Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
CHANCE
This woman is blowing my fucking mind. I need her to come like yesterday because I’m about to blow a whole lot more, and there’s no way I’m not making sure she gets hers first.
I shove my hand under her body and plunge three fingers deep into her pussy. Her back bows, and she cries a string of filthy obscenities that turn me on even more, if that’s possible. I love it when my good girl goes bad.
Between how tight she is from coming earlier, and my cock stretching her ass, Jane is filled to capacity, but I don’t have any problems pushing my way in because her cunt is soaking wet.
She’s literally dripping off my knuckles, onto the table, and down her thigh.
Everything’s a sloppy mess, and I fucking love it.
I press the heel of my hand against her clit as I pump into her with my fingers and cock. She starts chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” and I can tell her orgasm is closing in fast by the way she furrows her brow and she bites down so hard on her lower lip she might draw blood.
“Now, baby,” I demand. “Come on me right fucking now.”
Screaming, she does, and her pussy squeezes so hard that it forces my fingers from her body so I switch to palming her hips to pull her into me as I continue to thrust, pounding into her, relentlessly chasing my own end.
Lightning shoots through me and starts a fire in my heavy balls.
Just as I’m about to come, I pull out. I have a sudden, inexplicable need to see myself fill this woman with my seed, marking her in the most intimate way I can.
She starts to push up to see what I’m doing, but I press a hand to the base of her spine to keep her from moving my target.
“Don’t move.” I fist my cock and jerk myself the last few times before I find my release.
I watch with satisfaction as my cum shoots out from the tip of my dick.
Most of it lands on her still gaping asshole—which is a thing of fucking beauty in and of itself—but some of it drips down her crack on its way to her pussy.
Shuddering as the last aftershock rolls through me, leaving me with nothing left to spend, I abandon my softening cock and use my fingers to push every drop of cum I spilled on her into her still slightly open hole.
“What are you doing?” she asks meekly.
My gaze flicks up to hers. Her cheeks are flushed, and her face is tucked behind her shoulder.
My good girl is back and feeling shy, which is enough to make my dick twitch despite how spent it is.
“I want my cum filling you, branding you from the inside.” When I have the outside of her completely cleaned up, I tap the pad of my thumb on her puckering rim.
“Close it up tight, baby.” And she does.
I help her off the table, holding her steady until I’m sure her legs will hold her. I give her a hug, a kiss on the temple, and a light pat on the butt. “Go grab a shower. I’ll clean up out here and get dinner set up.”
“Okay,” she says, with a sweet, sated smile that makes me feel like a man who’s done his woman proud.
Then she grabs her robe, holds it to her chest in pointless modestly, and I watch her pad down the hallway to her bathroom. She gives me one last look over her shoulder with those fathomless brown eyes, then disappears and closes the door behind her.
I let out the breath I’d been holding, feeling like I just got kicked in the nuts. The kick actually feels a lot higher than that, but I tell myself that it’s only a side effect of having the best sex of my life. Because lying to yourself is fucking fun as hell.
Fifteen minutes later, I hear Jane reenter the apartment after taking my jeans and shirt down to the laundry as I’m setting out the different takeout containers in the living room.
I already cleaned her dining table while she took her shower.
It was the least I could do, considering the mess I made on it with her.
I have to stop reliving it, or I’ll be sporting wood while we eat and she’ll think I have an erotic reaction to General Tso’s chicken.
I like the stuff, but not that fucking much.
No, what I do like that fucking much is Jane.
Every time we have sex, it replaces the last front-runner for Hottest Sex I’ve Ever Had.
I don’t even know how that’s possible, but I try not to analyze it too much because I don’t want to start convincing myself that it means things that it doesn’t.
We’re compatible in the bedroom—which is a figure of speech, considering we’ve never actually had sex in a bedroom. End of story.
So then why’d you bring over dinner and plan to hang out afterward, asshole?
It’s the question that’s been plaguing me ever since I ordered for two.
But just because I don’t plan on pulling a hit-it-and-quit-it tonight, doesn’t mean I’m looking for anything more than what we have.
