Inhibitions

by Mattie Bowman

  I gripped his hips with my thighs and hooked an arm around his neck, forcing him to flip over—who am I kidding he let me do it—positioning me on top of him. I used his hard chest to balance myself with my hands, riding him until he growled, the motion forcing his eyes closed.

  “Uh-uh,” I said. “Look at me.” I copied him, but when he opened his eyes, I saw he was there, all I had to do was take him.

  I dug my fingers into his chest and rolled my hips back and forth, enjoying the bite of his nails on the skin of my thighs as he held on.

  “Fuck, Presley!” He cried out at the same time he hardened another degree inside me, sending the perfect amount of pressure to each of my nerve endings, successfully taking my orgasm to an entirely new level. Every tight spring inside me burst, uncoiling in a deliciously warm way that made all of my muscles feel like jelly the second the explosions stopped. I collapsed on top of his chest, my cheek sticking against the sweat.

  Our breaths matched a ragged pattern as we came down. He played with my hair as we laid, unmoving besides our racing heartbeats, my mind swirling in a cloud of pleasure and awe. Sex had never been that good for me before, and I’d never wanted it so instantly again afterward either.

  I propped my chin on his chest, grinning deviously at him.

  “Already, woman?”

  “Don’t have time to waste,” I joked as I planted kisses along his skin.

  He grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing me to look at him. “We have all the time in the world.”

  Before I could contradict him, before I could let my mind get in the way of the heaven he took my body to, he silenced me with a kiss and a flick of that expert tongue of his.

  10 Owen

  “Do we have to go?” Presley purred the words from her position against my chest; one bare leg draped over my hips.

  I flipped over, holding myself above her with one arm. “If you want to nail the story of your dreams…” I brushed my lips against hers. “Then, yes. We have to go.”

  She did that thing with her mouth that was half pout half smile. It had always made me smile, but now, with her naked underneath me, it made me want to make her scream my name again.

  “We could always stay here and just…” She hooked her leg around my hip again and proceeded to slowly move beneath me in a way that made me growl. I sank on top of her, slipping my tongue between her lips as she wrapped her arms around my neck, holding me close.

  And I was hard again. Holy shit I hadn’t gone this many times in a row since college. She reached down with one hand and gripped me, guiding me to her hot center. I sunk into her an inch before jerking backward. “How the hell am I the voice of reason here?”

  With a huff, she rolled out of bed. “Fine.”

  “Hey, this wasn’t my idea!” I called after her as she closed the door to the bathroom. I buried my face into the pillow I gripped, a poor excuse for her soft breasts I’d spent plenty of time between in the last thirteen hours.

  She swung the door open, a pair of black panties and bra on, and her toothbrush in her hand. With her free hand, she snapped her fingers. “Well, you’re the one who talked me out of bed, now I’m not going to be late.”

  “Being late is somehow worse than not showing up at all?” I tilted my head at her logic.

  She chuckled while she brushed her teeth, but snapped her fingers again. I took my time getting out of bed and sliding into my briefs, not because she didn’t own me—cause she fucking did. She didn’t know, but that snap was more than a turn on. I’d worshiped her for hours last night and this morning and would’ve happily done so until we passed out from starvation, but we had a session with Grant today, and I wasn’t about to let her lose anything she could use for her article. She already had the coffee table in the living room covered with notes and she was just getting started.

  We got dressed, and I puffed out my chest every time I caught her staring. I may kill myself in the gym to stay solid for my fights, but seeing that look on Presley’s face? Like I was the last bite in the Nutella jar she coveted? Yeah, I would never complain about the reps Craig put me through ever again. Funny, I’d had countless woman compliment my body before but it was different with Presley. Everything was. Like last night, I hadn’t fucked her. I’d made love to her.

  My stomach sank at the same time my chest tightened. I cleared the rock in my throat, unsure of the source of discomfort. When she came out of the bathroom, fully dressed in a white silk blouse and tight black jeans, I realized what it was.

