Текст книги "Rock Bottom"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“How about you work on getting thicker walls in here, Miss Nosypants?” Danika shouted back without missing a beat, her face still looking relaxed enough to be asleep.

I couldn’t help it.  I laughed.  Even nearly unconscious, she could manage to dish out sass.

CHAPTER NINE

DANIKA  

I blew out my breath in a noisy sigh of frustration as we missed the step, yet again.

My dance partner, Preston, was a good sport about it, as usual.  I’d worked with more experienced dancers, but I far preferred one with a good attitude.  The guy never had a bad day.

“You wanna call it?” he asked with a smile, giving my fingers a little squeeze.

He knew better.  I’d never be the one to call an end to a session.  I always wanted to stay until we got the steps down right.

Our instructor strode into the room, took in our stances, and turned on his heel, moving directly to the stereo.  I smiled when Mary J. Blige’s Family Affair came on.  It was impossible not to dance to that song, or to stay in a bad mood when you heard it.

Anthony, our instructor, was at least forty, but still had a sexy older man kind of vibe, with salt and pepper hair, a slim but muscular build, steely gray eyes, and a hot Italian accent.  He was also just plain nice, which went a long way with me.

I pulled away from Preston, loosened up my stance, and started dancing.  Not the tango, just good old feeling it dancing.

Anthony moved closer, but not too close, moving his shoulders, twisting his hips.  No Italian man had ever moved so well to MJB.  The man had soul.  Our sessions always ended like this, in a freestyle jam, so I knew we were done.  His disposition, along with his talent, were what had attracted me to his dance studio.  No matter what, I never wanted to stop doing this because I loved it, and I’d worked with people that forgot that part.

Tristan was out of town yet again, and so I went out for dinner and drinks with a group of dancers afterward, and, as was becoming the pattern, Preston wound up sitting next to me.

I was aware, in an uncomfortable sort of way, that he liked me as more than just a friend.  He couldn’t have been further off my radar as far as that was concerned.  I was a one man kind of woman.

But even if I had been single, I wouldn’t have gone out with him.

He was a good-looking guy, with light brown hair, and hazel eyes.  His build was very slender, and he was a few inches shy of six feet.  I’d developed a very marked taste for huge men that towered over me and had biceps like tree trunks.  Tristan had officially ruined me.

The group stayed and talked for hours.  I drank sparingly.  I hadn’t been much of a drinker since Jared’s death.  It had served as a wake-up call for me.  I was not immune to the pitfalls of vice.

Addiction was hereditary, and it was in my blood, so I knew that I had to be more careful than most to avoid its trappings.

We were at a college bar across the street from campus, and it had a dance floor.  There were eight of us, all dancers, and so of course we danced.

I had fun.  It was nice to go out with new people, with fresh faces and carefree smiles.

I found myself texting Frankie, telling her to come out and join us.

Frankie:  To a college bar?  Do you have any idea how old I am?

I thought about it.  No, I did not.

Danika:  No, I don’t.  How old are you?

Frankie: I am twenty-seven.

Danika:  That’s not even old.  

Frankie:  It’s too fuckin old for a college bar.

Danika:  It’s fun.  Come on.  

Frankie:  How long are you going to be there?

Danika:  I don’t know.  Depends on if you come hang out with us.

Frankie:  Fine.  I’ll be there in thirty, but if I spot any sorority girls, I’m outta there.

I was dancing with Preston when I caught sight of Frankie in the crowd near the bar.

I squealed, rushing to her.

She smiled when she saw me.  We hugged, but she kept looking over my shoulder.  At Preston, I thought.

She reaffirmed my suspicion in short order.  “Who is, uh, that guy?” she asked, pointing.

I knew whom she was referring to, since I’d just been dancing with him, but I followed her finger to look.

“That’s Preston.  He’s my ballroom dance partner at the studio.  Super nice guy.”

“And you’re, like, out with him?”

