by Kilby Blades
They reached the top far too quickly and she was sorry when he gently set her down. Before they untangled themselves from each other’s arms, he leaned in for a soft but thorough kiss. His thumbs caressed her cheeks as his tongue massaged hers with such expertise that she knew instantly that he’d be incredible at certain other things.
“What if I promised you five?” He pulled away only long enough to ask the question and fix her with a hawkish gaze before leaning in for seconds. “Would you see me if I promised you five?” He asked again only after he’d gently devoured her mouth once more.
“Lofty goal, Don’t you think?” she murmured against his chin, not waiting for an answer before capturing his lips once again.
“I’m an overachiever,” he said darkly as he pulled back. “Six?” He nipped at her neck.
She might have laughed at his bravado if kissing him hadn’t felt so good, and had his voice held any of the humor that should have accompanied such a ridiculous dare, yet his voice held no mirth. The idea was ludicrous—six orgasms? Even the four she’d mentioned had been an exaggeration. Still, a stab of anticipatory pleasure tingled up her spine as she realized this talented man might just deliver.
“This ends at sunrise,” she managed, still out of breath as she pulled away long enough to say the words.
“I thought you didn’t do one-night stands.”
“It’s not a one-night stand. It’s an interview.”
THEY WASTED LITTLE TIME ARRIVING in Michael’s hotel suite, ridding each other of their clothes, and fusing their bodies together. His suit concealed baby smooth skin. Solid, well-defined muscles betrayed what had first seemed like a leaner build. A devastatingly beautiful tattoo of she-couldn’t-tell-what covered the whole of his back and some of his shoulders. The room was dim, but she didn’t need to see him in full light to see that he was well-proportioned, everywhere.
That they had one condom between them did nothing to prevent him from making good on his promise. He’d given her her first orgasm before they’d even reached the bed, a clever finger stroking her clit as he’d held her tightly from behind. He’d stood her before a dressing mirror, one arm that felt as strong as steel holding her torso in place as his erection strained hard against her back. He’d opened her up skillfully, lifting one of her legs off the ground and hitching it back to wrap around his.
She hadn’t been with anyone in months, and knew it wouldn’t take much. But the image of herself spread wide open as he slowly stroked her slippery wetness, his feline eyes watching them in the reflection swiftly undid her. She came hard and quick, her head falling backwards on his shoulder as she did.
As she caught her breath, she expected him to help her down, to disentangle her leg from where he’d wrapped it around his. But he kept her where he was, and the next thing she knew, his fingers were sweeping her long hair over one shoulder.
At first, his gentle touch on her neck simply felt nice, somewhat light and maybe even a bit tender. It was when his finger-strokes turned to kisses and kisses into nips that she began to feel it in other places. From the tips of her nipples, right down through her spine, she tingled in her core. It felt too good for her to stop and think about how this was possible, about how easily Michael’s touch to her neck was electrifying her whole body He wasn’t even touching her there yet, but she felt the second orgasm coming just around the bend.
Craving more, she tilted her head to give him better access. Hearing the sounds she was making only turned her on more. They were unprecedented, but so was Michael’s intensity, which left no room to stop and think about why this felt so good. When Michael began to hum in satisfaction with every delicious bite, she knew she was close.
She said his name, a plea for him to give her what she needed, and reached backward to grasp the back of his head, needing to hold onto something as she felt the heel of his hand moving back down. He slid a long finger inside her as he devoured her neck, his other fingers loosening their hold long enough to pinch her nipple, and that was all it took for her to come again.
They finally made it to his bed, but she ignored his outstretched hand, an invitation to join him in lying down. Instead, she straddled him, her bottom resting on his thighs. His erection stood long and thick, and even though she had just come twice, her pussy twitched at the thought of how good it would hurt to have him inside her.
But she wanted to return the favor, to repay his seduction with something equally impressive. Maybe it was her competitive nature, but she needed to undo him the way he had undone her. She touched him lightly, watching his face as her fingers roamed. Michael was at once controlled and expressive as her nails grazed lightly up his shaft. She watched him as her fingertips stroked his balls, as her fist tugged gently at his head. She could tell from his breath which of her ministrations he liked, but his face didn’t reveal which ones he liked the most. She wasn’t so much trying to tease him as she was trying to learn him. A man’s willingness to accept pleasure he couldn’t control said a lot.
His eyes fell shut in grateful anticipation when she began to slide up his body. So many men were all fuck, no foreplay, but something about the way he writhed beneath her and the small sounds he made showed that he needed this, that it brought him some deep satisfaction.
Lowering her nose to his belly button, she grazed against him all the way up to one of his nipples before tugging on it with her teeth, earning her a flex of his hips and a low moan. Darby was positioning herself right over him when she felt his hand reach toward the nightstand, for the lone condom, but drew his arm back. Instead, she settled her center right over his shaft, steering clear of his head, and slid up and down, spreading her wetness all over him. She lowered herself so that the tips of her nipples tickled his chest as she moved. Her mind flashed to the Vinyasa yoga class she took when it was too cold to run the lake, to all the Chaturangas that had prepared her for this moment. On anyone smaller, this wouldn’t have worked, but Michael was impressively long. And since she was still so wet, she had plenty to give him, and gave it to him painfully slow.
