Damn.
Of course he does.
Our bodies are covered in a sheen of perspiration and I close my eyes to try and stop the orgasm. I want this to last.
I need this to last.
“I… don’t want… to come,” he pants.
“Me neither,” I breathe as I pull him back to my lips. “Promise me we will do this again in a minute.”
He laughs against me. “We can do this all night, Bloss.”
I smile as he lifts my behind with his hand to really hit the end of me, and I cry out as my body contracts around his large muscle.
“Fuck, yeah!” he calls as his head rolls forward and he comes in a rush.
We stay still, both gasping for air. Both wet with perspiration.
Jesus Christ…
What the hell was that?
His mouth meets mine and he kisses me softly as he cups my jaw. I smile against his lips and he kisses me tenderly again. “What an excellent wife you are.”
I laugh and he rolls us so that I am now on top of his large body. I rest my head against his chest as I try to catch my breath.
His lips dust my forehead. “Don’t bother going to sleep.” His hand drops between my legs and he spreads them so they hang over each side of his body. He starts to work me again; his three large fingers slide into my wet, swollen flesh. “That was the entrée and this is a ten-course meal.”
Four hours and four showers later, I lie in the semi-darkened room with my fake husband. The light is just peeking through the crack in the drapes. My head is on his chest and his large, muscular arms are around me. The night has been unbelievable to say the least.
We have devoured each other, and if he wasn’t out of condoms we probably still would be. I think we must have used a whole box.
“Where do you live?” he asks.
“New York,” I breathe. I cringe when I hear my husky voice—a symptomatic problem from lasts night’s Tequila and giving head activities, no doubt. “Where do you live?” I ask.
“Texas. Originally from Australia.”
I gently kiss his chest and smile in contentment. “I had a good wedding night.”
He kisses my forehead. “Me, too.” I feel his lips smile against my skin. “You probably won’t be walking for a while.”
I giggle into his chest. “Actually, can you organize a wheel chair to get me back to my room, please?”
“I would, but I think I will be using it myself.”
We lie in comfortable silence for a while longer. His hand runs back and forth over my behind, as if he’s memorizing every inch.
“Are you using the theorem of calculus to measure my ass?”
He laughs out loud and rolls me onto my back, holding my hands above my head. “Your mind is a fucking turn on,” he breathes before his tongue gently explores my mouth.
I just can’t get my fill of this guy. “I could say the same thing. I’ve never had bilingual sex before.” I smile. Hell, most guys I’ve slept with can’t even speak English to me when we have sex, let alone drop in and out of three languages.
He smiles as he bites my bottom lip and pulls it toward him. “Moi non plus. Je peux être accro.”
Translation: Me neither. I may be addicted.
I have always had a love of languages. They were my stress reliever when I was in high school and my parents were divorcing. I would lock myself in my bedroom and listen to language tapes through headphones so I couldn’t hear them fighting. Looking back, all those hours alone in my room spent teaching myself was worth it just to experience the night I had with him.
He challenged me, but I challenged him right back, and I know I surprised him. Hell, I surprised myself.
It was empowering to be able to keep up with such an obviously intelligent man. Our eyes lock and something clicks into place as I feel a flutter deep in my stomach.
“What do you do for work?” I ask to change the subject.
He lies naked on his side and rubs his hand over my breast, squeezing it hard. “I’m a mechanic.”
I bite my lip to stifle my smile. He has softer hands than me. No way is he a mechanic.
So, we’re playing that game, are we?
“What do you do?” he asks.
“I work in an ice cream shop.”
He can’t hide his smile. “You are a dreadful liar. There is no way in Hell you serve ice cream.”
I laugh. “You lied first.”
He laughs as his lips drop to my nipple and he takes it in his mouth. “Touché.” He smirks.
“What do you think I do?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes as he thinks. “Your body tells me you are a gym instructor, but your mind tells me you’re a scientist.”
I smile as I bring his lips to meet mine. “I have to go.” I sit up.
He frowns and leans up onto his elbow. “What? Where are you going?”
I stand up, and his eyes drop down my body. “New York,” I answer.
He frowns, “You’re going home? Today?”
I nod as I walk around his room picking up my clothes. “Uh-huh.” I pick up my phone and check the time. “I fly out in three hours. I’ve got to get a move on.”
His face drops. “But…”
I pick up my bra and put it on. “But what?”
“I wanted to see you again,” he says as he watches me dress.
I smile and lean over the bed to kiss his gorgeous lips. “Hmm.” I smile against them. “Sorry. Bachelorette weekend is over.”
He leans up and grabs me, pulling me back on top of him. “Stay another night.”
God, I wish. He kisses me again.
“I already have my plane ticket for today,” I breathe.
“I’ll buy you another ticket for tomorrow,” he offers.
For a brief moment, I consider it.
“I’m here until tomorrow,” he tells me. “We could spend another night together.” He smiles sexily.
Could I?
Who am I kidding? We don’t even know each other’s names and he just lied straight out and told me he was a mechanic. Besides, I’m totally out of money. I wouldn’t even be able to pay for my dinner tonight. Damn it. “Sorry, hubby.” I stand and put my black lacy panties on as he watches me. “This is where our marriage ends.”
He puts both hands behind his head as he lies back down and smiles broadly.
My face mirrors his. “What?”
“I kind of like being married to you.”
I widen my eyes at him in jest.
“I know. Shocking, isn’t it?” He smirks.
I pull my dress over my shoulders and slip into it.
“Come back to bed. I’m not finished with you.”
I sit on the bed and kiss him once more. “I’m not finished with you, either, but I have to go.”
He frowns and begrudgingly gets out of bed. My eyes drop down his naked body. He is one hell of a fine specimen— tall, athletic, muscular broad chest with a scattering of dark hair. His hair is chocolate brown with a little bit of length on the top allowing it to have a just fucked messy look. His eyes are dark brown and he has a two-day growth going on. My eyes drop lower to the short, dark, well-kept pubic hair that encases his grand jewels. The man is well endowed and hell… he knows it. I imagine that every woman he sleeps with falls madly in love with him. He has money. He smells of it. plus the clothes he had on last night. The Rolex watch. The well dressed large group of men he was with. I think his shoes alone would have cost a couple of grand. This room is luxury, it’s not even a room, it’s a suite… incomparable to my shitty, shared room with two single beds next to each other that my two girlfriends and me are sharing because we have no money. He pulls on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Can I take you out for breakfast?”