by JA Huss
I lean down, my hands flat on the bed on either side of her face, and angle my hips until my cock begins to disappear inside her mouth.
She sucks, and oh my God, she feels good. I pump a few times, making her grip tighten around my shaft. She shakes her head a little to let me know I’ve gone too deep, so I ease back just enough to let her take control for a second.
But the pause only lasts a second. Because her tongue is doing a little swirling dance now, and I can’t stop what I want. I want to bury my cock down her throat. I know she’s not capable of this, so I force myself to take it slow.
She responds by trying harder to take me in. She opens her mouth wider and then presses her lips down. The pressure is enough to make my head fall backwards from the pleasure.
And then her face moves forward, taking a little bit more.
Be patient, Fletcher, I warn myself. Be patient. She’s willing to try, so I let her take me any way she wants.
She sucks me like that for a few seconds, and then she reaches down to play with my balls. “Tiffy,” I say. “Fuck.”
Just as the word comes out of my mouth, she opens and thrusts forward one more time. Not swallowing me, but doing her best. And it’s enough. Fuck, yeah, it’s enough.
I pull out and lean down to kiss her mouth. “You make me feel so good,” I whisper into her mouth. “Scoot up a little.”
She braces herself on the bed and does as I ask, finding her way to the middle of my bed. Her legs are still open and the look on her face is one of hunger.
I’ve seen lust before. But I see more than that in Tiffy. I see what I want to see, because I see love.
I let out a long breath, knowing it’s a lie as soon as the thought completes in my mind. She’s confused. I did that to her. But I don’t care. Because I want her. Not just for a night. I want more.
So I grab a condom from my nightstand and tug it on. And then I ease on top of her, my legs alongside hers, my elbow resting on the bed now, so I can use my fingers to play with her hair as I kiss her mouth.
She kisses me back and I take some pleasure in the softness of her response. She’s not looking for the wall sex on the roof. She’s happy with what I’m giving her.
So I leave her mouth and kiss my way down her body and give her what she wanted a few minutes ago. When I get to her stomach, I hike her legs up, pressing on the back of her thighs so her knees are up to her chin.
And then I lick her pussy. She’s neatly trimmed. Perfectly trimmed. My tongue sweeps up and down, flicking against her clit when I get to the top, and then reaching for her little bud of an asshole on the downswing.
And with each lap around her pussy, she writhes. She reaches for my hair and grips it tight, and her little squeaks become more intense. Her hips begin to jerk from side to side, and I know it’s too much. But I’m not stopping. Not until she comes in my mouth. So I clamp down on her forearms and pin them to the bed. I take her clit between my lips and suck. Gently at first, to get her to calm down. And as soon as she does, I flick it wildly. Back and forth.
“Fletcher,” she moans. “Oh, shit, Fletcher!”
I’m too busy to answer because I know she’s close. But I let go of one arm so I can reach down between her legs and insert two fingers inside her. I pump a few times and she lets out a little scream.
“Oh, shit,” she says again. “Oh my God.” When I look up at her face to gauge how much more she can take, she’s biting her lip so hard, it draws blood.
She’s so close.
So I withdraw my fingers and strum her clit, just as my tongue thrusts up inside her pussy and she clamps my head between her legs with a long moan. Her whole body twists and I can taste her come in my mouth. It flows down to the rhythm of her orgasm and all the tension is released in that moment.
When I look up again, her eyes are closed and her head is to the side. She’s panting hard, taking long draws of breath as she basks in the afterglow of her pleasure.
I kiss my way back up her stomach, angling my body and my legs so my tip is poised just outside her entrance. And then I ease into her slick pussy.
This time I moan. She’s so fucking wet. And so fucking tight.
I push harder, making her arch her back. But her eyes are still closed when I check her face to see if I should stop.
I don’t stop. I press down on her breasts with my chest and take her mouth with mine. “Taste it, Tiffy.” She kisses me back without hesitation. Her nails dig into my back, clawing their way up as I pump inside her. Hard. And then harder. “I did that to you,” I say. “I made you taste like that.”
“Mmmm,” she moans, meeting my thrusts with her own. “More,” she mumbles. “I want to feel that again.”
I reach underneath her and roll us over, my cock never leaving her pussy. She’s too tired and too satiated to sit up and ride me, but that’s not what I want, anyway. I want her close. So I wrap my arms around her waist and upper back and hold her down on top of my chest. She hikes her legs up, so she’s practically on her knees, and lets me pound her from below. I grab her hair and pull her head back, not able to stop myself from getting a little rough with her. But she responds like we’ve been doing this for years. Like we are two parts of a whole. Like we’re a matching set.
She knows just what to do.
She looks me in the eyes, arches her back, and then we come together. I slide against the walls of her pussy. She’s gushing now, that’s how wet she is from coming twice. My contractions go on and on, semen spilling into the condom as wave after wave of pleasure fills me up and washes over me. I press my head into her breasts and bite one, just as the feeling begins to subside.
I ease out, rip the condom off and throw it into the trashcan on the side of the bed.
“Come here,” I growl, turning her body so her ass angles into my cock. I wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close as I kiss her cheek. “Fuck, Tiffy. That was amazing.”