My eyes narrowed at her chastising tone.  “I’m out with seven other dancers.  There’s a whole group of us.”

“But you were dancing with him.”

“He’s my dance partner.  It seemed like a pretty normal thing to do.”  I found myself getting defensive.

“How do you think Tristan will feel about that?” she asked, her tone bland, the pointed arch to her eyebrow, not so much.

“Tristan is crazy when it comes to me and other guys.  Do you think I should cater to crazy?”

She gave me a look that should have been reserved for disapproving mothers.  “How would you feel if you found out that Tristan was going out to clubs with the band and dancing with other woman while he’s in L.A.?  That’d be fine with you?”

I mulled it over, and finally got her point.  I’d hate that.  Really hate it.  Yes, I was dating crazy, but I had apparently fallen from the same crazy tree.

“But he’s my dance partner.  We have to practice.  I can’t give up dancing for Tristan.  That wouldn’t be healthy.”

“Agreed, but how ‘bout you keep it to the studio?  That’s seems to me to be a far cry from dirty dancing in the club.”

“How do I know Tristan isn’t going out and dancing with other girls?  He could be doing that or worse every night.  I’d have no clue if he was or wasn’t.”

“You know because I’m telling you.  He’s a good boyfriend to you, and he wouldn’t do that.  He’s very, very careful not to step out of line.  Show him the same respect.”

She had a point, and I suddenly felt like shit.  “I wasn’t dirty dancing, and this isn’t a club,” I pointed out.

She gave me a head to toe once over, giving my exposed stomach a pointed look.  “Shaking your hips in that outfit is dirty dancing, period.”

I pointed to her half-shirt.  “Don’t you dare knock my outfit.  You’re baring more skin than you’re covering.”

“Well, I am single.  World of difference.”

“You’re a fun killer tonight, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.  Now tell me I’m wrong.”

I curled my lip at her, looking around for some of the dancers.  There was one in particular that I thought she’d like to meet.

“Speaking of you being single…” I began.

“Oh hell no, girl.  You wouldn’t know how to set me up.”

“She’s a dancer.  She’s hot, and I heard her say she’s a lesbian.”

“You think that’s how things work?  She’s a lesbian, I’m a lesbian, so of course you should set us up?”

I rolled my eyes, then grinned because she was grinning.  She loved to mess with me.  “More like, you’re hot, she’s hot, you’re both lesbians.  That would be closer.”

“You’re forgetting one very important detail.  I don’t mess with vanilla girls.”

I’d forgotten that little fact.  “Well, who knows, maybe she’s not so vanilla.”

“Trust me, girl, I know every lesbian submissive in town.  If she wasn’t vanilla, we’d have crossed paths before.”

“Well, dammit.  She’s really cute.”

“So are you, and you and I are about as compatible as me and vanilla.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, effectively giving up.

I was a failure of a matchmaker.

Frankie met the girl we’d been talking about, Estella, less than ten minutes later.  The irony about the whole thing was that Estella was noticeably into Frankie, blatantly flirting with her right from the start.

Estella was a shapely little Brazilian, with long, thick, wavy brown hair.  She was maybe an inch shorter than Frankie and had an outgoing, fiery personality.  She also liked to wear very little in terms of clothing, which gave her yet another thing in common with Frankie.

Frankie wasn’t having it.  She was nice to the girl, but not at all flirtatious.

“It’s hard to explain a preference like mine,” Frankie explained when the girl had finally flitted off.  “I’m attracted to Estella.  She’s highly fuckable, but that is not the point.  I couldn’t be who I need to be with her, and I won’t settle for less.”

“How do you ever find anyone?  It’s hard enough finding decent people to date and then throwing something like that in the mix…”

“It’s not easy.  Not at all.  But I’ll tell you what, I won’t ever be finding that somebody at a college bar.  I’d rather be celibate for life than try vanilla again.  Does nothing for me.”

“So you have tried it?”

