His Hurricane

by Alexis Adaire

  His eyebrows lower in a sign of concern. “Are you sure? I’d hate to think you felt obligated in any way.”

  “I’ve shot down many men before. Trust me, I would shoot you down, too, if I wasn’t comfortable with the idea.”

  He leans over and kisses my forehead. My face is inches from his chest and when I smell that cologne again, my body tingles in anticipation.

  “I want this,” I say. I place a hand on his broad chest, running my fingers over the light sprinkling of brown hair.

  “Okay, but if you change your mind at any point…”

  “I won’t. I’m nervous as fuck. We’ll have to go slow, and none of that hair-pulling porno shit, okay? Be gentle with me.” I laugh anxiously and say, “If you fuck this up, you’ll be depriving future men of their chance.” Turning serious, I add, “But I want to be with you, Maddox. Badly.”

  “Me, too, Tempest. I’m glad you changed your mind. You can trust me.”

  In that moment, I know I can. He’s a man I can trust implicitly.

  Thirty minutes later, I’ve grown impatient. Making out on the sofa with Maddox has been incredible, but I’m ridiculously excited and ready for more. I put my hands on his chest and push him away. When I stand, I see the front of his linen pajama pants has a huge wet spot and I know he’s as turned on as I am.

  I grab them by the sides. “Lift your butt.” Then I tug and get them down his legs and toss them aside. There’s that beautiful cock again, the head slick with pre-cum. I reach behind my back and unzip my little sheath dress, letting it slide off my body.

  That’s it. We’re both naked. My panties came off ten minutes ago when I wanted to feel some part of him inside me. Maddox obliged with a finger, then a second one when my response demanded it.

  I take his hand and head to the bedroom. I lie on the bed and scoot back. When he climbs up, my hand is on his rock-hard cock, letting him know it’s time. I’m tired of waiting and eager to know what he’ll feel like inside of me.

  “Hang on, baby,” he says. “Let me get a condom.”

  Jesus, I hadn’t considered this. I don’t want him to wear one. But I’m not on the pill.

  “You said I can trust you,” I say. “Are you okay? Tested and all that stuff?”

  “I am,” he replies, “recently. And I haven’t been with anyone in a few months.”

  “Then don’t wear one,” I say impulsively. “I want to feel you. And I want you to feel me. Is that okay?”

  Maddox smiles. “It’s perfect. I’ll hold back.” I know that’s far from foolproof, but dammit, I want the sensation of him inside of me, skin-to-skin. It’s important to me for my first time doing this.

  He lowers his body on top of mine, hovering so that only our thighs are touching. I open my legs wide for him, my bare pussy slick with excitement.

  “Hey,” he says softly. I meet his gaze. “This is totally selfish, but I’m glad you waited. I’m glad I’m your first.”

  I kiss him tenderly. “I’m glad, too. I’m not even afraid. Much.”

  When I feel the head of that cock nudge my slippery folds, I’m immediately anxious again. He’s big, and I’ve never had anything in me anywhere close to that size. I remind myself that if “normal” women can do this, so can I.

  “Ready?” he whispers.

  I bit my lower lip and nod consent.

  Just when I expect him to push his way into me, he instead lowers his head to my neck and kisses it softly, then leaves a trail of those kisses to my ear. Taking the lobe between his teeth, he gently nuzzles it. I moan quietly and immediately feel a surge of wetness to my pussy.

  Then he enters me.

  He proceeds slowly, so much so that I’m ready to beg him to just put the damn thing in. His approach works perfectly though, because I remain excited and eager even when it starts to hurt a bit. Then he looks me right in the eye as he pushes through and takes my virginity.

  Maddox Ramsey has just become my first fuck.

  He kisses me again, then whispers, “Everything okay?”

  “Perfect,” I reply, the smile on my face confirming it.

