A Guy Walks Into My Bar

by Lauren Blakely

  “Put it on me,” I tell him.

  With a satisfied grin, my sexy Brit sits up, slides the protection on the head, then rolls it down my length. I groan from his touch, even like this, even in this necessary action.

  When I’m covered, he lies back down. I set my hands on his thighs, spread him wider, then rub the head of my cock against him. He pushes his hips up, letting out the most carnal groan I’ve ever heard. From that. From that tease of a touch. Just the press of me against him.

  My skin is tight. My chest is a furnace, and I’m so goddamn aroused as I push in farther, breaching him.

  We both groan at the same moment. That electric moment when I move past that ring of muscles, when his ass grips me so nice and tight, and I never want to leave.

  I’m braced on my palms, placed on either side of his chest. Like that, his hands travel up my pecs and spread over them. His eyes glimmer with desire. “Give it all to me,” Dean commands.

  “With pleasure.” I shove inside, all the way, and we both sound like animals.

  Groaning, grunting, growling.

  “You feel so fucking good,” I say, my bones vibrating from the intensity.

  “So do you,” he gasps, his hands wrapping around me, grabbing hard onto my ass, tugging me farther into him. “That’s how I want you, Fitz. Nice and deep and so fucking hard.”

  This man. I can barely wrest any control from him. Even when I try, he takes it all from me with that filthy, beautiful mouth. If I thought it was sexy when he said my name before, that’s nothing to how he says it now, in the heat of the moment while I’m inside him.

  I try though, thrusting into him, stroking out. We find the perfect rhythm in seconds and keep it going. But the need to get closer consumes me. I lower myself, bracing on my elbows, my chest inches from his. Sparks tear across my body, and I fuck him like that, thrusting, pumping.

  Filling him.

  As his hands clasp my ass.

  As his face, his gorgeous face, twists with pleasure.

  As his lips, full and decadent, part while he breathes out hard with every thrust.

  Dean lets himself savor every second of it, of us.

  And the sounds he makes burn me up.

  Yes.

  So good.

  Fucking yes.

  I can barely take it.

  I can barely last with the way he is, how he responds, how much he wants me.

  He seems to want me as much as I want him, and I can’t count that high.

  There isn’t a number big enough to define how much I want this man.

  Pleasure roars through me, intense wave after wave, and I want to just fuck into blissful oblivion, till we are drowning in orgasms.

  But Dean set the bar high earlier, and I am not going to fail.

  I am not going to come too soon.

  I rise up so I’m kneeling, grab his hips, and slam him hard on my cock.

  Which doesn’t help matters.

  But that’s okay. I know what I’m doing. I know how to slow down. And that’s what I do, stealing control back from him. I downshift like the music, like the low pulse of the playlist.

  I slow-fuck him like this, with long, leisurely thrusts, taking my sweet time, driving into him, then pulling out, almost, almost all the way, but not quite.

  The whole time I watch him, savoring the pleasure in Dean’s eyes, the way his lips part, how his chest moves, and how insanely hot and hard his perfect dick is.

  I grab his cock, wrapping my fist tight around it, stroking as I fuck him. He feels so damn good in my hand, and the anguished twist in his features tells me everything.

  “You like that? When I do this while I fuck you?” I give his hard shaft a tight squeeze, sliding my hand up to the head, then back down again.

  Dean groans. “Yeah, just a little.”

  “Or maybe if I do this,” I say, sliding out halfway, still stroking him.

  His hips jerk up, trying to bring me back to him. “You fucking tease,” he moans.

  I wiggle my brows. “You like just the tip?” Letting go of his dick, I pull nearly all the way out, then pause, holding us in place just like this. “You like it like that, when I drive you crazy?”

  Dean rises onto his elbows, his eyes furious. “I liked it better when you were all the way in me,” he says, sliding a hand down his perfect chest, headed straight for his cock. He grips himself, toying with his dick—teasing me now. “Do you enjoy being teased, Fitz?”

