Hooking Up

by Helena Hunting

  “Who’s fucking you?”

  She shudders. “You are.”

  “Who made you come?”

  She blinks, slow and hazy. “You did.”

  “Wanna come again?”

  Her eyes go wide again. “Oh God.”

  I grab her ass and flip her over so I’m on top. “He’s not gonna save you from me, baby.” And I make her come again. So hard she bites my shoulder to muffle her scream. I’m close, but I want to see if I can get one more orgasm out of her. I slow it down, grinding against her. Amalie’s hands are in my hair, and then her nails rake down my back and dig into my ass.

  “I’m gonna come soon,” I tell her. “You getting close again?”

  “I don’t know if I can have another one.”

  “You sure as hell can.” I hook my arm under her knee and draw it up, getting another sweet groan out of her when I roll my hips. I keep up the rhythm, slow and steady, watching her face. Her head is thrown back, lips parted, eyes closed tight. With my mouth beside her ear, I whisper, “I can feel you squeezing my cock, you better make it happen soon, baby, ’cause I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”

  “Don’t stop doing what you’re doing,” she pleads.

  “Want it harder?”

  She nods.

  “What about faster?”

  “Please.”

  I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tilt her head down, holding it still as I give her what she wants. I’d say I have about six more thrusts before I’m done for, but with the way she’s started shaking again, and the whimpering moans I’m getting, she’s about to come anyway. I make it to thrust five before the orgasm kicks me in the spine.

  I crush my mouth to Amalie’s, swallowing her scream, because she’s coming, too. It’s not a very coordinated kiss. It’s messy and teeth-clashing. It’s want and need. It’s possession. Hers and mine.

  Twelve: After the Orgasms

  Amie

  Well, that just happened.

  Lex is still kissing me. It’s slower now, soft, the frantic need having dissipated. I wait for guilt or regret to set in. Something to ruin the peacefulness of the moment, something to break the orgasmic bliss bubble I’m floating around in. But all I feel is the heavenly weightlessness that follows amazing sex.

  Once in college I dated a guy for a few weeks who was amazing at sex. And by dated, I mean that we went out a few times and eventually got our fuck on. It wasn’t serious. I knew it never would be. By the time I hit college most of my relationships were casual dates, and if they moved into feelings territory I typically ended it. I never wanted to be my mother, always waiting for my dad to come back from a business trip only to fall apart and run away from him when he returned. It was a punishment for everyone, especially me.

  But this man-boy of mine at the time was so, so pretty. And built. But under all the pretty was . . . nothing. No personality. No conversation skills. Just a beautiful outside and an empty inside, like opening a book with a fabulous cover to find the pages bereft of words. Blank page after blank page. It was such a disappointment. The only reason it lasted as long as it did was because he could screw like it was his profession. Actually, it probably should’ve been his job. He knew exactly how to move and every single time we had sex I came. It was amazing.

  Except he only had one position. He was a one-trick pony. Any other position but missionary and the orgasm magic died. So no matter how pretty he was, I couldn’t continue to see him and his one-position magic man handle.

  But Lex.

  Lex.

  He sets the bar so high I’m not sure anyone else can or will ever come close to what I just experienced.

  I came three times. During sex. That’s like being told unicorns are real. And then actually seeing one.

  My stomach rumbles, breaking the silence—well, silent apart from our heavy breathing and my barely audible residual moans every time I have an unexpected, but not unwelcome muscle clench below the waist.

  Lex’s lips turn up against mine. The muscles in his shoulders pull tight and his chest flexes as he braces himself on his forearms. He’s sweaty, I’m sweaty, we’re both glistening from the exertion. I glance down, checking out his abs as they ripple. His body is unreal. He should never wear clothes again. Ever.

  “Hungry?” He’s grinning.

  “That was my vagina asking for more orgasms. We need to know how long it’s going to be before ‘Oh God’ can provide more of those.”

  He laughs, then dips down to kiss my chin. “How about I order some food first and we can follow it with more orgasms?”

