Chapter 7 Chance #2
The musky scent of our arousal mixes with the sweat covering our bodies, and the floral scent of her shampoo invades my nose and turns me on that much more.
Jane wraps her arms around my neck for support, and I press my forehead against hers.
I hold her gaze as I fuck her brains out.
It doesn’t matter that I’m the one in the dominant role here.
This woman is fucking me like mad just by the way she looks at me; the way she begs me to go faster, deeper, harder.
I clench my jaw and try to hold out, but the frisson of electricity shoots down my spine and settles in my balls.
I slip one hand between our bodies. I press my fingers into her lower abdomen, just above her pubic bone, helping the friction from my cock stimulate her g-spot as my thumb flicks over her clit. She moans and tosses her head back as her legs start to tremble around my waist.
“Look at me,” I rasp, my breath coming quick and harsh. She does, her face flushed and her pupils blown out in pleasure.
“Oh, God, Chance, I can’t,” she whimpers. “It’s too much.”
“Yes, you fucking can. Let go with me, Jane. I want you to come on my cock. Let me feel your sweet cunt milking me dry.” She’s close, so fucking close. All she needs is something to tip that scale…
Maybe another small taste of humiliation. “Now, goddamn it, or I’ll drag you out into the hall for everyone to watch as I slap your pussy until you come, just like the little slut you are.”
“Oh, fuuuuuuuck!” she screams as her orgasm washes over her, and mine is right on her heels.
White-hot lightning shoots through my entire body as I empty myself inside her with every thrust. Her pussy is convulsing around me, trying to suck me back in each time I retreat. It doesn’t have to worry, though, because I can’t think of a place I’d rather be than buried inside Jane.
After what seems like an eternity, and yet not long enough, I pull completely out and set her on the couch. She covers up with a throw blanket, and I make a quick pit stop in her bathroom to dispose of the condom, and I redress as I try to process the last hour.
I’ve never had such dirty sex with such a clean girl before. And that’s what Jane is—a clean girl. I don’t mean in the hygienic sense, or that she’s naively innocent—her internet porn collection pretty much nixes that label. It’s gonna sound cheesy as hell, but it’s more like…her soul.
There, I said it. Her soul is clean. Or maybe pure is a better word. Yeah, her soul is pure.
Jane didn’t just let me fuck her. She gave herself over to me, no questions asked. She didn’t know me from Adam, yet she trusted me not to hurt her despite the entire setup being the kind of sex where the intention is to use her body and use it roughly.
Goddamn it, she shouldn’t have trusted me.
What the hell was she thinking? I could’ve been a sick fuck with a twisted agenda.
We didn’t even discuss safe words. I’ve never used them before, but I’ve never before fucked anyone with that kind of power exchange.
Sure, I’ve had a ton of rough sex—it’s my preferred brand—but the woman is usually just as rough, giving as much as she’s getting.
What I did with Jane was different. She laid herself bare and made herself vulnerable to me.
For me. And it’s fucking with my mind, because all I can think about is taking her into her bedroom for a marathon of sex followed by a mini-coma.
That’s how I know my shit is scrambled. I’ve never spent the night at a client’s place, no matter how many bonus dances we had.
When we were done, I always packed up and went home.
Tonight would be no different. Jane Wendall isn’t special, and I need to make that known before she invites me to stay over and offers to make blueberry pancakes in the morning.
Decision made, I stride back into the living room to find an equally clothed Jane, and berate myself for being disappointed I can’t see her naked one more time before I leave.
Fucking get yourself together, Danvers.
“Your membership to that site definitely paid off. You fuck like a porn star. I’d even go so far as to say you’ve made my Top Ten list. Congratulations,” I say, a smug smirk firmly in place.
Jane blinks up at me, and her jaw falls slack.
The look of hurt that flickers across her face makes me feel like a Grade A asshole, but I need to stick to my guns.
This—like all my other “bonus dances”—is a one-off.
It’s better if she feels the same way, and a sure bet of making that happen is to make it so she never wants to see me again.
“I think it’s time for you to go.”
She walks over to the door and pulls it open, staring at me expectantly.
Mission accomplished. I gather my toolbox and head toward her.
On my way out, I notice a royal blue IHOP apron draped over one of the dining chairs.
With deduction skills that would make Sherlock envious, I figure she must work at one of the many breakfast restaurant locations.
Though I tell it not to, my brain files that info away for another time.
As I walk past her, she says stiffly, “Thank you for fixing my broken pipe.”
I step into the hall and turn to face her. “If anything else needs fixing,” I say, making my quick perusal of her body obvious and driving that final nail into my coffin, “you have my number.”
She huffs, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.” Then she slams the door in my face, which is exactly what I deserve.