“Not with a lot of success, and not since I was too young to know better.  A preference like mine…it’s a dark thing, in a way, but when I get it right, God, there’s nothing like it.  Regular sex could never compare.  Has all the excitement of a board game to me.”

“How long has it been since you’ve, yanno, found someone?”

“I parted ways with my last sub over a year ago.  Like I said, it’s not easy for me to find someone that’s compatible.”

I felt like a jerk for asking so many questions, because suddenly, she sounded very sad.  “It’s none of my business.  I was being nosy.  I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  You’re my friend.  I make it a point to be open with friends.  I want you to know who I am, and my sexuality is a huge part of that.  It’s unusual enough that it is part of what defines me.  I’ve made peace with that.  And dating sucks for everyone.  I’m far from alone there.”

“Very true.”

Estella came back, smiling at Frankie and holding two martinis.  I’d thought she’d gotten the hint, but I saw that I was wrong.

“I love tattoos,” she told Frankie, handing her one of the drinks.

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asked politely, taking a sip of the drink.  “I have a tattoo parlor.  If you’re ever thinking about getting ink, you should come to me.”

Estella blinked, looking fascinated. “I was just talking about the ink you have on you.  I didn’t realize you were an artist.  I’d love to come look at designs.  Where is your shop?  I’m new in town.  I don’t have, how do you say, connections?”

Frankie looked more drawn in with every word the other woman said.  Estella did have a sexy accent.  “You don’t need to have connections to get a tattoo.”

Estella giggled, and the way Frankie smiled at that gave me the tiniest sliver of hope.

“I meant directions, not connections.”  She giggled some more.  She really was adorable.

She leaned into Frankie, touching her arm.  She was interested, and not even trying to hide it.  “I’d love to be your canvas.  I think ink is art.”

If she’d known Frankie for years, the girl could not have had a better pick up line for her.

“That’s actually my motto.  It’s even on my cards.”  Frankie reached into her pocket, pulling one out.  “The address is on the card, but my joint is up in the mall at the Cavendish casino.  You can’t miss it.”

Estella bounced a bit in her excitement, and I saw Frankie’s eyes glue straight to her generous chest.  “The Cavendish Hotel?  How exciting to have a parlor there!  It is a beautiful casino.”

“Do you watch a lot of TV?” Frankie asked her.

“Television?  I used to watch a lot.  It helped me with my English, but I don’t have time to watch it anymore.”

Frankie looked relieved, and didn’t mention her own reality show.  I didn’t blame her.  It had to be hard not to attract the wrong people, being that high profile.

“What do I owe you for the drink?” she asked.

Estella waved her off, giving her a very friendly smile.  “It was my treat.  Unless, of course, you want to kiss me.  I never turn down a kiss from a beautiful woman.”

Frankie’s mouth twisted ruefully.  “I don’t give out kisses for drinks.”

“Then it is free.  Will you kiss me now?”

Frankie shook her head, looking more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen her.  “It doesn’t work like that with me.  Don’t get me wrong.  You’re beautiful, but I don’t do easy hookups.”

“Who says this is easy?  I want you.  I don’t see the point of hiding it, but that doesn’t make it easy.”

Frankie grabbed Estella’s wrist, pulling the other woman’s body against hers.  Being nearly the same height, they lined up perfectly.  They were a striking sight, two beautiful women embracing, looking like they were about to kiss.  I knew I wasn’t the only one in the bar staring at them.

Frankie didn’t kiss her though, instead putting her lips to Estella’s ear.

What she said to the other woman, I could only imagine, but Estella wasn’t pulling away in horror.  On the contrary, her jaw went slack, her eyes glassy.  I would have bet money she was turned on.

It was several fascinating minutes before Frankie pulled back, making very solid eye contact with Estella before she grabbed a handful of the woman’s wavy brown hair, dragging their mouths together for one of the sexiest kisses I’d ever seen in my life.

When Frankie finally pulled back, she smiled at the other woman.  Something in that smile, in the way her expression had changed, made me think she’d taken control of their dynamic, gone from prey to predator.

