6. The First Checkmark
THE FIRST CHECKMARK
Josie
It’s a weird thought—my aunt would be so proud of me. But it lodges in my brain as we take off, Wesley grabbing my hand and threading those long fingers through mine.
He holds it tight, possessively. I like it.
On the street, Wesley says, “Your place, mine, or a hotel? And the hotel’s on me.”
From the clothes to the ice cream to the room, I’m sensing a pattern with this man. He’s…giving. Part of me wants to do the polite thing and decline, but I’m mixing it up tonight big time. “Since I’d rather not get stabbed in the ass with a couch spring, let’s do the hotel.”
He gives me a what the hell look.
“My friend has a couch with a bad spring,” I quickly explain. “But do you have condoms and are you…safe?”
I’ve read plenty of articles, including “Top Twenty Tips for Having a Great One-Night Stand” on The Dating Pool website. Being safe in all the ways is one of them.
“Yes. Negative. And I have condoms.”
“Me too. The first, that is,” I say.
Ten minutes later, he’s at the front desk of The Resort, a nearby hotel. I give him some space to check in, since it seems eaves-droppy to be right next to him as the clerk informs him of the mini-bar costs and how much incidentals are.
I hang back next to a waterfall structure, with a gurgling stream sluicing against a black stone wall, as Wesley chats amiably with the man behind the counter. Wesley’s that kind of guy. He has an easy, friendly way about him with everyone from the guy in the ice cream shop to the clerk.
As they chat, I text Maeve.
Josie: I’m at The Resort!
Maeve: I know, my little tiger! I know! And I can’t wait for your report.
Josie: Don’t wait up.
Maeve: Best words ever, bestie. Especially since it’s way past your bedtime.
Yup, I’m definitely getting out of my comfort zone tonight with Mister Asset Management. Once he’s checked in, he strides across the lobby, flipping the key card between his thumb and forefinger over and over. He doesn’t miss it once. Those are some nimble fingers.
“Ready?”
“Very, very ready,” I say, repeating the adjective he used earlier.
“That’s very, very good.”
A minute later, the elevator door whisks closed, and it’s just us. He turns to me, then tugs on my hand, jerking me against him. “What do you like, Josie?”
I like the outline of his hard cock against me right now. I like his scruff. I like his firm chest and his biceps that go on for millennia.
“In bed,” he adds, when I don’t answer right away. But he’s not pushy. “So I can give it to you. What you’re into.”
Is this a thing guys do? Ask what you like? Hunting for an answer, I swallow, flashing back to the porn I’ve watched, the scenes I’ve read, the fantasies I’ve played out.
I keep coming back to Maeve’s suggestion. I’m not really the most experienced girl when it comes to, well, what I’m into. But what I lack in experience I, evidently, make up for in gusto tonight. Here I go, San Francisco. “Can you bend me over the bed and fuck me hard?”
He breathes out in a rush of air, full of arousal as his eyes flash, like he’s won the jackpot at the slot machines. Then, in a rasp of a voice, he says, “Josie, I can and I fucking will.”
He seals his dirty promise with a hot, deep kiss that has me seeing stars.
When he breaks it, we’re at the tenth floor and soon, at the room. Once inside, he kicks the door closed then reaches for me again, jerking me against him, and with a quickness I’ve never experienced before, he lifts me up.
I wrap my legs around him, laughing. “You’re strong. Must be all those assets you lift.”
“You’re quick with that mouth. Must be all those books you read,” he says, then somehow, some way, he kisses me as he carries me koala-style to the bed.
Talk about multitasking. He’s like the hero in an adventure tale—he can lasso the prize and leap across raging waters.
Can he deliver orgasms in a single bound?
Turn the page and find out, gentle reader.
When he sets me down on the bed, I kick off my flip-flops and unwrap my scarf, tossing it on the floor. Greta will understand.
He toes off his shoes, then climbs over me.
I expect more kisses, but instead, he pushes up my sweatshirt.
“This has been driving me crazy since I first saw it,” he says, then presses a hot kiss to my belly, flicking his teeth across the ring.
Oh, I think I’m into that. Gasping, I arch closer to his touch.
“I was hoping it meant you wanted to be kissed all over,” he says.
“Try me,” I tease. “And find out.”
He grabs the hem of the sweatshirt he bought for me, whisking it up. “Looks great on.” Tugs it over my head. “Looks even better off.”
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip as he roams those sinful brown eyes over me. I shiver under his hot stare. That seems to excite him, my reaction, judging from the hiss in his breath. The heat in his irises. The bulge in his jeans.
