Night Fever

by Jessica Hawkins

  He flipped her onto her back and took what he needed as she tried to keep up with every overwhelming sensation. His muscular arms propped him up, the tendons in his neck strained, his eyes stayed on her bouncing tits until finally he slammed one, two, three times and came deep inside her.

  Lola was slick everywhere. She couldn’t take her eyes off him as their bodies heaved. A sweat rivulet trickled down his temple onto her stomach. He held himself up with one hand and put the other just above her mound. He circled his thumb once over her pulsating clit. “I want to feel you clench around me again, nice and slow this time.”

  Her back arched from the mattress. “Ah,” she breathed. She was sensitive, but he was gentle—until she was so hungry for her orgasm that she needed it a little harder. She raised her hips, and he increased his pressure, using only his thumb as the rest of his fingers splayed and pressed down on her lower stomach.

  He slid in and out of her only a little. “Just to feel my cum inside you,” he said lustily. His heavy-lidded eyes didn’t leave her face. She tried to tell him it was the most erotic moment of her life, but her words came out as gasps. His arm began to shake from holding himself up, but he didn’t stop. Her orgasm seemed to return rather than start again. It roiled through her, slower, deeper, with her hanging onto his cock in a way that made him moan along with her.

  His arm gave out, and he collapsed over her. He nuzzled into her neck, kissed her hairline. “Salty,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to find out how you taste everywhere else.”

  Lola was ravaged. She welcomed his weight on her already sinking body. She descended limb by limb into the mattress while her mind floated into darkness. Her entire body jerked as she gasped and opened her eyes. “Oh my God,” she said. “Did I fall asleep?”

  He lifted his head and chuckled. “Just for a second.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I assumed it…wasn’t allowed. Sleeping. I thought you wouldn’t want to.”

  He kissed her forehead, her temple. “I don’t,” he said into her ear.

  Her stomach growled.

  His body shook on top of her in a silent laugh. “Hungry?”

  “Any chance there’s actual food on that cart?”

  “I can order up something.”

  “It has to be two in the morning by now.”

  “For what I’m paying a night, they’ll bring us food at any time.”

  “Mind if I shower while we wait?” she asked.

  “I mind.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “But I’m—”

  “Exactly how I want you,” he finished. He pulled out from between her legs and fell back on the bed. She turned onto her side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and kept her close as he reached for the phone and pulled it to his ear.

  “I’d like to order breakfast,” he said and paused. “I don’t care what time it starts. Send up whatever you have. Omelets, bacon, croissants, orange juice.”

  “French toast,” Lola whispered.

  He pulled the phone away. “What?”

  “French toast,” she said, looking back at him.

  “And two orders of French toast.” A beat passed before he said, “Well, perhaps tomorrow night I should find a hotel that can.” He winked at her as he listened. “Ah, I’m so glad you’ll make it work.”

  “Coffee,” she added.

  “Most importantly, I’ll need some coffee too. Yes, that’s fine.” He hung up and hugged her from behind with both arms. “So she likes French toast.”

  “As a rule, anything breakfast food.”

  “Well. I’m glad we get to eat breakfast together.” He looked down at her. “But apparently you aren’t. You’re frowning.”

  “Sorry,” she said quietly.

  He rubbed his stubbled chin against her neck, and she smiled. “Good thing you tickle easily.”

  “I do not,” she said, but when he went to do it again, she wriggled in his arms and cried, “Okay, okay, I do.”

  “So, why the frown?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Eating breakfast together almost seems…”

  “Worse?” he asked.

  “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  He leaned in and whispered, “Just think of it as fuel.”

  “Beau,” she chastised, but she was smiling.

  “All I can think of when I’m near you is how to get closer.”

  “You’re practically on top of me. You just fucked my tits for God’s sake.”

  He nipped her earlobe. “And you just turned me to stone again with one sentence.”

  “Already?” Lola asked.

  “I’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?”

  “Room service will be here any minute.”

  “Then we’d better be quick.”

  He rolled her over and lay on top of her. He swept his hands over her hairline and his lips over her nose and mouth.

  “This isn’t quick,” Lola said, but her sentence ended in a sharp gasp.

  He’d reached down and slid his fingers into her. “Just let me appreciate you. That sound you make.” He kissed her neck. “The way you feel in my hand,” he said against her skin. “That birthmark above your hipbone.”

  It seemed her mind had turned to mush—she could only answer him in moans. But you barely know me, she meant to say. She put her arms around his back.

  “Could you see yourself with me?” he whispered, as if someone might hear. He kept stroking her.

  “Don’t.” She closed her eyes. Her voice sounded far away. “Not right now.”

  “Right now,” he countered. “You can’t lie when I’m inside you.”

  When she swallowed, she did it quietly, even though Beau could see her throat. “I don’t even know what you’re like.”

  “I’ll tell you. Morning is my favorite time of day because it’s quiet and no one needs anything from me. So I wake up early and either use the gym or run in the Hills where I live. At work I mostly meet with investors or founders or wherever my secretary sends me. Some nights, more than I’d like, I attend events or parties. Other nights I come home and work more, which I prefer. I don’t get a lot of time alone at the office.”

