Chapter 23 Owen
OWEN
When you make a lady come on your face, you earn yourself the right to smirk and act all cocky with said lady for at least a full hour afterward, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.
When you make a lady come on your face in a limo, you earn yourself the right to play the theme from Rocky on your phone while you and your lady friend stand up through the sunroof with your arms in the air as you cruise down Central Park West. In addition, it earns you the right to high-five your chauffeur and random strangers in a hotel lobby as well as sing “Pussy Monster” by Lil Wayne in the elevator up to your floor, making your lady blush and shake her head at you while trying so very hard not to laugh.
When you make your son’s hot nanny, who is also your manager’s niece and the only woman you’ve had any feelings for in years, come on your face in a limo and then she asks if it’s okay for her to go to her room to freshen up before joining you in yours—you say yes.
Of course you do. We’ve got all night. Nothing wrong with a little interlude for freshening up and gathering strength and hydrating and whatnot.
But if a few minutes becomes fifteen or twenty minutes and she’s not replying to your texts—no amount of sexual confidence can prevent you from wondering if she’s having regrets and doubts.
Perhaps she spoke to your ex-wife and got a concise list of your flaws as a romantic partner, and maybe—shit, what if she was faking the orgasms just to be nice?
That last thing is basically impossible, and the way things were with my ex-wife aren’t relevant, but Frankie wouldn’t be wrong to question whether or not we should do this.
Of course we shouldn’t. But this is one of those rare situations in life where you really have to do the thing you shouldn’t do because it’s the this is wrong part that will make it so, so right.
No one’s cheating on anyone here. We’re both adults here.
We’re two very hot and horny single adults who need to do the thing that they shouldn’t do before one of their tortured big, hard cocks falls off.
When you finally hear that familiar quiet-yet-determined knock on the door to your suite, it is totally natural for your heart to start racing and very cool of you to fist pump and whisper “yessss” before opening the door.
One might expect a young woman such as Frankie Hogan to appear at a hotel room door wearing a trench coat and heels—to casually sway her hips as she enters while slowly removing her trench coat to reveal some super-classy-yet-equally-naughty lingerie underneath it.
But somehow, even when you find her standing there in Snoopy pajamas with a nervous expression on her naked face, you find her sexy and endearing and altogether likable. Lovable, even. And totally fuckable.
“Hi. I was about to go over and check on you.” I take her hand and lead her inside, feeling a little overdressed.
“I got nervous.”
When you’re a professional comedian, you do get a sense of when a joke is going to fall flat, but I decide to say this anyway: “Is this your first time? I’ll be gentle.”
I don’t get a laugh.
She squeezes my hand and looks up at me, sighing. “Please tell me you’re terrible at schtupping.”
“Sorry, baby. That’s just not the feedback I’ve gotten.”
She rests her forehead against my chest. “Don’t say we’re doing this to get it out of our systems, okay?” She sounds so vulnerable all of a sudden.
I wrap my arms around her.
I want to build her a house and carry her around in my arms all the time and sing her a lullaby or something.
But I also want to schtup her.
She takes a breath and continues, “If we do this now, I’m going to give you everything. Even if it doesn’t last.”
I knew it. I knew she was a romantic. I knew it.
“I want your everything, Frankie. Even if it’s just a bottomless pit of sarcasm and veiled dick jokes. And I’ve been waiting to give you everything ever since you mauled me in Tampa.”
I get smacked in the arm for that, and rightly so. She offered me three rare jewels of genuine sentences, and I gave her one and a half asshole replies.
“What I mean is…”
Before I can finish that sentence, she says, “Saying you’re going to have sex with someone you’re really attracted to so you can get it out of your system is like going to Target and saying you’re just going to buy one thing.”
“Trying out jokes before we schtup for the first time, huh? I like it. That’s a good one.”
“It’s mine. I call dibs on the Target joke.”
“You can have it. I call dibs on you.”
