Mister O

“You’re so fucking sexy. You feel so good.”


“God, so do you. It drives me wild the way you fuck me,” she says, and every word from her mouth gets me hotter. She wraps her legs around my ass, and loops her hands around my neck. This is how I want her.

“I want to watch your face when you come again. You’re so beautiful beneath me. You’re so goddamn gorgeous when you come,” I say, and she trembles, gripping me tighter, pulling me farther into her.

I don’t want this to ever stop. I don’t want this night to end. I want her over and over. I roll my hips and thrust into her, finding a new rhythm. It’s fast, but not frantic. It’s intense, but not out of control. It’s just fucking perfect, then more perfect when she raises her knees, sliding them up my sides, opening herself even more.

“You like that, princess?” I growl, as she widens for me, giving me her body in that position.

Her answer is a low, sexy cry of rapture. I drive farther, rolling my hips, hitting her in all the right places.

“I can feel you deeper like this. So deep that . . .” She trails off, her lips near my ear. She draws my earlobe between her teeth and nips. She moans against me, a sexy, beautiful noise as she whispers, “That I’m going to come again.”

My favorite words from her. I’m so fucking turned on. So fucking crazy for her. “Do it,” I groan as I pump into her, and she grips my ass, digging in, holding on. Her face is pressed to mine as she rocks up. Her body detonates, and she’s like a Harper bomb under my hands, a beautiful explosion of lust and sensuality, and so much rapture.

That’s it. I’m done. I chase her there, pushing deep inside at a fevered pace, my own climax tearing through my body as she shudders beneath me. Our cheeks touch as I come so fucking hard that nothing but incoherent noises fall from my lips, nearly as loud as hers. Because, holy fuck, it’s so good with her. It’s so incredibly good.

Her moans don’t stop for a long time, and nor do mine as I collapse on her. My heart beats furiously. Beads of sweat slick my chest. And I’m so damn happy to have her in my bed, beneath me, with me, next to me.

I roll off her, tie the condom, and toss it in the bathroom trash. I return to her, and she’s the most beautiful sight ever—mostly undressed and fucked senseless . . . by me.

“Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to feel you naked,” I tell her, and I help her slide off the shoes, stockings, and the bra. She’s in nothing, just like me. I pull her into my arms.

She feels too good to be true.



“So this is your bedroom,” she says, glancing around a few minutes later.

My room is simple—blond hardwood floors, a king-sized bed, and a bureau with a handful of framed family photos, as well as stacks of sketchbooks and pens. On my wall is a drawing of a duck taped to bricks, aptly titled “Duct Tape.”

“Maybe you’ll show me your bedroom someday soon,” I say, as I kiss her neck.

“Actually, you’ve seen it.”

I arch a questioning eyebrow.

“My apartment is a studio. I sleep on the purple couch. It’s a pull-out.”

“I have fond memories of what I did to you on that couch yesterday. Had no idea it was your bed too.”

She taps my nose. “Don’t know if you know this, Mr. Brains and Beauty, but Manhattan is a teeny bit expensive,” she says, holding up her thumb and forefinger. “Especially for an almost twenty-six-year-old magician.”

I nod, aware that her situation is different than mine. We’re both skilled enough to do what we love, but I’ve had bigger breaks.

“But I’m lucky to have that place,” she adds. “My parents bought it years ago as an investment, so I basically rent from them. They wanted to let me live rent-free, but I insisted on paying.”

“Hopefully they gave you a good deal.”

“They did. For a place in the 90s, it’s better than rent-controlled. And it lets me live in Manhattan, working kids’ parties for the most part.”

I prop myself up and run my fingers along her hipbone. “Is that the end game? I’m not saying you should do more. I’m just curious.”

“I’d like to do a few more corporate events since the pay is better, but for now, I’m happy.”

“Would you ever want to do a big, grand show, like in Vegas?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I really like working with kids. They’re fun and appreciative, and they believe in the illusion. They believe it’s all real.”

“You have no idea how badly I want to ask you to show me how to do the pencil trick.”

“You know I could never do that.” She stretches an arm to my nightstand, grabbing a pencil. She presses her finger to my lips. “I’m not going to tell you how it’s done,” she says, then brings her right hand to her nose, while her left hand is curved next to it. In a flash, she puts the pencil in her nose.