It also doesn’t mean that I can’t share a meal and hang out with someone other than the guys on occasion.
If that someone happens to be the woman I’m fucking, it’s all the more convenient for me.
Jane pads barefoot into the living room in that fuzzy pink robe, the waves of her hair slightly damp from the shower, and a shy smile curving her bee-stung lips.
Something kicks up in my gut, and a distant voice in the back of my mind reminds me that in another life, another time, I would’ve held on to a girl like Jane and never let her go.
But I’ve been down that road before. It only leads to disappointment and heartache, and I’m not interested in feeling either of those things where a woman is concerned—never again.
“Hope you don’t mind I brought everything in here.” I gesture to the containers on the coffee table.
“Not at all,” she says, sitting on the couch and tucking her feet under her butt. “I eat in here all the time. It feels awkward sitting at a formal table all by myself.”
“I’m the same way. I’ll eat in my living room or at the island in my kitchen, unless I have the guys over. Roman’s fine, but Austin’s notorious for spilling shit. No way am I letting him near my white carpet with any kind of food.”
We divvy up the entrees, and I join her on the couch and dig in. With the long hours at work and the mind-blowing sex, I’m hungry as hell.
“Roman and Austin,” she says. “Those were the guys with you at the restaurant, right?”
“Yeah, they’re like my brothers. We met each other freshman year in high school, in after-school detention. We were involved in different things, so our social paths probably wouldn’t have crossed otherwise, but our personalities clicked, and we’ve been best friends ever since.”
“I can only imagine the trouble the three of you caused as teenagers,” she says, glancing over at me with a small grin.
“Who, us?” I ask incredulously, pointing at myself with my chopsticks. “We were angels. They were never able to prove otherwise.”
“Mmhmm, I’ll just bet. And then the angels grew up to be strippers. How did that happen?”
I smile, remembering the drunken night the guys and I came up with the harebrained scheme that had evolved into a lucrative side business.
“It started as kind of a joke in college when we told some girls we’d come to their party and strip for beer and singles.
They took us up on it. Word spread, and it wasn’t long before we made it a legitimate business. ”
“Wow, that’s actually kind of genius.”
I chuckle and run a hand through my mostly dry hair, pushing it away from my face. “I don’t know whether to thank you for the compliment or be insulted at how surprised you sound.”
“No, I’m not surprised you thought of it,” she says quickly in her defense. “I’m more surprised there aren’t entire stripper fraternities out there. Seems like it’d be every college guy’s dream job.”
“I don’t know about dream job, but it’s not exactly torture getting attention from beautiful women like yourself.”
A hint of color spreads over the apples of her cheeks, and she clears her throat.
I wonder if she’s uncomfortable because I called her beautiful or mentioned dancing for other women.
I don’t like the idea of it being the latter and resolve to be more careful in the future.
Just because she’s cool with what I do when I’m not with her doesn’t mean I have to be an asshole and rub it in her face.
“Thanks for taking my stuff down to the dryer.”
“It’s no problem. I’m sorry I don’t have anything here to offer you in the meantime,” she says between bites, while staring intently at her beef and broccoli. “I feel bad that you’re sitting around practically naked.”
It was lucky I happened to wear boxer briefs today, or I’d be a lot more naked.
Not that I’d give a fuck, but Jane would probably blush to death, or hurt herself trying not to look at my junk.
I’ve noticed she’s only been giving me cursory glances, like she’s afraid if she allows anything more, her eyes will wander below my neck.
“Doesn’t bother me any. I’m practically a nudist at home, and it’s not like you haven’t seen it all, anyway. ”
“That’s true.”
“Jane, you don’t have to avert your eyes,” I say, smiling big. I can’t help it; the woman amuses me to no end. “I’m a stripper, remember? Being stared at for my pretty packaging is as normal as a handshake to me.”
At that, she peeks up at me through her dark eyelashes and chews on her lower lip for a few seconds while she thinks, then she turns her attention back to the dinner she’s currently prodding with chopsticks.
“Just because you’re used to being objectified doesn’t make it right for me to do it, no matter how pretty I think your packaging is. ”
I chuckle. “That’s either the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard, or the best.”