A bolt of lust shoots between my thighs.
“No, I just have an obsession with your boobs.” He presses his finger hard against my nipple. Then, his other hand comes up, and he cups them both.
I arch into his touch.
Soapy thumbs tease my nipples. “Your tits are amazing. Fucking perfection. I’ve never seen a rack as perfect before, and I never will again.”
I think he sees it flash in my eyes—our ending, the pain I feel at the thought—because his hands quickly leaves my boobs, and one finds its way between my legs. He pushes his finger inside me.
My head falls back on a moan, which Tom captures with his mouth. He kisses me hard, while fingering me.
Then, his finger is pulling out, and he’s moving down my body, his tongue licking the running water from my skin. He lifts my leg, resting it over his shoulder, and he presses his mouth to me.
“Oh God.” I brace my hand against the shower wall. Tom’s hands grip my ass, supporting me.
I’m coming minutes later, my lips crying out his name.
My body is still shuddering with aftershocks when Tom gets to his feet, and starts to wash my hair.
After turning off the shower, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist. Then, he comes to me and wraps me in a big, fluffy white towel before leading me back to the bedroom.
Drying my skin and squeezing the excess water from my hair, I watch as Tom drops his towel to the floor, and I’m surprised that he’s once again hard.
He pulls back the bed covers.
I climb into bed.
He turns the music and lights off.
Then, he gets into bed, crawling up between my legs.
In the dark, Tom stares down at me, his fingers working through my damp hair.
He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me softly, and then he’s pressing against my entrance.
A soft moan leaves me as he slowly enters me. His kiss quickly turns deep…passionate. His movements become more intense…urgent.
He cradles my head in his hands, his eyes locked with mine, his look worshipping, as he moves inside me.
In this darkness, for this one last time, I let myself believe that Tom is making love to me.
When I’m coming, I close my eyes, so he won’t see the tears in them.
Tom comes seconds later. His cock buried deep inside me, his face pressed into my neck, his hot breath burning my skin, while he marks my insides with his come.
Then, without moving out of me, he rolls us over, putting me on top of him. His hand holds my head to his chest, and he presses a kiss to my hair.
We don’t speak. No good nights, no good-byes.
And this how I fall asleep—my body wrapped around Tom’s, our chests pressed together, while my heart bleeds out of my own and straight into his.
The Next Morning—Tom’s House, LA
I wake up on my back, the warmth of the sun on my face.
Turning my head, squinting against the bright morning light, I find I’m alone in bed.
Sitting up, I slide my legs over the edge of the bed, letting my toes sink into the soft carpet. I see Tom’s belt that he used on me last night on the floor, and I register the slight soreness in my ass as a vivid memory of Tom moving inside me comes to surface.
I close my eyes, letting it wash over me.
How he felt. How I felt.
Everything about last night was perfect.
But last night is over. And this is the harsh reality of morning.
My last morning with Tom.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing my feelings back.
Getting to my feet, I look around and take Tom’s room in properly in the daylight, trying to learn a little more about him.
It’s a total guy’s bedroom. All dark wood and white walls. The bedsheets I spent the night wrapped up in are black. A huge flat screen is up on the wall.
Getting up, I walk over to the window, which basically covers the entire far wall. Looking at the view, I see the Hollywood sign and realize that I’m in the Hills.
Figures.
Tom wouldn’t exactly be short of cash, thanks to TMS.
I don’t see my clothes or panties anywhere, so I go to Tom’s walk-in closet and grab a shirt.
Wearing only the shirt, I tread out of the bedroom, looking for the stairs.
Finding them easily, I start to make my way down.
Looking around as I walk, I take in my surroundings since I didn’t get the chance to do it last night. I had other things on my mind then…mainly Tom.
In the light of day, his house surprises me. It’s all soft furnishings, beautiful paintings hanging on the walls, and plush carpets and hardwood floors, kind of surprising.
Not how I would expect a rock star’s house to look—well, not Tom’s house anyway.
I imagined his place as a fuck pad with pictures of naked women up on the walls and empty pizza boxes and beer bottles lying everywhere. Considering the Tom of old, I thought he might also have a few actual naked groupies littered around the place for extra decoration and personal usage.