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The friction was insane.
His cock swelled and grew even more inside me.
The orgasm ripping through me threatened to ignite me.
“Fuck, Dot. Gonna come now.”
“I’m close too.”
We both fell apart together, groaning and gasping, my nerve endings on fire. He rolled off me, his breath tickling my neck when he gently turned me back around to face him.
“Hey.” He kissed the tip of my nose, a shy smile gracing his lips.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly, still amazed I had been a part of that intense, sexy, brazen scene.
“Social anxiety level?” He tilted his chin down.
“Minus thirty.”
“That’s my girl.”
That’s my girl.
That’s my girl.
That’s my girl.
But his girl currently had a huge problem on her hands.
Because this didn’t feel temporary.
It felt like forever.
ROW
oBITCHuary: Good night.
McMonster: Turn around and tell me this. You are right here, silly.
oBITCHuary: I still want to say good night here.
McMonster: Why?
oBITCHuary: Because I’m not ready to let McMonster go.
McMonster: I’m still me.
oBITCHuary: Yeah. But when we say goodbye, Row will leave. But McMonster? He might stay.
ROW
The next morning, Tate Blackthorn was standing at my doorstep, holding a Starbucks coffee and an iPhone I was pretty sure wasn’t out on the market yet. I slammed the door in his face, but he slid his foot in the gap of the doorframe just in time.
“Nice to see you too, Casablancas.” He ripped the sunglasses off his eyes, barreling into my room at the inn without an invitation.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I followed him inside reluctantly.
“Came here to finish our little chat from last night. Had to pick up a coffee in Connecticut, though. This place is barely civilized. Hold on a minute.” He raised a finger, putting his phone to his ear. “Gia. Where the fuck are you?”
