After Hours

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Marcelo

  The sight of her, splayed out the way she was…it was almost more than I could take. Behind my partially undone pants, my cock jumped. As she flipped to face me, then hopped up on the counter, breasts bouncing, it practically sang a fucking song. When she crooked a finger, it added a tango.

  “Come here,” she ordered in a pert voice.

  There was no sense in pretending I wasn’t going to obey. My brain wasn’t calling the shots anymore, and my little head had never been so utterly smitten.

  And she hasn’t even really touched you yet. When she does…

  I dropped a string of muttered curses that made Aysia smile, then I stepped to the counter and put my hands on her knees.

  “Wait,” she commanded.

  I dropped my hands to my sides. Her own fingers came up to my chest, where they traced a lazy pattern before they lifted to push off my shirt entirely. The seven-hundred-dollar, custom-fitted Hugo Boss dropped to the floor. I didn’t care. I even gave it a little kick.

  Next, her hands found my zipper. Then lowered it. Slowly, her eyes on mine, and a that sexy little smile hanging on her lips.

  I wanted to tell her to hurry, to tell her I was dying a slow, painful death from all her teasing. Instead, I made myself say, “Take your time, honey.”

  Like she could read straight through my lie, she laughed, then slid her fingers into my pants, under my boxer briefs, then closed around my cock. I groaned. Her grip was perfection, her skin impossibly soft and incredibly warm. She gave a light squeeze and a little tug, and I swore again.

  She slid forward to speak near my ear. “You’ve got a filthy mouth.”

  I leaned back to drag my eyes over her lips. “And you’ve got a fuck-able one.”

  She paused in her attentions and raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes, but…don’t stop.”

  She let out another little laugh. “You sound confused.”

  “I’m not confused. I’m varied. My list of likes is just as long as yours.”

  “Hmm. So you’d like me to keep doing this?” She stroked me hard and fast for a second, then slowed again.

  “Yes.”

  “But you’d also like me to do this?” She gave me a gentle push back, jumped down, and dropped to the floor.

  As her tongue darted out to trace the smooth, sensitive tip of my erection, I couldn’t even muster up a single syllable affirmation. If I’d thought her hand was warm and soft…it had nothing on her mouth. When she opened it to draw me in, I thrust forward involuntarily. I would never have thought the word fuck-able could be an understatement. In this case, it was. Her lips were heaven. Her tongue was an angel.

  I used what little strength I had left to open my eyes and look down. The sight of her, sucking on me with firm assurance, was almost enough to send me over the edge. It wasn’t submission. It wasn’t a feeling of power. God knew I wasn’t in control at the moment. It was something else. Awe. Appreciation. This beautiful, capable woman was on her knees for me. Not because she had to be, not because I asked her to, but because it was where she wanted to be. There wasn’t a hotter fucking thought on the planet.

  Well. Maybe one.

  “Aysia,” I groaned.

  She paused, her mouth still halfway up my cock, then lifted her eyes. Her ultra-blue, willing-to-please gaze landed on me expectantly.

  “I have another like,” I said.

  She gave me a quick, torturous suck, then released me and let me pull her to her feet. Her sweet curves pressed against my body, sending jolts of lust across every inch of me. As her firm nipples rubbed my chest and my erection brushed her thigh, a sharp breath whipped through me. Christ was she sexy. If I’d ever been this turned on by a woman before, I couldn’t remember it.

  “Marc?”

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “Are you going to tell me what that like is?” she asked teasingly.

  “Fuck, no,” I said. “I’m going to show you.”

  I grabbed her by the hips and lifted her from the ground, groaning yet again as her legs came up to wrap around my hips. Her little black panties were nothing and everything at the same time. A scant piece of fabric that I wanted to destroy. That I would destroy.

  “Bedroom,” I commanded.

  “Through the living room, up the stairs to the little balcony, then through the French doors.”

  Hell. Even her directions were a turn on. I didn’t waste any time following them.

  “Living room,” I growled, loving the way her ass bounced against me as I strode through the apartment

  “Stairs.” I took the first four in two steps and the next three in one, making her slam against me even harder.

  “Door.” I pushed it open with my foot, and carried her in, then straight to the crimson sheets of her king-sized bed.

  “Bed,” she said, a delighted grin curling up her still-fuck-able mouth.

  “Thank God for that.”