“That’s the only free kiss you’ll ever get from me, Estella.  The rest you’ll have to earn.  My number’s on that card if you want to talk about it.”

Frankie turned away from her, obviously thinking the matter was settled, but Estella grabbed her arm before she could take a step.

“Wait!  I do!  I want to talk about it.  I’d like to…do what you mentioned.”

Frankie swallowed hard, back to looking uncomfortable.  “Is it something you’ve tried before?”

She shook her head.  “No, but I’ve thought about it.  I’ve…fantasized about it.”  She glanced around as she said it, as though afraid they’d be overheard.  I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that half the bar was listening in.

To say Frankie looked intrigued was putting it mildly.  “Have you now?” she asked softly.  “I might just be able to work with that.  Give me a call tomorrow, if you don’t change your mind after you’ve slept on it.”

Estella didn’t let go of her arm.  She wasn’t done.  “I won’t be able to sleep.  I want to spend the night with you.  I don’t want to wait.”

“It shouldn’t be a rash decision.  You should take your time and think about it.”

“Please.  I know what I want.  Trust me that much, at least.”

And so I found myself driving to Frankie’s house, two lesbians going at it in the back of my beat-up car.  Frankie claimed that she’d taken a taxi to the bar, and didn’t want to wait for one to pick them up, and Estella had gotten a ride from one of the other dancers.

I didn’t mind playing chauffeur, unabashedly thrilled that Frankie might have found someone she could be compatible with.

Someone’s shirt, I thought it was Estella’s, though it was hard to tell in the dark, landed in the passenger’s seat.

“Whoa,” I said under my breath.

“God, her fucking tits are real,” Frankie said loudly.

Was she talking to me?  “Oh yeah?” I responded in the most appropriate way I could think of.

“Yeah.  I fucking love real tits.  They are hard as hell to find in Vegas.”

“Well, that’s nice,” I said pleasantly, thinking this was the strangest car ride I’d ever had.

“Do I get to touch you?” Estella asked her.

“If you are very, very good, you will earn that right when I say, but not before.  Even if it is just handholding, I will be doing all of the touching.  You okay with that?  Is this going to be too much for you?”

Estella’s swift and firm denial made me smile.  I wanted this to work out for them.

“The correct response will always end in Mistress Abelli.”

I felt suddenly like a voyeur, that little tidbit feeling like an intrusion into Frankie’s other ‘side.’

“Yes, Mistress Abelli,” Estella told her in a breathless voice.

“Dayum,” I said under my breath.  I knew Frankie was hardcore, but damn me if that stuff wasn’t kind of hot.

Tristan seemed just as happy as I was about Frankie’s potential love match when I called him before bed.

The background noise on his end was bad.  It sounded like he was in a small room with about a thousand giggling women.

“Where are you?” I asked him.  It sounded like a party or a club.

“At some party for the record people.”  He sounded distracted.

“Well, I’ll let you go.  You sound busy.  Hopefully we can talk tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.  Tomorrow, then.”

“‘Kay.”

I hung up, feeling edgy and upset, suddenly plagued by a wave of discontent.  Here we were, apart most of the time, and I couldn’t even go out and dance without worrying about what he’d think.

Meanwhile, he was at God only knew what kind of a party.  Real trust was an elusive thing for me, given my track record with men, and Tristan’s track record with sex.

He could be doing absolutely anything he wanted, and I’d never know.

I felt our distance so keenly in that moment, not just in miles but in intimacy.  What was it that kept us together?  We didn’t even live in the same city now, and he apparently didn’t need me anymore.

I tossed and turned all night, tortured by the thought that I may not really even know him at all.

CHAPTER TEN

TRISTAN

I hung up the phone, glaring at Dean, who was laughing, draped over some chick I’d never seen before across the room.

The band shared a small house near the recording studio.  It was not ideal, being that we didn’t even get our own bedrooms, and the living area was small enough to be useless.

