My rinse-off in lukewarm water is fast, and I dry myself with a new towel I bought at Target my second day in Rock Bridge. My skin is still humming a little from feeling Smith’s touch on me. I want more of him. So much more. I never felt as alive, as free, as I did in that bathroom—the sheer wildness of the moment and my massive orgasm made me giddy.
Does he want more, too? Was that a one-off incident, or will something else happen between us in the future? And if it does happen, will I have to be the one to instigate it again? Because it took all my courage to even be so suggestive to him, and I’m not sure I could repeat it. When I told him I was going to the bathroom, I thought he’d just grab my hand in the hallway and take me into his office or something. I didn’t know he’d lock the damn bathroom door behind him. The impulsive, wicked move was so hot.
I open my window, close my eyes, and stretch out on my bed in the dark, on top of the covers. Allow myself to fantasize about Smith lying above me, our skin touching and sliding along each other, his hands clenching my hips as he thrusts into me. Something about the man is so wicked but also makes me feel like I’m in good hands. Like he’d care for me.
Even if it was just to see to my sexual needs.
Roger was never like that. Even at the beginning, I noticed his selfishness in the bedroom and everywhere else. But by the end it was so much worse… I push out all thoughts of my ex and focus back on my moment of pleasure earlier tonight. How good Smith’s mouth felt licking me. Holy hell, the guy could have a doctorate in oral sex. I’ve never had someone do the things he did to me. Never felt those sensations before of my pussy lips being sucked into a mouth.
My clit throbs as I think about it, and I reach down, slick my fingers between my damp lips. I can still hear Smith’s breath drawing in that second before he first licked me, the one where he looked up at me and told me what he wanted. Made me give him permission.
Why did that arouse me so? Why does the thought of turning myself over to him drive me wild, make me almost shake with desire? I should be scared—I told myself on the long drive to Rock Bridge that after Roger, when I was ready to date again, I’d never date someone who wanted to control me. I’d find someone who made me feel free.
But it’s strange—even though Smith took control during our brief encounter, I never felt like he would take advantage of me or hurt me. In fact, I’d never felt so safe in all my life, despite the excitement and danger inherent in the situation.
Still, despite my attraction to him, I know Smith isn’t as safe or simple as I’d like to believe. Something about Smith makes me feel like he would have many demands of me. Would they only be in bed, or would they extend elsewhere?
I think about him whispering in my ear, telling me all the things he wants to do with me, and my lower belly tightens in response to the fantasy. Smith isn’t a boring-sex kind of man. He’d push my limits. It was easy for me to give in at the bar because I knew the bathroom door was locked. But what if he’d left it unlocked?
The thought both scares me and makes my clit pulse. Then someone could have walked in on us, seen him licking me, seen me coming on his hand… My breath catches in my throat and I can’t resist stroking myself more at the thought. My pussy gets super wet, the juices sliding around on my lower lips as I run my finger along the slit. I’m panting, and my nipples bead and harden when I imagine Smith sucking the tips into his mouth.
My orgasm builds fast. I let the fantasy continue, and in my mind, Smith grips the base of my neck as he drives into me. His eyes consume me, his cock fills me, his other hand slides along my skin, and my flesh grows hot and sensitive and tingling, and I’m frantic as I finger my clit, the small bud pulsing beneath my strokes.
I feel a surge crest in my pussy, and then it crashes over me and I give a sharp cry out before remembering that my window is open. I swallow back the rest of the sound and buck on the mattress, my channel dripping juices along my slit, my body radiating my orgasm all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. I turn my head and press my mouth to my pillow and let the sensation subside slowly.
A lethargy sweeps in then, and I sink into the mattress, let the drowsy post-orgasm feeling lure me into sleep. The last thing I think of is Smith’s brilliant eyes.
I blink awake and sleepily look at my bedside clock. It’s a little before three in the morning. Did I hear something? It sounded like…
There’s a rapid knock on my door. My heart lurches in surprise.
Roger. It’s Roger—has to be.
Oh God, he’s here. He found me. I scramble to throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and I grab my phone and dial 9 and 1. The baseball bat I also bought at Target is in my other hand. I inch to the front door, pulse jumping hard, stomach a mass of knots, and peek through the peephole.
No one is there.
What do I do? Do I stay inside, or do I risk it and peek to see if Roger is out there? I swallow and stiffen my spine. I’m not going to let him make me afraid anymore. Plus, my phone is right here.