6. The First Checkmark #2
Oh, right. Good idea. I slide my fingers through his strands and jerk him close. He rumbles against my pussy, then blows on it. I suck in a breath that turns into flames inside me.
His mouth is back on me in seconds, and he eats me thoroughly. I’m tugging on his hair as he’s squeezing my ass. He kisses and sucks and worships. And it’s so decadent. It doesn’t take long at all till I’m rocking against his scruffy jaw, then gasping, crying, screaming.
I come hard and fast. And loud. So loud that when he finally stops, he’s chuckling. “I’m going to need to hear that again. It’s good for my ego,” he says.
“And my pussy,” I say, still catching my breath.
His smile burns off. “That’s it.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me up and off the bed. My feet hit the floor. “Time to fuck you hard.”
I frown. “Isn’t it my turn to objectify you?”
But he’s no longer in the mood to indulge me, it seems, since he spins me around and bends me over the mattress. “Hands on the bed. Ass in the air,” he instructs.
Something in his voice has me scrambling. My generous, helpful knight in shining armor is a little rough in bed, a lot dirty. He presses a big hand to the small of my back, pushing me down.
A flame sparks higher in me. Then hotter when he grabs my ass cheeks and squeezes them appreciatively. “The things I want to do…”
Is Wesley an ass man? Am I an ass woman? I don’t even know, but my body likes whatever he’s doing to me since my bones are dissolving.
But he lets go. Bends over, pushes my hair to the side. “Be right back.”
What? “Where…”
“Stay here.”
Um, I wasn’t going anywhere. Curiosity has got a hold of me so I crane my neck and watch him retreat, and yup. I’m an ass woman. That is one fine backside. Firm, and big.
He strides into the bathroom. A second later, water streams into the sink. Then stops. He returns, roots around in his jeans, and brings out his wallet. Then he fishes out a condom and meets my gaze. “You like watching me, don’t you?” he asks with a cocky rise in his lips.
“I do,” I admit, my eyes locked on him.
He holds the condom in one hand, then drops the other to his cock. Gives it a stroke.
I swallow.
His lips curve up.
He gives it a rougher tug.
I clench my thighs.
“Bet you’d watch me if you saw me jerking it to you.”
It feels like a filthy game we’re playing. Like we’re testing out scenarios in our one-night. “Bet you’d do the same,” I taunt.
His smile is full of wicked approval. He gives another shuttle of his fist till he’s squeezing out a drop of pre-come from the head of his cock. I squirm. He reaches closer, offers it to me. “Suck it off,” he says, a clear order.
And yes, I’m into that too. I part my lips, and he slides his thumb into my mouth. He tastes like clean hands. He washed his hands before he put a finger in my mouth. That’s some swoon-worthy attention to detail. I close my eyes and moan around his finger.
“Show me,” he says. “Show me how you wanted to suck my cock.”
This man keeps me on my toes. I open wider, saying, “More.”
He gives me another finger, and I suck harder on both. He groans, and I shudder.
After a few more seconds, he eases out. Smacks my ass lightly, then rolls on the condom. Nudging my legs a little wider, he notches the head of his cock against me, then sinks in.
I bow my back. Grip the covers. Moan.
“Yesssss,” he murmurs as he pauses, takes a beat. Then he sinks all the way in, filling me up.
I’m stretched. The pressure is intense. But so is the crackle of pleasure. The sharp, hot jolts that rush through me. Slowly, like a tease, he eases out almost all the way, leaving me wanting more.
But he doesn’t give it to me. He takes his sweet time, fucking into me slowly, inch by inch, then easing out. After he’s done that four or five times, I’m panting and begging.
“Wesley,” I moan, needy.
“Yes, baby?”
“Harder,” I demand.
“Ah, that’s right. You wanted a good, hard fucking tonight,” he says, then he slams into me.
I cry out from the intensity. “Oh fuck.”
He stills. “Okay?”
“That was a good oh fuck,” I say, my breath already shallow.
He grips my ass tighter and drives into me, his hips flush against mine, then eases out again. Making me ache for more. Making me beg.