  My eyes lock on the man under me, his hand curled loosely around his thick shaft, his fist leisurely, languidly gliding up and down his length. A shudder wracks my body. I am shaking as desire rips through me. Watching this man pump his beautiful cock is unraveling me.

  Whatever tenuous hold I had on fucking him spirals away as Dean taunts me.

  I’m pretty much a lost cause.

  My balls tighten, and pleasure barrels down my spine. “You want it hard? You want me deep?”

  “I do.”

  “Then come with me. Come with me really fucking soon,” I rasp as I drive back into him, burying my cock so deep that the sound he makes is obscene. It’s the most delicious, fevered sound I’ve ever heard, a groan ripped straight from his chest.

  “Fuck,” Dean pants out. “Yes, that’s so fucking good.”

  And it’s more than good.

  It’s electric and wild and mind-bending as I take over for him and grip his hard shaft in my palm, pumping him as my orgasm marches through my body.

  Taking no prisoners.

  Leaving nothing behind.

  “Coming,” he groans.

  “Me too, babe. Coming so fucking hard.” I grunt as my release takes over, my vision blurring, my brain firing a thousand million pleasure receptors as my whole body succumbs to the release.

  And Dean’s right there with me, shooting into my hand, on his chest. And, when I collapse onto him, on my chest too.

  I can’t think.

  I can’t speak.

  I can only feel.

  And I feel amazing.

  Like I knew I would. Because I knew from the second I met him that sex with Dean would be the hottest sex of my life.

  We’re both panting, sweating, and I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his scent that drives me wild. I don’t even know what it is. It’s just his soap mixed with him, but my God, does it do it for me. I kiss him, working my way to his ear. “I cannot wait to do that again.”

  “Me too, Fitz. Me too.”

  He slides his arms around my lower back, and we’re quiet like that for a few seconds, maybe more.

  I could get used to this. I could get used to him.

  But before we get too cozy, I need to take care of things.

  “Be right back.” After I ease out, I head to the bathroom, where I clean up, dispose of the condom, and grab a washcloth. I wet it with warm water and return to the sex-drunk man stretched out on the mattress.

  I wipe his chest, his stomach. I dip my face to him, planting a soft kiss on his clean pecs before I return to the bathroom and toss the washcloth on the floor.

  Seconds later, I’m back in bed, and I need to feel him against me. I need the contact. So I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close, his back to my chest, and I sigh.

  Happily.

  So damn happy.

  “Stay the night,” I say.

  “Was kicking me out previously on your list of options?”

  I laugh. “No. I just didn’t know if you would stay. Will you? Spend the night with me?”

  He shifts around to look me in the eyes. “What part of all night long made you think I was leaving?”

  I shake my head, still a little too blissed-out to think straight. “I dunno. I just want you here, whether we’re screwing or not.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that—just gives me that studious once-over. “‘Or not’ . . . what will we do with the ‘or not’ part?”

  I wrap my arms tighter around him, nuzzling him. “This. Just this.”

/>   “The things we do,” he says, filling in the dots.

  “Yeah, the things we do,” I say, then brush a kiss to his cheek. Even after what we just did, my chest still does some kind of flip just from kissing him.

  Dean slides out of my arms, shifting to his other side, facing me. “I never planned to leave.”

  And my chest flips again. “God, you make me want to kiss you again.”

  I grab the covers, pull them up over us, and get close to him again, kissing him in the way you kiss someone after that kind of sex, that kind of intensity.

  Tender, gentle, a little wrung out from the Os.

  And hungry for more of him.

  Although ravenous is more like it.

  In the morning, all I want is to spend the day with him, so I ask in the best way possible if he’ll do just that.

  MONDAY

  Also known as the day it starts.

  17

  Dean

  On the list of surprises in my life, I would not count this—a middle-of-the-night session with the tireless Fitz.

  I absolutely expected it.

  Wanted it.

  Craved it.

  The man can truly go all night, which is a complete unshock.

  And though he has the stamina of a pro athlete in the bedroom, I have an equally large appetite between the sheets.