“God, that’s hot,” he breathed, maybe at the combination of things she was doing, maybe because he anticipated what she had in mind. On her last pass, she slid herself over his head before returning to sit on his thighs and began to thoroughly lube him up for the hand job that was to come.
And so she began, with not one hand, but two, her thumb sweeping at his tip to make use of his precum, which she mixed with her own juices before working him up and down. He was exquisite in every beautiful change in his face, every thrust of his hips, the flexing of his corded forearm muscles as his hands gripped the sheets of the bed.
And then it happened. Unfiltered ecstasy. She’d heard it building in his breath and felt it in the connection his hands sought out on her hips the moment before he came. It was honest and raw and he looked her right in the eyes instead of closing his or looking away. Everything inside her tightened at the sound he made when he came, a helpless moan and a shudder that she felt all the way down to her toes.
In the hours that followed, they rolled smoothly between moments like that—of raw, intense pleasure—and stretches of languid recovery. He took his time touching every inch of her body, learning it with his fingers and his nose and his mouth. He kissed her for what felt like hours. When the heat between them flared too high, he gave her even more. His mouth eating her pussy gave her number three. His long finger inside her stroking her g-spot as his thumb massaged her clit gave her number four. Five had been a sublime combination of both.
“Holy shit.”
She was breathless, the hint of an incredulous smile on her lips as she angled her head lazily back down toward him. Her neglected pussy felt thoroughly sated and she fought the impulse to thank him. But the look he gave her as he rose onto his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, was just short of predatory. Five times, he’d taken her to her happy place. But looking down at his cock reminded her that she’d left him in a different
place entirely. Straining harder than before, its glistening tip revealed that it was leaking. That was when the smile disappeared from her face. He had more than earned what was coming.
“Don’t be gentle.”
She saw the exact moment his restraint broke. He was still rolling the Magnum on with one hand when he used the other one to roll her over. And he wasn’t gentle about it, not when he’d nudged her legs open and pulled her up on her knees, not when he pushed inside her in a single hard stroke. The strained growl that emanated from him the second he was sheathed inside her was not gentle and the way he started fucking her wasn’t either.
Riding her hard, he laid her out over and over, plying her body to achieve positions that opened her completely to him. But it wasn’t mindless fucking. Though what she had expected—maybe even hoped for—was that he would use her body, selfishly seeking his own release. But he was with her somehow—really with her—in every stroke and every breath. It was terrifying and gratifying all at once—the illusion of deep connection.
The rhythm that overtook them was primal. It felt desperate and right. It made her do things she had never—not once—had the impulse to do. She bit his shoulder as he fucked her against the wall, his pelvis grinding her g-spot; she licked salty sweat off of his clavicle when they rode each other face-to- face minutes later. And when she clenched powerfully around him, the sensation making him feel even bigger inside her, she screamed. He moaned loudly at this, seeming to be pushed over the edge by her display, gasping deeply before letting out a long, deep, wobbly moan. He held her still for a long moment as they caught their breath, foreheads leaned against one another as they waited for the last of stray pulses and twitches to subside.
He was still inside her a minute later when he pulled back a little to put his eyes up to hers. He lifted his hands to smooth her hair back and gave her a long, reverent kiss. She felt a sense of loss when he eased her off of him and set her down on the bed.
Closing her eyes as she listened to him walk away, and heard water begin to run in the bathroom, she suppressed her awareness that she already missed the connection. She now understood better what he had said on the beach. It hadn’t felt transactional. Though it had been fucking—shameless and wanton and between two virtual strangers—it had also felt deeply personal, as if he had unlocked some secret, treasured place within her and shared some piece of himself that nobody knew. She now understood why women fell in love with him. When it came to sexual charisma, he was a natural.
She was seconds away from getting up from the bed, locating her clothes, asking him to zip her back into her dress, and bidding him goodbye, a goodbye that would include her leaving him her number because there was no way she would turn down a repeat performance of sex as good as that.
She felt the bed dip a little and was startled by a warm washcloth being pressed between her legs. Her eyes flew open to find Michael hovering over her on one knee looking down to where he had cupped her and began to clean her gently. He gave her a smile once he had finished. Only then did she notice the other washcloth in his hand. Setting hers down on the bedside table, he stood up and focused on cleaning himself. When he rearranged the disheveled covers, climbed into bed and tucked her under his arm, she abandoned thoughts of leaving. Just before drifting off to sleep, she noticed that the sun had already begun to rise.
The next morning, she awoke to the regretful realization that she had to leave right away if she wanted to catch her flight. Torn between wanting to avoid a potentially awkward conversation and wanting to see his stunning eyes one last time, she decided that she didn’t have the heart to wake him from his much-deserved slumber. So she left him a note on the nightstand, jotting down her phone number on the hotel stationary, along with two simple words: “You’re hired.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to wait long for his call.
TWO DAYS LATER, DARBY’S WISH came true when she received a text from an unfamiliar number. She paused at a nurse’s station, delaying her journey to a staff meeting she wasn’t excited about anyway, to read it a second time.