  Lola’s eyes had been moving between his and his mouth as he spoke, but her mind was spending the day with Beau. In a way, the complicated life she’d imagined he’d have was even simpler than hers. There was no emotion in his routine, and that made it too easy to stay detached.

  “I could ease up on the work,” he added as an afterthought. “I’ve just never had a reason to.”

  Lola dropped her gaze to his neck. That life didn’t appeal to her, but Beau did. Those early-morning or late-night moments when they could intertwine like they were now. He needed that. She didn’t. She already had it. Johnny and Beau were miles apart, but even so, one person’s taste couldn’t be so divided. Lola and Beau were miles apart.

  “Maybe if things were different,” she said. “But they’re not.”

  “Like what? Give me one reason aside from the obvious one.”

  “The obvious one is a pretty big one,” she said. “But okay. I sleep until around noon, so…”

  He chuckled. “That’s easy. Get a job with regular hours. I’d help you find the right thing. Next?”

  “Next?” she asked. “That big reason. Johnny.”

  He tilted his head at her. “You really think he’s the one you’re meant to be with?”

  She bit her lip when he crooked his fingers inside her and massaged. “I don’t believe there’s only one person out there for each of us.”

  “You’ll change your mind when I go down on you.”

  She laughed breathily. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “It means…I’m confident we’ll find that my mouth is made for your pussy.” He flashed her a smile. “You’ll see. They’re meant to be.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, also grinning.

  “Ah, Lola. I don’t know what
’s better, your eyes or your smile.”

  “You don’t have to seduce me,” she said. “I’m already in your bed.”

  “I have to say,” he pulled his fingers out and slid them all over her, “I like having you in my bed.”

  “It’s not, though…” The ache in her built again, spurred on by his fingers. “Not your bed. Why would you stay here again tomorrow night?”

  “What makes you think I am?”

  “You said on the phone.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I just like to get out of my house sometimes.”

  Her bullshit radar went off. It wasn’t even a decent lie. “You’re bringing someone else here,” she guessed. The words came out sour. Not all of what they’d just done was pretty. Some of it was crude, but those were the moments Lola had submitted completely. Because nobody else could do those things to her that way and make them so good she could’ve screamed. Her mind flitted between the bedspread underneath her, the mouth above her, the warmth surrounding her. Could he so easily turn around and share that with someone else? She couldn’t. “I don’t want you to,” she said abruptly and unprompted. “I don’t want you to do these same things to someone else right after I was here.”

  “I’m not bringing anyone else here,” he said, but it felt as if he was placating her. “Hey.”

  She’d been staring down again, avoiding him.

  “Don’t look like that,” he said. “It’s the truth.”

  She lifted her eyes again. She was ridiculous for letting her mind go there. It wasn’t like her to act jealous. “Okay. Sorry.”

  “You know what I liked tonight?” he asked. “You on that stage. Asking me to send those women away. I lost it after that. God, you were sexy on that pole. Where’d you learn to dance?”

  He was still coaxing her, not enough to get her off, but enough to charm words out of her. She was tempted to tell him the truth—I used to take off my clothes for money. There was the risk he might see her differently, though. She didn’t want that for the little time they had left. “Ballet,” she said.

  “Ballet?”

  “Classes.” She moaned. “In middle school, I took a year of ballet, and we had this…this…,” she swallowed, “teacher…”

  “Yes?”

  She breathed in and out. “I can’t think when you’re touching me like this.”

  He stopped but didn’t remove his hand. “Your ballet teacher,” he prompted.

  “She thought I had potential. She took me under her wing. For years after, she let me attend lessons for free. Since I couldn’t—Beau, this is worse. Either do it or don’t.”

  He smiled and narrowed his eyes on her. He traced his finger along the outside of her and slipped it inside again.

  “She gave me free lessons because I couldn’t,” her voice pitched, “afford them.”

  “A ballerina,” he said reverentially. “So she loves to dance.”

  “She loves to dance.” Lola nodded and cocked her head. “I think I heard something.”

  “Impossible,” Beau said. “I just called downstairs.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Guess they don’t have a lot of orders this time of night,” she said.

  “Ignore it. They’ll wait.”

  She laughed lightly. “You practically threatened their lives if they didn’t bring you your breakfast.”

  He sighed. “Then I guess we’ll have to pick this up later.” He got up and pulled on his boxer briefs. Lola unpeeled her stockings, found a robe in the bathroom, slipped into it and went out just as Beau was signing the receipt.

  He shut the door and turned. “My robe on you,” he said, shaking his head slowly, “an image that’ll soothe me on my deathbed.”

  “I was indecent.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “You were very indecent. But seeing you dressed just makes me want to undress you.” He backed her up against the wall and nibbled her neck.

  “The food,” she said breathily but laughing.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Beau,” she whined.