“You can have me. Grab a cart because I have a lot to offer.”
“I’m getting two carts because I’m going to grab everything.”
I grab her ass, pick her up.
The sound she makes at the back of her throat is caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, but it’s hot as hell.
Her legs wrap around my waist, and I carry her over to the dresser, placing her on top of it.
I lean in to kiss her, but she pulls my shirt off over my head and then pulls the Snoopy shirt off over hers.
I do a full-on doubletake because it’s like a fucking mirage.
She’s wearing a fancy, black lacy bra thing that pushes her tits up, and I want my hands and mouth all over them.
But I keep my cool.
“Well, now. What have we here?”
She’s grinning at me—little minx. “You like? Because there’s more where that came from, if you’re interested.” She points down at the area below her waist.
“I’m moderately to extremely interested and intrigued.”
She places her palms flat against the top of the dresser, hiking herself up, so I can yank those Snoopy pajama bottoms down.
They drop to the floor, and now I want to drop to one knee because this woman came to my hotel room wearing some kind of French lingerie getup under Snoopy pajamas.
There’s a thing around her waist with dainty suspenders attached to black stockings, and fuck me running through Target with two carts I don’t even know where to start.
“What are you—what—what is this—why—why why why why are you so fucking hot, you monster?”
She leans back, rests her foot on my chest, and drags her fingers over one breast, down her waist and the top of her thigh to the little gold buckle at the end of the strap holding the stockings up.
“I’ve never worn this for anyone before.” Her voice is all sex kitten-y all of a sudden. “Do you know how to take these off?” She bites her lower lip and bats her eyelashes at me.
I hold her gaze and have both of those things unbuckled and the stockings pulled off her legs before she even realizes what’s happening.
I expect that to piss her off. Instead, she looks nervous again. Did she not expect me to be so competent at removing ladies’ undergarments? Sorry, honey. I got this.
I stare into those big brown eyes as I reach between her legs, slipping my fingers inside those fancy lace panties, and what I find in there is so simple and just pure, heavenly Frankie.
Her clit is slick and warm, and I take my time reacquainting myself with her.
It’s only been about an hour since my tongue was down there, but she’s responding to my touch like it’s the first time.
Shivering and trembling. She is somehow simultaneously receptive and resistant, and it’s so fucking sexy.
What kind of idiot would I have to be to think I could get enough of her in one night?
She whimpers. Arches her back because I know she wants me to pay attention to those tits, and I plan to. She pouts and leans forward to kiss me, but I pull back. She’s so aroused she can’t even get mad at me, and I can tell that that makes her mad too. And more aroused.
She wriggles around, chest heaving, eyes shut, head falls back.
She is right on the edge, and now is the time for my fingers to leave that slippery pearl and tend to other parts of her.
She makes that gasp-y, moan-y sound again, opens her eyes—glares at me.
Oh, she’s mad.
Good.
She continues to glare at me, squeezing her thighs together when I reach around to unhook her bra. As soon as the tension is released, the arm straps fall and those glorious tits spill forth, and this…this is so much more beautiful than what I’d imagined. I’m just staring.
She slips her arms through the straps, tosses the bra aside, and makes a move to punch my bicep. I grab that wrist. Grab her other wrist and hold her arms behind her back, dipping down to take one perfect nipple into my mouth.
“You are such an asshole,” she whispers.
She’s breathing so hard.
“Do you have notes for me, Tampa Heckler?”
She tenses up and says, “Yes. Enough with the edging. Just fuck me on the bed right now.”
One more swirl and lick with my tongue, and then I release her wrists. “I can do that.”
I carry her to the bed, drop her from just high enough so I can watch her bounce magnificently on the mattress.
She frowns at me as she sits up, unbuckles my belt, undoes my pants, and takes great care in removing my tortured big, hard cock from the boxer briefs that could barely contain it.
