For less than a second after he pulled away, his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment. When he looked down at me, he shook his head. “Definitely not backing out.”
We rounded the corner, walked quickly across the street, and then went up the stoop of my building. I fished inside of my purse for my keys, and then we walked inside, waiting in the elevator bay. His fingers grazed mine, and once they intertwined, he yanked me against him. The elevator opened, and we stumbled inside.
He gripped my hips and pulled me against him as my fingertips searched for the correct button. He touched his silken lips to my neck, and every nerve sparked and danced under my skin. The tiny kisses he peppered along my jawline, from ear to collarbone, were purposeful and experienced. His hands begged me to be closer to him with each touch as if he’d been waiting for me his entire life. Even though I had that same irrational feeling, I knew it was all part of the appeal, a part of the ruse, but the way he noticeably restrained himself from tugging too hard at my clothes made tiny shock waves careen through my body.
When we reached the fifth floor, he had my hair pulled to the side and one shoulder exposed while he skimmed his lips over my skin.
“You are so soft,” he whispered.
Ironically, his words made thousands of tiny bumps rise all over my skin.
My keys jingled while I fumbled with the lock. The man twisted the knob, and we nearly fell inside. He leaned away from me, pushing the door closed with his back, and pulled me against him by my hands. He smelled like beer and a hint of saffron and wood from his cologne, but his mouth still tasted of mint toothpaste. When our mouths met again, I willingly let his tongue slip inside as I laced my fingers behind his neck.
He slid my blazer off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then, he loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. As he unbuttoned his shirt, I pulled my tube top up and over my head. My bare breasts were exposed for only a moment before my long black hair cascaded back down to cover them.
The stranger’s shirt was off, his torso a combination of impressive genes and several years of an intensive daily workout regimen that had sculpted the perfection in front of me. I kicked off my heels, and he did the same with his shoes. I ran my fingers over each of his protruding muscles and the ripples of his abdomen. One hand settled on the button of his pants while the other gripped the thick hardness under them.
Holy. Giant. Cock.
The sharp sound of his zipper made the warmth between my legs throb, practically begging to be caressed. I pressed my fingers into the backs of his arms while his kisses left my neck for my shoulders and then my chest. All the while, he slowly slipped off my jeans.
He stood and paused for a few seconds, taking a moment to appreciate that I was standing completely naked before him. He also seemed a bit surprised. “No panties?”
I shrugged. “Never.”
“Never?” he asked, his eyes begging me to say no.
I loved the way he was looking at me—part amazed, part amused, part overwhelmingly aroused. My girlfriends in Chicago had always lauded the benefits of the strings-free one-night stand. This guy seemed like the perfect one to try it with.
I arched an eyebrow, relishing how sexy this total stranger made me feel. “Don’t own a single pair.”
He lifted me up, and I hooked my ankles around his backside. The only fabric still left between us was his dark gray boxer briefs.
He kissed me as he carried me to the couch, and then he gently laid me onto the cushions. “Comfortable?” he asked, nearly breathing the words.
When I nodded, he kissed me once and then left quickly to fish a square package from his wallet. When he returned, he ripped it open with his teeth. I was glad he’d brought his own. Even if I had thought to purchase condoms, I wouldn’t have had the foresight or optimism to buy any in his size.
He quickly unrolled the thin latex over his length and then touched his tip to the delicate pink skin between my legs. He leaned down to whisper in my ear, but he only let out a faltering breath.
I reached around to his tight backside and pressed my fingers into his skin, guiding him, as he slid himself inside me. It was my turn to let out a sigh.
He groaned and then put his mouth on mine again.
After ten minutes of maneuvering on the couch, sweaty and red-faced, the stranger looked at me with a frustrated and apologetic smile. “Where’s your bedroom?”
I pointed to the hallway. “Second door on the right.”
He lifted me, holding my thighs, and I tightened them around his middle. He padded down the hall in his bare feet, passing boxes and plastic bags along with stacks of plates and linens. I wasn’t sure how he kept from tripping in the dim light of an unfamiliar condo with his mouth on mine.
As he walked while still inside me, I couldn’t help but cry out the only name I could, “Jesus Christ!”
He smiled against my mouth and pushed open the door before lowering me to my mattress.
He didn’t take his eyes from mine as he positioned himself over me. His knees were a little wider apart than they had been while we were on the couch, allowing him to go deeper and to move his hips so that he touched me in a spot that made my knees quiver with each thrust. His mouth was on mine again as if the wait had been killing him. If I hadn’t just met him half an hour before, I would have mistaken the way he touched me, kissed me, moved against me for love.
He touched his cheek to mine and held his breath as he concentrated, building up to an end. At the same time, he was trying to prolong the senseless, foolish, and irresponsible but amazing ride we were both on. He pushed against the mattress with one hand and held my knee against his shoulder with the other.
I white-knuckled the comforter as he thrust himself inside me, over and over. Jackson hadn’t been unfortunate in size, but without a doubt, this stranger filled every inch of me. Every time he buried himself, it would send a rush of fantastic pain throughout my entire body, and every time he pulled back, I’d nearly panic, hoping it wasn’t over.
With my arms and legs wrapped around him, I cried out again for the dozenth time since he had climbed the stairs. His tongue was so forceful and commanding in my mouth that I knew he’d done this many, many times before. That made it easier. He didn’t care enough to pass judgment on me later, so I wouldn’t have to either. Once I’d seen what kind of body was under that button-down oxford, I couldn’t really blame myself, even if I were sober.