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The water turns off and my heart practically beats out of my chest. Jenson walks out of the bathroom still dripping wet, reminiscent of the first day I saw him,myfirst day on the job.
Only now, there’s no towel around his waist.
His cock bobs with each step. I can’t help letting my eyes run down his chest, to his abs, and that little Fibonacci tattoo at his hip. My mouth waters.
When he reaches the end of the bed, Jenson grabs my ankle and tugs. Enough that I gasp, ass sliding forward, breasts jiggling. He puts one knee on the mattress. Then the other. Tugs me closer again with a hand on each calf. Spreads my legs farther apart.
He stares directly at my pussy, like he’s looking at a meal from a top Michelin star restaurant. Slowly, his tongue drags across his lips. He fists his cock and pumps once, twice, and I can actually see it thicken in his palm as it somehow hardens even more.
“You’re going to be a good girl for me?” he asks, voice low.
I nod. I can feel myself literally dripping and it’s mortifying, but Jenson doesn’t seem to mind. He leans over me, and using one hand, guides himself to my entrance. I’m so wet that he slips in easily. Just the head—just enough for me to feel the stretch and whimper. Then he pulls back, swirls the tip through my soaked folds, and rubs at my clit.
A pulsing throb of electricity warms between my thighs and belly as he toys with me.
“Jenson, please,” I beg, letting my knees fall to the sides. Not knowing what else to do with myself, I start to play with my breasts, squeezing them, tugging at my nipples. His eyes widen as he watches, lips parting.
It’s enough.
Without waiting another second, Jenson grabs my hips and buries his cock in me. Despite how turned on I am, he stretches me tightly and I whimper. With his hands, Jenson takes my legs and pushes my knees up, so the friction is even tighter now.
“Fuck,” I whisper, eyes rolling back. As he slowly starts to push into me, one stroke at a time, I’m barely holding it together. Unthinking, I keep playing with my tits until his hand replaces mine, rolling and tweaking my nipples.
“I can’t,” he breathes, bent over me and pumping rhythmically, unforgiving. I know what he’s getting at and I don’t care, lifting my hips to take more of him, moaning and whimpering as he fucks me into the mattress.
Jenson curses, hips stuttering just once, eyes tight. He leans back and places a hand on my lower stomach, pressing down and holding me in place. The pressure makes me gasp and with his other hand he plays with my clit, circling it but not touching it directly.
My pussy clenches and tightens around him, trying to get more of him even as he plunges into me over and over. Our eyes meet and he presses his thumb on my clit hard. Just like that, I come, screaming his name.
It’s even better than our first night here. The orgasm hits me like a wave, making my legs seize up around his hips and my back arch. I reach out and dig my fingers into his shoulders as he fucks me harder, gripping my ass with one hand and bracing himself with the other.
My eyes are squeezed tight but I hear him grunt, feel his hips stutter again, longer this time, a broken rhythm before he buries himself deep. I can actually feel his cock pulsing as he comes deep inside me.
A few more shallow thrusts and the only sound in the room is us panting.
“Fuck,” I breathe, partly out of pleasure, and partly because I know thatnowI’m screwed.
Chapter12
Jenson
The next day, everything hurts, but in the most delicious way.
Who knew dancing could be such a workout? But that’s not the real reason why I’m sore, not truly.
I haven’t had a workout like that in…years. Half awake, I drowse in memories of last night. Mel’s legs wrapped around my hips, her tits bouncing as I pumped into her.
With an exhale, I flip over and blindly find her tucked next to me. I hook an arm around her waist and pull her in tight. She’s wearing some kind of T-shirt, something I didn’t okay for the trip, but I don’t even care. She can wear whatever she wants as long as she keeps rubbing her ass up against me like this.
What if.
What if she’d never left. What if we’d had more time. Would we have lasted?
Slipping back into a half sleep, my mind runs away into the possibilities. A happy, quiet few years in Harwinton, both of us picking out colleges. An hour away at most, maybe. Spending weekends together. Sleeping over in dorms when we shouldn’t, grossing our roommates out, unable to keep our hands off each other.
Would we have moved back to town? Would Jodie have been happy for us? And when would I have asked her to stay, permanently, to be mine, to make it real.
Real.
