by Lily Harlem
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna come,” he groaned. “It’s too damn glorious being in your ass.”
“Yes,” I panted and forced myself to look in the mirror, “Come, come with me.” Two more nudges at my clit and I split apart. I felt as though I was dissolving with ecstasy, shattering into a million pieces. I lifted my head and kept my eyes open, refused to succumb to the need to fold in on myself. I wanted to see Brick’s face when he came. It was an effort, my neck was weak, my head was so damn heavy it bobbed back to the dressing table, I couldn’t manage it.
“Oh yes, that’s it.” He went still, dead still with his cock buried as deep in my ass as it could go.
He scooped my hair in a fisted ponytail and pulled, forcing my head to tip up to the mirror again. His other fingers tightened even firmer on my hips, his balls pressed harder against the wet lips of my pussy. His body was motionless. He was just staring ahead, straight at me.
I couldn’t stay still—apart from my head locked in his grip—I was writhing, convulsing. The strength of my orgasm had me pulsing on the surface of the dressing table.
“It feels like your ass is fucking me,” he groaned in a pleasure-soaked voice.
I knew what he meant. My entire pelvis was contracting and spasming. My insides were tugging him deeper, my sphincter squeezing him tighter.
Yet another wave of ecstasy hit me and he let out a deliciously sexy groan. His head tilted to the ceiling and his lips curled back over his teeth. “Ah fuck, yes…”
And then his cock juddered inside me. Pulsed once, twice, three times. His body remained still. His cock throbbed again.
Final tremors claimed me as I stared at him in total awe of his beauty, his power and his raw masculinity. I knew in that second I’d just become even more obsessed, even more in love with Brick. As I’d witnessed him experience the ultimate human sensation, deep inside me, he’d just become my everything.
His gaze dropped from the ceiling and he saw me watching him. His lips tipped in a sexy smile as he released my hair. “You all right?”
“Yes,” I gasped, taking my fingers from my clit, my scalp tingling where the roots had just been yanked.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “And so giving and trusting.” He bent to press a kiss to my cheek. The sound of his hot, fast breaths filled my ear like a violent wind. “That felt like an out-of-body experience, I swear I saw God for a moment there.”
I giggled in a twisted, breathy kind of way.
He grunted, lifted upright and eased his slackening cock out of me.
My ass felt tender and burned. “Is it okay?” I asked, pushing upright and turning to face him. “The ring?”
I watched him carefully roll the milky full condom off his semi-hard cock. There it was, the ring, shiny and rude, piercing the head.
“It’s fine,” he said. “You worry too much. I’ve had it years, I know the limits and I wouldn’t have risked harming you.” He dropped the condom in the trash bin next to the table, reached for my shoulders and turned me. “I wouldn’t risk you for the world.” His open eye sparkled as his lips pressed on mine. “That was everything and more I’d fantasized it would be,” he said onto my mouth.
“You fantasized about me?” I asked, pulling back slightly.
“Hell, yeah, what man wouldn’t?”
I slid my hands up his muscular back, damp with a thin layer of sweat. “I fantasized about you, too,” I confessed.
“You did?” he said on a grin.
“Yes, a couple of times.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I beat you there ’cause my fantasies about you are definitely into double figures.”
I pressed my naked body against his and kissed him hard and passionately. He’d fantasized about me―lots, okay probably only over the last week and I’d been at it for a couple of years, but still. Brick, my Brick, had fantasies about me. I felt as though my heart would burst with happiness and love.
He wrapped me tight in his arms and kissed me back as eagerly as I kissed him, his tongue probing and delving and his breaths urgent on my cheek.
Suddenly a shiver attacked my body. The cool air-conditioning blowing into the room had chilled my sweat-laced skin.
“Let’s get you into bed,” he said, a concerned furrow creasing his brow.
“Just let me just freshen up.” I slipped out of his embrace.
