by Penny Wylder
I’m still arching my hips in the rhythm of the dream, thrusting up and down a little, my lips parting with a faint moan, when I realize that it was just a dream.
Just a dream, that hot tub and that public space. Just a dream, that sexy as hell naked man pinning me up against the side to fuck me until I screamed. Just a dream…
So whose hands are those parting my thighs right now? And whose mouth is that kissing up my inner thigh, an inch at a time?
My eyelids flutter, as I take in the unfamiliar setting around me. Hotel room, I remember. I tilt my head to one side to squint at the wide open blinds and the dim dawn light filtering in through them. Oh right. I meant to close those last night.
Why didn’t I?
The mouth between my legs slides higher, and I gasp, remembering everything in a rush.
The divorce papers. The number in the bathroom stall. The phone call. Letting Angel in last night. And then letting Angel into me.
I glance down, just as he raises up the covers of the bed to peer up from under them at me. He’s spread out at my feet, his hands on my thighs, parting them, as his lips kiss their way up from my ankles to my knees. He’s paused there to grin, eying me.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, in that deep, sexy baritone voice of his. The one that was so sexy and commanding last night.
I lick my lips and hesitate. But only for a second. “Good morning.”
He leans down and kisses his way higher. His lips reach my inner thighs. Higher, higher… His mouth brushes the side of my hips, and his tongue flicks down along the crease where my hips meet my leg. First one side, then the other, slow and steady. “I hope you slept well,” he whispers, and his breath makes my skin go hot wherever his tongue has touched.
“Well enough,” I reply, my head still racing to catch up to what my body already knows.
It was all real. Last night really happened. And he’s really still here. My sexy one-night stand. The best fuck I’ve ever had in my life, probably.
“It sounded like you were having good dreams,” he replies, and something in his voice makes me glance back at him sharply, aware that he’s grinning at me. He shrugs one shoulder, unapologetic. “You called my name a lot in your sleep,” he says.
My cheeks go bright red, my whole face burning with embarrassment. “Um… I meant someone else,” I reply. At his smirk, I force myself to glare at him, eyes narrowed. “Anyway, that’s probably not even really your name, is it? Angel?”
He pauses again, and there it is. That same flicker of distaste or annoyance or… something, that I saw last night, when he told me to call him Sir instead. For some reason, the name Angel bothers him. But I don’t know why it would. After all, he’s the one who wrote it all over the bathroom stall.
Before I can press the issue or ask anything else, though, he’s kissing me again. This time he presses his lips right against my mound, and his tongue flickers down to trace the outer edges of my pussy lips, one after the next. I moan a little, softly.
I can tell that I’m swollen. Probably red, from the fucking last night. It’s an ache that tells me he gave me exactly what I wanted. Walking will be tricky today.
“You’re right. It is not my name,” he finally admits, quietly, long after I’d given up hope of a response.
I tilt my head at him, curious, waiting for more. But he doesn’t add anything else. He just drags his tongue along me again, one lip after the next, before he carefully parts them, slowly and delicately, as though he knows I’m sensitive and sore today.
His tongue laps along me in slow, careful strokes, and before long, my heart is racing. I can tell I was already wet and excited, thanks to all the dirty dreams I’d been having, probably all night, courtesy of this man. I arch my hips, and he slides a hand beneath me to grip my ass, pulling my pussy up and against his face.
I let my legs fall to each side of him, savoring the trace of his stubble against my inner thighs as he presses his face closer to me. “Right there,” I hear myself whispering, unsteady at first. “Lick me right there, again, again…” I get bolder as he does just what I say, over and over.
He pushes my legs apart further, and then, without warning, he plunges his tongue into me, curling it to drag along my inner wall. A moan escapes me, and I buck up against his face. He smiles, eyes flashing where they catch mine. “That’s it, dirty girl,” he says, pausing to speak, withdrawing just far enough that his breath ghosts a hot trail against my skin as he does. “Tell me right where you want me.”