  Still holding her tightly, I bent down and lay her back on the object in question. I dragged my mouth down her face to her throat, then to her chest. I gave each nipple a tiny lick, then kissed her just above her belly button before standing up to shake off my already undone pants. They fell to the floor with a nearly inaudible thump. I stood in front of her for a long second, enjoying the way her eyes played over me with undisguised want. When she reached for her panties, though, I stepped forward to stop her.

  She made a funny face—midway between a pout and a surprised blink—and said, “No?”

  “Let me.”

  Her hands dropped obediently to her sides. I kneeled on the edge of the bed and gripped the delicate fabric. Then I ripped. She gasped as they tore, then gasped again as I threw them aside and pushed her thighs wide so I could drop my mouth to her again. She was wet and swollen, and tasted as good as she had in the alley. Better, maybe. I ran my tongue up once, then twice, then pushed my body up and held myself over her, appreciating the way her chest rose and fell under me.

  “Please tell me you have a condom,” I said, my voice thick with need.

  “In the drawer beside the bathroom sink.” Her reply was throaty and desperate.

  “Thank fucking God.”

  I pushed up and moved to the door at the edge of the room. I was oblivious to what my surroundings looked like. The cabinet might’ve been wood or white or made of bubble wrap. I didn’t care. I had one goal, and I couldn’t be bothered with noticing whether there was rose-scented soap on the counter or matching towels on the rack. I slid open the drawer and tossed aside a dozen other objects before my hands finally found the box.

  Unopened.

  It was stupid. Egotistical. Overly protective of my momentary woman. But I was pleased as all hell that we were using a fresh box. Glad no one else had intruded on the moment. I tore into the package with my teeth, dragged out a string of foil wrappers, then carried them back to the bedroom.

  Aysia was sprawled across the bed, her knees parted just enough to give me full view of her well-groomed landing strip. Of her soft stomach and of her full, delicious breasts.

  I stared at her for so long that she turned to her side to stare back. “What?”

  “You’re stunning,” I told her.

  A pretty blush lit up her cheeks, but she still raised a sassy eyebrow and nodded at the condoms. “And you’ve got some pretty high expectations of yourself.”

  “When you look like that…how can I be anything but?”

  The blush spread to her chest, dotting the expanse of her cleavage with a tempting red that nearly matched the sheets.

  “Are you just going to stand there all night, then?” she chided. “Or are you going to come over here and do something about it?”

  A grin tipped up my mouth. “Demanding, aren’t you?”

  “Insatiable, too.”r />
  “Hmm. I’ll take that as a challenge.”

  I ripped the first condom from the strip, tossed the others to the nightstand, then held up the package. Her eyes followed my motions, and as I tore open the foil, any hint of teasing dropped from her face. Her gaze grew hungry. The air began heating up. It felt as though an electrical current had come loose around us, zapping dangerously with each little move.

  I unrolled the latex slowly, stroking myself lightly. I watched her body react. Her nipples grew even tighter. Her breathing turned shallow. That pretty little tongue of hers came out to moisten her lips. When she lifted her eyes, her lids hung low, and there was no mistaking the desire in her gaze.

  “Marc…”

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “Save some for me.”

  I let out a chuckle, then stepped toward the bed. She came to her knees and put her hand over my shoulders. With undisguised eagerness, she tipped her head up and pushed her sweet mouth to mine, drawing me into a deep kiss. When she at last pulled away, I lifted a finger to trail it over her lower lip.

  “How come all of you tastes so good, hmm?”

  She smiled. “Genetics? Or maybe my great dentist.”

  “I’ll accept either one.”

  One of her hands moved down from my shoulders then, to trace a slow, seductive circle across my chest. Her fingers hovered for a second, then plunged farther south. They gripped my cock with just the right amount of tightness, playing overtop of the condom.

  “Let’s not waste this one,” she said into my ear.

  Then she lifted a knee and slung it across my hip. Still holding me firmly, she guided my sensitive tip into her. For a minute, we stayed that way. A torturous prelude. Then her fingers parted over her own sex, widening it for me as she thrust forward.

  “Aysia.” Her named slipped from my mouth as I sank into her about halfway.

  “Good?” she said against my throat.

  “So. Fucking. Good.”

