3. Brooklyn #3
“Please!” I say obediently. “Please, give it to me. I need you to fuck me.”
His eyes search mine, as if he needs to see the desperation there, how badly I want him.
“Please,” I whisper one more time.
“That’s a good girl.”
With that, Luka slams back into my pussy, his face a mix of pleasure and concentration as he pulls my wrists up over my head again and thrusts deep and steady, finding a rhythm.
I look up at him, taking in the lust in his eyes, the parting of his lips, the flush in his cheeks, the way he groans as he pumps into me, his abs flexing with every movement.
He’s not just fucking me, he’s throwing himself into this like it’s an Olympic sport.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I moan, wrapping my legs around his waist so he can thrust even deeper.
It feels like he’s splitting me open, every stroke jolting through me. My orgasm builds, but it’s different this time—it’s so deep it’s almost like it’s coming from the inside out. I want to fight it, but I can’t. I can only surrender to the sensations overtaking me.
My cries start to come faster and louder, and it must be obvious I’m about to climax because Luka suddenly rolls onto his back and pulls me on top of him, his hands on my hips, never breaking our rhythm as he forces me to ride him.
“Come on my cock, Brooklyn,” he growls. “Let me see you come.”
I lean back and spread my thighs as wide as I can, grinding faster and faster.
I’m watching him enjoying the sight of me, licking his lips as he watches my breasts bounce, as his gaze drops to the view of my split-open pussy getting pounded by his cock.
I can feel him grow even harder inside me, and I close my eyes and let the waves of pleasure wash over me.
The orgasm hits, taking my breath away.
“Luka, yes, yes,” I moan desperately, leaning forward over him to grab onto his shoulders for support. I’m so wet and he feels so good.
Without warning his mouth clamps over my nipple and he sucks it so hard I cry out, groaning as his thrusts go jerky and erratic.
He’s about to come, I can feel it, and I’m still not done yet. Jesus, it keeps going, wave after wave, even as his body tenses and he pulses his release into me with a final, deep groan.
I’m shuddering through the final throes as Luka gently rolls me back onto the bed, both of us looking up at the dark ceiling as we struggle to catch our breath.
I must doze off, because the next time I open my eyes, he’s gone to the bathroom—I think—and it’s a while before he comes back.
When he does, I’m just barely aware of him pulling the blankets up and over me.
I wake to sunlight streaming over my face.
I sit up with a start, the night before slowly returning to me.
Did Luka ever come back to bed? I glance over and see the covers on his side look untouched.
There’s no sign he’d slept next to me. Maybe he spent the night on the couch in some backwards show of chivalry, or maybe he’s just a light sleeper and prefers his space.
Either way, there’s no note on the nightstand, and it strikes me that we’d never exchanged numbers—so he couldn’t have texted me even if he’d wanted to.
My belly flips.
Maybe he got called in to work.
Maybe he went to get us breakfast. Maybe he’s making us breakfast.
I smile, rub my hands over my face, and find the restroom, then clean up a little and get dressed. My cellphone says it’s almost nine. Shit! My parents are going to notice that I didn’t come home last night. I’m an adult, but my mom has a hard time remembering that.
Looking for my heels, I find my way back to the kitchen. The scent of fresh coffee hits me in a glorious wave. Sounds are coming from there, like someone is moving around. My heart leaps. A leisurely breakfast with Luka? Yes, please. I smooth my hair as I step into the kitchen.
“Hey, I—”
An older woman in a maid’s uniform gives me the barest glance as she wipes down the counter near the espresso machine.
I pull up short. “Oh, hello.”
She replies with a noncommittal grunt. The air seems thicker, and it’s clear how much I’m not wanted here. On top of that, my brain is starting to catch up with what my heart already knows. Nausea rises in my throat, my pulse picking up. “Um, is Luka here?”
The look the maid gives me is no-nonsense. “Let me guess. He didn’t leave a note. You don’t have his number. And you woke up alone. You’re a model, right? He offer you a contract?”
I feel myself nod slowly, dread curling in my belly.
“I shoo girls like you outta here seven days a week,” she explains.
The nausea burns now. Threatening to choke me. “Are they…always models?”
“Not always.” She shrugs. “My advice? Walk it off. If he’s interested, he’ll find you.”
Suddenly it’s like the wind just got knocked out of me, and I’m struggling for air.
“Okay,” I say, but my voice wobbles and I’m shaky on my feet.
The maid sighs, seeming to soften. “Let me pour you a coffee, hon. Have a seat there. I’ll call you a cab. You know where you’re going?”
My brow furrows.
I don’t know anything.
Except that I’m the worst kind of na?ve.