  I purse my lips and consider the offer. I am hungry. “I suppose that would work.”

  Lex lifts his hips and I raise mine, keeping the connection for another second or two before he eases out and removes the condom, tying it off and disposing of it. His gaze drops between my legs, which are spread shamelessly wide. He sucks in breath, tongue dragging over his bottom lip.

  “On second thought . . .” He smoothes his hands down the inside of my thighs and presses a kiss to my knee.

  I close my legs reflexively. “Are you sure you want to—” I don’t finish the sentence. Armstrong would never, ever even consider going to taco town unless I was fresh from the shower.

  He pauses, eyes lifting. “Am I sure I want to eat your pussy? Fuck yes, is the answer to that, Amie. I’ve been thinking about it since the other night when you were mostly naked and under me. Unless you’re opposed to my eating you.”

  Well then. I lift my hips encouragingly. “I’m definitely not opposed.”

  “I didn’t think you would be.” He bites his way down the inside of my thigh, stopping to suck the skin a few times until it blushes a deep pink that might not fade by morning. Not that I care.

  I don’t dare look away as those full lips reach the juncture of my thigh and then he brushes them gently over my swollen clit. I moan.

  His eyes meet mine as his tongue flicks out, sweeping over the sensitive skin. I buck and grab the comforter, needing some kind of anchor. I have a feeling this man is going to be just as good with his tongue as he is with his cock.

  And I’m 100 percent accurate about that. Lex alternates slow, leisurely strokes with sucking, and as soon as I think I’m on the verge of coming, he changes it up, pulls me away from the edge, only to bring me back again, higher and higher each time. When I try to lift my hips his grip on me tightens, and then his fingers—oh God—hit the right spot from inside while he tongues me. I’m so close.

  This time I grab onto his hair to keep him where he is. “Make me come,” I order.

  He’s stronger than me, by a lot. So it takes less effort than I’d like for him to force his head up while I continue to push down. When it’s clear I’m not going to succeed, I try lifting my hips, but he bars his tattooed arm across my stomach, keeping me pinned. As pretty as it is, I’m far too preoccupied to admire it the way I’d like to.

  His smile is sinister. “What was that?”

  “I’m so close.” Oh my God, I’m whining. But really, I was right there, my clit practically singing. He must be able to feel it, the way everything is tightening; a coiled spring pulled taut and ready to snap.

  The fingers inside me withdraw.

  I clench in an attempt to keep them where they are. “No!”

  Lex’s chuckle is heavy. “Maybe you should ask nicely.”

  I don’t think twice. Not when I’m right on the edge like this. Not when, for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not responsible for my own goddamn orgasms. Not when I’m having the best sex of my life. “Please, Lex.”

  That gets me one finger, which isn’t nearly enough.

  “Please what?” His smirk is so infuriating.

  I’m totally getting him back for this later. “Please make me come.”

  I get a second finger and then a curl.

  “Please. Oh God.”

  He drops his head, his breath warm against my aching clit
. Another finger.

  “Fuck, Lex.”

  I’m rewarded with the feel of his tongue, followed by teeth and the finger flutter and lastly, mind-bending suction. I come in waves, sensation rolls through me, Lex’s name a scream I can’t control, along with a slew of uncensored profanity. And the orgasm doesn’t stop, it keeps going, stealing my breath, cutting out sound, my vision going white with the intensity.

  “My turn.”

  I don’t have the time to process that comment, or come down from the insane orgasm high I’m riding. Before I can ask questions, or tell him he’s a god, I find myself being flipped over on my stomach, face mashed into the comforter, not because Lex is doing any mashing, but because my limbs are completely incapable of doing anything constructive since they are currently the consistency of pudding.

  “Show me that ass.”

  I yelp when that order is accompanied by a swift slap across my left cheek. Lex chuckles, a sound full of cocky arrogance and self-satisfaction. I’d make some kind of snarky retort but I’m still trying to figure out how to use my tongue for things other than random noises. Also, that was an astounding orgasm, so he has a right to be cocky about it.

