"Because I can't see your face that way. And I want to see your face while I'm fucking you."
"Ohhh, okay." She draws out the word ‘oh.’ "I like your face too." Her lips curve into an impish smile. "I like seeing your face all the time though. I'm especially looking forward to seeing your face on Wednesday."
"You," I tell her, then roll us over so she's beneath me, "are quite the minx for such a good girl." I kiss her until she's relaxed and digging a heel into my ass trying to pull me closer. I kneel on the bed and bend her knees up to her chest, keeping her knees and calves together and placing both of her ankles on my left shoulder. Then I sink into her. God, she feels good. I watch her eyes widen and her lips form a tiny o. She blinks rapidly then smiles.
"Oh, wow. I had no idea." She shakes her head against the pillow and grips my forearms with her hands. "I always assumed my legs needed to be spread open in order to have sex. The more you know, huh?" She scrunches her eyes shut and shakes her head again. "What a dumb thing to say."
I move one of her ankles so I can kiss the sole of her foot and flex my hips until I'm so deep inside of her my vision goes hazy for a moment. Fucking ecstasy, every inch of me embraced by her. Slick and warm and tight.
"It's not dumb." Her ignorance is a fucking turn-on and I know I'm a bastard for feeling that way, but fuck it. She's twenty-two, not sixteen, and I'm enjoying the hell out of being the one to introduce her to sex. To watch her squirm and blush. To answer her questions and broaden her horizons. She's so convinced I have some mysterious fetish but I think my fetish is her. Teaching her.
"Well, I am a fairly clever problem-solver," she says with a grin that looks like a secret. Then she tucks her knees tighter to her chest, changing the penetration, and her eyes widen.
"How does this feel?" I ask. "Are you okay?" She's nodding before I'm done asking.
"Good. This is good. More of this, please." She squeezes me and everything gets impossibly tighter and hotter and she's so fucking slick and responsive and perfect as I slide in and out of her. Long slick strokes in and out. She's perfect. Too perfect for me, but I put that out of my mind because I've got enough to fucking think about right now and my only priority at the moment is hearing ‘Rhys, Rhys, Rhys’ fall from her lips.
That's how she says it when she comes. Every time. 'Oh, oh, oh' followed by 'Rhys, Rhys, Rhys.'
"I want you closer," she says now, her arms reaching for my neck. She drops her knees and spreads her thighs so my hips fit between. Then she pulls me to her, chest to chest. Her perfect little tits are pressed into my chest, our stomachs are pressed flesh to flesh and I hold her head in my hands and kiss her.
"You're nice," she whispers but that can't be right. I'm not nice. I'm paying her for fuck’s sake. She's just doing her job. A job she can't possibly need and is either terrible at or great at depending on your viewpoint. I add that to the pile of shit to think about later because Lydia is running her hands over my ass and flexing her hips beneath me so I focus on not improving that average sex time she's so obsessed with and ensuring she's going to feel this all day tomorrow.
After we've gotten to the ‘Rhys, Rhys, Rhys’ I tell myself I should grab my laptop and send one last email to the London office so I'll have a response by the time I wake up, but Lydia's ass is pressed against my side and her hair is splayed out on my pillow so fuck it. Just fuck it. I'll send the email in the morning.
Twenty-Four
LYDIA
I wonder if I look different? If everyone will know I had all the sex this weekend just by looking at me? I peer at myself in Rhys' bathroom mirror and blush. That is the most embarrassing thought ever. And stupid. No one is going to look at me and just know. Besides they were probably doing the same thing all weekend because everyone has sex. Even me.
For example, I will not see Rhys in the office today and imagine what he looks like naked. I will not. If I bump into him in the break room on four I will only think normal thoughts about him. Totally normal, fully clothed thoughts. Because I'm a grown woman and a professional person.
If by chance I happen to pass him in the hallway I will not imagine what he looks like with a towel wrapped around his waist while he stands in front of the mirror shaving. Nope. Absolutely not. In fact, I'm going to stop staring at him right now and try to remove this memory from my brain so it doesn't accidentally pop up later.
"What's wrong?" he asks while I fidget in front of the mirror without looking at him. I just woke up and stumbled in here to pee and found him already out of the shower and—by the looks of it—nearly done shaving. I'd have turned around and used one of the other bathrooms but the toilet in here is in its own private little room, which is the best invention ever because I'm never going to like Rhys a peeing-in-front-of-him amount. I don't think. Unless we get married and have babies and he watches me give birth. Maybe after that it'd be okay to pee in front of him. Firm maybe.
"Nothing." I shrug and grab my toothbrush because I have a toothbrush in Rhys' bathroom. Just a normal Monday morning. I add toothpaste and shove it in my mouth to keep myself from talking. Then I side-eye Rhys again in that towel, except he's done shaving and he's tossed the towel into a basket and is walking naked into his closet and how is a girl not supposed to remember exactly what his naked ass looks like? How? I'm not a magician for crying out loud. I can't just make that visual disappear from my brain. Besides, I don't want to. I want to compose a memo detailing exactly how great his ass looks for every unfortunate female—and any interested male, no hate—who hasn't been lucky enough to be blessed by it firsthand. Which reminds me…
"So, um the office. This," I say, waving a finger between us when he returns fully dressed, knotting a tie around his neck. "The office," I repeat with another wave as I rinse my toothbrush.
"I'll take care of it," he says and then he winks at me and tells me to have a nice lunch and he's gone. Goodness, he starts work early.
Wait.
Lunch?
Oh, God, he's referring to my lunch with Payton. Referring to hearing Payton ask me for a sex recap during our lunch.
That is… embarrassing.
But he seemed like he was amused so I don't think he minds? Also he worked extra hard at the sex last night so perhaps he reminded me about lunch because he's hoping for a good review.
I take a long shower and dawdle while getting ready because I have the time. I'm up earlier than usual and I've got no commute, which is convenient, even if living in a hotel is a bit weird.
Weird but sorta cool. Unlike not having groceries. That's just weird weird, no matter what Rhys thinks about room service being convenient, I'm not about to call room service every time I want to eat so I'll have to fix the food situation if I'm going to survive a month here. Also he's got a coffeepot and coffee, but no creamer and no organic natural sweetener so what is even the point?
No point at all. Thank goodness for the fancy coffee machine in the break room. That will do for today while I figure out the rest.