  Fear.

  “You ready?” She asked, an easy grin on her face. The same grin she would don on our way to Sunday brunch.

  I closed the space between us, taking her face in my hands and pressing my lips against hers. She melted against me, letting me stroke and suck her tongue until I’d forced the fear down, slapping that shit with the passion that roared in my chest for her.

  “What was that for?” She asked, breathless when I let her go.

  I shrugged. “Now that I can do that, I don’t want to stop.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and I rethought my brilliant idea to attend the session. “I know what you mean,” she said, before turning on her red heels and clicking toward the door.

  Catching up to her, I took her hand as we walked down the stairs. Trying to ignore the realization of the difference between today and yesterday—how this motion had seemed so innocent then where now it seemed to scream my claim on the woman—I forced my thoughts to stick to things I could handle. Like how I could still smell her on my skin or how her ass looked in those jeans. How the smile she had this morning was due in large part to what I’d done to her, and how I had never been able to actually sleep with a woman before, but I’d held Presley the whole night and slept like a rock—when she’d let me.

  The thought brought a smirk to my lips, and I found myself counting the seconds until the session was over and I could get her back to bed.

  “Quinn,” she said, her friendly greeting bringing me back to the present as we hit the last stair in the lobby. “How are you?”

  A tall dude with blond hair and a decent set of guns on him smiled at her. “Hey there, Presley.” He wrapped his arms around a petite brunette I recognized.

  “Tara,” I said, recalling her name from…had it only been yesterday?

  “Owen!”

  We chuckled as we all darted eyes between each other, attempting to surmise how the other knew the counter. Presley’s grip tightened on my hand when she glanced at Tara.

  “This is my wife,” Quinn said, breaking the awkward silence.

  “It’s so good to meet you,” Presley said, shaking her hand.

  “She’s the one I was telling you about,” he said, nudging Tara.

  “Oh.” She laughed. “Did you have to take his money? I could’ve bought a new bag with that,” she joked.

  Presley feigned innocence. Poker. That explained where she’d met Quinn. He glanced over at me.

  “She told me you were hers but damn dude, I didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Didn’t want to get his hopes up, is what he means,” Tara said, smacking his chest. “He’s a big fan.”

  I shook his hand and eyed Presley. “That’s how you talk about me? That I’m yours?”

  “Aren’t you?” She tried to make the question sound playful, and I was sure to the two virtual strangers standing next to us, it came off that way, but to me? I knew her too well. I heard the crack in her voice at the end of the question and that, paired with the uncertainty barely masked in her eyes, told me she was struggling with the annoying reality questions we had yet to deal with.

  I slipped my hand down her back, tugging her to me and kissing her to show her just how much hers I really was. She squeaked under my assault, but after a second she opened underneath me, letting me in like we were the only two people in the resort.

  Which we weren’t, as a cleared throat reminded me. I gently pulled away, enjoying the second flush to redden Presley’s ski
n that morning.

  “We have to be going,” Quinn motioned up the stairs. “Hope to see you two around, though.” Tara nodded her agreement as he tugged her up the stairs.

  “Was that you marking your territory or…”

  I shook my head. “Just an answer to a question.”

  She pressed her lips together, a soft smile playing at the corners. “Hmm.”

  I squinted at her, threading my fingers through her hair. “Are you questioning everything, too?”

  She let out a breath, her shoulders sinking. “Yes.”

  I chuckled, she sounded so relieved. “You shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve always been on the same page.”

  “True,” she said. “I just wish—”

  “Presley!” Anderson called from near the front desk.

  A flare of jealousy popped in my chest, but I settled it down with the reminder that the butler hadn’t really been after Presley. Though I’d fabricated the incident in my head, it still set heavy inside my gut.

  “Hey, Anderson,” she answered, tugging me across the lobby.

