optimistic again.
“Have you been with a lot of women my age?” I ask him straight out. He gives me a boyish half smile.
“What do you think?” he counters, his strong arms folded across his chest.
“I think you could be with any kind of woman you want,” I tell him honestly.
“I haven’t done this in a while,” he says, almost sheepishly, and it turns me on like nothing else.
“Well, Jackson Scully,” I say, remembering his last name from his ID.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all stage five clinger on you. I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t ever want to be in a relationship again and you can walk away, no worries about hurting a sweet young girl’s feelings,” I say with an honest grin. He matches mine.
“I like that you freelance. There’s nothing like having the freedom to do whatever you want, right?” he asks, running his hand through his beard as if contemplating something.
“Ugh, yeah…” I say amused. He leans his body forward, resting on his forearms.
“I’m going to Miami for a business trip. No pressure, no promises...just, do you want to come?”
Do I want to come to Miami? Who the hell wouldn’t? My body screams yes. I’ve never been to Miami and going with someone who could create guaranteed orgasms was a no-brainer, but in the back of my mind I could hear Melissa. Why the hell are you going out of town with a guy you just met when you should be here getting your life together?
“It’s not a good time. I’m still looking for a place and it’s just not in my budget at the moment,” I tell him regretfully. I’m proud of myself. I’m becoming more mature…and miserable. This really sucks. He frowns at me.
“Madison, I’m inviting you. You wouldn’t have to pay for anything,” he says with a boyish smile. Now it’s my turn to frown at him.
“Not the plane tickets?” I ask unsurely. He shakes his head.
“No. Where we’re staying is already paid for. And you can call it old school, but I’m not inviting you somewhere and having you pay for yourself. All you’d have to do is show up,” he tells me, and I realize my mouth is partly open so I snap it shut.
“Nothing. I don’t have to pay for anything?” I ask, making sure I’ve heard him right. He looks at me almost amused.
“Not a thing,” he says with a spectacular smile.
There’s no fucking way I’m saying no to fantastic sex in Miami where I don’t have to pay for anything. Melissa will just have to freak. Shit, I have to call her!
“When do we leave?” I ask, containing my excitement.
“Tonight. We leave tonight, sweetheart,” he says and takes my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses it. That alone causes me to become nervous because it’s a gesture I like. And I really only need to like him for the sex.
Four
I’m in a fantastic mood when I walk into the apartment but as soon as I get through the door Melissa is waiting on me, wearing her crown of buzzkill draped with a judgmental death glare.
“Had fun?” she asks, condescension threading her tone.
“I did until I got here,” I counter with a smug smile. I head to my room and start to pack my bags. Jackson says we’ll be gone for four days. I figure I’ll wear swimsuits most of the time so I shouldn’t have to take much.
“What are you doing?” she asks curiously.
“Cataloging my clothes,” I lie, not wanting to have this argument about me leaving until I’m heading out the door.
“I’m sorry, what the hell happened to you last night?” she asks. I continue to keep my focus on the cute things I’m taking. I know once I tell her she’s going to shit all over my excitement.
“How was your night?” I ask, changing the subject.
Her eyes narrow in on me.
“My night was fine,” she says lightly. “Except I couldn’t find my sister, and I was worried something had happened to her. Then I get a ridiculous text about her being at some random guy’s hotel room and she doesn’t answer even after I call her a million times. Like, what the hell is wrong with you Madison? You aren’t nineteen anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” I say genuinely. “You were busy working, and I didn’t want to interrupt you when I left and…I sort of got distracted and forgot to text you back.”
“So who did you go out with?”
“Someone,” I answer, blushing, “from the party.”
“I thought that after Ryan, you weren’t going to see anyone for awhile….”
“I…” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t think I would either. But this isn’t me seeing anyone, more like screwing someone.”
“What’s his name?” she asks with a judgmental brow arched.
“Jackson,” I say simply.
“And Jackson knows that you’re not in an emotional place at all to be exploring any new relationships?”
“I’m not exploring anything. I had sex, amazing, crazy, filthy, dirty sex. It was fantastic and we’re going to do it again. That’s it!” I finally say, having had enough.
“Wow,” she says in disbelief. “So you totally had a one-night stand.” She laughs but there’s no hum
or in it.
“If you want to look at it like that, sure,” I say with a shrug. “But…we are going to see each other again.”
“Really?” she says dryly. “When?”
“Tonight,” I reply and I stop trying to see how long she’s going to stand here lecturing me.
“Let me guess, you’re going to the beach?” she asks sarcastically, holding up a bikini.
“Yes we are,” I tell her, throwing my hands up in exasperation.
“And please tell me what beach is open in early April?” she asks contemptuously.
“Miami Beach, okay? He’s taking me to Miami!” I say, finally exasperated. Her eyebrows shoot up.
“Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that you’re going out of town with a guy you just met, tonight?” she asks. And I frown.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying so go ahead and get it out of your system, or let me save you the time. It’s a terribly stupid idea and I’m an idiot for doing it.” I put my hands on my hips. Her face is red and she’s glowering at me.
“Whatever,” I say quietly and take a banana from the fruit bowl. “I promise I’ll be safe.”
“How do you know he isn’t trying to traffic you? You don’t even know this guy!” she screeches and I let out a frustrated sigh, grab my phone, and shoot her a text of his driver’s license.
“There! You keep it and if I disappear you’ll have all the evidence you need,” I proclaim sarcastically. I know I’m wrong and she’s right, and she’s saying all of this out of love, but I just don’t want to hear it right now. Or ever, if possible.
She pulls out her phone to look at the message. Her eyes narrow in on the picture, and I can see the approval in seeing his photo, but then comes the grimace and I know she’s spotted his age.
“Forty-five, Maddy? Are you insane?” she asks exasperated.
“I absolutely am,” I tell her, expressionless. She shakes her head.
“If he’s single at forty-five something is wrong with him. I hope you know that!” she spits.
“As long as there’s nothing wrong with his dick, and I’ve made sure of that!” I sing. She huffs, disgusted, and finally leaves. My phone beeps and I pull it out. It’s Jackson, sending me the details of the trip. I forward it to Melissa and flop down on the bed. I’m definitely in need for some retail therapy, and for what better reason than a trip to Miami?
