Chapter 11
HOLLISTER
I still need her to know how serious I am about not fucking this up. I wasn’t lying when I told her how many times I’ve imagined this. Being with her. Buried inside her body. There’s no way I’m letting anything I can control ruin this. It’s been too much wanting, but thinking I’d never have her.
It’s why I brought her to this room, my studio, with all my works. She had to know before we started anything this weekend. It’s why I brought her here, beyond discretion and privacy. I wanted her to see herself as I do. To know that I know her more than she realizes.
Now that I’m inside her, I’ll do everything in my power to do right by her. She doesn’t answer when I say I’ll stop. Giving us time and space to work things out alone, mentally, even while I’m physically pushing into her.
My hand is on her breast, feeling the steady pulse of her heartbeat. Her hand falls away, rests against the charcoals I used to sketch her. Her leg presses heavily against my shoulder, adding to the tension that tightens her core.
She’s stunning.
In better shape than I could have imagined. Thin but athletic. The muscle definition is evident in all the right places. Not bald like most women I’ve been with, but a tight landing strip carefully crafted by a professional.
It tickled my nose when I ate her out. Forced me to close my eyes and shut off how sexy she looked, moaning under my tongue and touch. I wanted to please her first. Give her an out to run out of here. I didn’t expect it to get this far this soon. But fuck, it’s how older women operate, I guess.
They know what they want. And when it’s a go, it’s a fucking go. The freedom from mind games is a relief. I can simply enjoy her, enjoy myself, and let this weekend unfold however it’s meant to unfold.
No demanding extravagant trips of Instagram-worthy pictures of the destination, food, or outfits. None of that. Just Babs lying in the sunshine, letting me slowly make love to her. It’s every dream coming true.
“You like watching your cock fuck me, don’t you?”
Her voice has an added husk to it when I look at her. Lips upturned. Not a smile. Not yet, at least. I keep my pace steady, wanting to be inside her forever. Feeling a tinge of sadness that I won’t be able to hold off coming too much longer.
“I do. It just seems like a dream, though.”
“A dream?”
I push back in. Her pussy is looser, allowing me in deeper. I groan. She feels so fucking amazing. Her pussy sucks me in, wanting my cock. My balls tingle, needing to rail her. Knowing I won’t. Knowing I need to go slowly and carefully so as not to scare her off or have her fly back to Boston.
This weekend is about getting to know each other. Exploring, learning, and just being with the object of my recent fascination. I pump in and out of her in short strokes, teasing and baiting her for more.
“Yeah. I wasn’t sure this would ever happen. Still thinking I’ll fuck it up.”
I don’t know why I confessed that. Maybe it’s because she didn’t scoff at my artwork.
How she effortlessly let me eat her out.
How she’s letting me fuck her now. Maybe it’s the lack of judgment and rejection.
The lack of expectation has me putting down my walls and blurting out what I think for once.
Not guarded or the peacemaker, just plain old me. Her lips curl into a smile. Her hand circles my wrist, pulling me toward her. I lean forward, and the table groans under my added weight. It’s sturdy enough to hold us, but the creaking is annoying.
“You won’t.”
Two words.
Assuring and accepting.
It’s a jolt to my hard cock.
Suddenly, I don’t want to take her to my table. I want to have her in every available space here. I want her memory in every corner of this place so when I fuck it up, I’ll relive today every time I’m here.
I scoop her up, and her leg slips down my arm to rest in the crook of my elbow. The other is resting on my forearm as she slides down my cock.
“Oh my . . .”
She gasps, clutches at my shoulders, and tries to climb up my body. The intensity of my cock shoved against her cervix, sending a grunt out of me and into her mouth, where I sear my lips to hers. I want to own both holes, force her to take me everywhere I can.
My hips thrust without thought, muscle memory taking over as I shove my tongue into her mouth. Plunging in and out opposite my cock in her wet pussy. She’s moaning, tightening, and coming all over me.
I walk with her, impaled, bursting with the pleasure that I brought. I piston up into her. My hands hold her firm ass, make her bounce on me to milk the completion out of her. Her tongue shoves past mine. Into my mouth, taking me how she wants when her back hits the wall.
She uses it as leverage, her legs still trapped at my elbows, but clenches with every thrust of my cock. The scent of her perfume seeps into my skin. Another imprint to this whole experience.
