Choose Me

by Donya Lynne

  Yeah, maybe if he’s getting lots of sweaty, satisfying sex. Me? Sex seems to be all I’ve got on the brain. I thought about boning Gail for half the flight. And then again once we got back on the ground. And then again right after I told her good-bye and wished her luck. Now I’m thinking about fucking Rhian.

  Twice an hour my ass.

  But hell, my fantasies are about the only action I’ve gotten for the past year. Not that I haven’t tried, and not that I haven’t had willing partners. I just haven’t had much luck finding a woman able to sheath the beast.

  Rhian glances over her shoulder, catching me staring at her. She smiles.

  I like her mouth. She has straight teeth, and it’s almost as enjoyable to watch her talk as it is to listen to her.

  I’m going to miss Rhian.

  She glides back to me like a graceful dancer and leans over the counter, clasping her hands and putting her weight on her forearms. Her breasts press together between her upper arms, revealing ample cleavage under a crisp, white button-up shirt with the top three buttons undone. “You know, I’m going to miss you,” she says, her voice low.

  My inner hedonist perks up. “Funny, but I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

  Her pale eyebrows rise. “You were?”

  My gaze falls to her mouth. “Uh-huh.”

  She glances toward the other bartender as if making sure he’s out of earshot then presses closer. “I get off in thirty minutes if you want to say a proper good-bye in private.”

  My dick perks up, plumping behind the zipper of my slacks.

  Rhian winks as she pushes away and sashays toward another customer, swishing her hips with a little more flair, because she knows I’m staring at her perfectly formed ass.

  I hadn’t intended on doing anything reckless tonight. Something fraught with peril. Something like inviting a woman back to my room and taking yet another leap into the realm of potential carnal disappointment. But I can’t help myself. Like the rush I get from jumping out of a plane, I get off on the rush of the possibility that maybe this time I’ll find a woman who loves big dick and can handle it.

  What’s more, Rhian is coming onto me. Heavily. As in, her eyes are reading all kinds of fuck me. And that shit’s overriding every rational thought warning me to return to my room alone. But I’m weak. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten properly laid—come to think of it, I’ve never been properly laid, given my enormous size—and I’m too much of an adrenaline junkie to say no.

  Hell, if Gail had come on to me half as strong as Rhian, I’d already be taking the plunge inside her rapturous depths right now, fragile frame of mind or not, instead of sitting here at the bar, sipping my drink, and pondering Rhian’s odds of being up to the task.

  A hundred says she won’t be able to take me.

  I’ll take that bet, because what have I got to lose?

  You know a man’s sex life is in pathetic shape when he starts taking bets against himself before he’s even made it to first base. Hell, before he’s even gone up to bat! But twenty years of enduring what I can only describe as mild PTSD after countless rejections over the size of my dick have turned me into one of Pavlov’s dogs. I’ve been conditioned to think defensively about sex. To create a contingency plan for failure, even while I’m still formulating my seduction.

  Bigger is not always better. In fact, bigger is rarely better.

  Bigger is a fast track to either going back to my room alone to jack off to fantasies of Rhian’s pretty pink mouth and straight teeth working up and down my cock or . . . making the same bad decision I’ve always made in hopes that the result will be different.

  And what do you know? It looks like I’ll be opening door number two. Like someone who watches Titanic over and over in hopes that the ship won’t actually hit the iceberg and sink to the bottom of the ocean, I wait around until the end of Rhian’s shift then invite her back to my room.

  The moment the door closes, she’s on me, and her mouth is as perfect as I imagined it would be, her tongue soft and warm as it slides over mine.

  She helps me out of my shirt.

  I help her out of hers.

  All the while, we’re lip-locked and making our way, stumble-stepping and shuffling around furniture, to the bedroom.

  She kicks off her shoes and wriggles out of her painted-on pants somewhere along the way, and she pulls me down on top of her as we fall onto the bed.