  When I don’t move fast enough, Lex grabs me by the hips and drags me up onto my knees. I make a very weak, sort of pathetic attempt at pushing up on my arms so I’m on all fours, and showing him “that ass,” but my arms are incapable of holding my weight and I drop back to my elbows, resting my forehead on my clasped hands.

  “How you feelin’, baby?” He runs his palms over my ass in a wax on, wax off motion again and again.

  I try a word, but it comes out garbled.

  “What was that?” The press of his hips against me, and the slide of his cock between my ass cheeks, makes me suddenly alert.

  I manage to string a bunch of words together, they’re a little slurry, but there’s some snark in there. “I thought we were eating first.”

  “I did eat. Now I want to fuck you again.”

  My saucy reply gets caught in my throat at the tear of the condom, which is followed by the feel of Lex’s cock sliding low and easing in. I groan and push back until his hips rest against my ass. His fingers trail a line along my spine.

  “Ready?”

  I nod.

  There’s no easy start up. No slow build, no shallow thrusts. Lex grips my hips tight, pulls out, almost all the way, and then slams back in. Over and over, faster and faster, harder and harder. I consider giving my marble a roll, but the thrusting is just too vigorous, and honestly, I’m beyond the point of being able to coordinate the movements. But I can feel the pressure building again, the tightening of muscles, the heat funneling low and building fast.

  As if Lex can sense how close I am, he releases one hip, slows down long enough to grab me by the shoulder and haul me up so my back is pressed against his sweaty, hard chest. Instead of resuming the thrust-a-thon, he starts a hard grind.

  Running his fingertips down my arm, he takes my hand and brings it up. “Hold on to the back of my neck.”

  I do as I’m told, because independent thought has ceased to exist. Also, if he releases me right now, I’ll face-plant back into the comforter. Beyond the other current issues impeding my ability to use full sentences, this position is incredible and it’s pushing me closer to the edge.

  Lex anchors me to him using my left boob, and then the other hand, the one on my hip, moves lower and he does the thing I’m too uncoordinated to manage on my own. He circles my clit, slow and hard, grinding to the same rhythm. And I come. Viciously. Like the hardest I think I’ve ever come in my life. I’m a moaning, screaming, boneless mass of useless limbs.

  Lex must’ve come too, because I find myself back on the bed, him stretched out on top of me.

  “Holy hot damn,” I groan.

  “Sounds about right.” His lips are on my shoulder, soft, warm, a stark contrast the way he just fucked me.

  We lay there for a good minute, or seven, or an hour—I’m too sated to know or care—before he rolls off me. My hair is in my face, I blow at it, my limbs still refusing to do anything apart from remain attached to my body. Gentle fingers move the hair away until he comes into view. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, all over him really. His hair is a mess, the longer strands sticking up or falling forward, curling on his forehead.

  He traces the contour of my face, his gaze following the same path until his eyes come back to mine. His expression is intense.

  I clear my throat, not looking away. “Soooo . . . yeah.” My voice is raspy and my mouth is dry. I could use a gallon of water, and maybe a few shots.

  He barks out a laugh. “Was that nice?”

  Sarcastic bastard. I can’t even muster the energy to pinch his nipple. “Feed me.”

  “I’ll call room service.” He rolls off the bed, popping up with far more energy than is reasonable considering the amount of it we’ve just expended. I admire his hot body as he crosses the room, the flex and pull of muscles, the amazingly solid contours of his ass, the narrow waist, the heavily cut back, sinew pulling tight as he runs his hand through his hair, smoothing out some of the wayward strands. I’d hand wash clothes on those abs and use that ass as pillow—after I bit it, of course. I get caught at the two thick lines crisscrossing across the left side of his upper back.

  I’ve seen those scars before, when he dressed as a gladiator at the Halloween soirée months ago. I thought they were some elaborate makeup to augment the authenticity of the gladiator costume he was wearing. I didn’t think they were real. They’re jagged and thick, but pale, as if they’ve been there for a long time.

