Alex
Playing it cool is a particular skill of mine. Even from a young age, I knew how to pull on a mask. How to pretend to be calm even when I’m all stirred up inside.
But tonight is a serious test of my skills. I can’t hold the thread of this TV show, because my cunning mind—the one that can spot a trend from two years away and make million-dollar decisions in the blink of an eye? It’s blown. To bits.
I honestly thought that only happened in films. Passion isn’t something I dwell upon. I’ve been more focused on finding my Forever Guy.
But tonight that seems like a mistake. Every man I dated was either A) looking only for fun or B) ultimately a bore. Or he was Jared Tatum, world’s biggest asshole.
I kept searching until this year, when I began to feel desperate and depressed.
That led to some bad decision making. First, I got drunk and had sex with my old friend, Nate.
It was awkward from start to finish. There’s nothing like endangering a really good friendship to make you see your own desperation for what it is.
And then—in an effort to move on from that disaster—I dated Jared Tatum. I’d met him before and dismissed him already. I knew in my gut that he wasn’t The One. He wasn’t even in the top fifty. But I let the charade drag on because I was in despair. Bad choice after bad choice.
But tonight, Eric Bayer demonstrated what I’ve been missing all along. Let’s hear it for incredible sex without expectations.
The TV flickers in front of me, but I’m too stuck inside my head to watch. I hand the remote control to Eric. “Here. Watch your game if you want.”
“No way, really?” He puts an arm around me as he begins to flip the channels. “I knew you were a fun date, Engels.”
When he smiles, I feel it everywhere.
After midnight, I finally fall asleep. But then I have dirty dreams. My subconscious has rediscovered sex, and it wants more.
The dream begins like a replay. Eric carries me into the suite and kisses me against the door. But this time we don’t stop. He lifts up my dress and just goes for it.
And then—because dreams don’t have to make sense—we’re on the bed again.
We have sex in several different positions, without any kind of pause or end.
Several times during the night, my eyes snap open in the dark.
Each time I find the real Eric sleeping soundly beside me.
I listen to his deep breathing and fall asleep again, still overheated and restless.
Eventually, I wake in the morning light to find that I’m wrapped around him. Honestly, I don’t know why this keeps happening. I’ve been sleeping alone for the vast majority of my life.
Note to self—I never once woke up wrapped around Jared Tatum. Maybe that should have been a sign.
Eric feels so good, though. A big solid hunk of man. I love the scrape of the rough hair on his legs against mine. And the tight abs beneath my palm are not to be believed.
Later, I’ll blame my dreams for making me so bold. But it seems perfectly natural to coast my palm down his bare skin until I meet the waistband of his boxers. Crisp cotton greets my fingers, and it’s covering a proud erection that’s trying to break free of those shorts.
Well, good morning. I slide my hand down his length. Just the heat against my palm turns me on. I’m already embarrassingly wet.
But I’ve always been a go-getter, so I run my hand lightly over the cotton. And when Eric gives a grunt of pleasure, I slip my hand beneath the waistband and close my fingers around his cock.
He groans happily. And after a minute or two, he rolls onto his back, reaches down and shoves his boxers off his body. “If you’re going to do a thing, do it right,” he says, opening his eyes. “Take that off.” He points at my nightgown.
Well, heck. I thought a sleepy Eric would be easier to control. Apparently, I was wrong, because I find myself lifting my silk gown over my head and throwing it onto the rug.
“Good morning to me,” he whispers. “Come give me a kiss.”
But I don’t remember handing him the reins. So I lean down and lick his cock from root to tip instead.
“Oh. Fuck. Wow. Yeah,” he sputters. He gathers my hair in one big hand. “Do that again.”
Part of me wants to argue. But most of me wants to do exactly what he says. I nuzzle his cock, letting the head bump against my nose. He smells salty and clean. I take a soft, teasing lick and hear myself moan. When I open my mouth and take him in, he’s weighty on my tongue.
“Yeah. More. Suck me.” His hips shift with eagerness.
But I take my time, of course. There’s no reason to let on that I had a fitful night’s sleep. That his naked body starred in my dreams and probably will again.
I’m winning at life right now, anyway. Who knew I’d get a last, sexual hurrah before I became a mother? And who could guess that I’d have it with a fine specimen like Eric Bayer? Seriously, pinch me.
And he might just do that. He has a firm grip on my hair, and he’s trying his best to fuck my mouth, twisting his hips for more.
I pop off him, just because I can.
“Fuuuuuck,” he moans. “Engels.”
“Yes?” I whisper playfully.
“Suck my cock, honey. You know you love it.”
My body tightens deliciously because he’s right. So I dip my head and take him as deeply as I dare. I give a solid suck and look up at him for approval. And—wow. He’s propped up on those incredible arms. His hair is wild, and his face is flushed. As he breathes, those abs ripple.
“You see something you like?” he asks with a grin.