  Then we’re fucking. I’m fucking. Just like other women do. Sure, I let Maddox do most of the work, but that’s because I’m new at this and unsure of myself. I don’t want to do anything stupid, so I just lie there while he thrusts in and out of me. I mean, I’m not totally a cadaver; I wrap my legs around him, caress his shoulders.

  And his cock feels so wonderful, so amazing inside me. Sweet Jesus, I love this.

  I look into his eyes, my hand on his cheek. “Hey,” I whisper, “you’re fucking me.” A huge grin takes over my face.

  “I am,” he says, and he looks equally happy.

  We rock together like that for a while, then his thrusts slow but he remains inside me. Filling me, stretching me in the most delicious way. My psyche has been equally penetrated, split wide open, and I know Maddox has helped me begin the healing process.

  “Let’s take a little break,” he tells me. “We don’t want to overdo it on your first time.”

  He slowly withdraws from me, and my body misses him immediately. The feeling of having a man inside of me finally, after all these years of thinking I might not ever be capable of letting it happen, is a powerful emotion-bomb.

  “You still good?”

  I manage a quick nod, just before the tears come out of nowhere.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, obviously concerned.

  “I’m just happy.”

  Monumentally relieved, too, but I don’t tell him that.

  “I have an idea,” Maddox says, kissing my forehead. He climbs out of bed and turns on the Jacuzzi tub, then leaves the room. Seconds later he returns with a tray. I barely notice it, though, because I’m inspecting his naked body, in particular that delicious cock hanging between his legs.

  Bringing the tray to the bed, he removes a silver lid with a flourish to reveal a generous slice of strawberry cheesecake. I’d forgotten all about it.

  For the next half hour, Maddox and I sit in the hot water, the jets of the tub relaxing our muscles while he feeds me little bites of cheesecake. I’ve had Micio’s cheesecake before, but for some reason, tonight it tastes like it was baked by angels and faeries.

  Luxuriating in the bubbles, I slide my toes along his. “Hey Maddox, earlier you said I was dangerously beautiful. So I’m potentially a psycho killer or something?”

  “No, it means that you’re the kind of woman a guy could fall for. Fall really hard, in fact.”

  I nestle into his hard body, more content than I’ve been since… well, maybe ever.

  Thursday

  7

  Maddox

  A virgin.

  Who would have ever thought you could find a virgin in this town, much less a gorgeous one who’s twenty-four-years old? My mind is officially blown.

  Tempest was my first virgin, and it was a sweet, tender experience. The total opposite of the hard, impassionate fucking I normally engage in. It was as emotional as it was physical.

  And I fucking loved it. I feel grateful to the universe that she decided to come back up to my suite and that she trusted me to be exactly the man she needed for this important moment in her life.

  I can’t help but remember that tight little pussy squeezing my hard cock, and those luscious tits. I mean, I could tell from the moment I first saw Tempest that she had great breasts, but they were absolutely perfect. Just big enough, firm and high, and best of all, real. Our bodies seemed to fit together like a lock and key, like this particular pairing was the only one that could work quite as well as it did.

  And that’s not even talking about the tattoos. I have exactly three, none of them very big. Tempest has actually lost count of how many times she’s been inked, but it’s everywhere: Her calves, thighs, rib cage, back, arms, shoulders and the top of her chest… even her breasts have designs drifting across them. They’re all done in shades of black ink with no color, and look incredible with her stylishly
short black hair. I could have studied her body for hours.

  Tempest insisted she go home around four in the morning, saying she needed to get a little sleep and change clothes before her shift at the LBD. That’s just as well, because I have a rule about not letting girls spend the night after sex. It makes things unnecessarily complicated and awkward in the morning.

  This time, though, I have to admit it hurt a little to see her go.

  Grace, Miles and Ryan are already in the restaurant downstairs when I show up for breakfast all bleary-eyed and with my head still in a cloud.

  “Somebody was up late last night,” Grace says. I don’t know what it is about her, but she can read the three of us men like a book. I smile and take a seat as she presses me, asking, “So, where were you?”

