Heartbreak Hotel

by Kenya Wright

  I waved him away. “This would be a bad idea, so there’s no need to define it.”

  “What is companionship to you? Talking? Holding hands? Or more?”

  “More.”

  “Goals?” he asked. “Commitment? Sharing lemonade on an old porch while we’re old?”

  “Now you’re talking.” I finished my plate and couldn’t wait for the next dish. He still hadn’t touched his.

  “We can compromise on some of this.”

  “Can we?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He took my empty plate and put his full one in front of me. “Eat. I have a proposition for you.”

  “But you didn’t even try your food.”

  “I’m not hungry. I just knew you would be.”

  I sighed and dove in. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in years. He watched me gobble everything up with this intense look as if he was analyzing my every detail to paint later. I felt like I was under a microscope.

  When I finished, our waitress grabbed our empty plates and refilled our water.

  “Loyalty and honesty,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I can be loyal and honest the whole time we’re involved. And of course, I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else.”

  “And how long would we do this?”

  He licked his lips. “Until it stops feeling good.”

  “What if it doesn’t stop feeling good?”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “And then, what if I fall in love with you because it’s so amazing?”

  His confident expression faltered. “We could...deal with that, when it came.”

  “It sounds like we’d be dealing with me crying.”

  “Be positive.”

  I smirked. “I’m being logical.”

  He shook his head. “This is the wrong time for you to be logical.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted you so bad last night, I couldn’t go to sleep. Because I was close to ripping off those little panties of yours last night. Because my cock is hard right now and I don’t want to eat any food, I want to taste you, right now, on this table, licking you all over your pussy until you moan my name.”

  Shocked, my lips parted. I had nothing to say. My panties moistened.

  The waitress returned with our dinner and set them in front of us. I didn’t even hear what she said and had no idea what was on the plates.

  Once the waitress left, he asked, “Your thoughts?”

  “Hawk...”

  “Yes?”

  I didn’t have anything rational to say. “You’re...you’re turning me on.”

  “Good.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’ve been thinking. You want to heal? And you want to heal me? Then, let’s try it.”

  I shook my head. “Now, it’s my turn to say, ‘Oh God.’ What are you going to heal me with? Your dick?”

  I wasn’t ready for the expression that covered his face. It was hot and blew me away. He looked like a hungry man as he captured his bottom lip with his teeth and gripped the edge of the table. He looked like a tiger ready to leap.

  “This isn’t a simple case of me just wanting to have sex,” he said. “I could do that with anybody. I want you. Period. No one else in my bed. There’s no one else I want to spend my evening with. And I don’t think, I’ll stop craving you, until I have you.”

  And how did I feel? It was what he’d said, but times ten. There was no need denying it any longer at dinner. He made me hot and horny.

  I picked up my spoon, dipped it in the sauce, and put it in my mouth. Desire built between us as he watched me sample the food. I didn’t know who I was kidding. After that confession, I was no longer hungry. And I couldn’t help but slowly lick the sauce away, thinking of what else could be in my mouth.

  A soft groan left his lips.

  I dipped my spoon and licked it again.

  He gripped the edge of the table harder. The water wobbled a little in my glass.

  “I don’t know, Hawk.”

  “You know. And right now, you know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

  Those blue eyes targeted me. I was trapped. They shined and delivered a searing flush against my flesh. No one had ever looked at me like that before, like they wanted to eat me. Like they’d never even seen a woman until my face. Like they yearned and craved the image before them, and I was it.

  I swirled the spoon around in the bowl. “You make me...hot.”

  “Show me.”

  I blushed. “How?”

  “Are you sure you want my suggestions?”

  I set my spoon down. “This is dangerous territory.”

  “It is.”

  “I want you too.”

  “Then, go with it.”

  “And my heart?” I asked.

  “Don’t open it.”

  “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “I could show you.”

  I leaned back in my chair and studied him. “I bet you could.”

  “Plenty people do it and have no regrets. And we’ll always be friends.”

  “Can you guarantee that?”

  He frowned. “Nothing is guaranteed, Cherry Bomb, but I can promise that I’ll do my best to never hurt you. I want this to be good for the both of us. And I won’t disrespect or mistreat you. I’m talking friends with no strings attached.”

  “Fling fuck buddies.”

  A wicked grin spread across his face. “This would be more than a fling, and more than a fuck.”

  I swallowed and tapped the edge of my plate. “Let me think about it for a few days.”

  He never let go of the table as he nodded. “Okay.”

  Finally, he released the table from his grip and ate. The rest of dinner continued in regular conversation. We caught each other up in the past years, limiting the conversation only to our occupations. Neither touched on our past relationships for obvious reasons. Yet, throughout our conversation, there were moments when we caught the other staring too long or smiling for no reason like a silly fool in love. The whole time, it felt so good and scared me. He didn’t want more, but I could feel myself falling.

  He was Hawk—sweet and safe, loyal and so goddamn sexy.

  After we finished, I slipped my credit card to the waitress before him which had him frowning until he left. I was sure he’d find a way to pay me back in the future.