When I came out of the bathroom, he pulled back the thick duvet and I climbed onto the luxuriously soft sheets. He went into the bathroom, I heard the splash of water, and then he joined me. Lay flat on his back and scooped me into his arms. Our legs tangled and my head slotted into the groove between the ball of his shoulder and his collarbone.
“Warmer?” he asked, pulling the duvet up my back.
“Yes, much.” I absorbed the heat of his body, delighting in the feel of the soft hairs on his legs tickling my skin.
“Rest now.” He pressed a kiss onto my still damp hair.
I let out a sigh and rested my hand over his heart, felt the steady boom, boom of its beat. I suddenly felt exhausted. Completely satisfied, immensely happy, but utterly exhausted. “Just give me ten minutes,” I said, not bothering to stifle an enormous yawn. “And then I’ll be good to go again.”
Chapter Eight
The first sound I heard was a vacuum cleaner in the corridor, clunking against the door. For a second I was disoriented, the noise unfamiliar, the softness of the mattress unusual. Then I remembered where I was—I was with Brick, I was in my own particular brand of heaven.
I stretched my arm across the bed, searching for the big, hot body I’d snuggled against all night.
But there was nothing there, just acres of cool, crisp sheet.
My eyes flew open and immediately shut again as the harsh daylight streaming through a crack in the curtains pierced my retinas.
“Brick?” I called through a dry throat.
I carefully peeled open my eyes and scooted to the edge of the bed. I looked around. He wasn’t in the room. Perhaps he was taking a shower. The vacuum cleaner switched off. I strained my ears for the sound of running water.
Silence.
I glanced at where his bag had been strewn messily open.
Gone.
I swallowed a gurgle of bile.
He’d left.
It couldn’t be true.
It was.
He’d left without waking me. My heart began to thud so hard I was sure it would explode. How could he? How could he just get up and go and leave me sleeping? I didn’t know if I was furious, mortified or both. I did know I wanted to hit something.
Standing, I walked to the mirror on wobbly legs. They didn’t feel like mine. My vision blurred as I stared at my naked reflection. My hair was wild, my upturned nipples hard in the cool air-conditioning. I leaned my knuckles on the dressing table and peered at my bloodshot, sleepy eyes. What the hell had I done? I’d given him everything, he’d taken everything, and now he’d left.
In my moment of passion, I’d lost my head and in doing so lost him. He’d vanished in the middle of the night. Like a one-night stand avoiding an awkward morning conversation, he’d slunk from the hotel room.
Part of me wanted to crumble into a heap and cry. Sob and sob and get rid of the wild burst of adrenaline saturating my blood. But that wasn’t me. That wasn’t how I handled problems. I had to be strong.
I stood and slid my hand across the dressing table I’d writhed on in ecstasy the night before. It was cold now, cold and smooth, my sweat had evaporated. My fingers came to the hotel notepad.
My gaze locked on it.
Scrawled in messy black writing, was a note. Early flight to Denver. Thanks for a great night.
I tore the note from the pad with clawed fingers. “Thanks for a great fucking night,” I spat as I ripped the note in half then quarters. “Thanks for a great fucking night.” After all we’d shared, the date, the phone calls, the seriously hot foreplay and after what we’d done last night, he’d still t
reated me like some rink bunny.
My biggest fear had been realized despite my best efforts to be something more to him.
“Bastard,” I swore as I dropped the tiny shreds of paper into the bin. “Fucking bastard.” The white scraps fluttered down next to the used condom and my jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might actually crack. I’d been foolish, so foolish. I’d handed over my heart, my soul and my body in their entirety.
And now he didn’t want any of it.
I raked my fingers through my hair and scratched at my scalp with my nails.
Had last night all been an elaborate plan to get back at me for sneaking out on him in New York when he’d been fast asleep? I shook my head, trying to rid that thought. Surely not. I’d said I was sorry for that and I really thought we’d connected last night. We’d made love, bared our souls to one another, or at least I had. I’d offered him the ultimate in trust.