  She’s wearing nothing but her matching pink and grey bra and panties. Women who match their underwear are classy, and Rhian’s stock just tripled. If she can manage to take all eleven inches of me without complaint, I might have to sell my company and move to New Zealand.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She giggles seductively as I roll to a sitting position and pull her onto my lap. “I never sleep with the guests.”

  I reach around and unsnap her bra with a flick of my fingers, toss it aside, and then pull the elastic band from her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders. “Is it against the rules?” I find those precious pale-pink lips with mine as her taut nipples tease my chest.

  A breathy laugh spills from her throat. “No, but . . .” She lets me kiss her again. “I just don’t do this.”

  Lying back on the bed, I pull her down on top of me, worrying that she still might not do this once she sees what’s waiting for her below my waist. I push her hair back so I can see her face. “So why are you doing it with me?”

  She shrugs shyly. “I don’t know. You seem different. Nice.” Her teeth close over her bottom lip before she adds, “And you’re sexy as hell.” Her eyes twinkle as she takes in my face.

  Nice is usually the kiss of death for a guy. Men cringe when women tell them they’re nice, because there’s always a nut-busting “but” that follows. “You’re a nice guy, but . . . I don’t want to see you anymore,” or “You’re a handsome guy, but . . . I just don’t like you that way,” or my personal favorite, “I like you, Greyson. You’re a nice guy, but . . . your dick is just too big.” I’ve heard one derivative or another of that letdown more times than I want to count, and, to be honest, I’m fucking fed up with it.

  Yeah, nine times out of ten, I hate the word “nice.”

  However, when a woman adds something as ego bolstering as “And you’re sexy as hell” behind her nice statement like Rhian just did, it has a whole different effect on a man.

  Don’t get me wrong. I am a nice guy. I’m polite, say please and thank you, hold the door open to let the lady pass through first. My father raised me to treat women a certain way, and women respond in droves.

  My problem isn’t in attracting women or turning them on, it’s in keeping them attracted and turned on once they get a load of my fifth appendage, which could qualify for its own zip code.

  Which is why I’m really hoping this goes well with Rhian.

  We kiss some more, all tongues and mouths, and I slip my hand inside her panties. She’s waxed smooth. She claims she doesn’t sleep with the guests, but with a bare pussy, she certainly seems ready for sex with someone, guest or not.

  “Jesus, that’s sexy.” I don’t care if she’s telling the truth about not sleeping with the clientele. All I care about right now is her ability to take all of me whole, and I don’t care which orifice she can do it with.

  Of course, just to be safe, I’ll be using the one lone condom that’s been in my wallet since the last time I tried to get with a woman. I know it’s not good to carry a condom around in my wallet, but I put it in there five months ago and forgot about it. Now it’s all that stands between me taking the plunge or using my fist to find my pleasure again. I just hope the damn thing doesn’t break.

  I unfasten my belt and roll off the bed. It’s time for the big reveal. Time to find out whether Rhian can beat the odds.

  I retrieve my wallet from the dresser. I pull out the condom and say a silent prayer. Undoing the snap and zipper, I let my pants drop to the floor and push down my undershorts, freeing m
y heavy cock.

  Here goes.

  I turn around, holding my breath.

  Rhian’s eyes bulge. “Holy shit.” Her mouth falls open.

  The familiar ache of disappointment slams into the back of my sternum, and I’m about to resign myself to another night of fisting it when I take a closer look at her face. It’s not fear in her eyes.

  It’s hunger.

  The tip of her tongue peeks out to wet the seam of her mouth. “You have porn cock.”

  “Porn cock?” Hope stirs inside me at her reaction, and I tear open the cellophane packet and pull out the extra-large condom. It’s almost impossible to find condoms that fit me, but I’ve found a brand that works. It’s just been awhile since I’ve needed one, so I’m hoping the latex is still pliable enough not to split as I roll it on.

  Rhian stretches into an inviting display of tantalizing breasts and bent legs, staring like a lust-drunk whore at what’s working between my legs. “Yeah. Porn cock. It’s long . . . and thick.” She bites her bottom lip, giving me a Cheshire grin.

