“These guys are really good,” Wyatt says, double-fisting Crown and Cokes while I slake my thirst on cosmos. The first few tasted like pure rubbing alcohol, but I’m halfway through my third and either they’ve eased up on the liquor or I’m well on my way to shitfaced.
“You’re really good.” I give him a filthy eye-fucking, holding my drink out to the side while resting my free hand on his shoulder and shaking my ass. My ogle’s so lewd I wouldn’t be surprised if a cop showed up and cuffed me on a count of indecent exposure.
After a few drinks, he too has loosened up quite a bit. And those moves of his—the ones Prissy bragged so staunchly about—begin to make their appearance.
“You’re not a bad dancer,” I offer, while he grinds his erection into my ass to the beat of “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” A wave of heat starts at my cheeks, trailing down my body. My skin tingles with his every touch. I’m hot to the point of feeling feverish, but it’s a welcome burn—the kind that warms you from the inside out. Like being curled up in front of a fire with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, a cozy blanket, and fuzzy socks. Throw in some pussy pulses, and that’s me…in a nutshell.
Every now and then I’m jolted from our little bubble of love and slapped with a reminder of just how jam-packed this dancefloor is, like when some overzealous patron nearly knocked me on my ass or when another got a little handsy and Wyatt had to set his ass straight. But for the most part, my vision is singularly focused on one man. When his hands are on my body, the rest of the world fades away. There’s only him and me and the endorphins flooding through my veins. This constant build of sexual tension has me feeling a bit like a tea kettle ready to blow.
“Five minutes til midnight,” the lead singer shouts into his mic before the band jumps right into a funky rendition of Prince’s “1999”—such a classic New Year’s jam.
The hair at the nape of my neck soaks with sweat while Wyatt and I join in with the rest of the crowd in some variation of a mosh pit—a little less violent, a whole lot messier. We are literally being showered with every type of alcoholic beverage you could dream of.
My heart pulses harder and faster with the mounting excitement over my first ever New Year’s Eve midnight kiss. And thrums even more so if I allow my thoughts to drift to what’s to come when we return to that room upstairs.
“Almost time,” Wyatt croons, spinning me out and then reeling me back into his arms. My chest slams into his. He holds me close. “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
“Well,” I say, buzzing with desire. The bulge protruding into my pelvis assures me the man means what he says. “That was unexpectedly hot…look at you acting all alpha.” I waggle my brows. “I should pump you with alcohol more often.”
“I’m gonna pump you with something, all right.” He bites his lip and winks. It’s adorably uncoordinated.
Before I can formulate a witty response, the music stops and the countdown to the new year begins.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven…” The flutters in my tummy ramp up to an all-time high as Wyatt pulls me closer, chanting with the crowd. “Three, two, one! Happy New Year!” The sky explodes and confetti sprays into the air.
Just as the beginning notes to “Auld Lang Syne” fire up, Wyatt crushes his lips to mine. Gripping the sides of my face, he caresses my jaw with the pads of his thumbs while easing his tongue inside. With deliberate slowness he proceeds to make love to my mouth. Fireworks screech overhead and my erratic heart threatens to burst from my chest while he guides me, angling my face with a tenderness that has my toes curling.
“Happy New Year, love.” His adept fingers ghost along the sensitive skin at the back of my arms, tracing lazy circles lower and lower. Then he reaches around to cup my backside, while thrusting his tongue and his hips in a synchronized rhythm.
“Wyatt,” I moan, breathless and dizzy with want.
“Mmm?”
“Take me to bed…”
Whitney’s hand is in my pants, rubbing my painfully hard cock while I fight to get the damn keycard from out of my wallet. Why must they make the freaking slots so small?
With everyone else distracted by the ongoing festivities, we managed to land an empty elevator. Due to that stroke of luck, we’ve made it to the room with our clothes barely still hanging from our bodies, out of breath and on the brink of combustion.
I won’t allow myself to think too long about what a field day the security team must have had if they were watching that blasted camera. I stand by the belief that elevators, like bathrooms, should be allowed privacy.
“Finally!” Whit withdraws her hand when I shove the door open, stumbling over the threshold while kicking off her heels. “Meet me in the shower,” she slurs with a sorry excuse for a wink while reaching around like a damn contortionist and lowering the zipper on the back of her dress. It flutters to the floor in a puddle at her feet, leaving her completely bare from the waist up.
Fuck, but she’s beautiful. I ache to run my tongue over every creamy inch of skin she’s got so boldly on display.
Like a siren, she shimmies along to the music in her head slinking around the corner and out of sight. Her little black thong comes flying out of the bathroom, nailing me in the chest just before the sound of rushing water filters into the room.
Once I manage to pick my jaw up from the floor, I make haste stripping out of my shirt. On my way into the bathroom, I trip trying to pull the narrow hem of my fitted slacks over my heel. Fucking booze has my balance off.
“Everything okay?”
“Just peachy.” I’m hella relieved she’s not around to see me on my back, rolling about like a turtle flipped on its shell, while still fighting to free myself from these fucking pants.
Once I’ve managed to disrobe, I bound to my feet, happening a glance at the floor-length mirror as I finish the short trek to the bathroom.
