5. Morgan
Morgan
“Or you could stay.”
For a second, neither of us moves. Her hand is still resting on the knot of the robe, the satin parted just enough to give me another glimpse of the soft skin underneath.
The look in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what she just offered.
She’s teasing me. She’s biting her lip and she’s fucking teasing me. And while I still don’t reward her with a smile, I can feel the tension between us sizzling on every nerve of my body.
Her lips part, emitting a sweet, hot breath with a hint of a sigh (or is it a moan?). I have all the confirmation I need that I didn't hallucinate her invitation.
In two strides, I cross the bathroom, grab her around the back of her neck, and pull her into me.
And my fucking god, the kiss is hot.
My jaw works to part her lips and her tongue finds mine. It's both deep and unrushed, and a whirlwind and slow motion.
I slide my other hand to the swell of her full breast, finding her nipple through the satin material. This time, she for sure moans, the sound vibrating in my mouth.
“What are we doing?” she suddenly asks and my eyes meet her.
“Do you want me to stop?” I ask. Because as much as it would rip my body in half, I will. I’ll leave if she asks me to.
“No,” she says quickly. “I’m just wondering…what we’re doing…”
“Whatever you want,” I tell her. “Anything you want…”
With that, her blue eyes go darker and deeper than the ocean outside and she slowly tugs the robe open, letting it fall aside.
Nothing.
And with that, my cock is bursting to break free.
Nothing but soft, fair skin, perfectly symmetrical breasts, wine-pink nipples that are already hard enough to cut glass, and that small birthmark next to her navel in the shape of a heart.
And what might be the most perfect pussy I’ve ever seen.
Before I can decide what I want to do first, she licks her lips and signals at the tent in my pants.
The way she looked at me when she first saw me was flattering. The way she is looking at me now is something else entirely.
I reach for my belt.
Her eyes follow my hands as I undo it and let my slacks fall to the bathroom floor in a slick whoosh. I step out of them, hook my thumbs into my boxer briefs and push those down too, just to below my hips.
Just enough to free my solid, hard cock from its confinement.
“Do you want it?” I ask as I take hold of it in my hand.
“Yes,” she whispers. “God, yes.”
And I give her more. A demonstration, or teaser if you like, of wrapping my hand around it, my fingers not touching, and slowly sliding up the entire length.
“Oh.”
I smirk. “Problem?”
“No.” Her eyes flick up to mine. “Definitely not.”
There it is. A response sexy enough, needy enough, to make my lips smirk and my hard-on throb.
I step out of my boxer briefs and kiss her again, walking her backward into the shower until the water catches us both. She lets out a surprised laugh against my mouth as it runs over her hair and shoulders, and I swear that laugh might be as sexy as every moan she has made so far.
If I let my cock have its own way, I'd be inside her and pumping in two seconds flat.
But I want to enjoy her, savor every kiss, every moan, every scream.
I move my hands over her. Her waist. Her hips. Her ass. Every soft curve she was standing in front of that mirror criticizing before she knew I was there.
When my hand moves over her stomach, she pulls it in.
I sense it immediately and glance down at the exact place she is trying to make smaller.
She, like every woman who has nothing to be ashamed of, doesn’t like her body. Because some young, dense idiot of a boy claiming to be a man made her feel less than. It’s bullshit.
So with my eyes on hers, I put my hands on her hips and lower my mouth to the softness of her stomach, leaving no part out. I kiss from one side to the other, around her navel, then press my mouth to the little heart-shaped birthmark.
Something shifts in her eyes and she studies me, but she doesn’t pull away.
Good.
I move lower.
By the time I drop to my knees, her legs are open, inviting me to come closer. Begging even.
I kiss the insides of her knees, making my way north. All the while, I look up at her every couple of seconds, making sure the light is still green. The dark magic in her eyes, her parted lips, and the small pants emitting through those lips tell me not to stop.
As I get closer and closer to the spot I really want to have my mouth on, the spot I am aching to taste, I hook one arm around her thigh and pull it over my shoulder.
I haven’t even touched her yet. Only the heat of my hot groan has grazed her. But it’s enough for her thighs to part more. For her to hold her breath in anticipation.
I kiss her mound with enough pressure to make her gasp. Then my lips part and I part hers with my tongue.
