Anticipation is a gut-twisting emotion. Is he going to do it or not? Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the sounds coming from across the hall. Briefly.
“Please,” more porn star moans, “do it, you wild animal,” Lucy yells amidst the creaks. “Do it.” Long groan that borders on exaggerated. “Do ittttttt.”
“God, could he just do it already? Her dirty talk is fucking boring,” Dune says, catapulting into keeper status.
“Back to that kiss,” I remind him so I can forget what’s happening in Austin’s bedroom.
He wets his lips and hovers his mouth over mine before finally giving me a taste of his lip ring. Unf. It’s a soul-searing kiss that erases my mind of anything except the way our tongues circle in a head-spinning tangle.
Within minutes, it escalates into no-turning-back territory when he tears his lips from mine to suck a path down my neck and across my collarbone. “I need to be inside you.”
Date two was not the planned time for this. I don’t even have the good undies on. But this is my authentic self, dammit, in mismatched cotton and lace. The internet gurus will disown and ban me from the inter webs for having sex so soon. There must be some caveat when it involves a bad boy. Everyone knows bad boys cause rash decisions and are irresistible. It’s the law of the universe, therefore, excusable.
His fingers find their way inside my panties to tease my seam, while Lucy hoots and hollers about a sexy beast.
“Seriously, I couldn’t handle that,” he says, working me into a frenzy with his hand. “How is he okay with that?”
“You like dirty talk?”
“Oh, yeah.” He rocks into me, hard and thick. “Why don’t you give me some.”
I’ll do anything to drown out Lucy. I attempt it, although I’m not sure how, “Oh yeah, you like that big dude? Big boy,” I say louder than necessary. That seemed pretty good. “Big boy! Do you like that, big boy?”
He halts his fingers. Oh God. He’s not impressed.
“Yeah, um, my mom calls me that. You’re going to have to stop that immediately.”
His directness is goals.
I make another attempt. “Maybe I need a spreadsheet filled with dirty talk words.” I’m onto something, because his dark eyes flare. “I’d make a column just for your cock.”
“That’s it, dirty girl. You’d need eight rows to fit me.” He groans, circling my clit. “Insert a column for your pussy.”
I’m still processing the eight inches, but this is hotter than expected. Lucy’s theatrics can’t stop me.
“I’d add another column for how fast you make me come. A column full of numbers.” I suck his earlobe into my mouth. “What do you think the first number will be?” He moans when I whisper, “Three?”
In a flash, Dune stands and removes my shorts. “Maximum three minutes to make you come.” His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, while he retrieves a condom from his wallet. “Bet me.”
“You’re on.” Brazen, I discard my shirt.
He leans down and sucks on one nipple, and then the other. “You’re going to lose this bet.”
“Well, wait. What are we betting?”
“Mystery prize,” he says. “When I win, I’ll think of what I want. Right now, I’m too fucking horny.”
Same, bad boy, same. I prop on my elbows as he undresses, so I miss nothing. Lean muscles ripple as he tosses clothing aside, piece by piece. A wolf stares at me from his left pec, and I wrench my gaze from its silvery eyes and black fur to admire the chiseled abs and etched v leading straight to…a pierced cock.
“Whoa, what’s that?” I ask about the silver barbell protruding from the head of his penis.
“Prince Albert.” He glides his hand up and down the thick length. “You’ll still feel it with the condom but one day I want to fuck you bare.”
“I’m almost there,” Lucy screams. “You’re a king.”
Praise be. Never thought I’d ever wish Austin would make her orgasm. Who cares if he’s a king? I’m about to experience Prince Albert.
“You realize three minutes is only one-hundred eighty seconds,” I taunt.
With hooded eyes, he captures my bottom lip with his teeth. “Your dirty talk is killing me,” he growls.
No more dirty talk takes place because he devours my mouth, and slides the tip of his cock in, so slowly I might die before he reaches full capacity.
“Your pussy is so hot.” He stills and his dick twitches inside me. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
And then it’s on. He pumps, grinds, rams, working his piercing against my g-spot and it’s all too much. Too good. Every electrified nerve tingles and when he rakes his teeth over the lip ring, the warmth building low in my belly explodes all the way to my nipples.
“Holy Sweet Tattoo Jesus,” I cry out.
“Yeah, keep coming,” he says. “I feel you coming.”
There are no squealing yelps or exaggerated moans, just exquisite feels. All the feels as he thrusts through my orgasm until his body shudders and he releases with a gorgeous arc of his body.
“Damn, Chloe. That was…” He pants. “That was amazing. I think I broke my dick coming.”
That’s how I roll. Who’s boring? Not this girl.
Five
Goat yoga with Charlotte is as ridiculous as I thought it would be, and thrice as smelly. Animal odors from the vast farm waft into the barn where miniature goats trounce their little hooves amongst the women snapping photos.
“This is the easiest workout I’ve ever attempted,” Charlotte says, extending a long leg behind her, “but let’s never do it again.”
I laugh. “You don’t enjoy having your fingers chomped on?”
Her chocolate eyes slide over to me. “By Mr. Charlotte-to-be, yes. Furry animals, no.”
Heather, our laid-back instructor, leads us into a downward dog position. “Keep awareness of your center,” she says. “Breathe in positivity, and release negative energy into the outer realms of the universe.”
Easy for her to say, difficult for me to do. Carl, my salt and pepper sort-of friend, has taken a shine to me in a passive-aggressive way. Bounding up to nuzzle my arm before kicking me. Goat shenanigans won’t deter me, because I need to release as much lingering negativity from the sex fiasco as possible. My lungs fill with air and I let it out in a long exhale.
“Focus on your third eye,” Heather says. “Let your baby goat put you in a cheerful place.”
As I envision myself a cyclops, Carl climbs onto my back and lovingly deposits a turd before vaulting off to nip my nose.
“Thanks, Carl,” I mutter. Just like a man, it’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s so darn cute. That thinking will be my downfall.
“Oops. Sorry, let me get that off of you.” A smiling employee, in charge of keeping the area sanitized, promptly reaches in to remove the unexpected gift and offers me a free T-shirt.
“To think, you were on the waitlist a month for that,” Charlotte says. “Next time, yoga with cats.”
“It’s not that bad,” Positive Me says.