  The drive back was just as relaxing as when we’d gone to the restaurant—jazz music riding an ocean breeze.

  The car zoomed along the streets with no problem. But when we got in our neighborhood, he parked in front of his house and turned off the car. “I was hoping you would come up to my studio right now. If not, I’ll walk you home.”

  I blinked. “Why?”

  “Because I have to paint you. Inspiration is burning inside of me right now and I have to answer it.”

  “But I’m not—”

  “Can I paint you tonight?”

  My body tensed at his voice. The words dripped with lust.

  No. It’s not a good idea. Don’t.

  Those damn eyes trapped me.

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  We left his car and went up to his studio.

  I shouldn’t have been going back to his house. It was clear we weren’t on the same page when it came to relationships. Also, I’d just got out of a bad situation. I didn’t need to fall in love with another man, especially one so complicated and adamant about wanting nothing more than sex.

  Why am I doing this? Why did I tell him I would think about it?

  In my head, I rationalized that I needed to see his new drawings of me. But secretly, I wanted to see where this was going. Everything was already playing out like a fantasy. At dinner, I’d found myself relaxing and enjoying myself even more than I’d expected.

  As soon as I stepped in and saw the painting of my lips, I regretted it. My body blazed with fire. He’d done them so sexy. So unreal.

 
; His deep voice slipped along my skin. “One kiss and I can’t stop painting them.”

  “You’re talented.”

  “It’s not talent, when I’m simply painting the truth.” He came to me and my heart stopped as he extended his hand. “You should give this a chance.”

  “I told you I would think about.”

  He enclosed his warm fingers around mine, delivering heat to my core. “This is what you want?”

  Nervous, I asked, “Are you going to paint me or hold my hand?”

  Earlier, he’d acted weird about holding hands, but here he stood, holding my hand like he never wanted to let go.

  He guided me to the couch as if I was this fragile thing.

  “How do you want me to pose?” I asked.

  “Just get comfortable. It doesn’t matter.” He let go of my hand and raked his finger through that silky black hair.

  I gestured to my clothes. “Is this okay?”

  Shaking his head, he rubbed his face with both hands.

  “What?” I asked.

  He drank me in further. I couldn’t tell what he was trying to say, but when I slipped my gaze at his jeans, I could’ve swore I spotted an erection.

  No. He’s not hard. No way.

  I tried to get the very idea out of my head, but then I checked again, and was sure that his cock was hard. It was too big to hide, pushing up against that jean material as if his dick had a mind of his own.

  Fuck! He’s hard! For me? Oh shit! What’s going on?

  My nipples hardened. My sex went slick with desire, eager to see what lay behind those jeans.

  He closed the distance between us, brought his face close to mine, and practically moaned my name. “Yaz?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s on your mind?” He licked his lips.

  I wanted to rise and suck on his lip. How would it taste? How long would he let me suck? Until he groaned or pulled out his cock and placed it in my mouth?

  Nonetheless, I wanted to suck Hawk’s cock. That truth drummed inside of me. Within those jeans, it looked thick and long. Was it? Or were those some pretty complementing pants?

  I should get out of here.

  “Yaz, what’s on your mind? Your expression since we’ve been in here—”

  “What?”

  “It’s making crazy. What are you thinking about?”

  I swallowed down as much lust as I could.

  “Now, you’re shy?” he whispered.

  “I’m horny, not shy.”

  “Do you want me to do something about that?”

  “No. I’m still thinking.”

  Nodding, he backed away. His gaze never left mine as he placed his hands in his pockets. “You still didn’t tell me what you were thinking about?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I bet it is. Say it.”

  “I was wondering how big...” I swallowed. “How big your dick is.”

  I stayed where I was as Hawk looked like he was about to freaking attack me. He didn’t move, but his eyes said walk away slowly. In that moment, he served as a beast, a resting giant. A patient predator, watching me in a seemingly relaxed position, although I could see that one of his hands gripped his cock through the pocket.

  Damn it. Don’t do that. Don’t touch it in front of me. Not when I want to see.

  By now, my panties and jeans stuck to the space between my thighs. All wet and creamy, I was glad I didn’t wear light colored bottoms.

  I should get out of here. What was I thinking? Of course, I can’t be in a room by myself with him.

  I slowly walked away. “I should go.”

  Anger crossed his face, but he said nothing.

  “I can walk myself home. It’s just right there.” I took a few more steps away. “In fact, I would rather just go on my own. A long walk is what I need. Really long. Feel the breeze. So cold...and hard. And breathe some fresh air and...taste it.”

  He licked his lips. “You talk a lot when you’re really horny?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  I didn’t say anything else. I was close to panting over him. Hopefully, he hadn’t noticed that or the fact that my hard nipples had refused to hide themselves underneath my shirt.

  I turned around, kept my pace steady, but was determined to get away before doing something I regretted. Although I wanted him bad, I had to think about it. Could I have a fuck fling with him and nothing else? Could it heal us, instead of break us?

  Why does he have to be so fucking sexy?