I drop my gaze and close my eyes, laving my tongue along his shaft. My skin flashes hot, and I squeeze my legs together against the emptiness. I hate the easy way he makes me feel so unhinged.
But I go to town with all the enthusiasm of a sex-starved woman who had dirty dreams all night and is living another one right now.
“Come here,” he says after a few amazing minutes.
“Kind of busy here,” I gasp before taking him into my mouth again.
“Yeah, well, I can’t take much more of your wicked tongue. If you want to ride me, you better do it soon.”
Oh, wow. I really do want that. As I glance up again at his sex-flushed face, I’m unable to hide how much.
“I know what you need,” he says softly.
“You do, do you?” I argue out of reflex, but it’s clear that I’m not fooling anyone.
Smirking, he sits up and crooks a finger at me. That smug gesture should annoy me, but I’m blinded by his perfect body. Maybe you’re allowed to be smug if you’ve got those washboard abs and that V of muscle swooping down on either side of your flat stomach.
I’m all too willing to crawl toward him, naked, and climb into his lap.
“That’s a girl,” he says, lifting one hand to my breast, giving my nipple a quick pinch, and then coasting his palm down my body. His touch is appraising, like I’m a racehorse he’s inspecting, and I have no idea why I like it.
I hate myself a little for wanting him to do it again.
“You woke me up for a reason,” he murmurs. “Don’t make me wait.”
Still, I hesitate. Hopefully he takes it as a tease, because I don’t want him to know that I’m a little intimidated. My inner nerd girl doesn’t have a lot of experience initiating sex with god-shaped men in broad daylight.
He reaches around and caresses my ass. That gets me moving. I lift myself onto my knees while I grip his shoulders.
“There you go.” He lines himself up beneath me.
Inspired, I sink slowly down onto every delicious inch of him. And we both groan at the same time as I bottom out, so full of him that I can’t help but pause and catch my breath.
“I fucking love Hawaii,” he grunts, rolling his hips toward mine. “Come on, now. Give it to me. You know you want to.”
I really do. I rise up with delicious slowness and then sink happily down. It’s so good that I immediately do it again.
“Yeah,” he rasps. Pushy hands grip my hips. “Faster.”
His commanding voice makes me want to please him. It’s as if this were my only job—making those grey eyes darken with lust, making his face even more flushed. I lean into it, picking up the pace until it’s quicker than I need it to be.
But it’s so, so dirty to be pistoning his cock into my body. This is bad girl stuff right here. It’s…freeing. It’s making Eric’s breath come in irregular gusts.
“Fuck,” he pants, jacking his hips beneath me. “Yeah, Alex. Look at you go. So hot when you do that.”
The orgasm comes out of nowhere, zinging through my core, shimmering through my whole being. The startled gasp I let out quickly turns into a low, sultry moan.
“Jesus,” he gasps. “Aw, yeah.” He braces his hands on the bed and lifts me clear off the mattress on his next thrust. I grip his shoulders, insensible, just trying to stay on board as I shudder through my climax.
Eric makes a hot noise, throws his head back and locks all his muscles at once. I watch his pulse pound in his neck as he spills inside me.
After a long moment and another low groan, he lowers his ass to the bed in a hurry, catching me around the waist again with his hands. “Holy shit. That’s a much better wake up call than my phone alarm playing some Fall Out Boy.”
“I don’t…know what that is,” I wheeze, trying to take in enough oxygen that I can slow my breathing to something like normal.
“Never mind.” He laughs, burying his face in my neck and kissing me. “It doesn’t matter.”
I’m still planted on him, which is going to get awkward in a minute. But I am afraid to break this connection. I have a feeling I’ll be embarrassed about this later. I’ve never woken a man out of a sound sleep to have sex before. I just mauled him.
He doesn’t seem to mind, though. His hand is heavy on the back of my head, his fingers in my hair. For several minutes we just stay like this—sweaty and loose-limbed—while our heart rates slowly even out to a sleepy, quiet state.
“Alex,” he whispers, running a hand down my back.
“Mmm?”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but don’t you have an eight-thirty meeting?”
“Yeah.” I pick my head up. “What time is it?”
“Not sure. But it’s awfully light outside.”
I roll off of him, which I’m loathe to do. He feels so good. But I have to nudge my phone, which is sitting on the table. “Bingley, what time is it?”
“Good morning your highness! It is nine minutes past eight. Your first meeting begins in twenty-one minutes at—?”
“Bingley!” I squeak. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You didn’t ask me to. I did not hear from you last night…”
“Oh, but I did,” Eric says with a chuckle.
“Be grateful,” I snap, hopping out of bed.
“Apologies, my queen!” Bingley says. “We are in an unfamiliar time zone. And my instructions are such that—”
“I know. Later, Bingley.” This is entirely my fault. I dart into the bathroom without another word.
As I pass the giant mirror on the way to the shower, I see a pink-faced woman with sex-mussed hair. It’s going to take more than twenty-one minutes to fix this disaster.
Bingley’s right—I am a queen. The queen of wrecking all my own plans.