8. BAILEE
BAILEE
His fucking hands were magic as they gripped my thighs, spreading them apart as he wedged himself farther in between them. His lips devoured mine, his tongue running along the seam of my lips as he demanded submission. I gladly melted into him, an embarrassing moan slipping from my throat as I grasped at his shirt.
There were entirely too many clothes between us, which I knew was the whiskey talking. If I had had my head on straight, I would have already been back in my room in my drunken haze. But I wasn’t. I was here being devoured by this sexy as fuck man as he claimed me. One of his hands slid around my back and pulled me closer, allowing me to feel his dick neatly settled against my core.
I fought the urge to rock against him as his lips trailed down my jaw and to my neck, his mouth sucking at the tender skin. And when his other hand brushed against the inner part of my thigh, inches from my pussy, I arched against him with a startled gasp.
He pulled away slightly, searching my face with his amused grin. “No panties? Brave girl.” To my horror, I let out a small giggle that quickly died in my throat as his thumb brushed against my soaked folds. Were we really going to do this? Here? My family could come back at any moment and then…
Another stroke had me crying out as pleasure rocked through me and I shamelessly bucked against his fingers.
“Just say the word, baby girl.” His voice was deep and breathy as he continued to run his fingers against me. No should have been my answer but between the attention this man was giving me and the overwhelming desire to be touched, I couldn’t fucking pass on this moment. Instead of giving him words, I responded by yanking his pants down under his cock and grabbing the length in my hands, stroking a few times. “Fuck, I didn’t even think about it. I can grab a condom but I’m negative for everything.”
In my little drunken haze, I hadn’t really thought about it either. Staring down at his cock in my hands, his length twitching against my palms, I knew that the rubber would be the safest option but I also wanted to feel him. “Negative, too. If you’re okay with it…” I got tested every time I went in for another round of meds just to make sure. It was just routine at this point.
He grunted into my shoulder, and for a split second, I told myself that I wasn’t worth it. That this was some strange conquest that he was on. But then I realized that grunt was all desire. “You’re going to feel like fucking heaven, sweetheart,” he spoke into my shoulder as I angled him toward my pussy and slowly urged him forward, my thighs wrapped around his waist. He didn’t resist as he sank into my heat until his hips were flush with mine.
We both sighed in some kind of sexual relief, the feeling so complete between us. Moments later, he was thrusting in and out of me in slow, sensual movements, lazily kissing my lips, tasting me as I rode the pleasure. I rocked with him, matching his rhythm as I kissed him back, my hands roaming under his shirt.
We were still mostly clothed but I couldn't have felt more on display as he fucked me on the counter, his hands grasping my waist with a possessiveness that I wasn’t used to. My orgasm sped toward me and I bit down on his lip as I came, my pussy squeezing around his length. He came soon after, leaning against me, our chests heaving and our breaths mingling.
“That was…”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” I abruptly said. His dick twitched inside of me and I fought the urge to rock against him again.
“There were two participants in this party.” He kissed me again, hanging there for a moment before pulling out, “Fuck, I can’t get enough of your taste.” He grabbed a few wipes from the counter and cleaned me up, lingering between my thighs, his fingers grazing over my flushed skin. We remained there in silence until he placed one last kiss on my lips, grabbed his bag, and disappeared out the front door.
What the fuck just happened?
Not waiting to get caught, I grabbed the whiskey and my journal before I raced to my room. That’s when all the thoughts came racing in – telling me how worthless I was, that I had just fucked everything up, that I should have left him for my sister to have – that…
But I shut all those down and opened my journal, pen at the ready. Yet for the first time, I didn’t want to write about the man I had just fucked. I wanted to remember him, cherish him. I didn’t want to bury him in the sand with the other painful memories. I didn’t want to forget the way he felt inside of me.
For the first time in a while… I wanted something. I wanted it to be mine. And that fucking terrified me.