Chapter 24 Going Clubbing
Going Clubbing
Given our relative exposure, taking our clothes off wasn’t an option.
So as we attacked each other with kisses, our hands traveled straight to the source of each other’s pleasure.
I grappled with his belt, desperate to free his already ragingly hard cock.
He did the same for me, hiking up my dress and exposing my embarrassingly average cotton panties.
I didn’t have time to be self-conscious, though.
All I could think about was him touching me.
From the speed with which he ripped those panties down my legs, I could tell he was on the same page.
He roughly spun me around. Hands braced on the wall of stars. Back arched. Tits begging to be touched. With a little nudge against my ankle, he also spread my legs.
My pussy was bare and open. Wetness slathered my thighs. And if anyone happened by, they would see me like this. Desperately at his mercy.
Then I heard the foil crackle of a condom wrapper behind me, freed from his wallet.
He slipped the prelubricated condom over the handle of my club, then positioned it at my entrance.
The makeshift dildo waited patiently at my wet hole.
With its soft grip covered in a condom, it was unthreatening—but exciting.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “Tell me what you want. Let me give you what you want, Scout.”
I nodded, biting down hard on my bottom lip. “I want to feel dirty.”
Grabbing my breast, he used it for leverage so he could work the club inside me in one hard thrust. I cried out, not out of pain but surprise.
He must have heard the difference, because he continued using the club on me, pounding it so hard into my cunt that the sounds of my wetness echoed high above us, reinforcing every rough entry into my tight center.
“You like that, huh? Being pinned up against the wall and used?” he asked, breathing against my back, never once letting up on the pace.
“Yeah.”
“Anyone could walk in here, see you getting fucked. Aren’t you so filthy? You want to be watched? You want people to see that you’re so cock-hungry you’ll use anything to get off?”
I bit my lip to stifle my groans. God, he felt so good. I decided to play the game. The good-girl-goes-bad game. “No—”
He began stroking his cock. The pre-cum splashed against my ass.
“I think you do. I think you want someone to see you taking it, moaning for me. Begging for it. Maybe they’d even take their cock out and stroke it to the sight of you.
Or put their hands beneath their skirts, playing with themselves as they watched you get fucked.
How would you like that, hm? Someone cumming to the sight of your wet cunt dripping all over this toy of ours? ”
I could feel his thrusts inside me fall out of rhythm. He was going to cum soon, all while he fucked me with a golf club. I tightened around it, eager to relish every inch of the staff for as long as I could. “I’m not—”
Every instinct told me to touch myself. I even had two miniature vibrators in my purse, begging to be used.
Problem was, there was no way to do that without losing my position against the wall.
All I could do, then, was buck myself back onto the foreign object inside me.
Savor the swell of it inside me, stroking my G-spot with every breach Hudson made.
It was torture. It was delicious. It was everything.
“You get one taste of cock and suddenly you’re a slut, aren’t you? You can’t stop cumming even if it means using this thing to force an orgasm out of you.”
“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m a slut—”
His orgasm came hot and fast. His scream of pleasure was so loud against the cavernous, curved walls that my ears rang with the force of the echoes.
He moaned my name as his cum lashed my bare skin. My swollen clit twitched with the unfulfilled desire to cum myself.
Somehow, though…not cumming made the entire experience hotter. Dirtier. I’d been marked by him—and left with a waiting pussy and pleading cunt as a thank-you.
As he came down from his orgasm, his hand and the club stilled.
That wouldn’t do. I started throwing my ass back, fucking myself on the thing as he held it firmly in place.
Again and again, it struck my G-spot, and when Hudson wrenched his free hand from my breast and directed his energies onto my clit, I knew I was a goner.
My screams filled the rocket ship all around us. My cunt contracted around the golf club deep inside me. And my eyes filled with stars as an orgasm hit me with the strength of a thousand solar flares.
Once I returned to earth, Hudson slipped our makeshift toy out of me and held me close to his chest. But when I eventually peeled away from him, I was still twitchy. Every brush of my legs against each other sent a new twinge of debilitating aftershocks through my body.
Skin flushed, I pulled my panties up from their resting place around my ankles.
“You don’t want to clean up?” Hudson asked, gesturing to the cum on my ass. He tucked his own wet cock away without a second thought.
“Sort of hot, isn’t it? Walking out of here still sticky from you…”
Slick underwear clinging to my skin, I readjusted my clothes. Just because the owner knew we’d been fucking in here didn’t mean I had to look like we had.
“Did you like that?” he asked.
“You were very sexy. And for your first time using a dildo on someone, you were exceptional.”
“Beginner’s luck. Hopefully you’ll give me plenty of opportunities to practice.”
I lifted one side of my mouth in a half-hearted smirk. “Don’t worry. I’m still very happy to train you for your future girlfriends.”
He captured my chin in his hand. So swift it made me dizzy. “Scout?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t want to think about any other women when I’m with you, okay?”
That shouldn’t have made me melt. But it did. “Deal.”
—
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes the next morning?
A still-steaming cup of hot chocolate, the latest edition of Popular Science, and an everything bagel from Bernie’s, slathered in veggie cream cheese.
He’d remembered. He’d remembered my perfect date. And after yesterday, when I said I didn’t feel like I would ever get my perfect date, that I wasn’t a girl to whom things like that happened, he’d served it up to me on a platter.
The bathroom door opened, and Hudson stepped out, resplendent in nothing but a towel and shaggy wet hair.
“Sorry,” he said, ducking his head. “I’m an early riser. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
“I usually am, too. Twenty-six years, I wake up at five thirty like clockwork. Then, all of a sudden, I get some dick and it’s like I don’t even recognize myself. Sleeping in, making friends, going on dates, asking boys to come up to my room for a nightcap…”
“You know what they say. To be fucked is to be transformed.”