  For him.

  And for our visit to the three-a.m. club, I pick the position, choosing one I quite enjoy, getting on my hands and knees. It works spectacularly well for both of us, especially when he presses his hand between my shoulder blades, pushing me down to the perfect angle.

  And I conk out shortly after.

  Hours later, when the sun rises and I stretch awake, he’s there with a “Morning, sunshine” that’s facetious and sweet all at once. He leans in for a smooch, and when I smell his minty breath, I shake my head.

  “I don’t think we’ll do that when you smell like springtime and I’m a swamp.” A quick trip to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth with an extra hotel toothbrush and take a piss, and I’m back in bed. Then he gets his morning smooch. “There.” I grab the covers, turn on my side, and yawn. “Go back to sleep, Fitz. I’m sure you’re Mr. Crack of Dawn, but I enjoy a morning lie-in.”

  “Fine. If you insist.”

  And he insists on wrapping his arms around me, which I don’t mind at all.

  But I only drift off for a little while before I’m woken again—this time by something worth waking up to.

  Fitz between my legs, sucking me off.

  Well, good morning to me.

  It’s the perfect wake-up call, an unhurried blow job that I luxuriate in, enjoying every single delicious second of it.

  After, he slides next to me, his eyes flirty. “What are you doing today?”

  I shrug happily as I stretch, enjoying the aftereffects. “I’m off work.”

  “Spend the day with me.”

  I shoot him a suspicious look. “Did you give me a morning BJ just to get me to say yes to spending the day with you?”

  He wiggles his eyebrows. “I did. Did it work?”

  I give a sigh—the deep, contented kind. “Seems it did.” I prop myself on my elbow. “What about Emma?”

  “She has orientation stuff on campus. I’ll catch her in the early evening.”

  “All right. What do you have in mind? Eager to see Kensington Palace? The Tower of London and the Crown Jewels? Or more of my crown jewels?”

  “The latter, obvs. I have a riverboat cruise booked tomorrow with Ems, but today I was hoping to go to London Bridge. I’ve been instructed by my buddy Logan’s seven-year-old to take a photo on it, and I can’t turn Amelia down.”

  “Ah, she wants to make sure it’s not falling down.”

  Fitz taps his nose. “Bingo.”

  I stroke my chin as if deep in thought. “And you find yourself in need of a tour guide again.”

  He grins a little evilly. Deliciously evilly. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  I nod like I’m absorbing this info. “Let me get this straight. You came to London to find a hot English bloke to bang. You found one straightaway. And now you’re looking for a twofer. You want me to be your fuck buddy and your tour guide?” I arch a brow.

  He props himself on his elbow. “Sounds like a win-win for me. So, yeah. Let’s do it.”

  I roll my eyes. “And meanwhile, I have to do a shitload of chores.”

  “But not today, since you have the day off. What better way to spend it than showing me around before we go for another round?”

  “Another? Just another? I might want more than one more. Especially since I’ll be working off my debt to Maeve forever, it seems, given your appetite.”

  He slides a hand down my chest, tracing my abs. “Your appetite matches mine.”

  “Hmm. There is some truth to that.”

  Fitz dips his head and kisses my pecs. “It’s all true. And you will get everything you want. Say you’ll show the poor Yankee the sights of your town.”

  I heave a sigh as if this is the toughest choice in the world when, in fact, it is the easiest. Spending the day with this man, showing him some of the city I love, then fucking again, sounds like the recipe for a perfect summer’s day. “Fine, I’ll be your tour guide, but the first thing you need to know is this.” He pops his head up and nods, like an eager student. I tap his chest. “It’s not London Bridge you want to see. It’s Tower Bridge. That’s the pretty one.”

  Reaching for my phone, I quickly google “Tower Bridge” and show him the iconic symbol of the city, two bridge towers tied together with two walkways. “That’s the more picturesque of the two.”

  “Then let’s go there.” He grins, so easy to please. “Wait. Can we see the Harry Potter bridge too?”