And instead of getting weekends off, like they’d promised us, we worked through them half the time, making it feel more and more like we were living here, instead of in Vegas.

It was wearing on me, to say the least.

And, pissing me off just as badly, the record was being stalled at every turn.  Dean had gone into full on self-destruct mode, spouting off bullshit about having creative differences with Kenny, slowing down a process that was already too slow.

Creative differences, my ass.  I wanted to beat his face in.  He did nothing for the creative side of the band, and messing with Kenny for no fucking reason was more than I could stand.

I took a direct swig from a bottle of Jack, still glaring away.  On top of all of his other bullshit, he’d shown up to the house with a van full of groupies, and I’d ended up lying to Danika about the noise.

Cory was out with our new guitarist, and Kenny had escaped to his room.  Smart man.  I’d have done the same, but after the naked groupie jumping on me in my sleep that I knew had been Dean’s idea, I didn’t trust him, and I certainly didn’t trust any of the strange women that had invaded our place.

What a fucking mess, I thought, taking another swig of whiskey.

Dean caught my glare.  He smiled like it had made his day.  “What’s up, my friend?  Why the bad attitude?  There’s plenty of pussy to go around.”

“You know what’s up,” I growled, fists clenched.  “No groupies at the house.  Those are the rules.”

The women in the room that didn’t want to admit to being groupies loudly protested that.  I didn’t care.  They were groupies.

I looked around at them.  “Out,” I said rudely.  I had no more patience.

A few started to leave, muttering ‘asshole’ and ‘jerk’ on their way out.

A few didn’t budge, which just made Dean laugh harder.  “What are you gonna do, man, carry them all out?”

“They go or I go, and if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.  You can do this deal without me.  I don’t give a shit anymore.  I didn’t sign on for any of this.”

That, finally, got him moving, shuffling girls out, and being bad-tempered about it.

I wasn’t bluffing, not even close, and he knew it.

The next morning I woke up hungover and pissed off.

I got dressed and shook Kenny awake.  He started, nearly falling out of the tiny twin bed situated on his side of the room.  He was the only one I bothered, since we shared the room.

“I’m leaving.  Heading back to Vegas for a few days.  I’m done with this working through the weekend bullshit.  I’ve got a girl back home.”

Kenny didn’t try to stop me.  He was good like that, good at reading people, and knowing when they meant what they said.  “I’ll tell the producer.  Just call me when you’re on your way back to L.A.”

“I will.”

I called Danika once before I started driving.  She didn’t answer, which was pretty normal for her.  She left her phone all over the place, her ringer turned off most of the time because of school.  I settled for sending her one clear-cut text.

Tristan:  Heading back to Vegas.  Try to get the afternoon off.  I’d like to take you out.  

I was filling up my tank in Barstow when she finally responded.

Danika:  Good.  I’ve been missing you bad.  Jerry says he’ll watch the kids whenever you get here.  What should I wear?

I grinned, happier than I’d been since I’d last said goodbye to her, weeks ago.

Tristan:  The tiniest bikini you own.  Dental floss would work, too.  

Danika:  LOL.  You are a pervert…Were you serious about the bikini?

Tristan:  Yes.  Frankie got us a pool cabana for the afternoon at the Cavendish resort.  

Danika:  Wow.

She was ready and waiting when I pulled up to Bev’s house.

She wore her tiny bronze bikini, my favorite, with a transparent gold cover-up that didn’t manage to cover up a thing.  She wore sexy high-heeled metallic sandals that matched numerous gold chains around her neck and wrists, gold sunglasses and large hoop earrings.  Her hair hung long and straight down her back.

I was hard as a rock before she’d taken two steps out the front door.

I met her halfway, catching her to me for a short kiss.  I couldn’t get into it with her on the front lawn, or I’d lose my mind and traumatize the neighborhood children.

I grabbed the small bag she had in her hand, leading her to the car, and ushering her in.