I stomped into the bathroom. Splashed water on my face, rinsed my mouth and grabbed my earrings. The scent of lemons still hung in the air, fresh and citrusy. I knew I’d never be able to smell lemons again without thinking of my shower with Brick. Sense his hands on my body, slippery and inquisitive, exploring every part of me as I pressed up against his gorgeous hot chest.
My eyes misted. I dropped my head in my palms and pulled in a deep breath. I had to get a grip, keep calm. I was good under pressure, always had been. There would be no tears, no matter how much they wanted to consume me.
I forced my brain to function rationally. I needed to get home. I needed to get dressed, get a cab and get home.
Stepping back into the room, I spotted my long dress. Damn it. I’d have to wear that to walk through the hotel lobby and out onto the street. How embarrassing. Everyone would know I’d stayed the night unintentionally. Everyone would know I was leaving alone. My one-night stand had left before I’d woken.
No, maybe they’d think I was leaving him sleeping. Yes, that’s what they’d think. I glanced at the digital clock by the bed. 11:09. I clicked my tongue in annoyance. No, who left a lover sleeping this late in the morning? No one. I was the one who’d been abandoned. It was obvious.
I dragged on my dress, hating its flimsiness and the revealing back. Last night I’d been the belle of the ball, now I felt weak for succumbing to my urges. Feeling weak to me was like having all four limbs removed. I couldn’t stand it and I certainly couldn’t live with it.
Shoving my feet into the ridiculously high sandals, I grabbed my purse, dropped in the earrings and stepped into the corridor.
It was deserted.
The vacuum cleaner sat abandoned next to a towel-and toiletry-laden trolley halfway down. I headed for the elevator, which was conveniently waiting. Hit lobby and gathered the miniscule scrap of pride I had left, about enough to fill my right little toenail.
The doors pinged open. I tilted my chin, straightened my spine and stepped out. Willing myself to look straight ahead, I clicked across the marble-tiled floor past a high mahogany reception desk.
“Good morning,” the concierge said with a professional smile, though his eyes held a sparkle of amusement.
“Morning,” I replied, strutting past him. There was nothing good about it.
I pushed through the door into the wet heat of the day.
The red carpet had gone, so had the photographers, thank goodness. But the doorman from the night before was there. Smart and suited and a peaked cap on his head with “The Winston” embroidered in gold stitching across the top.
“Taxi, madam?” he asked with a professional smile.
“Yes.”
“Very good.” He called over a waiting cab, opened the door and I climbed in.
“You have a great day now,” he said, one side of his mouth curling in a smile.
“Humph,” I managed in reply.
*****
I arrived home, ditched the dress in the corner of the bedroom and pulled on my cycling gear. I needed to ride, burn up the adrenaline and cortisone coursing through my veins. If I didn’t I would combust.
As I tied my laces, my hands shook with a mix of anger, despair and intense disappointment. I slipped my cell into the holder I wore on my arm with my heart rate monitor attached. Should I call him? Hell no. I dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered my head. He could call me this time. He was the one who’d walked away. Why should I reach out―again?
I wheeled my bike out onto the road, clicked the chin strap of my helmet and within minutes was shooting along the main route out of town. The hot wind slipped across my cheekbones. The sun beat down on my shoulders. A single drop of moisture squeezed from my right eye.
My heart picked up to its usual steady pace as my feet beat down on the pedals. I felt a little tender from my nocturnal activities. But I embraced the discomfort, it was all I had left of him.
Soon I was on the first main road of the circle I did to complete a fifty-mile ride. It was always the worst stretch. The traffic was heavy. Cars, trucks and vans sped past, some left me barely any space. I ducked my head, sucked on my water bottle and carried on working the pedals, bashing the speed out through the wheels. I tried to ignore the enormous hubcaps and mammoth bumpers whizzing past only feet away.