My erection’s looking a tad deflated following that scuffle, so I give him a few good pumps, making him just a bit more presentable. Can’t be waltzing in there all willy-nilly, failing to put our best dick forward, now can we?
“Well, hello there,” I croon, slipping into the steaming shower behind the sudsy vixen, who appears to have gotten the party started without me.
“Oh,” she says, jumping at my appearance. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Please”—I wave a finger—“carry on,” I say, referring to the sultry little dance I seem to have interrupted with my arrival. “I was enjoying that very much.”
“I can tell.” Twin fiery blue flames home in on my very enthusiastic cock.
Inwardly I’m patting myself on the back over that last-minute decision to beef him up a bit.
“Can I?” she asks, soaping a clean rag and gesturing toward my rock-hard dick.
“By all means,” I say, lifting my arms and bracing them on opposite walls of the shower.
With a satisfied smirk, she drops to her knees, letting the bar of soap drop to the floor while gently scrubbing my cock. If it didn’t feel so fucking incredible, I’d be in hysterics over the way she’s giggling while completing her task.
“The royal penis is clean, your highness,” she snickers, letting the towel drop with a splat.
“Coming To America,” I snort. “Nice.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to reenact that scene,” she says, squinting with rapt fascination as she runs her hand over my hardon, watching the suds rinse away. “I’m really enjoying this relationship thing.”
“Yeah?” I ask, reaching down and stroking a finger over her cheek. “I’m enjoying you too.”
“Like wow!” She sinks down, now sitting on her heels. “I have a whole man to myself.” She shakes her head as if she can’t believe it. “It’s incredible.”
The innocence of this woman drives me absolutely wild—makes me want to satisfy her in ways she’d never dare to imagine. “Anything else you’d like to try?”
“Can I be on top?” she garbles, wrapping her lips around the t
ip of my cock and sucking me into the warmth of her mouth.
My hips jerk from the unexpected treat. “You’ve never—?” I rasp, panting as my heart takes off at a frenzied pace.
She gives her head a shake, nearly choking on the effort. Her cheeks cave in and her head bobs as she puts her all into working me with her mouth.
I weave a hand into her hair, steadying myself with the other against the slippery tile. With gentle persuasion, I guide her, syncing our movements. “The night is yours,” I say, grunting when she moans and her lips vibrate like a cock ring around me. “Ahh,” I yank her hair, popping her off my dick. “Fuck, baby. Your mouth.”
She beams up at me, licking my precum off her lips. “It’s my night, remember?”
I nod.
“I want to finish.”
Who am I to argue with that logic?
She curls the fingers of one hand around my shaft, giving a few good strokes before adding her mouth back into the mix. She takes her time, winding her tongue in circles over the engorged tip before taking me all the way to the back of her throat.
“Whitney,” I moan. “Like that, love. Just.” I grind my molars as a rush of heat fills my shaft. “Like. That.”
With a whimper, she picks up speed, pumping the base with her fist. The pressure in my cock builds to impossible heights when she hollows her cheeks, sucking me harder and faster.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say as I begin plunging in and out, fucking her mouth.
Whitney is a goddess, meeting me thrust for thrust, never once faltering.
I try to pull out when I feel my impending release, but she grips my ass, telling me without words she wants it.
“Ohhh,” I groan as thick hot come juts out in spurts, shooting right to the back of her throat. She continues sucking, not letting up until she’s swallowed every drop. Only then does she relax and allow my cock to slip from her mouth.
“That was—” I’m truly at a loss for words, sagging against the shower wall.
She smiles, smacking her lips. “Salty?”
I snort. “Get up here.”
With my help she rises to her feet, and I pull her close, kissing her passionately beneath the spray. “It was incredible,” I say, nipping at her lips. “You are incredible.”
She reaches around me to twist the knob on the faucet, shutting off the water. “I’m ready to ride,” she announces, making a giddy-up motion and twirling an invisible lasso.
I sigh, hating that I have to disappoint her. “I’m gonna need at least thirty minutes to round up your ride, cowgirl.”
She deflates with a pout. “Okay…well, wanna watch some TV?”
I shake my head, reaching for the big towels and wrapping one around her before tying the other around my waist. “No, Whitney, I don’t want to watch fucking TV.”
“Then what do you wanna do?” she asks, nibbling her lower lip.
“I have a better idea.”
Her eyes widen as she takes my outstretched hand, following me into the room. “I’m listening.”
“I want to taste you,” I say, tipping her chin and placing a kiss on her lips. “I want to bring you to the brink over and over and over again until you’re screaming so loud every person on this floor knows who’s making you come. I want you desperate and writhing, begging for my cock because you know it’s the only thing that will satisfy the ache.”
She clears her throat, muttering unintelligible sounds.
“Is that a yes?”
“Y—yes,” she mutters, staring up at me with hooded eyes.
“Get in the bed.” I rip her towel off on my way to open the sliding glass doors leading out to the balcony, dropping my own before climbing in to join her. “A little ambiance,” I say as the sky lights up with flashes of gold.