“Where are your swim trunks?” she asked me as I was settling back into the driver’s seat.

“I have a bag in back.  I’ll change when we get to the pool.  I came straight here.”

“I thought you were working through the weekend again.  How’d you get time off?”

“I took it.  I just left.  I’m not doing that shit anymore.  They can fire me if they don’t like it.  I didn’t sign on to move there.”

She stroked my arm as I drove.  I kept my hands to myself.  It’d been too long for me.  My self-control was hanging on by a thread just sitting next to her.  I was so horny I felt violent with it.

The cabanas were set up nearly on top of the swimming pool, on platforms set along an aisle that ran down the middle of the main pool.

They were designed like a four-sided tent, one side open to the water.  It was large enough for about four people, set up like one huge bed with a dozen pillows thrown everywhere.

It was hot out for fall in Vegas, perfect for a day at the pool.  I changed into swim trunks and slipped on some shades, my movements clumsy in my rush.

Since Danika had come in a bikini, she was waiting for me when I came outside.  Music was blasting.  It was the middle of the day, but parties started early and ended never in Vegas.

Danika was moving her hips and snapping her fingers to the heavy beat, her lips mouthing the words to the song, her eyes on the pool.  It was impossible for her to hold still when music was playing.

She was as adorable as she was sexy.

I hooked my arm around her waist as we were led to our cabana.  Danika’s mouth dropped open in surprise as she took in the opulent setup.  Her reaction alone had made the whole thing worth it.  I’d had to make about a dozen phone calls to set this up.

Our waiter met us with frozen daiquiris already in hand, the order having been placed hours ago.

I lasted maybe five minutes before I got up and shut the curtain.

“Can you do that?” she asked me.

I turned back and smiled at her.  She was sprawled out on the cushioned lounge wearing nothing but strings and tiny triangles, looking good enough to eat.  And fuck until I passed out.  “I’d like to see them stop me.”

I sprawled out beside her, my hand resting on her stomach.  I felt her muscles spasm under my hand.

My cock jerked in reaction.  I rubbed the soft skin just below her belly button, running a finger idly to one of her knotted strings, and then the other.  I had her tiny string bottoms off and tossed aside before she realized what I was doing.  Her hands shot down, covering her sex and inadvertently touching herself in the process.  I about came just watching her.  I held back, if only barely, my hand covering hers.

“You already started.  Don’t stop now.  Touch yourself.  And open your legs wide.  I want to watch you.”

“The waiter could walk in at any moment!”

“So you’d best hurry.”  As I spoke, I was moving my hand again, this time to her neck.  She had the strings knotted tightly, but I’d had a lot of training undoing knots much harder than this, and I had her topless with a few quick twists.

“Tristan!  What are you doing?!”

Her affronted tone only turned me on even more.  I loved it when she got prissy.  It made it that much more satisfying to have her moaning my name mere minutes later.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You want to have sex in public?”

I didn’t bother to point out that it would hardly be the first time.

Instead, I stroked her with one finger, teasing her own hands into rubbing at her folds.  I was glued to the sight.  She had the prettiest little cunt on the planet.

“You little exhibitionist,” I teased her.  “You’re completely naked in public, and you are loving it.  There’s nothing but one tiny sheet of fabric between us and the rowdy crowd outside, and you are sopping wet from it.”  I rubbed at the wet core of her to illustrate my point.  “Maybe the waiter will walk in on us.  Do you think he’d like to see you touching your wet pussy?”

I knew she hated that word, but I got a kick out of the way she glared at me when I said it.  She completely ruined the glare when she moaned as my fingers pushed inside of her.  Her walls clenched on me like a vise.  I was just about past my breaking point.  If I didn’t get inside of her in the next minute, I knew I was going to embarrass myself.

“That’s not an answer,” I started up on her again.  “Should I take your silence to mean you want our waiter to see you like this?  You want him to watch you with my fingers buried deep inside of you?”