“Inside me,” I pant, my hands sliding down into the sheets on either side of us to make fists.
He pushes his tongue back into me, and I moan again, yet another spike of pleasure hitting me. But I shake my head, too.
“You,” I pant. “Your cock. I want your cock inside me again.”
He pulls back with another sly grin of his, assessing me, taking his time, as he sits up and reaches for the nightstand beside us. I catch a glimpse of his wallet and phone there, and watch as he pulls a condom out of his wallet. If I’m honest, I’m hoping for a peek of an ID card, some sort of way to identify him. Some hint as to what his name really is, if not Angel.
But he closes the wallet the second he has what he needs from it, and I don’t want to pry. His business is his own. If he doesn’t want me to know who he really is, then I won’t.
“You really are insatiable, you know that?” he asks, smirking, as he sheathes his cock again, unrolling the condom down his hard length.
I keep my gaze fixed on his hard, glorious length the whole time. The moment he’s done putting on the condom, I reach down to grasp his cock with both hands and trace the length of him slowly, from base to tip and back again. He groans a little, and I tighten my grip, enjoying the way his head falls back and the veins along his neck stand out as he grits his teeth in pleasure.
“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning right back at him. “You just fucked me the way no one else has. Of course I want more.”
His smile widens. “Was it that good for you?” He leans down to cup my chin and tilts my face toward his, even as I keep my hands fisted around his cock. “Good,” he murmurs, right before kissing me again, deeper this time, slower. My tongue tangles with his, and my heart speeds up, my breath catching, until he withdraws again, just far enough to catch my eye and smile down at me. “Because it was for me too.”
With that, he spreads my legs and plunges into me again, and I cry out at the sudden force of it. My pussy is already sore, and now it throbs with the sensation of stretching to accommodate him again, feeling his thick cock buried deep inside me, filling me, every inch stuffed. He pauses there, buried in me, and kisses me again, slowly, his tongue tracing mine before he breaks away to kiss down the edge of my jaw, pausing to suck and nip at the spot under my ear, and then to kiss the edge of my neck softly. I wrap my arms around him, my hands tangled in his hair, savoring the feeling of his warm body pressed against the length of mine.
I raise my legs on either side of him and wrap my legs around his waist. He smiles and arches his hips, leaning back to eye me as he slowly, slowly, draws himself out of me, and then thrusts in again, all at once.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, but I’m already shaking my head.
“More,” I gasp.
It’s not like the first time. This time, he goes slow and steady the whole time. So slow, in fact, that at some points I find myself gripping his ass, my nails digging into his skin, dragging him against me, my hips arched up under him to try and pull him deeper, harder, faster. But any time he does speed up, there’s a deep throb inside me, my pussy aching from last night still, and he seems to sense that, reading my body even better than I do.
He slows again, and the pleasure starts to build in me, slow and steady.
“Relax, Naomi,” he whispers against my lips. “Enjoy it.”
It’s hard. I want more of him, all of him, right now. But I try to temper my impatience, try to let myself relax
and enjoy the flow. And, to my surprise, I find that I do. He slides a hand down between us to finger my clit as he fucks me slow and steady, and soon I’m bucking up against him, faint cries escaping with each thrust as I near the peak.
“That’s it,” he coaxes me. “Come for me, Naomi, come again.” I hit my orgasm after a long, slow time, and cry out, shaking as wave after wave of pleasure sweeps through me.
He drops his hand then, and starts to fuck me in earnest, his hips driving into mine, his balls slapping against my sensitive pussy lips, just hard enough to make little gasps escape me each time, as the pleasure and the ache mingle to make my next orgasm sharper when it comes.
This time, he comes at the same time I do, grabbing my body and pulling me against him as he finishes, a wordless guttural groan escaping him at the same time.
We fall back onto the sheets in a tangle, and I find myself staring at him, this man who appeared out of nowhere to turn one of the worst nights of my life into one of the hottest.