“Josie, Josie, Josie,” he repeats, shaking his head in admiration. Then, he’s all determination and desire as he kisses me thoroughly, starting at my belly button, traveling up my stomach, stopping to lift his face and say, “Yeah, drives me crazier.”
I smile, then sigh happily as he pays a visit to my tits, then frees them.
“Perfect,” he murmurs as he cups my tits, then buries his face between them. But he doesn’t stay there long. He moves to my right breast, flicking a delicious circle around the nipple, then drawing it into his mouth. Then nipping me lightly.
“Oh god,” I say, but it’s more like a half-moan, half-yelp.
“You like that.” It’s less a question, more a statement.
“I think I’m into it,” I tease.
“Let’s be sure,” he says, then bites a little harder. I arch into him in answer. He moves to the other one, and yes, I’m very into having my tits played with, as it turns out.
And he’s into playing with them. He squeezes and kneads, sucks and kisses, then lets out a long, hungry rumble. “Fuck, you taste good everywhere,” he says as he rises up and meets my face.
His gaze is borderline feral, and I love it. But he’s wearing too many clothes. He’s too sexy to be clothed.
“I wonder if you do too,” I say, then I push up, ready to discover.
“Find out,” he says.
In no time, I’m unbuttoning his shirt and he’s shrugging it off, and holy fucking hell.
His muscles have muscles. His biceps are ripped.
His abs are illegal. A blue bruise decorates the side of his stomach, and a small scar travels across his right wrist. “I bet you didn’t get this falling off a bike,” I say of the scar.
With a laugh, he shakes his head, then lets me explore him more.
The best part? The ink that crawls down his arms. Sunbursts on his shoulders and biceps, a couple music notes on his forearms, and a line drawing of a cute dog on his wrist. That silver chain I was drawn to earlier gleams around his neck, thick links resting against his skin.
I can finally find out how he tastes right there, and the prospect makes me giddy.
My hands journey across his pecs and up over his collarbone, my fingertips playing with the cool metal against his skin.
I lean in and press my lips to his throat.
He growls, a low sound as I savor the woodsy, clean scent.
Like the forest trees from my hometown in Maine. Like a mountain stream.
Like a stranger who saved me tonight.
I lean back and stare a little longer. My eyes have never feasted so well. “Where did you get this body? Did you order it from the Department of Abs and Pecs?”
His smile is pleased. A bit proud but not cocky. “I work out a little,” he says dryly.
“Liar,” I say as I run my nails down his sturdy pecs, carved from, I dunno, titanium maybe. I travel down to his abs. “I mean, you’ve never skipped core day.”
“True,” he admits.
“And these arms,” I say, exploring them from forearm to shoulder. My jaw might be on the floor. It’s possible I’m drooling. “I’m sorry but I’m totally objectifying you right now.”
“I’m not sorry. But fair warning, in about one minute I’m going to tear off those panties, spread your thighs, and taste what I’ve done to you tonight.”
I know what I’m into now. His mouth. “First, can I objectify your cock with my mouth?”
Dragging a hand through his hair in slow mo, he stares like he can’t quite believe he found me outside a gallery dressed in slippers and a T-shirt. And like he can’t believe his luck. He bends, cups my cheeks, and presses a hot kiss to my lips. “Yes.”
I’m not sure who’s inhabiting my body tonight. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this…forward.
But I am sure I’ve never been this turned on, this excited. In no time, he sheds his jeans and his boxer briefs, freeing his cock. It’s as sexy as the rest of him. Thick, hard, and with a drop of liquid arousal beading at the tip.
I push him down on the bed and climb over him, then right when I’m about to have some fun with his dick, I remember…my glasses.
I pop up. “Just a sec.”
I crawl across the bed to set them down on the nightstand, then he tackles me by the waist. “Can’t stand these clothes a second longer,” he says, then he’s flipping me onto my back and undressing me.
Skimming my pants down my legs, then my undies.
Everything’s happening so quickly, and for a few seconds, I’m no longer the bold girl. I’m vulnerable. Completely naked in a hotel room with a stranger. A sexy stranger, but still a stranger.
A stranger who’s…
Oh.
Oh god.
Oh, my.
Oh, fuck.
Wesley’s objectifying me right now. With his talented mouth. With his wicked lips. With his fantastic tongue. The man has slid between my thighs and is spreading me open. He’s groaning and sighing, flicking his tongue up and down my center, then sucking on my clit.
He laps me up as he glides his big hands under me, scooping me up, squeezing my ass, bringing me even closer to his mouth.
I feel like his dessert. Like I’m the ice cream porn he was really craving all day. Like The Hand Dipper date was part of the foreplay.
For a second, he stops. “Put your hands in my hair. It’s more fun that way. You can control the pace,” he says.