  Things are looking up.

  “Have you ever had porn cock?” If she has and enjoyed it, that would be another good sign.

  She bites her bottom lip. “Once.”

  “And . . .?”

  She’s practically panting. “It took a little getting used to, but once I did, oh my God! It was soooo good.” Her eyes open wide and roll back as she lets out a heavy, heated exhale.

  This is going a lot better than I thought it would, and my whole body feels alive and tingly, just as it did when I leaped out of the plane earlier. I’m so excited I’m not sure I’m going to make it through the next sixty seconds without blowing my load. I’ve never been with a woman who looked at my dick the way Rhian is looking at it now. She doesn’t fear it. She wants it. If I hold out on her, I’m sure I could make her beg for it.

  But I’m not in the mood to wait, even though I’d love to see a woman beg for my dick for a change. Talk about a novelty.

  By some miracle, I get the condom on without breaking it—or coming—and I join her on the bed.

  On the surface, I try to look like this sort of thing happens to me all the time, but on the inside, I’m about to boil over. In one defining moment, the night has gone from cautious defensiveness to all-out full-court press.

  Her long legs lock around my hips as her right hand guides me inside her. She’s tight, and I have to take it slow, but holy hell to Jesus, after a few stops and starts and slow, gentle thrusts, I’m in. Not quite all the way, but farther than I’ve ever been before.

  And we’re fucking.

  Hell yes, we’re fucking.

  And she likes it. She’s telling me to fuck her, fuck her harder.

  I’m not going to last long, and what a shame that is. When you’ve waited all your life to eat a perfectly cooked beef wellington, you don’t want to be rushed to finish after enjoying only a couple small bites.

  Rhian stops me, breathless and panting. “Fuck me from behind.”

  I don’t want to fuck her from behind. I always fuck from behind, because it’s easier to get the deed done when I don’t have to see the woman grimace in pain, tears moistening her lashes, as she appears to be praying for the act to be over sooner rather than later. Tonight, I was hoping to fuck face-to-face for once, but Rhian is already turning over beneath me.

  I’m still just so shocked this is even happening that all I can do is let her flip to her stomach and keep hammering my hips into her.

  She’s crying out, but not in pain, and she’s really getting into it when she throws her head forward and slaps her palms against the brown leather headboard to give her leverage to press her ass back to meet my thrusts.

  I was joking earlier about moving to New Zealand, but now I might have to reconsider.

  I’m pounding away at her, my muscles growing tight in that way I know means I’m going to come soon, when I notice the band of pale skin that circles the base of her left ring finger.

  No.

  Please God, no.

  I’m on the verge of coming, but I go stark still.

  Her head snaps up as she ruts against me. “Don’t stop.” She’s breathing hard, her voice filled with desperation. “Why are you stopping?”

  As badly as my body wants oxygen, I can’t breathe. “Are you . . .” I swallow bile. “Are you married?”

  She freezes and sucks in her breath as she drops her left hand to the mattress and stares at it for a second before shoving it under a pillow, which is more than enough confirmation for me.

  My cock instantly begins to wither, and I pull out of her.

  “It’s not what you think,” she says, spinning around to protest.

  I’m already climbing off the bed. “Are you married or not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then it is what I think.” I toss her bra and panties at her. “I’m not going to fuck another man’s wife, Rhian.” Blue balls be damned.

  She huffs but starts pulling on her panties. “You already were.”

  “Not by choice. If I’d known, I never would have invited you to my room.” Not once in two weeks have I seen a wedding band on her finger or heard her mention a husband.

  After what happened to my father, I refuse to be a party in destroying a marriage. For Rhian to take advantage of me like that—for her to trick me into thinking she was single so I would sleep with her—pisses me off. My stomach roils, and I feel like I might throw up. With each passing second, I grow angrier.