“I thought that was to be loved is to be transformed.”
“Same-same.”
I laughed and drew the covers around me, suddenly shy at the word love being thrown around. Stupid slip-up. I wouldn’t make it again.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I said later, once he’d coaxed me out from beneath the duvet. “You remembered.”
“Don’t mention it.”
As I sat up, the covers slipped away, revealing my chest. Hudson’s gaze wandered.
Must have been a real show, considering ten seconds later I chomped into my bagel, spilling garlic flakes down my body.
“You’ve got a good memory,” I said as I chewed.
Slowly, he crossed the room and rifled around for his overnight bag, which he’d oh-so-smoothly brought in last night during our nightcap.
“I’ve got a terrible memory, actually. Deadlines, phone calls I need to make, my library card number.
No way I remember any of that. But I learned that about myself years ago, so now I write everything down in my Notes app.
My calendar is literally documented to the minute.
And when I meet someone, when I like them, I write things down to help me remember. ”
“Likes everything bagels with garden veggie schmear.”
Or like fucking me dirty against a mini golf rocket ship because of one offhand remark made during your little kink experiment.
“Don’t forget your dessert breakfast. Blueberry bagel with butter.”
He gestured to a brown paper bag on my bedside table, which I hadn’t seen before. My pulse fluttered.
“But there are other things, too. If someone tells me their birthday or this movie that I ‘have to see’ or what baseball team is their favorite, I just jot it down. That way, I keep on top of our friendship.” He scrolled down his Notes app, the lighted screen illuminating his handsome face.
“Like, Terrence is a level 82 mage in World of Warcraft. Addie’s mother makes the best chili momo in the world, apparently.
Clara’s home FC is Tottenham. I just…This is a really messed-up world.
It’s so easy to feel lonely and miserable, like you’re totally forgotten by everyone else.
I don’t want anyone to ever experience that if I can help it.
I always want people to feel comfortable. Considered. Cared about.”
He trailed off. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy as storm clouds. I’d never thought of Hudson as a frivolous person by any stretch of the imagination, but this added a new depth to him I hadn’t expected.
I liked that depth. He wasn’t just a happy-go-lucky golden retriever of a guy. He was intentional with his kindness. He recognized that he wasn’t perfect, wanted to be better, and found a way to be good to people anyway.
It made me like him even more, which was quickly becoming a recurring theme—and a huge problem. He’s leaving at the end of his contract and you don’t have the time, capacity, or experience necessary for a relationship.
It worried me, too.
He refused to pick dinner on our first date.
Refused to even give input. He refused to say whether he’d be into pegging.
He never took the lead on anything. He always wanted to do what I wanted to do.
He’d dropped a not-insignificant amount of money to rent out a mini golf course so we could fuck on it and bought the slightly wonky club we’d used as a sex toy.
All just to make me happy.
Did anyone do the same for him?
And, given what he’d told me about not wanting people to get too close, would he even accept it if they did?
“You said you’re afraid that people won’t like you if they get to know you, Hudson. But the exact opposite has happened.”
He could no longer meet my gaze. I pierced the intimate moment in the only way I knew how: terrible humor.
“So, you want people to feel comfortable. Considered. Cared about. The three C’s. Or four. You forgot cocked.”
A hungry but playful look overtook him. On instinct, I tossed my bagel aside. Prowling up the bed, he moved along my body until I had no choice but to sprawl out beneath him. He brushed my nose with his own. “There’s only one person I want to feel cocked right now, and that’s you.”
“Well,” I said, nudging his head down toward my now aching cunt, “why don’t you start by being considerate and caring about me first?”
“My pleasure.”
No, the pleasure would be all mine. Spreading my legs, he gently kissed my left thigh. Then my right. He took his time. Dragging his nose along my folds. Breathing me in deeply.
I fisted the sheets. I didn’t want teasing. I wanted his mouth around my clit and a dildo deep inside me. I wanted to cum. I wanted him to make me cum—
That was when someone knocked on the door.
No, not knocked. Pounded.
We both stilled. “Landlord?” Hudson breathed against my folds.
“Definitely not. I own my unit.”
I moved against him, wanting more friction, wanting his tongue to part my lips and give my clit the attention it deserved.
Instead, I got more knocking.
Hudson raised his head. I took his hand and placed it on my waiting pussy, trying to entice him back. No dice. “Maybe you should check it out. Could be Girl Scouts.”
“Girl Scout cookie season isn’t for another three months,” I snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I love that you know that.”
“It’s literally more important to me than Christmas. Ugh, I do not feel like answering the door right now. Forget them.”
My hand drifted down to the knot of his towel, which was keeping him from being fully exposed to me. He groaned and twisted out of my grip.
“Fine, I’ll go check it out.”
He planted a kiss on my forehead.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, not feeling particularly grateful.
Leaving through my half-open frosted French doors, Hudson disappeared.
I dropped my head back onto the pillow and let my eyes close.
By the ticking of the clock and the padding sound of his footfalls across the poured concrete floors, I could calculate his stride length, how many steps he’d taken, and both how long and how many steps it would take for him to reach the front door.
The math played in my head like music from someone else’s balcony, sketching out in front of me in soft inclines and reversals of quiet intimacy.
It felt right, having him here. Using my towels. Walking across my floor.
Opening my front door.
“Oh, hello?”
“Who the hell are you?”
The quiet comfort of universal math shattered at the sound of that second voice.
I’d never moved so fast. Before Hudson even had a second to formulate a full, coherent sentence, I was on my feet, in a robe, and tearing out of my room like hell was chasing behind me.
Which, of course, was ridiculous. Hell wasn’t behind me. Hell was standing at my front door, looking between the half-naked man and their half-naked daughter with profound disappointment.
“Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”