“No!” she cried, but there was no heat in it, as her moans of pleasure, her clenching walls, quickly followed.

“Not very convincing, Danika.  I get the idea you enjoy being watched.  No one dances the way you dance and doesn’t like an audience.  Maybe I should call for our waiter.”

“No, don’t!”  she sounded genuinely alarmed now, as though I’d ever fucking dream of sharing even the sight of her like this.

“You have to do better than that, sweetheart.  Say please.”

She didn’t hesitate.  “Please.”

“Good.  Good.  Now tell me, do you want me to make you come with my hands?  Like this?”  As I spoke, I dragged my fingers out of her slowly, and began to rub her clit, stroking her until her hips were jerking in agitations, her breath coming out in needy little pants.

She shook her head, her eyes falling closed as I struck a nerve.  The nerve.

“No?” I questioned.  “You don’t want it like this?  Tell me how you do want it, then.”

Her voice came out in a breathless whisper, her lips trembling on the words.  “I want you inside of me.”

I obliged her, though not the way she’d intended, shoving two fingers back inside of her and starting up a smooth rhythm.

She arched her back, barely stifling a loud moan as my other hand took up that invitation, cupping a rounded breast softly in my palm.

“This what you wanted?” I asked her, my breath ragged.

“Nooo,” she answered, the word drawn out with a frustrated moan.

“Tell me what you do want then.”  Making her talk dirty to me was one of my personal favorites.

“I want your cock inside of me.”  She said each word through clenched teeth.  “I don’t want to come until I feel you buried deep.”

I barely muffled a groan, rolling onto my back.  I plucked her up by her hips easily.  She didn’t weigh a thing.

I arranged her long legs to straddle me, facing away.  It was an ambitious position for someone my size, but she was whimpering and so wet and ready that I couldn’t seem to help myself.

Painstakingly, I pushed just the tip of me inside of her.  She covered her own mouth to try to stifle a scream of pleasure.

“It feels so fucking good, Danika,” I told her in a rough whisper as I worked myself into her tight sheath, relishing every inch as I worked my way in, stretching her.

It felt in-fucking-credible.

Her head fell back as I worked my way in.  It was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen in my life.

My grip on her hips tightened as I thrust my hips up, driving in savagely while I pulled her down, forcing her to take every inch of me.

She barely stifled her scream.

I shushed her, because if our waiter really did walk in on us, I thought I might kill him.

I closed my eyes as she started to move, pleasure overtaking my body, insinuating itself into every pore.

The world dissolved.   Only sensation remained.  And the perfect harmony of our movements, the feel of flesh on flesh.

I circled my hips, rising up and down to match her steady rhythm.  The girl made love like she danced.  It was hypnotic.  Intoxicating.  I couldn’t remember why I’d ever signed on to be away from her for days at a time.  This was what I craved, what I needed, the only way I felt whole, and the only real peace there was to be had since Jared had died.

I could never get deep enough, rocking her harder and harder on top of me.  Our movements became jolting and urgent as we reached that fever pitch together.

She began to shudder with her climax, and I let myself go, holding her hips hard enough to bruise, buried deep, I came.  Hard.  My whole body shook, my breath shuddering out of me in great heaves.

I didn’t think I’d ever been through anything that intensely pleasurable in my life.  And so of course, I wanted to do it again almost instantly.

Danika dislodged herself from me slowly, lazily, flopping down on her back next to me.  She looked utterly relaxed.  I loved doing that to her.  She was an anxious person, and I loved fucking her until she couldn’t so much as finish a thought.

“Oh my God,” she said quietly, her eyes drifting closed.  “That was…out of this world.”

“I missed you,” I told her, moving on top of her.

“What are you…really?”

I just grinned as I steered myself to her entrance with my hand.  “Really.  You look sleepy.  Go ahead and sleep.  Don’t mind me.”  I drove into her.

She’d started to laugh at my words, but it turned into a drawn out gasp.