Chapter Nine Grandpappy’s Weekend Getaway #3
"You feel that?" he whispered, grinding his hips against hers. "That’s all yours."
"Yes," Melody whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, the heels of her shoes digging into the back of his suit jacket which was still partially trapped under him. "Fuck me, Grandpappy. Fuck your girl."
He picked up the pace, the bedsprings creaking rhythmically.
His hands explored her body, roaming over the expensive lace.
He squeezed her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples through the sheer fabric.
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving red marks that might linger for hours.
The feel of the high-thread-count sheets against her back and his heavy, hairy body on top of her. The sight of his weathered face contorted in pleasure above her. The feel, so deep, of that hot, plunging cock.
It was driving her wild.
"You're my prize, Melody," Red grunted, driving into her harder now. "A lifetime of livin’ on the edge and here I sit in the middle. With you for however long I can hold on. All mine."
"I am," she cried out, meeting his thrusts. And admission to even herself, "I'm yours!"
The pleasure was building, lewd and wet, coiling tight in her belly. The taboo of it all acted like gasoline on the fire. Every time he called her "girl" or jokingly "granddaughter," she felt her climax rushing closer.
"I'm close, Red! Please!"
"Me too, sugar. Me too."
He shifted his weight, driving deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside her again and again. He grabbed her hand, interlacing his rough fingers with her delicate ones, pinning her arm to the mattress above her head.
"Say it," he growled, his breath hot on her neck. "Tell me who's filling you up."
"Grandpappy!" The word became a wail of ecstasy. "Grandpappy is filling me up!"
Melody’s orgasm hit her with the force of a typhoon, her body seizing, her inner muscles clamping down on him with vise-like strength. She bucked upwards to meet his thrusts. She shook violently, crying out his name, lost and drowning in pleasure.
“Melody!” Red roared, a guttural sound of triumph and release.
He slammed into her one last time, into that fluttering, velvet grip, burying himself deep.
He poured himself into her. Melody felt the hot pulses of his climax flooding her, filling her womb, possibly even staking a claim that would linger with them both.
He let out a final, hoarse cry and collapsed on top of her, his weight heavy and comforting. They lay there for a long time, tangled in lace and wool and sweat, their hearts beating in sync against the silence of the room. Gasping. Her pussy squeezing him and his cock twitching with aftershocks.
An hour later, the room service cart sat empty in the corner. They had demolished two ribeye steaks and a bucket of domestic beers.
They sat in bed, propped up against the pillows, watching the city lights twinkle through the window.
Melody was wearing Red’s oversized white dress shirt, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows, her legs bare.
Red was naked, the sheet pulled up to his waist, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him.
He took a sip of his beer, staring out at the skyline. "I could get used to this, Melody. Don't let me get soft."
Melody laughed, resting her head on his shoulder. Her fingers trailed over the bulge beneath the sheet. "I don't think there's any danger of that, old man."
They didn't talk about the future. They didn't talk about where this was going, or what would happen when Monday morning came and Melody had to go back to being an influencer and Red had to go back to, well, whatever Red did during the day.
They just existed in that luxurious bubble.
Melody looked at him, at the lines around his eyes and the white stubble on his chin. She realized with a start that she wasn't just doing this for the thrill anymore. She needed this. She needed the secret. She needed the escape from the curated, filtered perfection of her online life.
Here, with him, in the presidential suite or a gym shower, she could just be Melody. Nasty, dirty, real Melody.
Red’s breathing evened out. His beer can tilted dangerously in his hand. Melody gently took it from him and set it on the nightstand. Within moments, a soft snore rumbled from his chest.
Melody smiled. She reached for her phone.
Careful not to include his face or any identifying details, she lifted the duvet just enough and snapped a picture.
It was just her legs and feet, clad in the sheer white stockings which she hadn't bothered to take off, draped over his old, hairy shins and callused feet under the hotel duvet.
The contrast between the delicate lace and his masculine ruggedness was perfect.
Red didn’t even notice the picture with the flash.
She uploaded it to her private story. The one only her closest friends (and Dorothy) could see.
Caption: Weekend getaway. Do not disturb.
She didn’t know what she would say if they asked her who she was with. But she sort of wanted them to ask…