Gripping her thighs in both hands, I pull her toward me. “Relax your legs, love.” I lift her right knee to my lips, peppering soft kisses along her inner thigh until I reach her center.
Her hips jerk toward my face when I trail my nose along her slit. “You smell delicious.”
She cries out my name when I flick my tongue over her swollen bud. Once…twice… “Oh, God,” she cries as she starts to lose control, rolling her hips to the rhythm of my ministrations.
I pull back, not ready for her to find her release just yet.
“Wyatt,” she whines, her hips grinding against me, her tone one of utter frustration.
I grin up at her from between her spread legs. “Foreplay,” I whisper, throwing her earlier justification back at her.
Her lips part, no doubt to offer some witty reply, but I silence her, slipping two fingers inside of her, curling them as I bring my lips to hers. “It’s going to be so fucking good, Whit.”
I feast on her for what feels like days, but is more likely only minutes, working her to the brink over and over without letting her climax.
Until, finally, neither of us can wait another second.
“Wyatt,” she moans, sounding desperate and greedy. “Wyatt, fuck me, please.”
I slide my fingers from her heat and roll to my back, grinning at her all the while. “Mount up, love.” I nod my head toward my dick, which is once again proudly standing at attention.
Whit grabs the foil packet from the top of the nightstand and tears into the wrapper, wasting not a single second before rolling the condom down over my cock, straddling my hips, and impaling herself on my erection.
“Wow,” she muses, a seductive lilt to her voice as she rocks her hips slightly, testing the new position. “This is…different.”
“Good different?” I ask, thrusting my hips upward, encouraging her to move.
“God, yes.” She plants her hands on my chest. “What do I do?”
“Whatever feels good.”
She starts off tentatively swirling her hips, before dropping her weight onto my chest to support herself as she bobs up and down. “It’s so deep,” she moans, still searching for a tempo that works for her.
I reach out, brushing my thumbs over her nipples. Her body reacts on instinct, her head falling back, her pussy tightening.
“Yes,” she moans, arching her back and digging her nails into my thighs.
I lower one hand, applying pressure to her clit, and a switch flips—she’s bucking against me, crying out every time our hips meet.
She’s a mad woman, chasing her release with a violent fervor. I can tell she’s close when her walls squeeze my dick nearly to the point of pain.
I reach for her face, pulling her down to my own so I can taste her sweet lips as she cries out my name.
As if it was planned, the sky explodes, bursting with color at the exact moment she comes. “Oh, God!” Her cries of pleasure turn to garbled murmurs as she collapses against my chest.
“So beautiful,” I whisper, grinding into her from below. Her pussy flutters around me as she rides out the aftershocks of her orgasm, milking me for all I’m worth until I fill the condom with my release.
“That was beautiful,” she whispers, staring out at the night sky.
“It was,” I agree, but I’m not referring to the light show.
For long minutes we lay there, content to remain just as we are.
“Are you snoring?” she screeches, jarring me awake.
“No way.” I blink a few times, clearing the fog from my eyes.
She giggles, running a finger along my chest while staring up at me. “You fell asleep with your thing buried in my hoohah.”
I shake my head, gently rolling her off of me. “That was so far from sexy—oh, shit.”
“What?” she asks, alarmed by my tone. “What’s wrong?”
“Did we forget the condom?”
Her eyes widen with alarm before she shakes her head. “No…I put it on myself.”
“It’s gone.”
She’s breathing heavy, on the verge of hyperventilating. “What the hell do you mean it’s gone?”
Frantically we both rip the covers and sheets
from the bed, shaking them out.
“Where’s the condom, Wyatt?” Her voice is strangled.
A sick feeling washes over me. “I think maybe it stayed…inside.”
“Huh?”
“Of you,” I add for clarification.
Her eyes widen. “That can happen?”
I shrug my shoulders, pacing the room. “I don’t know, but where the hell else could it be?”
“Oh God,” she cries. “I’m going to be sick.”
Think quick, Wyatt… “Should we go to the hospital?”
Her jaw drops. “And tell them I think I might have a come-filled condom stuck inside my vagina?”
I cringe. “I could maybe…fish it out?”
“I like that idea much better,” she says, flopping back on the bed and opening her legs like I’ve seen on shows when women are preparing to give birth. “Use the flashlight on your cell phone.”
“Right.” I fumble around on the end table until I find it and switch on the light.
Her hand grips me around the wrist firmly. She cranes her neck, lifting her head to meet my gaze. “Don’t you dare snap any pictures while you’re down there.”
After a quick look-see, I toss the phone to the side, deciding it’s more helpful to have the use of both hands than a spotlight. “Relax,” I say again, attempting to insert two fingers into her pussy to no avail. She’s got that thing locked up tighter than Fort Knox. “Baby, you have to ease up, or we’ll have no choice but to make a trip to the emergency room.”
“I’m trying,” she cries, and I hear a sniffle.
The sight of her tears fucking guts me. “There!” I say, as I slide the slippery rubber out. “And still completely intact.” I hold it out for her examination.
Whitney pinches the bottom where my release is still puddled inside before drying her eyes on the sheet and collapsing with relief.
Mourning Wood Page 16