  “You two are cutting it close.” He looked at his watch but smiled at Presley like they shared a secret joke. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh,” she said, sighing. I rubbed her back in an attempt to assure her she had nothing to be embarrassed about. I’d assumed my complete and utter devouring of her last night would’ve proven that. Maybe I’d need to go harder tonight. The thought shot straight to my dick and once again I tried to think about anything other than her soft body against mine. “I’m feeling much better,” she continued. “Thanks for the meds. They totally helped. And I’m so sorry about the…mess.”

  “No worries, Pres.”

  She chuckled at his attempt to give her a nickname, and I gave the dude credit. He was sticking to the deal they’d struck to be more laid back around her.

  “You better head in,” he said, motioning behind him toward Grant’s office. He leaned a little closer to us, lowering his voice. “Be excited. He’s giving you access to the Wonderland rooms today.”

  Presley gasped, and I arched an eyebrow at him. He shrugged with a smile and left us to walk to our session.

  “I wonder if he’s right,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Does that scare you?” I asked, noting the worry lines by her eyes.

  She smoothed out her face. “No, of course not. I need to get in a few of them to give Pamela the full spectrum of this place. Just…no idea what to expect.”

  I had an inkling but kept my mouth shut as we walked into Grant’s office. Thankfully he was restringing an electric guitar instead of doing yoga. It was my lucky day.

  “Tell me,” he said right after we’d sat down on the loveseat opposite the couch he occupied. “What is more thrilling, having sex or making plans to have sex?”

  Presley and I spared a glance toward each other, but I deferred to her to go first, as usual.

  “Sex.” She answered quickly.

  “Owen?” Grant asked, barely looking up from his guitar as he wrapped another string on it.

  I shifted in the seat. “Planning,” I answered honestly.

  Presley snapped her head to me, her eyebrows raised. “Really?”

  I looked between the two of them. “Yeah,” I said, moving my hands in circles as my brain formed the reasoning behind my answer. “It’s the build-up, the anticipation. Knowing it will happen makes you think about it more, dream about it, breathe it every second until it happens.” Whoa, that came a little too easily to me, but it was true. I’d thought about Presley enough times in our past that by the time we got to where we did last night—it had been like five years of foreplay. What was more thrilling than that? Okay, so finally getting to make love to her had been equally thrilling, but that slow burn we’d had for so long? It made the moment that much hotter. “What’s the right answer?” I asked.

  Grant’s black hair had fallen over the guitar, and he tossed the mess over his shoulder, finally looking up at us. “There isn’t a right answer. I was just curious.”

  “I doubt that,” I said.

  He grinned. “And why is that?”

  “You’re all about analyzing people, their answers to hand-picked questions, and how they compare.” I nudged Presley, telepathically telling her to take notes. “That’s what makes you so successful, yeah?”

  He plucked at the strings on the guitar, the tiny chords ringing from it nothing compared to what it’d be if he plugged it into an amp. The instrument seemed more natural in his arms than the yoga had suited him, in my opinion.

  “Are you in a band?” Presley asked as if reading my mind.

  “I used to be.”

  “It was pretty well known, wasn’t it?” Presley asked.

  He shrugged.

  “And you quit to do this?”

  “I didn’t exactly quit. I still play with them on occasion. We’ve even done private shows for the guests here.” He set the guitar down, leaning it against the couch. “I had something else to give. A talent and a drive to help couples I couldn’t ignore.” He glanced at the instrument. “Passion comes in all different forms. I’m lucky enough to get to exploit both of mine.” Returning the focus to us, he smirked. “Speaking of exploitation…”

  Presley’s breathing picked up only enough for me to notice as he handed her two baby blue card keys.

  “You are welcome to explore the Wonderland rooms today.”

  She took the keys, handing me one as she arched an eyebrow at Grant. “Really? I assumed with all my foul-ups we wouldn’t be allowed.” She tried to laugh at herself, but it came off forced. I put my hand on her thigh and relished how her muscle relaxed under my touch.