She cups my balls, holds the base with the other hand, and mutters, “Sonofabitch,” as she licks and sucks and strokes, just enough to punish me for edging her and just enough to reward me for what I did in the limo.
She licks up the shaft one last time, kisses the tip, and then looks up at me.
She’s waiting for me to get a condom. I retrieve the package, which she takes from me, again being very careful as she rolls it on—and I want to build that house for her again. She may be nervous, but she is also very competent and very, very thoughtful.
She takes off her fancy panties, pulls down the lacy thing that was around her waist. I watch her crawl backward to the head of the bed. Totally naked and completely stunning.
I can’t get in there fast enough.
Hovering over her, I ask, “You ready for me?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Darlin’, when it comes to this particular act, I am very serious.”
She sucks in a breath, stares down at me where I’m positioned right there at her entrance, and nods.
She bends her legs as soon as I push in. I go slow because her pussy is deliciously tight and deliriously wet, but she releases the most impressive string of swear words, and goddammit, it’s so hot. “I did ask if you were ready, milady.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice is low and shaky. “It feels so fucking good I want to punch your face. But get over yourself.”
It does feel so fucking good. So much tension, so smooth, and a perfect fit. It feels like Frankie and me. It feels like the kind of home I’ll always be excited and comfortable in and always want to come back to.
She hisses, makes a high-pitched sigh, and I groan when I’m in as deep as I can go.
Some single dad part of me just wants to make sweet, slow love to this woman so she knows exactly how much she means to me.
That part is completely overtaken by the part of me that wants to jungle fuck her until she screams my name and I can’t remember who I am other than the man who gets to fuck Frankie Hogan.
She wraps her legs around mine, giving me a little nudge to let me know that I can start moving now.
And I do.
I thrust hard and fast because I know she can take it.
Her fingernails scrape down my back and it stings and I like it and it spurs me on in the way that only she can.
I get up on my knees, staying inside her, lift her up by her hips so she’s arching back.
Her arms hang above her head, and I watch her tits bounce around while I thrust at her G-spot.
She practically starts singing. She keeps her waist up like a good girl so I can ram into her, and just when I think she couldn’t be any hotter, she starts caressing herself.
It’s so fucking beautiful. I could watch her all night.
But I also can’t.
I lean forward, going deeper.
She cries out a yes, oh shit, fuck, yes, reaching back to place her hands on the headboard so she can push back onto me.
“Frankie. Fuck.”
She screams my name, just like I need her to.
I’m so close.
I lower her back down to the mattress so I can ride high and drill into her.
She starts jerking and thrashing around because I’m stimulating her clit with my cock and there’s so much friction between us.
Her eyes are shut tight, her mouth a perfect O, and then a bead of my sweat drops onto her forehead.
She opens her eyes and we stare at each other, and I have never even wanted to stare into a woman’s eyes while fucking her before but it’s so intense.
We both try to keep our eyes open as long as we can, but mine snap shut when I come.
And I come like a rocket. I know she’s coming at the same time, and that has never happened to me before either.
There is no “before.”
There’s no women before Frankie, no Justins before me.
No jobs or uncles or kids to worry about.
No banter or jokes.
There’s just my body and hers. And the incredible power of that friction between us. And the unbearable joy and pain that’s left when we’re completely still and connected to each other like this.
When we finally exhale and I lower myself to lie on top of her, I kiss her cheek and wrap my arms around her waist.
Maybe I pass out for a bit.
When I wake up, I can hear her sniffling.
I raise my head so I can see her face.
“Are you crying?”
She swipes at her cheekbone. “Shut up.” The smirk and the gentle manner in which she strokes my back is in direct opposition to the way she deadpans, “Exactly how long of a refractory period do you have? Because I’m going to give you one or two chances to redeem yourself tonight. I think you can do better.”
Lady Hilarious McFunnyPants just earned herself a little smack on the ass, ladies and gentlemen.
I feel something stirring already.
On with the show.