“I still don’t like you,” she says, her quiet murmur turning to a gasp as I close my mouth over her hard nipple. The sound of the effect I have on her, the scent of her perfume in the dip of her cleavage, and the taste of her skin on my tongue are like a sensory aphrodisiac that grabs hold of my balls and doesn’t let go.
The reverberation of my chuckle gets absorbed by her skin as I flick my tongue over her tightened peak before grazing it with my teeth. I don’t care if she likes me or hates me right now because it feels like it’s been so damn long since I’ve had sex. My only thought, my sole focus, is the heat of the moment and losing myself to the all-consuming euphoria of getting off. I know that makes me an asshole, but I’ve never pretended to be anything else in the whole ten minutes we’ve known each other – so at least I can’t be accused of pretending to be something I’m not.
The bed’s only a few feet from the door, and the back of her knees hit it. My body bent at the waist, my mouth continues to taste and tempt as she lowers herself to the bed so that she’s sitting and I’m standing. And fuck, I thought I was doing pretty damn good on restraint until she unzips my cargo pants and her chilled hands slide inside. The contrast of her cold hands on my rock-hard dick paralyzes me momentarily because, damn, it feels fucking fantastic.
And shit, I’m a guy who’s all about foreplay. I love teasing a woman with my fingers, tongue, toys, and anything on hand so that I can bring her to the brink of coming, then ease back some so that she begs me for more in that strained moan women have that calls to the animalistic part of me, before I dive back in to make her body tighten and * pulse. Only then do I usually jacket up and slide into the wetness I’ve helped create.
But right now? I’m all about the endgame. So when her hands begin to stroke me with a measured pressure that’s equal parts strong and slow, I straighten up, let my head fall back, and lose myself in the sensations that are pulling me way too fucking quick to the edge.
The best part is this is a one-night stand. I don’t have to worry about misconstrued intentions or even speaking at all because we both know what we’re here for. And with my thoughts fractured a thousand different ways, this is perfect. Just what I need. A night of sweaty, gritty sex without promises. A hot and willing woman who will most likely evade my gaze when we pass each other in the lobby, and that’s just fine with me.
I lose myself to her touch, but the tension builds so goddamn fast. It pains me to put my hands on my shoulders and stop her as I step back. “Fuck,” I say, part groan from her stopping the motion, part verbal acknowledgment of what she’s doing to me.
And if the smirk on her face, the flush of her cheeks, and her budded nipples weren’t enough to taunt me, the laugh she emits does just that. I meet her eyes then, and it’s a mutual exchange of our consent of what’s about to happen despite her continued commentary on how much she dislikes me.
A split second passes, and then both of us are stripping off the remainder of our clothes in a riotous frenzy. I move to the cheap dresser in the room and pull out a condom, feeling like time is of the essence. When I turn around again, I’m staggered by the sheer beauty of the woman waiting for me. BJ is lying back on the bed, the lean lines of her naked body looking like an ocean of flesh and curves that I can’t wait to sink into. She’s let down her hair so that it fans in soft waves around her head like a black halo against the sheets.
“See something you want, Pulitzer?” I startle at the nickname. It throws me for a second until I refocus on her open invitation. Her confidence is so damn attractive and confusing all at once, but who the fuck cares because the trim strip of hair on her * calls to me so that my mouth waters and my dick begs for the feeling of her beneath me.