  “There are no such things as foul-ups, Presley.” Grant reached his arms behind his head, wrapping a black rubber band around his hair into some sort of weird man-bun. “There is only life. Even in fantasy, reality is throwing tests your way. You and Owen have passed them where others would’ve given up. Or blamed each other. I’ve seen it. It’s awful when people take their own shame out on their partners.” He sucked his teeth. “I’m impressed and want to reward you. I only ask that you remember our agreed upon disclosure contract with whichever rooms you choose to partake in, if any.”

  “Absolutely,” Presley said. “I will be brief in the details, only including enough to paint a very vague picture for our readers.”

  “You’ll be a tease,” he said, that devious grin back on his face. “I can see that.” He glanced at me with a knowing look. “Don’t wear yourselves out too much today,” he continued. “Tomorrow is fantasy number three.”

  “Great,” Presley said, the less-than-excited tone not lost on Grant or myself. I tried not to laugh, but Grant didn’t try at all.

  “No foul-ups remember? Just another opportunity to discover each other on a deeper level. Yes?” He stood, motioning toward the door.

  I was thankful for the short session but wondered what would constitute a longer one as I’d heard Anderson explain to Presley that the sessions could vary from five minutes to two hours depending on the need.

  Presley turned to me after we’d made it halfway down the hallway. “Food or Wonderland room?” she asked, flashing the blue key at me.

  The struggle was real—my stomach ached from our lack of fuel after last night’s marathon, but the curiosity over what the hell exactly was offered in those rooms picked at my brain. Plus, I knew regardless of what it was, Presley and I could have fun figuring them out. But they weren’t going anywhere, and I’d only get hungrier.

  She nodded as if she had been inside my head as I warred between the two options.

  “Food. Then sex,” she said, slipping the key into her back pocket.

  “You are the perfect woman,” I said and smacked her ass as she led the way to the restaurant.

  “All the Wonderland rooms are located on the uppermost level of the resort.” Jessica led us down the long corridors that seemed to twist and turn end
lessly with an array of doors lining each one.

  The atmosphere was different up here—or it could just be the dim lighting and red carpet that gave off a carnival-like feel—but the difference between this floor and the floor of our suite was drastic. Our floor was smooth wood and bright light let in from windows at stationed places in the halls. Here was dark, and on purpose, the sounds coming from the rooms varied so much I couldn’t tell if people were enjoying themselves or fighting or dancing or all of the above.

  “Themes are listed on the iPad panels next to the door of choice, which are also color coded.”

  “Color coded?” Presley repeated, squinting to get a better look at the door closest to us.

  Jessica pointed to it. “Green. This one is the lowest on the risqué scale.” She leaned over the iPad stuck in the wall next to the door and read off the name. “Sweet shop.” She pointed at the screen. “This red light means it’s currently occupied. If it’s white, it means the room is available. Always be sure to enter the number on your key-code here to indicate it is occupied. The code will also ensure it locks after you’ve indicated the room is in use. And don’t worry, every room is attended to by at least three of our staff once a couple checks out of it.”

  Presley chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes working notes in her head. I loved watching her mind get analytical about topics that were so far from a typical day-job professional’s thought process would be like. She had it easy—get paid to come to a fantasy resort and play with her best friend—while I had to beat the shit out guys to earn my paychecks, not that I was complaining. And wait, was I still just her best friend? Fuck, we needed to figure that one out at some point.

  “Here is a red door.” Jessica pointed out. “Medium on the risqué scale. Spy suite.”

  Presley tilted her head.

  “Bondage? Handcuffs, neckties…” Jessica raised her eyebrows, asking if she needed to explain further. I shook my head, pressing my lips together. “Also, if you have any questions regarding the details of the room and its theme, you can find that under ‘info’ which is this button.” She pointed to the lower right-hand corner. “And, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. There are the standard safety buttons within each room as well.” She glanced at Presley and gave her a soft smile.