When his teeth nip at my shoulder before darting out his tongue to soothe it, I gasp. “But they’re not here right now. You are. You’re the one whose mouth is on me.” My hand moves between us to cup him, loving the way he thrusts into my touch. “You’re the one I want to touch, the one I want inside me.”
“Noelle.” His voice is gravelly. “I want my cock inside of you now, so you’ll go back to your seat at that table still feeling me inside you, still slick from me making you come.” I’ve already begun unfastening his jeans, frantically shoving them down along with his boxer briefs while his fingers delve between my legs, giving a sharp tug on my thin, flimsy thong, and it gives way.
“You owe me,” I gasp when his fingers slide deep inside of me, “a new pair of underwear.”
“Done.” He pumps his fingers a few times, in and out of my wetness before fumbling to find a condom in his wallet. I hear the crinkling sound of the wrapper seconds before he turns me around to face the door. “Palms against the door,” he commands. I do as he says, his hands gliding over my ass before the tip of his hardness probes my entrance.
He pushes inside of me slowly. “The way it feels, to slide my cock inside of your wet pussy is … fucking bliss.” He thrusts in deeper, inch by inch, before he’s fully seated inside of me. And I’m already feeling my inner muscles clench around his hardness, at the way he feels even deeper than any of the times before, at the way his piercing is rubbing against my inner walls.
“Foster,” my breathing is ragged, “please move. Please.”
His teeth bite down gently on the top of my shoulder, and he starts pumping in and out of me in such a way that makes me whimper, my fingers curling against the door, nails scratching at the surface. The way he grips my hips, tipping his own in order to angle his thrusts better combined with the words he’s saying, work to push me over the edge, while I thrust myself back onto his cock.
“That’s it,” his voice is guttural, “work your pussy over my cock. Fuck my cock.” At the first sign of my orgasm, my inner walls clench around him. His grip on my hips tightens and I know I’m going to have slight bruising but I don’t care. Biting down on my lip to try and contain my moan as my inner muscles spasm around him, he lets out a low groan before giving two more deep thrusts, finding his own release.
Resting my forehead against the door, I listen as our harsh breathing begins to even out and realize, with embarrassment, that my orgasm was so powerful it’s going to require a bit of a clean up.
“Uh, I sure hope there’s paper towels in here somewhere.” I’m cringing as I say this because, gross.
Foster presses a light kiss to my shoulder and I relax a bit. “I’ll take care of it,” he says softly against my skin. Backing away from me, I instantly miss him, miss the weight of him against me. Hearing the sound of him fastening his pants—thankfully, he doesn’t turn on the light—then some rummaging around before, “Hold still.” I jerk at the feel of him wiping me with some paper towels.
“Foster,” I hiss. This is beyond weird. And way too intimate. “What are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning you,” he says this as if it should be obvious—as if it’s no big deal.
Groaning, I softly let my forehead thud against the door. “So embarrassing.”
“Why?” He’s done now and is doing his best to rearrange my dress before he tugs at my wrist to turn me to face him.
“It’s just really … personal. I mean,” I shrug even though he can’t see me in the darkness, “do you do this for every woman you sleep with?”
There’s a considerable pause before he finally answers. “I’ve never done this before.” It’s clear from his tone he’s just now catching on to the fact that this is something pretty damn intimate. Especially for a person who is anti-relationship like him.
Oh, boy. Can I please get a large platter of uncomfortable moment with a side order of uncomfortable moment, please? With the dessert special of—wait, you guessed it—uncomfortable moment?
“Okay, well. Thanks so much for helping me clean up. I’m going to run over to the restroom real quick. Seeyoulater.” My words are rushed and end up running together in my haste to escape this moment of awkwardness. Luckily, he’s still in a daze, and I twist the door knob, managing to rush out and sprint—like I’m attempting to qualify for the Olympics—the necessary ten feet to the women’s restroom, only letting out a tiny sigh of relief once I’m safely inside one of the stalls.
I’m getting in too deep with Foster. A part of me is screaming to end things now before it gets even messier and more confusing.
The other part of me, though, is digging in its heels because it knows the truth. It’s already messy, and there’s no confusing one fact.
I’ve already fallen in love with him.
Chapter Fifty-One
Foster