“Mmmm,” she mumbles, snuggling into my chest. “The best sex I’ve ever had.”
I fall asleep with her words echoing in my mind.
Me too, is all I keep thinking. No other sex even comes close. I can’t even call this sex. And even though I know I should not be getting attached to this unattainable girl, I get attached. I hold her close. Her breathing deepens and she drifts off to sleep.
It takes me a lot longer to give in to the call. Because I lie there for a long time thinking about how all I want is to keep her for myself.
But I do drift off. Eventually that hope makes it into my dreams.
That’s all it is though.
Because when I wake up to the bright sunshine coming through the hotel windows, she’s gone.
So I do the only thing I can think to do to make it right. I pick up the phone and call a girl.
Chapter Twenty-Five
My only saving grace is the fact that Claudio is out screwing around with Steve. Because if he was home, he’d know immediately. And he’d know it was Fletcher. Then he’d whoop and holler and do that stupid little I-told-you-so dance until he convinced me that Cole is a jerk and Fletcher the stripper is the man of my dreams.
But let’s be real. Fletcher is an asshole. No, not last night. But pretty much every other night. He’s an asshole. He uses girls for sex and… whatever. I don’t know his problems. Everyone has them, and I’m sure he’s no different. But he’s got a free room in a luxury resort, a job that maybe requires him to work thirty hours a week, and a paycheck that is far higher than a guy whose main claim to fame is making women scream his name deserves.
Not to mention his side business. If you can call that a business.
I let the water from the rain shower pound down on my shoulders and spit some out.
But fuck if he isn’t hot.
And experienced. Very experienced.
God, just thinking about his tongue on my pussy and the way he fucked me afterward. Holy Jesus. I could get used to that. And the way he was last night has me reconsidering things.
Tiffy.
I know. I cannot fall for a stripper. I still remember my mom struggling when I was little. I’ve seen pictures of my real father. He was an attractive man. Too attractive. Like Fletcher. These guys are never satisfied. They’re always looking for something better. Better girl, better job, better house, better car. All that bullshit.
My mom didn’t have it easy before she married into the Preston family. And neither did I. It sucked to have no father when I was little. It sucked to have to have that empty pit in my stomach every time I thought about the man who didn’t want me.
And even though my new dad was the prince in my mom’s Cinderella story, she told me over and over as I was growing up that princes don’t normally save the day. I should not count on being saved. She pounded it into my head that all choices have consequences. Both the good and the bad.
If you find a good guy—one who provides, one who cares for his family and is faithful, one who works hard and still knows how to relax at the end of the day—well, you don’t let him go. No matter what.
And I can still hear my question after she told me that the first time. It was a couple years after she first started seeing Randall Preston, but she was still working the night shift.
What if I don’t love that guy?
Love is an illusion, she said back. Love is what you make it. She smoothed down my hair and smiled a strained smile, her lips painted a bright red for her job, her hair piled on top of her head in a dramatic updo. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Tiffany Marie. When she used my real name I knew I had better listen up. And I did. That conversation has stayed with me all these years. Find a good man. A solid man with a good job and a soft heart. A man who won’t hit you, or yell, or walk out on you and your children. And you never let him go.
I thought her long silky dress was something out of a fairy tale back then.
It took years to realize my mother was a hooker and Randall was her client. When Fletcher said Cole might be using one, I feigned ignorance. No one knows what my mom used to do. Not even Claudio.
Everyone has a secret they’re desperate to keep hidden.
Yes, my mother had the Cinderella story. But she never loved Randall. And he never loved her that way either. I have felt, from the first day we moved into his huge mansion in Monterey, that I was the glue that held them together. He never had kids and I was his one chance. He was the perfect father. A fairytale father.
But he cried at her funeral. I took his hand that day. I was only fifteen when she killed herself, but I knew that Randall felt responsible. They didn’t fight. Ever. Not in my presence, anyway. It could’ve happened in private, but I don’t think so. My mother was the perfect wife on the outside. She never raised her voice. She never complained. She was simply grateful and satisfied.
Maybe that’s not how you take life by the horns and make the most of it, but it worked for her. And it gave me opportunities that I would never have had.
Randall loved her in a way a man loves a woman he wants to save. And even if she didn’t love him back, she respected him and he treated her well. Gave her everything she ever wanted.
Then why did she kill herself?
I have asked myself that question since the moment I learned it happened. She was supposed to be at the Four Seasons for a spa day, but they called and said she never showed up. We didn’t start to worry until she didn’t show up for dinner at home. She was always home for dinner. It was a constant thing in my life once Randall took us in. We were a family, he said. And families eat dinner together.
The police found her car off the side of a cliff.
And there was a note. All it said was, I can’t go on.
Why? How could her life be that bad? My therapists said she was depressed and didn’t seek help, so it overpowered her.
But I don’t know about that. I’ve never been convinced. Something was missing from her life and I always felt that even though Randall was perfect, she was infatuated with my real father.
Maybe infatuated isn’t the right word. In fact, maybe it wasn’t love she felt for him at all. Maybe it was the idea that she wasn’t good enough to keep him around.