  I paused in the doorway and turned around to say goodbye.

  I shouldn’t have.

  He stood right there, his hand down his pants like a madman. Thank God, he didn’t stroke it. Thank God, he hadn’t brought his cock out and showed me how meaty and long he really was.

  But he’d placed his hands inside of his pants and basically confirmed what I’d thought. He had an erection. His cock was hard for me. There could be no other reason, unless he was just really that into art so much that he got aroused.

  No. It’s me.

  Licking his lips, he kept that hand right there and gazed right at me. Neither one of us spoke. What would we have to say? What could I even say?

  Would you like me to help you with that?

  A groan left him as if he heard everything I’d thought. Maybe he saw the desire all over my face. My nipples had surely hardened so bad they ached. If he could just come over and taste one, I would’ve been happy for the rest of my life. Surely, I was too scared to go to him.

  What’s wrong with me? Stay or go? Run or fuck him until my voice his hoarse?

  “Now, what are you thinking about?” he whispered.

  “I’m thinking about how good it would be, if you touched me.”

  “And can I?”

  “No,” I blurted out.

  “Okay,” he said through clenched teeth. “Make sure you think about my proposition tonight.”

  “I will.”

  “I will too.” And then Hawk stroked himself, right there. Right in front of me. It was so hot. What made him decide to start? Had I told him from not moving that I wanted him to? Or could he just not control himself anymore? He’d probably been waiting for me to leave the room.

  Fuck.

  I couldn’t see his hand, but I could tell that it slowly moved up and down. His gaze remained on me. I could barely breathe or contain myself.

  “Okay.” Bobbing my head like an idiot, I backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I hurried out of there. A zipper sounded behind me.

  Holy shit!

  And then he groaned loud and moaned, “Fuck, Yaz. What are you doing to me?”

  Chapter 10

  Hawk

  As soon as Yaz left the studio, I freed my cock. She must’ve thought I was a degenerate. I surely did after these actions.

  And then I groaned loud and moaned, “Fuck, Yaz. What are you doing to me?”

  What the fuck was I thinking? Had she heard me? I’m not thinking. I just need to get this out.

  I’d wanted her all during lunch, fascinated by her prickly vulnerability, the way her smiles never quite reached her eyes. I wanted to take Yaz to bed and keep her there until she was soft and satiated in my arms.

  I might’ve been okay, if I’d been able to paint her. My cock might’ve gone down as soon as the paint and brushes came out. But I didn’t get the time and she was so innocent and sexy. Plump melons poked her shirt with her nipples, her eyes open like windows.

  I had to have her. Innocence and pain swam in her gaze, but oh God that body was ripe to be touched and she looked like she hadn’t been fucked good ever.

  The way she stared at me in the doorway made me crazy. It was bad enough she’d caught me with my hand in my pants. And what could I do? She’d caught me. There was no use of taking my hand out and mumbling a sorry. I was unraveled. She deserved better. Not some horny man rubbing his dick to the sight of her walking away.

  But she caught me, and
didn’t run off. Instead, she stared as if daring me to stroke it in front of her. Or maybe that was just what I wanted to believe.

  Those few seconds were agony as she gazed at me. I wanted to see Yaz naked—her clothes off and legs spread open in front of me. But there would be problems with that.

  So then why did I take her upstairs? Why put her in my studio?

  In one hand, I stroked my cock. In the other, I grabbed a paint brush and walked over to the canvas. The fact that I did this made me deal with the reality of the situation.

  Yes. I have to paint her.

  The very thought threw my body into a lust-filled rage. My skin prickled with desire. My cock had never been this solid in its life. Yet, my hands charged with this drug-induced yearning to create.

  There was nothing I could do. I had to satisfy both urges at the same time. And so, in my studio, I stroked my dick with one hand and painted her with the other.

  It didn’t matter anymore as I spit on my cock like a vile man and began to rock into my closed fists. The tool swelled more. Like a weapon, it charged, ready to explode, and I wished Yaz’s face lay before it. I imagined her on her knees, big breasts soft and perky. I bet it would take two hands to hold one and lots of determination not to suck on those nipples until milk came. I didn’t even know why I was thinking of those lovely melons lactating and dripping all over my opened mouth, but that was the image that hit me.

  With the other hand, I dipped my brush into one of the three small jars of paint on the easel. The colors were raw umber, ivory black, and flake white. I kept a few there just for quick ideas and sketches. For Yaz’s image, I wished I had the whole palette at my hands. She deserved the best, even if this would be practice.

  Need burned at the tip of my cock. Bulging and swollen, it begged me to put the paint brush to the side and focus on the stroking. I gave it a little slip of my fingers, barely touching the rim where all those hungry nerves gathered to push me forward.

  God, I wanted to fuck Yaz right then. If she had brought that fat ass back into my studio I would’ve taken her with no regrets. What else could a man do when wild and drowning in animal urges?

  But I couldn’t cum yet, not until her face lay on the canvas. I had to see those eyes as I jacked off, pumping right in front of her, smearing the tip all over her painted mouth.