He smiles. “What is it?” he asks, as he rolls off of me to climb out of bed.
“What’s your real name?” I ask, watching him as he slowly peels the condom off his cock to tie it off and drop it into the trash next to the bed.
He pauses. Waits until he’s completed that task before he meets my eye at long last. “Does it matter?” he asks.
“You know mine,” I point out. “It’s only fair.”
“You called me,” he points out in response. “And who said I came here to play fair?” His grin is sharp, hungry. But it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
I keep watching him, quiet, patient.
Finally, he sighs and shakes his head a little, clearly defeated. “You’re dangerous,” he says. “I don’t know how anyone can resist that stare of yours.”
A faint smile touches my mouth at that, in spite of myself.
“Jason,” he tells me.
“Jason,” I repeat softly. “It’s nice to meet you.” I mean it.
He holds my gaze as he replies. “You too, Naomi.” And I can tell he means it, too. But then he pushes up to a stand and bends down to start collecting his things. I notice he takes his wallet and phone off the bedside table first, even before he puts on his pants. It’s like he’s worried I might dig deeper, ask for more, now that I’ve gotten his first name out of him.
It hurts more than it should, for me to realize that he doesn’t trust me. Really? I scold myself. You’re mad that the escort you dialed from the back of a bathroom stall doesn’t trust you?
But I wonder if I was wrong about the whole escort thing. For one, he doesn’t ask me for payment. I don’t bring the topic up, either, since it feels like at this point it would cheapen our whole thing. If he expected to be paid for this, he would have told me upfront, right?
Should I offer to pay? My stomach churns with uncertainty. I don’t know how this works. I don’t even know what this was. I watch him dress with a sinking sensation in my stomach, because all I can think about is how I want to start all over again. Rewind to last night and spend another night in this hotel room, exploring each other’s bodies. I want to fuck him again. I want him to lick my pussy again. Hell, I want to suck that gorgeous cock of his—it strikes me, now, this much later, how unfair it was that I didn’t get the chance.
“So, er…” I push myself off the bed too, and stand, arms wrapped over my chest, unsure. Should I get dressed too? See him out?
He catches the expression on my face and steps over to me, pausing to cup my face between his hands briefly. “Don’t overthink it,” he tells me.
I swallow hard. Nod. “Okay. I mean, I’ll try not to.”
“I’d stay if I could,” he says, and it makes my belly flip to hear it, even if I’m not entirely sure it’s true. Would he really? He bites his lower lip, looking honestly disappointed. “Unfortunately, I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Some new lady to seduce?” I joke, but it falls flat between us. He winces, and I do too. “Sorry,” I stammer. “That wasn’t fair; I don’t even know you, I know, and… I… this was just…”
“This was unusual for me too,” he says. “Extremely. Trust me.”
And for some reason, staring into those dark gray eyes of his, so steady and sincere in the morning light, I realize that I do. I find my head nodding, eager to accept his reassurance. Eager to believe this wasn’t just fantastic for me, but a great night for him, too. “Thank you, Jason.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t you dare thank me for that.” He laughs and leans in to kiss me once more, soft and slow and sweet. “That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had, Naomi,” he whispers, and my heart skips in my chest, expanding until it feels uncomfortable in my ribcage.
With that, he pulls away, and I watch as he strides for the door. I want to ask him to stop. I want to call him back, beg him to stay. I want to undress him all over again, and start over, to lock us both in this room all day and night. Instead, I force a smile. “See you around, then, I guess.”
He smiles back, easy and sincere. “I’ll see you around, Naomi.” With that, he opens and closes the hotel room door, and I sink back onto the bed with a groan, head in my hands.
I don’t move until the knock comes, half an hour later. My first thought is of Jason. He’s back. I spring out of bed and grab my silk nightie off the floor from where I’d tossed it near the windows. I yank it on over my head and go to answer the door.