Her mouth opens and she lets out the smallest, sweetest, “Oh…”
Her lips tremble as I run my tongue along the length of her, curving in and out of every groove, playing with the most sensitive spots with each pass.
She is good at composing herself but I intend to break that.
I don’t mind that she doesn’t have a dirty mouth but I want to make her scream.
I want to make her come.
I find her clit with my tongue, and I tease it. Gently at first, then relentlessly. I edge her with large, round circles, until she is squirming against the marble.
“Oh…” she whimpers again. “Oh god…”
“Do you like that?” I ask, pausing only long enough to ask the question and glance up at her.
Her head nods yes and she bites her lips. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she’s trying to be quiet.
I can break her of that…
I grab her by the hips again and bury my face between her thighs, lapping my tongue over her before tantalizing her clit with the tip again, picking up speed with every stroke.
I insert two fingers and they slide in so easily.
God, she's wet for me. And so warm that my dick is screaming to be inside of her.
She clasps her hand on the top of my head, tangling her grip into my hair and the trembling in her thighs tells me she’s close.
And I am going to rip that orgasm out of her without even breaking a sweat.
“Oh…oh god…oh my god,” she lets out and it’s precious. It overtakes her and her hips shake against my mouth as the release, a release I am starting to think she really, really needed, crashes over her.
I stand before her knees can decide they no longer work and catch her around the waist. For a few seconds she just leans against me, breathing hard while the water runs over both of us.
But I am not finished.
And if I had to guess, neither is she.
She proves me right by grabbing my face and kissing me.
Hard.
Her hands slide down my wet chest and around my waist, and when she presses herself against me, every bit of patience I had left disappears.
“Bed,” she says against my mouth.
“Is that what you want?” I ask, kissing her neck right below her jawline. This girl has the most tempting heart-shaped face. It’s soft. And it’s irresistible.
“I mean…it's such a nice bed…” she trails off.
I laugh, because of course that is her reason.
She shuts off the shower, and I grab her around the waist and lift her.
She lets out a small shriek as I prop her up into my arms with ease.
“You alright?” I ask.
“Yes. I just…I’m not used to…”
“Used to what?” I ask.
Her cheeks flush to a flattering shade of soft, pink rose.
“I don’t know, guys being able to pick me up without throwing out their backs,” she says with a sassy smile that isn’t actually that humorous.
And there it is again. That little flash of disbelief that I can hold her like this. Like the body I have been trying not to lose my mind over for the last half hour is somehow too much.
Bullshit again.
She grins but it turns into a playful shriek as I toss her onto the bed. She lands somewhere in the middle of the white, down fluff and I grab her by her ankle and yank her closer to me. I love her shrieks.
But again…I don't want to make her moan.
I want to make her scream.
I crawl on top of her and kiss her again. She wraps herself around me, her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist.
I can’t get enough of her. I needed this. And guessing by the way she has slowly unraveled since I walked into this room, I don’t think she can either.
And yet, there is an urgency.
If I don’t get my dick inside of her soon, it’s going to break loose the moment I make contact. And neither of us has come this far to make today’s fireworks show nothing but a glorified finale.
I reach down and tease her opening with the head of my cock. I know better than to just go full bore. It’s no secret that I am a well-proportioned man. And given that she has already taken a very thorough look at my physique, I’m pretty sure she knows what she is working with here.
“Ready for me?” I ask.
“God you’re so…” she trails off as I tease her, prompting her to open for me.
“So what?” I ask.
“Big,” she giggles.
“Too big?” I ask.
Her eyes meet mine with a mischief I feel I am already growing well acquainted with and she bites her lip, something she does when she is being both timid and salty.
“Never,” she says.
And with that, I drive myself inside of her.
It’s not a hard drive but it’s enough to make her moan. I stop halfway and move slower after that. It gives her body a moment to get used to my size, my length, but also, it allows her to soften around me, all while teasing every nerve we both possess with each inch.
“Fuck me,” I groan. “You feel so fucking good…”
Her legs tighten around my torso and she lifts her ass off the bed slightly, providing both of us with an even more satisfying angle. I don’t know where she learned that and I don’t care.
All I care about is getting her off again.
My hips glide against hers, rhythmically at first and then with more urgency. From waves gently lapping the edges of the beach to tides crashing against the shore. With each thrust, I drive us nearer to the edge.