  “I went out to dinner and caught a show.”

  “With who?” Ryan asks. The others look at me with interest. Funny nobody wants to know what show I saw.

  “Tempest,” I say. “The cocktail waitress with the tattoos.”

  Miles gets right down to business. “And…?”

  I smirk at them as I open my menu. “No. We didn’t.” It doesn’t seem right to tell the truth, considering.

  “You owe us some money, my friend,” says Ryan.

  “Not so fast. The week’s not over yet,” Miles cautions.

  “What the hell happened?” Grace asks. “It’s unlike you not to seal the deal on the first date. You’re impatient that way.”

  I shrug. “She’s a fascinating woman. I wanted to take some time to get to know her.”

  I’m greeted with skeptically raised eyebrows all around the table.

  “Yeah, well the bet’s still on and the clock is ticking,” Miles says, then laughs and adds, “But hey, by all means, take your time.”

  “Let’s move on to another subject,” I insist. The request gets funny looks from my breakfast partners, but they comply and nothing more is said.

  I can’t get Tempest out of my head, though. The sweet way she admitted to me that she was a virgin, and the strength it must have taken her to fight through all the mental blocks before getting in that bed with me. It’s hard for me to wrap my head around what she’s been going through for nearly a decade.

  I’m just glad I could help her begin to get past it. I would love to be the man who gives her some more experience.

  The reality—the honest truth—is that I just want to see her again, sex or no sex.

  Then the breakfast conversation turns to Caden, Grace’s six-year-old son. It seems he ended up in the ER yesterday afternoon due to what can only be called a Super Soaker injury. One of his buddies apparently tried to blast him at point-blank range and caught him square in the eye. There was no permanent damage, just redness and irritation, which will necessitate him wearing patch for a couple of days.

  As Grace told the story, including her four-year-old daughter’s reaction to the eye patch (“Caden’s a pirate now!”), I kept imagining myself as a husband with children. Would I have handled a situation like that properly? Could I put someone else’s well-being ahead of my own?

  Would I make a good dad?

  I’m on another panel this morning—Is the Internet Dead? for the umpteenth time—and I skip lunch to head to the hotel’s gym for a much-needed workout. As I’m on the treadmill, looking out the window at the bleached-out tans and grays of Vegas’s sand and concrete, a weird thought comes to me.

  Well, weird for me, at least. I suspect it’s a thought most men have had at some point.

  I’m in my early thirties and have done so much fucking that lately I’ve grown bored with sex. I mean, I’ve had enough ass for two lifetimes. Rather than being with a hundred different women, what appeals to me now is the possibility of learning everything there is to know about one woman.

  Even weirder is the fact that this thought seems natural. It doesn’t bother me like I would have expected it to. I stick a pin in that concept, so I can come back to it later and try to understand why I’m so comfortable with it.

  After my workout, I plan on going to my suite to shower off and chill, but my feet instead transport me to the Little Black Dress. I cross the casino floor in workout clothes, thoroughly drenched with sweat, a towel around my neck. There won’t be much of a crowd in the bar this early in the afternoon, I figure.

  Tempest and I lock eyes the moment I enter the club. Her smile is radiant, her eyes joyous. Oddly enough, that mirrors my own state of emotions. She heads over to me. Holy fuck, the dress she’s wearing today fits her tight little body like a glove. No curve is left unexploited. Even though it’s not overly revealing, the fit is so perfect that it borders on scandalous.

  “Decided to dress up for me?” She eyes my sweaty clothes. That raspy voice again, like light sandpaper with honey drizzled over it.

  “Are you free tonight?” I ask, giving her a quick kiss. Jesus, Maddox, what happened to making her think you’re not interested?

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On where you want to take me.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “So there’s a place where you wouldn’t want to go with me?”

  “No,” she says as her breasts rise and fall with her breathing. I can tell I have the same effect on her as she has on me.