“Maybe I’ll fuck it up,” she mutters against my lips.
It’s when she breaks the kiss, wraps her arms around my neck, and hugs the shit out of me that I race toward my orgasm. Being absolved of the guilt or pending doom I battled with for some reason, I’m free to fuck her how I want.
My hands dig into her ass. Squeezing her flesh hard while I recklessly plunge in and out so fast, she’s gasping. Her arms slipping from my neck, from the sweat collecting there. My ass has goosebumps on it, my balls are sucked into my body, ready to burst at any moment.
“Look at me.”
She pulls back. Stares straight into my eyes as another orgasm hits her.
Her breath hitches, a mix of pleasure and surprise as I continue to pound into her.
Her body is slick and hot around mine. The wall behind her shudders with each thrust. The risk of someone hearing or seeing only adds to the thrill.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her dark eyes bore into my being.
“Hollister.”
My name is a quiet scream of ecstasy stuck in her throat.
I dip my head, running my tongue along her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat, feeling the vibrations of her moans against my lips.
Her pussy clenches around me, pulsing, begging for more.
I oblige, driving into her with reckless abandon.
The sound of our flesh slapping together fills the room, drowning out the distant roar of the ocean outside.
I slam into her one last time, my cock throbbing as I spill into the condom, wishing it were painting her insides with my cum. Her legs tremble. I hold her tighter, pressing her against the wall.
We stay like that, panting, hearts pounding in sync, our bodies slick with sweat and fluids. My face nuzzled into her neck. Her hands drag through my damp hair. I can feel her wild heartbeat against my chest.
“If this is you worried about fucking things up, by all means.”
Hearing her curse is odd, yet it’s music to my ears that she does it with me.
Was I worried?
Yes.
Am I still worried?
Even more so now that I know how it could be with us.
I nuzzle her neck. Nibble at her sweaty skin, but don’t respond. I don’t want her to know all my fears. That slip of a confession and showing her my studio are enough for one day.
“Shower, pool, or ocean?” I mutter against her neck, dousing her with kisses.
Her hands stop roaming as her body stiffens.
“Won’t your staff see us with the latter two?”
I smile into her skin. She’s always worried about appearances. If I didn’t share her world, I wouldn’t understand. But I am and I do. She’s been cautious and calculating for years. It’s always at the forefront of her mind. I’m going to break that this weekend.
“Ocean it is.”
I decide for us. My cock is already softening inside her. Her body in my hands shifts with my declaration, pushing to get down. I oblige, removing my face from her neck, easing her off my cock, and onto her feet. Keeping my hands around her waist until she’s steady.
“Holli—”
“Don’t you dare call me Holli. Babe, baby, or hot stuff, but not that.”
She avoids my eyes, looking around for what I’m not sure about. But there’s no way I’m letting us go back to how it was. No retreating from what we just did or what I have planned. I capture her chin, forcing her attention on me.
“I didn’t mean for it to come out that harsh. It’s just that everyone calls me variations of my name. I don’t want that from you, Barbara.”
She exhales, staring at me. For a second, I’m unsure if that was the right move until her chin raises.
A defiant little act.
“You interrupted. I wasn’t going to call you that. But I guess I’ll call you, pretty boy.”
She pauses. Looks me up and down as I grab the used condom from my cock and throw it in the trash. Her lips are wet, her hair is a mess, and her skin is flushed and pink. A smug, satisfied look sits on my face as I stare at the beautiful wreck I made of her.
“Unless you’d prefer loverboy.”
Her gaze lingers. Seconds pass, and then she walks past me, calm and collected like she didn’t just come undone five minutes ago.
My brain short-circuits trying to decide if I want to correct her or kiss her senseless again.
My smirk falters. Having been bested by Babs as she throws open the door, completely naked, and making her intentions known.
“Grab some towels, pretty boy.”
Pretty Boy or loverboy.
I’ll settle for both.
I’m just happy she’s nicknaming me at all.
I sprint into the bathroom, give my cock and hands a quick wash.
Then grab a bunch of towels. If she chooses the beach, we’ll need more of them to avoid sand in our crevices.
Right before dashing out the door, I scan the studio for anything else that might make this spontaneous post-sex beach jaunt even more perfect.
No way I’m showing up with just linens and a soft dick.