Physically I began to feel better as my body burned adrenaline. But my mind was a fog of images, images of Brick looming over me on the dance floor, his square jawline set determined and his green eyes flashing. I saw him in the hotel room, desire and lust consuming his face as he pulled me into the bathroom. And then his reflection hovered before me, he was towering behind me, his face contorted in ecstasy as he pulsed within my body. I could hear him, that long, pleasure-filled groan of delight. I could feel his fingers curled over my hipbones and in my hair, holding me tight and firm, exactly where he wanted.
A screech of tires on tarmac collided with his lusty groan. A deafening horn sounded to my right, filled my ears, rattled around my brain for a split second before an almighty energy slammed into my back wheel. My legs stopped powering the bike forward, it was moving on its own momentum, faster and harder than ever before.
I was in the air, the wheels gripped nothing. I clutched at the handlebars as an enormous, dirty hubcap claimed my line of sight. A scream escaped my lips and I stared at spinning streaks of mud and grime. Terror gripped me.
In slow motion, I saw the verge approaching—long strands of sun-scorched grass leading to a ribbon of sludgy, green-topped water. And then it was there. I stretched out my hands to break my fall. Saw a flat gray rock hiding in the grass, long and dense. My bike and I were as one when we hit.
Pain. Burning, shooting. Sharp agony.
My arm, my head. Everything disappeared.
Everything went quiet.
Blackness.
*****
“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”
“Mmm?” I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was desert dry. Not a scrap of moisture anywhere. Rhythmic beeping rang through my head.
“Sweetheart, it’s me, Mom, can you hear me?”
I opened my eyes and pain shot across my forehead as an overhead light greeted me.
“Oh thank goodness,” Mom said with a gasping sigh.
She looked as rough as I felt. Her curled gray hair stuck up on the right as though she’d slept on it and her mascara had dribbled into her wrinkles.
“Drink,” I whispered.
“Here, here,” she said, offering a red-striped straw.
I sucked in the lukewarm water. It tasted divine and I let it coat every corner of my mouth before swallowing it over the parched tissues of my throat.
“Better?” she asked with a tight, worried smile.
I nodded but regretted it instantly. My head hurt like the worst kind of hangover. But nowhere near as much as my right wrist. That throbbed and pulsed as though someone was beating it with a hammer over and over. I glanced at my chest. My arm was secured up toward my left collarbone in a sling. I could make out thick bandages and the faint yel
low of iodine on my fingernails.
“What happened?” I asked, looking into Mom’s wide eyes.
“You came off your bike,” she said, smoothing hair from my cheek. “On the loop road.”
“I remember a truck,” I said, the filthy, spinning hubcap swirling in my memory. “Did it hit me?”
“Yes, sweetheart, it did. But it only clipped your back wheel, thank God. The driver feels terrible. He’s sent flowers and called every day to see how you are. It wasn’t his fault apparently, but of course it will have to be looked into.”
“Every day? How long have I been here?”
“This is the third day. They took you to surgery as soon as you came in, you sort of woke up afterward but since then you’ve been pretty much asleep the whole time. The doctor said it was the bang to your head, concussion, they scanned you, nothing showed so we just had to wait and pray.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my pounding forehead. “I’m just so grateful you always wear a helmet, Carly. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have been killed instantly.” She swallowed. “It’s split completely in two.”
My head pounded as if it was split in two. “My bike,” I said, “how’s my bike?” Mom shook her head and pulled down the corners of her mouth. “It’s wrecked I’m afraid. Beyond repair.”
I heard the beeping pick up to match the pace of my heart pounding in my chest. “No, surely some of it can be repaired, it can’t all be written off. What about the main frame?” I tried to lift my head but gave up and dropped it back into the pillow.
“I’m sorry, Carly, it’s finished. But the insurance will cover it so don’t give it another thought, not now.”
Nausea washed through me and I swallowed down the acrid taste of bile. It had taken years to perfect that bike and make it just right for me. It would take years to replace it, it was like part of the family, it was part of me.
“You want some more water?” Mom asked, holding the straw to my lips.
I took a sip. “And I could use some painkillers, my arm is throbbing.”