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"Is this what you wanted, huh? To get fucked senseless?"
"Yes—Fuck, yessss, Hayden!"
He grips my hair, shoving my cheek into the couch, and brings his lips to my ear. "Such a perfect girl. Louder, baby. Scream for me."
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I bellow at the top of my lungs, rendering my throat raw while he barrels into me, grunting on every entrance. I clench back against him, hungry for more, losing track of time or where I am as I climb that mountain of ecstasy, burning like a white fire.
His hold tightens, pulling my hairs taut against my scalp as he fucks me harder. "Come for me, Juliana. Come on my cock."
At his command, I topple over the ledge, writhing against him and whimpering through my release. My grip tightens along his shaft with intense strength, heightening each sensation.
A cocky laugh sounds in my ear, proud and victorious. "That's right. You know who owns this pussy, don't you—"
Hayden inhales sharply on a gasp, his body shuddering against mine. "Oh, my—Ohhhh, fuckkkkk."
He topples over, whimpering a sound I know is my life's undoing, as he comes right alongside me, bucking his hips desperately. His arms shake on either side of my head while he hisses and curses up a storm, until all his weight crashes onto me.
Breathless, he pants in tandem to my rapid heart rate, releasing his hold on my hair. When he unsheathes himself, I let out a quiet moan, meeting his eyes an inch from mine, finding them blown wide with shock, something I'm sure is reflected straight back at him.
And for a while, we just lie there, basking in each other's presence, until the fasten seatbelt sign illuminates, and a flustered flight attendant informs us of our descent.
THIRTY-FIVE
HAYDEN
I'm ruined.
Yes. Me. After what transpired last week in my jet, I'm the ruined one...
I clack on my keyboard, without a clue as to what I'm typing or what I'm working on or, honestly, where I even am. And how could I possibly know these things, when all I see, hear, and smell is Juliana?
At first, it just started out as replaying what happened on that jet, over and over and over again, which soon evolved into fantasies. New positions, new locations, new sounds I could hear from her. And then?
We started executing them.
She's insatiable, ripping our contract off the fridge—whatever the hell that means—while sleeping in my bed, demanding more from me. And you know what? I'm the one being run ragged. Me. Not her. How's that even possible? That hasn't been the case with a woman—or women, plural—since... I don't know, forever? Since the dawn of mankind, when my genes were first introduced into the pool?
I mean, that's what I do: fuck. But now?
I hardly sleep any more, seeing as I'm too busy bending her over a new surface, every morning and night, while simultaneously thanking the heavens for her appetite. I think she's determined to fuck on each countertop, sofa, accent chair, bench, ottoman, even the loungers on the rooftop terrace.
Luckily, my penthouse is twenty-thousand square feet and fully furnished.
Humming along to the beat of a song I can't put a name to, I clickety-clack some more, entering numbers into what I think is a spreadsheet. I squint, leaning forward until I'm two inches from the monitor. Grids... cells... dreadful decimal points... Yeah, this is definitely a spreadsheet. Although, the numbers don't make any sense. Why do some have letters in them...?
Oh, well.
Clickety, clickety, clack, and they fade away, morphing into something much more interesting. A scene of the most delicious kind, that I most definitely plan to reenact tonight. It starts off as a sound. A whisper, really. Mewls and whimpers, from those pouty lips I so crave, until it grows in vigor and volume, into wails and desperate moans, begging for release.
Before I'm blessed with an image.
Juliana's hair loops tightly around my fist, her face angled straight to the sky, as I relish the way her mouth stretches wide in ecstasy while I take her from behind. Pinned against the floor-to-ceiling windows in my main living room, neglecting all the furniture, her breasts slip along the glass in tandem to my thrusts. Hips clapping against her bare ass, I drive to the hilt without mercy, the sound amplifying in the large space, mingling with her cries of—
A hand waves in front of my vision—a real hand.
I jerk back, snapping to attention. With every blink, the monitor in front of me sharpens, revealing a long line of gibberish clogging up a single cell. I release my pointer off the A key, killing the endless string of them.
Oh my god. I'm in the office. Thank fuck no one saw tha—