“Fuck,” I groan again, taking her hands in mine and pinning them over her head. I need something to hang onto. Something to keep me from tumbling over the edges of myself entirely.
“Oh…” she murmurs again. “Oh god…”
And as pretty as those little moans are, they’re not enough.
I don’t want her to remember this as a nice time…I want her to look back on the memory, biting her lip. Crossing her legs. I want it to be a memory that turns her cheeks so red, she doesn’t want to think about it in public.
I want her to need to touch herself every time she thinks of me.
Even if she never sees me again.
I pick up the pace more and more, driving myself deeper and deeper inside of her. The murmurs turn to moans. The moans to shrieks. And finally—
“Oh fuck!” she screams and her body convulses against me in a series of shudders.
I can't hold myself back any longer. My mind goes blank, and, somewhere far away, I hear myself groan as my balls explode and warm electricity flows through my entire body.
When the orgasm finally loosens its grasp, I sit back, taking a moment to catch my breath.
But suddenly, she gets up.
Immediately. No spooning.
“Where are you going?” I ask, leaning back. It’s been a minute since I’ve done that kind of workout and I hate to admit it, but I might need a second to recover.
“I’m giving you the room,” she says.
I stop, sitting up straight again.
“I’m not kicking you out,” I tell her.
She gives me a look that says I am missing something very obvious. “And I’m not staying in a room that a strange man has the key to.”
Touché.
She disappears through the dressing area and into the bathroom. I hear drawers open, fabric moving, the kind of hurried activity that tells me whatever spell we were under just broke.
A minute later she comes back out dressed, dragging the brightly colored, sticker-covered suitcase I noticed downstairs behind her.
She pauses at the door.
For one second, I think she might say something. Give me her name. Her number. Anything.
Instead she smiles.
“Enjoy your room.”
“Our room,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes and leaves, the door closing behind her, possibly forever.
And for a moment, I almost regret not learning her name or even getting her number.
This could be fun. Occasional post-board-meeting hookups. Not something I usually do but sometimes I make exceptions to my routine. When it feels good.
And everything about that felt good.
Too fucking good.
I allow myself to grin for the first time since I walked into the suite. For the first time today really—and roll off the bed.
I need food. And maybe even another drink.
I grab my boxer briefs and slacks from the bathroom, get dressed, then head through the walk-in closet area to retrieve the shirt I tossed onto the bed earlier.
That’s when I see something on the floor beside the empty space where her suitcase had been.
Something that’s not mine. Obviously. I mean I didn’t bring anything with me.
I saunter over and stop, bending down.
It’s a book. A small, burgundy, leather-bound book.
She must have missed it when she rushed out.
I unwrap the string from around it and open it. Then I frown.
It’s not a diary.
It’s not a planner.
It’s a list.
A bucket list.
Something in my chest balls up into a hard knot. I’m impartial to bucket lists. But I read it anyway.
Bucket List (in no particular order)
Cross the country
Go north! Somewhere cold
Get a passport and get out of here
Visit somewhere that is not landlocked
Four corners!
Camp instead of getting a hotel room
Skinny dip in the mountains (hot springs anyone?)
Eat from the land. Farmers’ markets only.
Vineyards. Sonoma, Colorado, Washington
European vineyards.
Lobster rolls in Maine
Become a full-time, financially stable travel journalist/blogger
Visit ALL the beaches. Beaches are officially my love language.
Forget tourist trap 5-star dining. Cook with the locals. Eat what they eat. Make friends!
Go swimming in the wild! No crowded beaches or fancy pools.
Help baby sea turtles into the ocean.
Wear a bikini. Not hate it.
Have sex under the stars.
Go to the House of Blues
Fall in love in New York City.
Become a mom.
Show my family the world.
I close it, suddenly feeling like by opening it, by reading it, I’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to me.
I should take it downstairs. Have the front desk hold it for her. She’ll realize it’s missing, call the hotel and get it back without either of us ever needing to know who the other one was.
Simple.
Except I don’t move.
My eyes drop to the little burgundy book again, and for some reason I find myself thinking about number seventeen.
Wear a bikini. Not hate it.
After what I watched her do in front of that mirror, that one makes more sense than I want it to.
Then eighteen.
Have sex under the stars.
I huff out a laugh.
That one I could help with.
I wrap the string back around the book and set it on the dresser instead of taking it downstairs.
I’ll deal with it later.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.