But it isn’t him. My heart sinks. It’s just the room service guy.
Stupid Naomi. Of course your one-night stand isn’t rushing back to be with you again, I scold myself as I open the door. “Sorry,” I tell the waiter outside, who immediately turns red, I assume in an effort not to stare down at my nightie. “I didn’t order anything. Wrong room.”
“Ah, apologies, Miss,” he says, eyes on the ceiling. “But it was the young man who ordered.” He hands me a note, and then brushes past me, rolling the cart into the room as I unfold the paper to read it.
A smile touches my lips. Spreads, as I read his handwriting.
Sorry I couldn’t stay to bring you breakfast in bed myself. Hope this is the next best thing.
I stand there holding the card to my chest, even after the waiter retreats and leaves me alone with a full plate of breakfast. Then I grin and settle in to eat.
Well. His advertising didn’t lie. For a good time, call. That seems like the understatement of the year, now.
4
I’m still thinking about Jason when I climb into the car later that afternoon. More specifically, I’m still remembering the night and morning we just spent together, and the way he seemed to know my own body even better than I did. Every touch, every kiss, every trace of his tongue over my skin or brush of his fingers along my body.
Even just remembering the way he pushed me up against the window to tongue my ass is enough to make me wet again, and I have to school myself into avoiding any dirty thoughts, especially as I pull up outside the preschool where I’m headed today.
It’s Tuesday, which means it’s my day to pick up my best friend Monica’s daughter. She closes the flower shop where we both work every Tuesday and Thursday, as opposed to the other days when she works the opening shift and is free early enough to pick up Becca from school.
I pull into the lot with plenty of time to spare—which is good, because it gives me time to get my runaway imagination under control, and to stop the wild fantasies I can’t help having, every time I’m left alone with my thoughts for long.
I flick on the radio and flip through stations, trying to find some music that both Becca and I will like—the girl might only be four years old, but she has very particular taste already. No pop music for her. Classical or hip hop only, thank you.
I settle on a classical station and lean back in my seat to watch the clock until the bell rings in the distant school. Then I climb out of the car for one of the best parts of my day.
“Auntie Naomi!” As usual, Becca is one of
the first kids racing out of school, sprinting ahead of the teacher who’s trying her best to corral the runaways with a harried expression.
I kneel down to scoop her up in a tight hug as she giggles into my hair, at the same time mouthing sorry over her shoulder to the teaching aide, who looks relieved that Becca’s only run into me and not, say, straight into the street behind me.
She always has been a handful. But an adorable one. “How was your day today?” I ask, leaning back and offering my cheek to let Becca give me the usual greeting kiss.
She blows a raspberry on my cheek instead, and I roll my eyes as I pretend to grumpily drop her back to the pavement, albeit carefully.
“So rude. Let me guess, you spent the day torturing Mrs. White as usual?”
“It’s not torture,” Becca informs me. “She likes when I surprise her.”
“There are surprises and then there are raspberries,” I respond, making a show of wiping off my cheeks.
Becca just laughs at me and crosses her arms, impatient. “So? Are we going already?”
“Someday when you’re older, you’re going to regret spending all this time when you were small in a hurry,” I inform her.
“Doubt it,” she replies, as I swing open the backdoor. She climbs into the car seat before I can even undo the buckles for her, and does up the clasp herself, though of course I still make her let me check it.
I climb into the driver’s seat next, and double check the mirrors to ensure there aren’t any other hyper runaways like Becca in my immediate surroundings before I pull away from the curb. All the while, she keeps up a steady stream of chatter—filling me in on the coloring projects she made that day, her teacher’s opinion of it, the other kids’ projects and the teacher’s opinion of theirs, and so on.
I’m still half-listening, my mind ten steps ahead of me to the flower shop and what I’m going to tell Monica—do I admit about the whole one-night stand thing? What do I say? Do I tell her where I met this guy, and how?