Fletcher reminds me a lot of that man, the sperm donor who walked out. And Cole reminds me a lot of Randall, the prince who saved us. Maybe it’s unfair, but what reason, beyond great sex, has Fletcher given me to think otherwise?
I turn the shower off and wrap myself in a towel. My body aches from the sex. I can still feel Fletcher’s touch from last night. I can still feel his breath on my neck as he held me close as we slept.
But what does any of it mean? And why would I throw away a good possibility with a man like Cole for those brief moments with Fletcher?
But God, it felt good. And not just the sex. Why can’t the hot guy be the prince? Just once?
Maybe Fletcher is a prince?
It’s a novel idea for me, since I’ve only seen him as a player with all the right moves to win the game.
But then I swipe my hand across the mirror so I can look myself in the face. Tiffy Preston might be rich, and educated, and cultured—but she is still the girl who was left behind. Just like her mother.
It would be a monumental waste of time to explore the idea that Fletcher Novak might be a real possibility. I know nothing about him beyond what I’ve seen here at the hotel. And I have to admit, reluctantly, that none of that looks good for a future with him.
He’s an expert in one-night stands, seduction, and helping girls manipulate their future husbands into loving them.
I reach for my phone and text Cole. I’ll give him one more chance.
Want to meet for dinner?
No answer.
Maybe all men are assholes? Maybe I should just give up on them altogether and just concentrate on my career? Maybe I should hang out with the gays and just have fun? Maybe I should—
Are you working today? he texts back.
No, I’m taking the day off.
Good, he replies a few seconds later. Your father thinks you’re working too hard, so I told him I’d arrange a spa day for you. They’re expecting you at ten this morning, so don’t be late. And dinner will be fun. What time?
I laugh as I start texting. Yes! He’s thinking of me. How about six o’clock?
Sounds good, Tiffy. I’ve got meetings all day, so I’ll just pick you up in your room.
OK, bye!
I lie back on the bed and smile with relief. He’s not avoiding me after all. He’s just busy. And arranging a spa day for me is sweet. I really needed this ego boost.
My phone rings and jolts me out of my little daydream world. I look at the screen and moan. Fletcher. He’s gonna want to know why I left without saying goodbye.
“Hello?” I say into the speaker.
“Hey,” he says, a little hesitation in his voice. “You left me cold this morning.”
“Oh, Cole planned a spa day for me, so I needed to get back to my room and clean up.” Clean up? Jesus. What a way to bring up the fact that we fucked like teenagers last night.
No. Not exactly teenagers. It was pretty amazing. But that’s what the bad boys do, right? They hook you with great sex and then leave you. So why not leave him first?
“Oh.” He pauses, thinking probably.
“I got a date with Cole tonight though. So we’re still on for Operation Jealousy? Or is this a good sign and I should stop with the games?”
“Date, huh?” He sounds unsure. But that’s typical, right? He probably wants another one-night stand with me. And honestly, I should not have had sex with him again. One night is OK, I guess. It’s a fling. But we’ve been taking this too far. “I think you’re probably on your way to bagging your man. So you don’t need me anymore.”
Hmmm. His usually friendly demeanor is gone. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d think he was jealous.
“So he’s the guy for you, huh?”
“Yeah, right? That was the whole point of all these things we’ve bee
n doing the past week.”
“And you love him, right?”
“Well, I’m not sure about love, Fletcher. Do you love every girl you bang?”
He huffs some air into the phone.
“Don’t get weird on me, OK? You’re the one who wanted a one-nighter.”
“You were the one who wanted last night, if my memory serves.”
“Yeah, well, I was feeling dejected.”
“And I was just there?”
“What the hell, Fletcher? You’re not interested in me. You’re interested in a job, remember? You wanted us to use each other. And we did. And now you’re trying to pretend you actually like me? You want me to feel guilty for going for the guy who was the goal the whole time? Wow.”
“I never said I was pretending to like you, Tiffy. I picked you out of a crowd for a reason.”
“Yeah, to fuck me for one night and then throw me away like trash. Just like you always do.”
“So you’re gonna get the jump on that, then? And throw me away before I have a chance?”
“So you admit it!”
“I’m not admitting shit, other than I had a nice time last night and I’d like to do it again.”
“Oh, so we’re just gonna keep this going? An endless string of casual sex with no commitments? I don’t think so. I’m not that kind of girl, for one thing. And I’m not interested in casual.”
“How do you even know I was thinking casual, anyway? Did you ever ask?”
“You have it written all over you, Fletcher. Your sign says Don’t get attached, because I sure won’t. And so I took your warning to heart and now you’re mad at me? How is that fair?”
“I’ll ask you again. You’re just gonna throw this away and not even give it a chance?”
“Give what a chance? I’m having a hard time understanding you, Fletcher. Do you even know what you want? Do you even know who you want? Why me?”
“Huh,” he says, laughing out the word. “Classic self-loathing, Tiffy. You don’t think you’re good enough. You’re so sure I could never like you for real, you decide to fuck it all up and ditch me first before you can get hurt.”
