I raise my body, pressing my hands to his chest. He really is built like a brick house. I scoop my fingers under his shirt and tug. “Shirt’s gotta go.” He’s up instantly, and the shirt is gone.
Jesus. I must have done something right to earn this one.
“Your turn,” he says.
Only fair. I lift my tank over my head and toss it to the side. His hands are on my tits instantly, and I couldn’t be happier. He kneads my nipples between his thumb and index finger while I tug at his shorts. “Off we go,” I say, losing my power of authority. His simple teasing is getting me going faster than I’d like. I might even settle for some dry humping to get off.
He’s a smart man and lifts his hips so I’m able to drag his shorts down, almost getting whipped in the face with his gigantic dick. God forbid we never make it to the good part because he blinds me in one eye beforehand.
“Your turn,” he repeats. Sure thing, I think as I stand up on the bed and step out of my jean shorts. I pull my underwear down with them, bypassing the bashfulness of him seeing me naked. This is just sex. No time for overthinking.
I drop back down, crawl up, and kiss him. His lips are plump and inviting. I make good use of my hands, touching his pecs, abs, and working downtown to direct traffic, as in get the big guy inside. I’m rewarded when I reach his cock and wrap my small hand around him. He’s smooth to the touch. Large. I kiss him harder, anticipating what’s to come. I’ve been on edge the past two days; I don’t have time for foreplay. I’m already wet—no shocker—so I settle him where he needs to be and slide down. I’m not sure who moans first. It sounded like a tie. I want to tell him I won, because I’m competitive like that, but he starts working his hips, thrusting into me.
“Your pussy is fucking perfect,” he groans, gripping my hips and lifting me up and down on his cock. “You just suck me up.” He lifts me again, and slams me back down.
“Gobble, gobble,” I moan, feeling like his dick possibly just hit a rib. I also forfeit trying to rehash what just came out of my mouth. Gobble, gobble? Really?
“Fuck, I gotta flip you,” he grunts, and whoospie daisies! Before I have a chance to argue, I’m on my back, and he’s thrusting me into the mattress. My legs wrap around his waist, holding on for dear life as I moan, groan, and almost cry out in ecstasy. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Each time he slams into me, my eyes roll back. I fear I’m going to choke on my own tongue. We’re both starting to sweat. I can feel his skin getting clammy when I grab for his ass and squeeze. “Jesus Christ,” he growls, his balls slapping my ass for good behavior. There is one thing I like about him, and it’s that he doesn’t take things slow. Neither time has he tried to woo me—which is far from what I want or need. I need to be fucked. And he is doing a fantastic job of it.
Pounding into me again, he reaches between us and pinches my clit. I throw my head back and break. I moan in silence, since my throat is bone dry, and cry out my release, my back arching off the bed.
One, two, on the third hard thrust, he comes, pushing my back up the mattress.
His body falls on top of mine.
We’re both breathing heavily. Him more than me, since I can’t really breathe at all with his heavy frame on me. I give it a few more seconds before the awkwardness settles in, then tap him on the butt. “Okay, well…I have to go check on my new friends, so…”
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask questions as he pulls out and stands. I feel his semen dripping out of me. Fuck. I need to be smarter than this. I get up without making eye contact, and grab for my tank top and shorts. “So, I’m just gonna go…I’ll see ya around.” I walk out of my bedroom to the bathroom, forgetting I was already in my place.
Idiot.
Chapter Six
Trevor
“You listening to me?”
I pull myself back from my thoughts to Eric, who’s sitting across from me in the conference room. “Yeah, got it. Warehouse turnover creates forty-two percent profit margin for the company. If we add fifteen new trucks, picking up the thirty-seven new routes, that brings in an annual income of fourteen billion.”
Eric smiles. He’s pleased with the figures, and if they’re coming from my mouth, he knows they’re solid. The new warehouse addition is going to be a success.
“You okay, man?” he asks as I start falling back into my thoughts.
“Fine,” I grit out. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I know you. I know the signs. You’ve been distant. Counting out loud again. Do you need to see Dr. Winters?”
I instantly become agitated. I love Eric, but I don’t need him acting like my father. “I’m fine. Just have some shit going on with the Flanders property.” And boy is that a goddamn understatement. My problem is less with the unsigned contract and more with the spitfire girl staying in it.
I went over there yesterday to talk about what happened Sunday night. Instead, we had round two of mauling each other. She was nothing I was used to. She was also disrupting my very organized life. The counting was getting worse. But it always revolved around her. Watching her in the morning. Every time I would see her pass by her kitchen window. The seconds it would take to pass by again. It’s like I’m obsessed with her. But that isn’t me.
I won’t admit to Eric that I already met with Dr. Winters. She came by the house Monday morning and guided me through the cloudiness in my head, which helped. But then I fell right back into it when I walked into that shack and got my brains fucked out by the little sex goddess. The strange thing was, whenever I was deep inside her, the numbers stopped. Nothing but quiet inside my head, allowing me to enjoy her. But then I would go home, where my brain would reset, fighting every single equation, probability, and factor of what had just occurred and the likeliness of it occurring again. I wanted her. But strangely, I wasn’t sure she wanted me. My dick, yeah. But past that, she showed no interest. And that fucking bugged me. So, tonight, after work, I’m going to go over there to demand answers.
What’s even more shocking is not once since Sunday have I thought about the setback of the delayed closing of the property.
I leave Eric to finish the paperwork, knowing he’s in his own shit of woman problems—or should I say child problems, since that’s how young he prefers them. I make it home seventy-two seconds faster than normal and pull into my driveway. I notice the open windows next door, so I shut off my Aston Martin, get out, and walk over.
I bang three times on the door with no response. I know she’s in there, so she better not even think about trying to avoid me. When I bang again, and she doesn’t answer, I twist the knob. It moves freely in my hand, and I push the door open, ready to call her name, when the fucked-up thing hits me. I don’t even know it. I’ve been balls deep in her twice now, and we’ve never exchanged names. I make a mental note to change that.
I walk further into the old house, peeking down the small hallway. Nothing. I walk through the kitchen and find her outside on the deck.
“Hey, I knocked,” I start, pushing through the sliding glass door to find her sitting with her legs crisscrossed on her old lawn chair in tears. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I’m on high alert, ready to kill anyone who’s messed with her.