  “I thought I’d let you plan the date again, seeing as how it went so perfectly last night.”

  Tempest’s smile practically lights up the dark room. “I was afraid you thought it was all pretty weird. You know, considering…”

  “Not weird at all. I felt honored to be the one.”

  She laughs. “Maddox, you are so full of shit. You just liked deflowering someone. But yes, I’d love to go out with you again. I already know where I want to go.”

  “Anywhere you want.”

  “I want to go to your suite, take our clothes off at the door, and spend the entire night drinking and being naughty.”

  Well, fuck me. “I am so on board with this idea. What would you like to drink? Champagne?”

  Just then her co-worker walks up, the curvy redhead with big tits. “Everything okay, babe?” she asks Tempest.

  “Scarlett, this is Maddox. We’re going to spend tonight naked in his suite. What should we drink?”

  Scarlett looks me over. I smile, trying to make it warm, but she’s giving me a critical eye.

  “What are your intentions regarding my bestie, Maddox?” I almost laugh, but I realize she might be serious.

  “Tonight, I have mostly filthy intentions,” I say. “But I’m pretty sure your bestie feels the same.”

  Scarlett looks at Tempest, who tries in vain to suppress a smile. Then she turns her gaze back to me and says, “If you break her heart, I’ll kill you.”

  “And what if she breaks mine?” I ask.

  “Not my problem.”

  “What should we drink?” Tempest demands of her friend. “You get to pick.”

  “Hurricanes,” Scarlett says. “Definitely hurricanes.”

  8

  Tempest

  What’s in a hurricane?

  I don’t think I’ve ever had one. I know they’re popular in New Orleans, but I rarely get requests for them at the LDB. I know they’re red-orange and served in a tall glass. That’s about it.

  Regardless, that’s Maddox’s dilemma, not mine.

  My dilemma is much bigger.

  I have to go to his suite tonight, have a lot of sex with him, and pretend the whole time that I’m not falling for him.

  But seriously, how could I not? Even though at this point I don’t really know everything I’d want in a man, I’m pretty sure Maddox checks off damn near every box.

  Max tells me I need to work two extra hours today because one of the next shift’s girls was late. He’s such a little prick. I used to refer to him as “fatass” around the other girls, but because his name is Maximo Donatello, Scarlett started calling him Assimo Fatsimo and it seems to have become his secret nickname. Anytime he pisses me of
f, I just look at him and call him Assimo Fatsimo in my head and I feel instantly better.

  When I get off work, I dash out of the hotel to my apartment with only an hour to get ready for Maddox. Just as I have all day, and in fact since the moment I left his suite in the middle of the night, I think about what happened there. More precisely, I’ve been worried to death that in my anxiety, I pretty much just laid there and was possibly the worst, most anxious, most boring sex partner that man has ever had.

  I plan to remedy that this time. Now I know I can trust him, I know how insanely much I want him, and I know my body can take whatever he gives.

  Last night I was way too timid, but tonight, I am going to fuck the holy hell out of Maddox Ramsey. Just like an actual hurricane, he won’t know what hit him.

  I can’t help but wonder if I’m being a little naïve regarding my feelings toward Maddox. I know I like him quite a lot, but maybe every girl falls for the boy who takes her virginity. This is all new territory to me. Regardless, I’m so looking forward to spending the night naked with him because I have tons of shit I want to try.

  ♦

  The elevator doors slide open and I see Maddox standing in front of me.

  Naked.

  Like, totally, one-hundred percent naked.

  I get an instant thrill at the sight of his taut, muscular body, that light dusting of brown hair on his broad chest, the chiseled abs, the muscular thighs.

  What I said earlier about taking our clothes off at the door of his suite was a joke, just my way of saying I wanted to spend the night in bed with Maddox. But now the sight of that beautiful cock I’ve been thinking about all fucking day lets me know he took it literally.

  I step into the room, but that’s as far as I get.

  “Uh-uh. No further until you strip.” His look says he means it.