  “Ah, fuck. Fine.” He released her but not before kissing her once on the lips. “First, we refuel.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Beau moved breakfast plates from the food cart to the hotel room’s dining table while Lola watched. He distributed silverware and poured them each orange juice. Seated with a napkin on his lap, he drizzled syrup onto his French toast. He cut four bite-sized squares with his fork and knife before looking up at Lola. “Lose your appetite?”

  “No.”

  Earlier, on her way to the bathroom to change into a robe, she’d paused at the closet. Beau’s suit had been hung. It’d been done haphazardly, but it was on a hanger nonetheless. There’d barely even been a moment to do it. She’d been faced away from him when he’d taken it off—had he hung it then? It was turning out that the bedroom was the only place Beau could get dirty.

  Lola tended toward tidy, but not at that level. She hadn’t forgotten Beau’s description of his daily routine and as he took a bite of his portioned food, she envisioned him eating that way every morning, alone in a spotless kitchen.

  She picked up her French toast, loaded the plate with bacon and fruit and stuck a fork between her teeth. With her other hand, she put the syrup under her arm, picked up a bowl of powdered sugar, turned and walked away.

  “Where are you going?” he called after her.

  “Eating in bed,” she said between her teeth.

  He followed her. “You’ll make a mess.”

  She put everything down on the white comforter.

  “You already got syrup on my robe,” he said, pointing at the sleeve.

  “So what? Don’t you get maid service?”

  “Well, yes. We aren’t finished with the bed, though.”

  She forked an entire half of toast and tore off a bite with her teeth. “So we get a little sticky,” she said, chewing. “A little sugary. That so bad?”

  He raised both eyebrows at her.

  “You ever heard of breakfast in bed?” she asked.

  “I don’t think this is what’s meant by it.”

  She waved her hand. “Sure it is.”

  Lola didn’t eat breakfast anywhere other than her kitchen, but Beau needed his boundaries pushed a little. She’d crawled on the floor for him—he could handle some unscheduled fun. She took another bite as they stared each other down. When he still hadn’t moved, she hopped up on the mattress.

  “Lola, what—? Watch the syrup.”

  “Does this bother you?” she asked, jumping once. The syrup tipped over.

  He lunged forward and caught it before more than a few drops escaped. “I just don’t understand why—”

  She grabbed the syrup from his hands and stuck a finger in it. She glossed some over her lips. “Ready for me?” she asked.

  “What—”

  She threw her arms around his neck. He caught her just as her legs went around his waist. She kissed him hard on the mouth, spreading syrup all over him.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

  He’d gotten into her. She wasn’t just testing him—she was actually giddy, experiencing a second wind for the night. She licked the sauce from his upper lip. “Hmm. Interesting. There’s syrup all over your face, my face, your robe, the bed. And yet, we’re still standing.”

  “Well, I’m standing,” he said, grinning. “You’re just wrapped around me being silly.”

  She nodded. “Is silly okay?”

  “Silly is okay.”

  “So then come have breakfast in bed with me.”

  “If you insist, though I don’t really see the point.”

  “There’s no point. This isn’t a negotiation or a board meeting where there needs to be an explanation for everything. There’s absolutely no fucking point at all, and that is the point.”

  He shook his head. “Fine. We’ll eat in bed, but you’ll have to get down.”

  “Take me with you.” She t
wisted to set the syrup back on the bed. “You might need extra hands.”

  He laughed but adjusted her ass and walked them to the table. She took both glasses of orange juice while he supported her with one hand and carried his plate in the other.

  When he lowered her onto the bed with one arm, the powdered sugar teetered. They looked at each other and smiled.

  “I feel like a child,” Beau said once they were seated and eating. “Even more like a child than when I was a child.”

  She smiled with her mouth shut as she chewed. “Me too,” she said when she’d swallowed.

  He took a bite and glanced up. “Why are you looking at me that way?” His legs were crossed in front of him. His forehead wrinkled.

  “I’m trying to picture you as a kid,” she said. “It’s hard. You have a very serious way about you.”

  “Is serious okay?”

  “Well…” She pretended to think. He tore off a piece of bacon and threw it at her. It felt like progress. “Serious is okay,” she relented, smiling. “But kids shouldn’t be too serious.”

  “I was responsible,” he said. “My dad was not reliable, and he’d leave for periods of time. I kind of became the man of the house.”

  “You said he was French? Did you ever live there?”

  “For a summer when I was seventeen. He went there on one of his stints and God knows why, but I asked to go with him.”

  Lola put down her fork. “I had the impression you grew up without much—like me.”

  “I did. He was an artist, and he insisted he couldn’t work in America, so he’d go back to France when he could. My mom didn’t travel. She’d get on his case so he’d pick up a job for a few months, but he could never keep it. Basically we lived on her secretary’s salary.”

  “He must’ve really loved you guys to keep coming back when he didn’t want to be here.”

  Beau looked up from his plate. “I ask myself that a lot. Why he even bothered coming back.” He cleared his throat.

  “He probably missed you,” Lola said, chewing. “It’s nice to be missed.” Her heart sank as she said it. She was probably being missed that very moment. She had to look away from Beau, who was the reason she hadn’t been missing Johnny as much as she’d thought she would.