My head was dizzy and my body numbed as my cock burst, shooting a volley of thick jizz deep into her pussy. We yelled, screamed, and thrashed ourselves calm, then lay still, sweat slowly cooling on our worn out bodies, my softening erection still firmly clutched by her exquisite sex muscles.
Eventually, she rolled onto her back and lay beside me, luxuriating in the soft, thick rug. She twisted and stretched, enjoying the furry feel against her skin. I swear I heard her purring.
“If you’re fast, the burgers might not be too cold,” I told her.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” She laughed. “Guess you took my mind off the hunger.”
We managed to pull ourselves up, and I wheeled the cart in from the living room. She was in bed when I got back, a white hotel robe wrapped around her. She handed me a matching one, and I sat on the bed as well. I passed her a tray. She took it and bit furiously into her burger as I opened the champagne.
“I’ve never had champagne and burgers before,” she mused with her mouth full.
“Really? It’s a delicacy where I come from,” I quipped.
“Where was that again?” she asked.
“Uh-uh, we said no more information, remember?” I reminded her, passing her a full flute.
“Good boy. I was just testing.” She flung back the drink and handed me the empty glass. I refilled it.
It’s strange how hard it is to make small talk when you’re not allowed to discuss your past, your immediate acquaintances, or your job, which is kind of sad. So, after eating, drinking, and a little more flirty conversation, we had sex three more times. She finally finished me in her mouth, swallowing everything I had left.
This girl was amazing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a night like this. Each time we finished, spent beyond exhaustion, it was never long before we were both aroused again. When we eventually succumbed to sleep, I imagined spending more time with her. I’d always resisted the idea of a relationship, knowing that anyone who spent any real time with me was going to get hurt. Any girl I committed to was going to want to change me, which I would resent, and want me to quit my dangerous hobby, which I would refuse to do. I’d react by becoming insensitive to her needs, and most likely, sleeping with someone else. Or she would.
However, something told me that none of that would matter with Summer. So I was really starting to wonder.
Summer
Waking up at six sucked. Waking at six when you didn’t get to sleep until four really sucked. James slumbered peacefully next to me. Or I may have killed him; I wasn’t sure. I crept into the bathroom, found my clothes and shoes where I left them, and borrowed his toothbrush. When I emerged, fully dressed, he was still unconscious. This made everything easier. I scribbled a note for him, took another look at his firm jaw, his broad chest, and strong arms, and felt my poor, aching pussy moisten again. Enough! I resisted the urge to take him in his sleep and left.
It was better this way. We may have clicked sexually, but I had no interest in committing to another man. Especially a rich, bad-boy racer who was going to be absolutely no good for me at all. Plus, I didn’t want any more to do with the racing scene, which he clearly loved. Nothing about us having a relationship would work outside the bedroom.
Speaking of which—wow. I had no idea what came over me. Well, apart from when he actually did come over me. I’ve always prided myself on my sexual expertise, but I can’t remember when I was last so hungry. I couldn’t get enough of his amazing dick. And it just wouldn’t stay down. I completely lost count of how many orgasms I had, several of which were the longest and most intense of my life. If sex was ever the primary reason to stay together, we would have it made. In the real world, however, we had to look beyond that. I felt like he didn’t want any more than one night, and I know damn well that I didn’t.
I grabbed my Mustang from the valet park and hauled ass home to change into something more businesslike. Around eight, I heard the phone ring while I was in the shower; I’d missed a call from Dunlop Tires. Donald wanted to meet today at the racetrack. I really wanted to avoid going there, but I’d have to bite the bullet and take a trip. How bad could it be?
I selected a far more businesslike and appropriate outfit for today. Light gray suit jacket, matching above-the-knee pencil skirt, black blouse, and some underwear this time—a black thong that matched my bra. It was going to be a scorcher today, so no pantyhose. I’d just have to suffer in my two-inch Jimmy Choo pumps.
As I approached the circuit, the long, wide road that turned off the highway, I saw the billboards advertising tires, oils, and expensive watches. The gateway with its huge rising shapes of the spectator stands in the distance beyond it all set my mind flashing back. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that grew larger the nearer I got.