Would you like to attend the Frigg Foundation Gala with me on Saturday night? If the main event is lacking, I’ll make it up to you after…
She smiled coquettishly as she tapped out her reply. First, her address and then a note.
Let’s hope the main event is lacking…
She was still smiling as she pocketed her phone, picked up her coffee and iPad, and continued to make her way down the hall. As hospitals went, Northwestern Memorial was clean and comfortable, with modern technology and upscale clientele. In the heart of downtown Chicago, it was a stone’s throw from the Magnificent Mile and a short Uber ride to Delaware Avenue, where Darby had enjoyed many lunch hours spent shopping. But that wasn’t why she had chosen it. Beyond her practice as a clinical physician, Northwestern was funding her research.
“Did you win something?” Rich asked as he fell into step with her.
“Kind of,” she admitted, sipping her coffee to avoid flaunting her widening smile.
“I’m afraid to ask,” he muttered. His accent made the word ‘ask’ sound more like ‘aaaahsk’.
“You should be,” she replied cryptically.
She didn’t elaborate, content to maintain her air of mystery. So far as Rich knew, she could’ve been smiling about any number of work-related things. Darby had a reputation for shaking things up within the department and there had been drama lately around the future of their research fellowship, drama that might surface in the meeting they were about to attend.
“Ready for another episode of General Hospital?” she deadpanned.
She swiped her security badge before pushing the double doors that allowed them to exit the patient wing. From there a walkway led them to the administrative building, where her boss was waiting.
Some days, she felt dangerously close to shoving a laryngoscope down Cesar Huck’s throat to wipe the smug smile off his face—the man was a legendary jerk. Dr. Huck—and she wanted to gag every time she was forced to distinguish the unworthy man with that title—was everything a leader shouldn’t be. He stood about 5’ 5”, which made him a solid four inches shorter than her and which came with the predictable Napoleonic complex. Posturing as the alpha typically manifested as thinly veiled misogyny with women and and assertion of his positional domination over the men. This was a man who barely knew how to speak to Darby without being patronizing, not that he ever tried. And his ego was both so big, and so fragile that his resulting theatrics made her feel like a character in a telenovela.
“Nine months, Darby. You can survive the next nine months,” Rich reassured her. Everyone expected Dr. Huck to be promoted to the hospital’s next Chief of Staff, which would free her from the prison of his direct supervision.
“The question is, will he survive the next nine months?” Her face sobered, genuine hostility creeping into her voice.
“You’ve been putting up with his shenanigans for this long,” Rich pointed out, referring to the four years they’d been in the hospital together.
Rich had been a godsend those past years, sympathetic when she wanted a shoulder to cry on, the voice of reason when she needed someone to talk sense into her, and a steadfast ally who was always in her corner. He was tall—north of six feet but not towering or gangly—his pale features were regal and handsome, precisely as one would imagine any highborn Brit’s to be.
She’d nursed an innocent crush on him the first six months they’d worked together, which hadn’t mattered because he’d been blissfully engaged. After growing up with a philandering father, Darby didn’t approve of women who pursued unavailable men. Rich was the kind of guy she would have fallen for when she’d been naïve enough to think that she could juggle ambitions as lofty as hers with a relationship. After he got married, she’d lost interest completely.
And she was glad that she had. Relationships among hospital colleagues rarely survived. And it would be a shame if they’d turned out to be a failed relationshi
p statistic rather than solid friends. Rich was an amazing neurologist, and Darby was a well-respected psychopharmacologist, and their friendship had expanded into a business partnership as well. He was currently consulting on her research fellowship and they spent a lot of hours together. Any romance between them would only have complicated that. Darby relied on Rich to provide her balance at work. He was practical and level-headed, whereas she could be audacious and insubordinate. And she needed all the help she could get when it came to Huck, who became more vicious every day.
“It’s getting worse,” she lamented aloud. She paused to look at Rich before they entered the conference room.
“I know.”
“Glad you could join us, Dr. Christensen.” She wasn’t late for the meeting, but Huck’s dismissive tone implied otherwise, and she didn’t miss the fact that Rich’s name hadn’t been mentioned alongside hers. Huck said nothing to the remaining three doctors who arrived shortly after her. She wasn’t surprised that his passive-aggressive digs had started before the meeting was even underway.
In the same moment she and Rich shared a knowing look about what had just happened, Huck started the meeting. He was the kind of man who loved to dominate a conversation. He rarely invited discussion or new ideas—even after giving up the floor, Huck barely let anyone get a word in edgewise. As soon as she saw that their research project was slated to be covered late in the agenda, Darby took her cue to tune out and think about whatever else was on her mind. Huck had already wasted ten minutes into a topic that wasn’t even on the schedule. They’d never even make it that far.
One of Darby’s many talents was to appear as if she were paying attention to Huck’s insufferable monologues. Sometimes she even pretended to take notes while he was talking. When she was tired, her “notes” were her grocery list, but when she was sharp, she mapped out grand plans and thought through approaches to her research. She’d had some of her best ideas daydreaming in these inane meetings. Today, she wrote out mock interview questions she would drill herself on for Friday, when she would go before the grant review board once again.