  She pulls on her bra. “It doesn’t change the fact that you were, in fact, fucking me, Greyson. We could have at least finished.” Her voice has gone from coy and playful to haughty and contemptuous. She snatches her shirt off the floor as I head to the bathroom. “You could have at least postponed your trip to moral high ground until after you got me off.”

  I roll the condom off my cock and slam dunk it in the trash can. What a waste of a good condom. Damn things are hard to find in my size, so they’re like gold. I don’t know what makes me angrier: that she’s married and fucking around on her husband, that she just made me waste one of my precious rubbers, or that I finally found a woman who could handle my monstrous member only to learn that it was all just lies and deceit.

  Up until the moment I saw the tan line from her wedding band, this was the most intensely exciting sexual experience I’ve ever had.

  “Is this some kind of game for you?” I pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants while she finishes getting dressed amid an invisible cloud of frustration. “Some kind of fuck-the-guests competition between you and the other bartenders?” My blood boils, and I’m beyond giving a shit if I hurt her feelings. “Do you just sit around waiting for someone like me to come in to take advantage of?”

  She glares at me but doesn’t say anything.

  “Do you take off your wedding ring every night and play with men’s emotions like that? Like they mean nothing to you? Or is it just to get bigger tips?”

  She frowns and looks at the floor. “I told you, I don’t normally do things like this.” At least she’s starting to look remorseful.

  “So it’s the tips. If your intention isn’t to fuck the men you come on to, then it’s to ply more money out of them. Except tonight I got to be the exception. How special for me and your husband.” I take off my watch and toss it on the nightstand, turning away from her.

  Neither of us says anything, and I refuse to look at her. The heart-shaped lips I couldn’t get enough of less than an hour ago are a poisonous trap full of gut-twisting lies. I don’t want to look at those lips and be reminded yet again of how much of a failure I am in all things love and relationships.

  To her, tonight was probably all about having fun. But for me, it was so much more, because I’d finally found a woman who liked big dick. And not only liked it, but craved it. For once, my dick hadn’t felt like a curse, and I’m more devastated by finding out she’s married than I want to admit.

  After a long, silen
t moment, she sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would matter.” Her voice is small and fragile. At least she’s ditched her accusatory tone. Small consolation in light of the pain gnawing at the inside of my chest.

  I scowl over my shoulder at her. “Maybe it didn’t matter to you, but it mattered to me. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

  Her mouth falls open.

  “And if it doesn’t matter,” I continue, “why take off your wedding ring at all. At least let the guys you go after know who you are. At least be honest about that much.”

  She looks like a chastised little girl. Tears glisten in her eyes. “Look, I said I’m sorry.”

  “Just go.” I turn away.

  Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and hold for a long, silent moment, and then without another word she turns and leaves the bedroom. A few seconds later, I hear the door to the suite open then close with a quiet click. Only then do I let out the breath I’ve been holding and allow myself to fall ass-first onto the bed. I drop my face into my hands, shaking my head.

  Anguish rips out my heart, and anger pisses in the cavity left behind by the gaping hole.

  There’s only one thing I hate more than hurting a woman during sex, and that’s finding out that the woman coming onto me or in my bed is married, engaged, or has a boyfriend. That’s a total dick killer. I promised ages ago, after what happened between my parents, that the one thing I would never do was sleep with another man’s woman. Just the thought makes my stomach turn.

  I lie back and stare up at the ceiling, my sac throbbing with one hell of a case of blue balls. Lucky me.

  Will my luck ever change?

  Not tonight.

  And, at this rate, maybe never.

  Chapter 2

  Thursday, June 1

  Katherine

  Something’s wrong with the company’s sales numbers. According to the quarterly reports, Freedom’s sales have gone up in the Southwest region, but profits have gone down. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. Since I don’t recall an abnormal rise in expenses, this doesn’t make sense. Then again, I’m not the CFO. And since Elliott hasn’t warned me about anything out of the ordinary, I’m left to wonder if someone’s made an accounting error.