  Lex picks up the phone and leans on the table, arms flexing. I pause to finally appreciate the intricate sleeve. A thunderous sky wraps around his shoulder, lightning bolts shooting down his bicep to end at his elbow. His forearm is covered in bright watercolor flowers, and on the inside of his forearm is a three-dimensional clock in black and white.

  I could literally spend the next two weeks watching him like a TV show. All he would have to do is walk around my bungalow exactly as he is now, bending over to pick things up, stretching. He could just sit and read the paper. I’m not picky. My gaze moves up, and then back down. He really is immensely hung. I’m not sure I’ve had bigger. I definitely haven’t had better.

  “What’re you hungry for?”

  “Huh?” I pause my ogling.

  “What do you want to eat? Apart from the obvious.” He gestures to his crotch with a smile.

  I roll my eyes and flop back down on the comforter. “I don’t know. Anything.”

  “Burger and fries?”

  In all honesty, the idea of a burger and fries makes my mouth water, but I’ve avoided food that tastes like anything for so long I’m not sure my body can handle a burger. Also, I’d have to eat with my hands, and burgers are messy. Not sexy.

  “What about antipasto? A cheese and fruit platter? Desserts?”

  “Sure.”

  Lex taps on the counter as he places an order. “You can put it on my account but deliver to bungalow seven. Yes. Yes. Thank you.” He hangs up and saunters back to the bed, holding out his hand, and he nods to the sliding glass doors. “It’ll be about half an hour. Want to take a dip?”

  I give him my hand and let him pull me up. It takes some effort to get my legs to swing over the edge of the bed, but my muscles are taking cues from my brain again, so that’s a good sign. “I’ll just grab a suit.”

  “Why bother? It’s late. It’s not like anyone can see.” Stepping over our discarded clothes, I note his socks are purple and covered in happy faces and that his boxers have the same pattern. I must’ve been pretty preoccupied with getting inside his pants to have missed that earlier.

  I follow him to the deck, checking to make sure we’re the only ones taking a midnight swim, or whatever time it is. The water is like glass, the night quiet. Millions of stars flicker in the black sky. The moon is massive, a gorgeous pale disc reflected across the w
ater.

  Lex descends and dives in, seamless and smooth, hardly making a splash as water ripples out, lapping softly against the deck. He surfaces, running his hand through his dark hair. “You coming?”

  The last time I went skinny-dipping was my first year of college. I’d been with Ruby, and some guy I was seeing at the time and his friend. My hope had been to set them up, but he turned out to be a dud, in all departments.

  Lex treads water as I make my way carefully down the steps. Now that I’m not having multiple orgasms, and the endorphins are settling, my toe has started to throb. Maybe the water will make it feel better. “Is it cold?”

  “We’re on a tropical island, Amalie. It’s beautiful.”

  I dip a toe—one on the foot I didn’t hurt. It’s tepid, like a cooling bath. Perfectly refreshing. My plan is to sit on the edge and ease into the water, but Lex has other ideas. He shoots up out of the water, grabs me around the knees and pulls me in with a shriek that echoes across the empty, silent water.

  “Shh. You’re going to wake everyone up and then they’ll know you’re naked,” he murmurs in my ear with a laugh.

  I push on his chest in an attempt to get free, but he has me by the waist. It’s barely deep enough for me to tread water. If I stretch, my toes touch the sandy bottom. I stop fighting, because his body is warm against mine, and drape my arms over his shoulders. Clasping my hands behind his neck, I lift my chin and take in the stars. The Milky Way is a thick band of cloudy shimmer streaking across the night sky.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I whisper, truly appreciating it for the first time since I arrived here. Although, hot sex has a way of making even the most dreary of environments seem pretty awesome.

  “Stunning really,” Lex whispers.

  I drop my gaze to find he’s not looking at the stars, but at me. “I’m sure my post-sex hair is amazing right now.”

  “You look like you belong in an eighties hair band video.” Lex kisses me on the chin, then releases me from his protective hold. Flipping over onto his back, he spreads his arms. “It’s too bad we have to fly halfway across the world for an experience like this.”