  I crack up. “You mean the Millennium Bridge? The one the Death Eaters destroyed in The Half-Blood Prince?”

  Fitz’s face contorts with the strangest look—possibly excitement, maybe thrill, then he lets out a long warrior cry. He grabs his head, tugging on his hair. “Shut the front door. You’re a fucking Harry Potter fan?”

  I chuckle. “Yes. I mean, obviously.”

  “Why is it obvious? Because you’re English?”

  “No, because the books are bloody awesome.” Then I pause, arching a skeptical brow. “Wait. Please don’t tell me you’re just a movie fan. Shit. You’re a movie fan, aren’t you? You’ve never read the books? You had a crush on Radcliffe when you were a curious teen?”

  He clasps his hand to his bare chest. “You wound me. I mean, yeah, I had a crush on Radcliffe when I was twelve, like every other gay tween. But as for that insult . . .” He pokes my chest. “Are you saying I don’t know that Hermione blackmailing Rita Skeeter and Neville leading the DA during Deathly Hallows were two of the best parts of the books that the movies left out?”

  I slow-clap. “Bravo. The reduction of Neville’s role in the films was a travesty.”

  “An utter disgrace.”

  I sink back into the pillow and let out a long, relieved breath. “All right. I’ve decided. I’ll keep fucking you.”

  “Uh, yeah. But you seriously thought I was a poser? I read those books to Emma. All of them. In my best English accent, thank you very much.”

  I sweep out my arm in an invitation. “By all means, let’s hear it.”

  He clears his throat and affects a British sound—vaguely. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,” he says, reciting the first line of the first book.

  It’s not half bad. “So that’s your Harry Potter accent?”

  “Yes. I sound just like you, don’t I?”

  I slide into my riff on an American accent. “Yeah, man, like, that beach was totally rad.”

  Fitz cringes. “Never do an American accent again.”

  “Let’s just agree that the accent thing goes both ways.”

  “That sounds fair.”

  I park
my hands behind my head, savoring this morning-after time. “So, is it a tour of London you want? Or just a tour of all the Harry Potter locations?”

  “All of that.” His eyes sparkle. “Seriously, just Tower Bridge is fine. But I’m game to see anything. This is my first time here.”

  “Yeah? And do you like London?”

  “I do. I like it a lot. Have you always lived here?”

  “Born here. Raised here. Went to university in Leeds. That was the only time I’ve lived anyplace else. But I’ve traveled around Europe.”

  “Favorite place?”

  “I went to Paris with my parents when I was eleven. And Amsterdam when I was twelve, when Mum was doing some work for the Rijksmuseum. Don’t remember a ton, except I loved Amsterdam.”

  “Me too. Great city,” he says with a happy sigh.

  “When were you there?”

  “Last year. The NHL has an event called the Global Series, and my team played in Amsterdam, Prague, and Copenhagen.”

  “Copenhagen is great. Maeve and I went there right after uni.”

  He sticks out his tongue, panting. “The men in Copenhagen are superhot.”

  I roll my eyes. “Wow. Tell me more about your European trysts. I would love all the details.”

  He laughs and nuzzles me, kissing my jaw. “I didn’t bang anyone, you dick. I’m just saying it would be fun to go with you. We could ogle the eye candy together and then go back to our hotel and screw.”

  I laugh. “You fucking pervert.”

  “C’mon. That’d be fun, right? Go to a bar. Get some beers. Sit outside, drink, and check out all the tall, strapping Danish men walking by. We could tell dirty stories about what we’d do to them, then go back and fuck each other like horny penguins.”

  “Are penguins horny?”

  “Have you ever seen them walk? You tell me that penguins aren’t taking it up the ass.”

  And I have no choice but to crack up, with deep belly laughs that expand to fill my body. Fitz smiles, looking pleased with my reaction.

  When I finally collect myself, I say, “So, fine, we’ll perv on hot Danes together in this fantasy world of yours. Where else have you been enjoying the scenery?”