“Please,” I gasp.
He sinks into me again, filling me till there’s no room left. Then he covers me with his body, his chest to my back, his arm banding around my tits. His mouth against my neck. His teeth nipping at my flesh.
It’s intimate the way he’s holding me, and aggressive the way he’s using me. I feel held and used all at once, and it’s so damn good. This is a kind of hard, rough sex I didn’t know I was into.
But it turns out, I am.
I’m clawing at the sheets as he pounds into me. I’m moaning and gasping. He’s grunting and cursing. My cells light up with each thrust. When I’m close, obviously close, he lets go of my tits, moves that hand up the back of my neck and into my hair.
He tugs on some strands, and that’s it. It sends me over the cliff. My brain blanks out. It goes offline as my body shakes.
The orgasm hurtles through me, a burst of pleasure and light and fire. I’m calling his name as he drives into me, then stills, jerks and groans for days.
Another slow pump. Another moan. Then he slumps over me, brushes my hair from my neck, and presses a tender kiss there.
He’s somehow filthy and sweet. And the way he fucks me is the best welcome to San Francisco ever.
* * *
A little later, we’re cleaned up and in bed, flicking through the channels, but finding nothing exciting to watch. Since, well, it’s regular TV.
I’m not sure how this works—hotel sex. Do we stay the night? It’s not even midnight. It’s eleven. And the day feels like it’s been ninety-six hours long and I’m tired, but I haven’t had dinner, even though the ice cream was real good. My stomach speaks up, growling.
Rude bitch.
He laughs. “You hungry, Josie?”
“That’s a yes.”
“Let’s get some food.”
I frown. “Do I have to get dressed?”
He scoffs. “No way.”
Soon, we’re dining on sushi in bed from a nearby restaurant, and he’s telling me about his favorite cafés in the city and the best place to get a latte, and I tell him about the places I want to see.
But we don’t trade numbers. Or last names.
We don’t say I’d love to see you again. And we don’t make plans.
Still, there’s one very important thing I want to say.
My aunt gave me a list of the top things she’s never regretted, and since I’ve finally started tackling the items on the list, and making them my own, it seems right to let number one know how I feel.
I draw a soldiering breath then say, “That thing I wanted to do?”
He adopts a perplexed look. “What would that be?”
I swat his biceps. “Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.”
“Ah, that thing. Yes, I recall it now.”
He’s making this so easy. Still, it feels important to get this right.
When someone you love gives you instructions before they go, it seems like you should handle them with care.
Wesley’s part of the list now. Part of this new history of me.
The first checkmark. So I meet his eyes and say, “I’m glad it was you. ”
He dips his face, smiling. When he lifts it, he locks his gaze with mine again, then says, “Me too.”
There’s an intensity in those warm, soulful eyes that makes my stomach flip.
That makes me wonder what it would be like if he was more than a stranger.
Briefly, I toy with the idea of asking if he wants to hang out, but there’s no item on Aunt Greta’s list or mine for anything more than one night.
My new job starts in two more days—on Tuesday. My new life.
Best to be true to the plan.
We’re both quiet for a beat, and maybe he’s unsure of what happens next when he says, “So the night ended better than it began?”
“It really did,” I say, then I yawn, fighting to stay awake.
“Go to sleep,” he says, on a yawn too. “Sleep makes a perfect one-night stand even more perfect.”
I take off my glasses again. We dim the lights, slide under the covers, and crash into slumber.
I’m dead to the world until I get up to pee early in the morning. When I trudge back to bed, I fumble around for my phone to check the time and squint at the screen.
Christian: Get ready to be an aunt! Liv is in labor for real, and the babies are almost here!
Then he sends me the address to the hospital.
I bolt upright, wide awake despite the fact it’s five a.m. In a flurry, I jam on my glasses, yank on clothes, find a tube of toothpaste and smear some on my teeth, then hunt for a pad of paper.
Finding one, I scribble out a note, thanking Wesley.
Then I go, leaving him behind and taking the sexiest memory of my life with me into the early dawn.