Chapter 2 #2
She's bare now, thighs spread, trembling under my stare.
Dropping to my knees, I wrap both hands around the tops of her thighs and drag her gorgeous young body down the bed until her ass is right at the edge, her pussy glistening with her arousal.
“You have any idea how gorgeous you are like this.” I grit, voice tight. “Laid out, open, ready for me?”
She shudders, and I dive in—burying my mouth between her legs like a man starved.
Because Em is a goddamned confection—a treat for my tongue. Made for this.
When she moans loud and thready, I press a flat palm to her stomach to hold her down.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” I warn. “Not until I’m done.”
“Please—Don—”
I flick my tongue faster, then slow again, looking up at her from between her thighs, watching her unravel. When she starts to tremble, I stop.
“That’s it, sweetheart. You want to come?”
“Yes. God, yes—please.”
“Then show me how much.”
And then I lick her again.
I lick her until her thighs shake.
Until her moans turn into sobs. Until she’s clawing at the sheets, nails tracing lines over the silk.
Only then, when I taste her cum, do I pull back, and rise to my feet.
I shake my head as I stand. “I knew you would be even more delicious when you came.”
Her gaze follows my hands as I pull my belt loose from the buckle and step out of my slacks. I toss them to the floor after pulling a condom out of the back pocket.
And even in the dark, I can see Em’s hooded eyes watch me—chest heaving as I slide the thin rubber over my hard cock.
In seconds, I’m laid out over her naked, golden skin, my body settling between her thighs.
I brush my cock threw her soft, wet folds.
Once. Twice.
Her gaze meets mine, and I hold it, feeling her anticipation. Her excitement.
She closes her eyes, and I stroke her jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” I order.
She opens her eyes, just as I press my cock against her entrance.
“Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want, understand?”
She nods, and I return the gesture.
“Good.” I sink the head of my cock into her wet heat, and she moans. “Because I want to feel every inch of this sweet pussy.” I say, before thrusting in deep, one slick, devastating stroke.
She cries out beneath me, her back arching, her hands flying to my shoulders as I bottom out inside her.
I stay buried, motionless, savoring the way she pulses around me. Then I lean in and kiss her— joining my tongue with hers—before I start to move.
Slow at first, letting her feel every inch, then faster—setting a steady rhythm while her nails dig into my back, the heels of her feet pressing into my ass as I thrust inside her.
“You feel that?” I whisper. “How fucking hard you make me?”
She nods frantically, mouth parted into an “O.”
“Christ. This pussy feels so fucking good.”
I roll my hips, slow and controlled, until her moans break again.
“That's right. I want to hear everything. Every sound, every fucking moan.”
I thrust harder, deeper, and she wraps her legs tighter around my hips and cries out with each stroke.
“Touch yourself, sweetheart. Rub that little clit while I fuck this little pussy.”
Her hand slides between us, fingers frantic.
“That’s it, baby. Play with it for me.” I grit. “Good girl. Just like that.”
Her pussy tightens around me, and the dirty talk spills from my lips as I claim the impossibly sexy brunette clinging desperately to my body.
“Look at you—fucking playing with yourself like that. So ready to come for me.”
“Yes. Yes, Don—please—please—”
“That’s it. Let me feel this pussy squeeze me.” I stroke harder, faster, deeper.
She breaks with a strangled cry—her body clenching so hard and fast around me it nearly breaks my self-control.
Her pussy grips me like a vice, her orgasm ripping through her like a storm, and I don't stop moving. I fuck her through every last wave of it, holding her face, watching her unravel beneath me.
The second she goes limp in my arms, I let myself go too—thrusting in fast uneven strokes, feeling the tightening in my balls, chasing my release. Then one last thrust before I groan her name against her throat and explode hard inside the condom, shuddering as I spill into her tight heat.
And then we stay like that, my arms braced on either side of her head, locked together in a mess of sweat, breath, and tangled sheets. Her fingers curled at the back of my neck. My mouth is still pressed to her skin.
And all I can think, as I fight to catch my breath, is that one night with her is never going to be enough.
Not even close.
Afterward, we stay curled together in the sheets, the ocean glittering through the glass.
Her fingers trace idle circles on my chest, and I kiss her breasts, her collarbone, her hair—breathing her in.
Every salty, citrus-y, sinful inch.
“Still think this was a terrible idea?” I murmur against the column of her throat.
She hums sleepily, and with the faintest of whispers, utters: “The best terrible idea I’ve ever had.”
Pulling the blanket over both of us, I tug Em closer.
The last thing I feel before sleep claims me is her fingers brushing lightly over mine—twining them together in the dark.
The buzzing penetrates my consciousness slowly, dragging me from sleep with the persistence of a mosquito.
I crack one eye open as morning light floods the room, bright and accusatory.
My phone is having a complete meltdown on the nightstand.
Buzz. Buzz.
I reach for it blindly, squinting at the screen.
LOGAN: Where the hell are you?
LOGAN: Breakfast meeting started 10 minutes ago
LOGAN: Thane's spiraling and ordering everything on the menu again
THANE: Are you alive?
LOGAN: If you're dead in a ditch, text me so I can start updating the press releases
THANE: Logan thinks you got mugged. I think you're avoiding us. Either way, GET HERE.
Shit.
I sit up too fast, and the room spins slightly. The breakfast meeting. The one I'd completely forgotten about when I walked into a bar last night and met—
I turn, my lips already forming an apology.
But the other side of the bed is empty.
"Em?" I call out, but I already know.
The bathroom door is open, the light off.
Her clothes are gone from the floor. The only evidence she was ever here is the faint scent of lime on the pillow and a barely perceptible dent in the mattress.
I swing my legs out of bed and check the suite.
Living room: empty. Kitchen: untouched.
Balcony: deserted.
No note on the nightstand.
She left. She actually left.
I stand in the middle of my aggressively expensive penthouse in my boxers, holding my still-buzzing phone, trying to process the fact that I just got ghosted.
The phone rings. Logan's name flashes on the screen.
I answer. "I'm on my way."
"You sound weird," Logan says immediately. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"That's your 'I'm full of shit’ voice. What happened?"
I look at the empty bed, the rumpled sheets, the echo of last night that's already fading. "Nothing happened. I overslept. Give me twenty minutes."
"Donovan—"
“Twenty fucking minutes, Logan."
I hang up before he can push, then sink back onto the bed.
Of course she left. That was our unspoken agreement.
This was only supposed to be one night.
No complications. Ships passing and all that poetic bullshit.
So why does it feel like I just lost something I didn't know I was looking for?
I drag a hand through my hair and force myself into the shower. The water's scalding, but it doesn't wash away the memory of her laugh or the way she felt in my arms or the softness in her voice when she said my name.
Don.
Not even my real name. Just the abbreviated version I'd given her because full names felt too real, too permanent.
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed and heading down to the restaurant, my game face firmly in place.
Whatever happened last night stays in last night.
I have a company to run, an IPO to execute, a life that doesn't have room for beautiful brunette strangers who make me forget why I keep everyone at arm's length.
But as I step into the elevator, I catch myself hoping.
Hoping she’ll somehow text.
Hoping she left her number somewhere I haven't found yet.
Hoping by some miracle I’ll run into her again in a city of millions.
The elevator doors close, and I force myself to stop hoping.
She's gone.
And I need to accept that last night was exactly what we both said it would be—a moment out of time that's already over.
Even if some stubborn, stupid part of me wishes it wasn't.