  She pulled back, then thrust forward again, a little deeper this time. I swore. She did it one more time, and it was all I could take. With a low growl, I brought my hands to her ass and slid her down to the edge of the bed. Then I pulled up her other leg and did my own thrust. Hard. Thorough. Then again. And again. I lost myself in the feel of her. In her heat. In her firmness. I let myself go faster, watching as the speed made her eyes close and her head fall back. She was close. So was I. Not wanting to rush, I slowed just a little, but her hands came up to dig into my thighs.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t stop.”

  “I’ll come, honey. It feels too good.”

  “I know. Please, Marc.”

  I stopped holding back. I pushed into her with full force. She lifted her hips and let out a cry. Her hands fell to her sides, clutching at the sheets. As she tightened around me, saying my name over and over, I closed my own eyes and gave in to my need for release. I pulsed inside of her, reveling in the sweetness of our mutual orgasm. I stayed inside of her for as long as I dared, then at last pulled away. I did a quick disposal of the well-appreciated condom, then collapsed beside her.

  Aysia let out a soft sigh, then rolled over to tuck her soft body against mine. “That was…I don’t actually think they’ve invented a word for what that was.”

  I ran a finger down her arm. “Still insatiable?”

  “Sated,” she admitted. “For now.”

  “For now?”

  She rolled again, this time to face me. A little frown creased her otherwise smooth forehead. I reached up and smoothed it away with my thumb.

  “Was that too presumptuous?” she asked.

  “Was what too presumptuous?”

  “Thinking we might want to do that again later.” She didn’t sound embarrassed, she just sounded curious.

  “Are you worried about etiquette?” I joked.

  “I was. Until you used the word. Now I’m worried about how weird that sounds coming from you. Especially knowing what else your mouth is capable of.”

  I laughed and leaned forward to kiss her lightly. “Well. If you’re really worried about the first bit, then I think it’s safe to say that the word might isn’t quite presumptuous enough.”

  “Good.” She settled in again, tucking her face into the crook of my arm.

  For several long minutes, she stayed that way, her ass on my thigh, her hand closed comfortably on my forearm, her scent filling me. I could tell, though, that there was more she wanted to say.

  I finally decided to break the silence myself. “So…”

  “So?”

  “Is this the part where you tell me you don’t normally do this kind of thing?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I guess it is.”

  “Well then I guess this is the part where I tell you I like that you don’t normally do this kind of thing.”

  “Oh. So you’re not totally into girls who go home with random guys?”

  “I totally don’t care what girls do with random guys. I care what you do.”

  “So if I was a deviant, you’d grab your shoes and leave?”

  “No. I’d tell you I’m always impressed when a woman owns her sexuality.”

  “A lie?”

  “Nope. But I’d be secretly trying to one-up every other random guy you’d gone home with. And be feeling sorry for myself because I like to feel special.” I grinned, and she ran a finger along my collarbone.

  “Aren’t you special?” she teased.

  “My mom says I am.”

  “Ooh. I love when a random guy I’ve brought home talks about his mom.”

  I grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand up over her head. “And I love when I random woman I’ve gone home with uses the word love in the first five minutes at her house.”

  “We’ve been here at least an hour.”

  “Picky.”

  “Factual,” she corrected.

  She tipped her face up for a kiss, and I indulged. I dragged it out a bit, exploring the contours of her mouth unhurriedly. It was easier to take my time now that the intense, single-minded goal had been met. Though as I deepened the kiss even further, my cock made an instantaneous recovery.

  She broke off the kiss and lifted one of those eyebrows of hers. “Now who’s insatiable?”

  I shrugged. “Trust me. You don’t want to make it a contest.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Do you have a competitive streak?”

  “I don’t need to, I always win.”

  “Until now.”

  “Don’t think a girl can take you?”

  “I think a girl did take me.”

  She let out another of her sweet, sexy laughs. “Marc?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I want you to spend the night.”

  I liked that she told me what she wanted rather than asking what I’d prefer.

  “Happy to oblige,” I said.

  “Chivalrous.”

  “Factual,” I teased.

  Aysia smiled, then kissed me again. Her touch was soft. Gentle. It sent a nagging warmth through me—one that started in my chest and fanned down to my groin. For a second, the sensation made me pause. What the hell was that tug about? But a moment later, she slipped her hand between my legs, and the weird hint of emotion faded to the background as I reached for the remaining condoms on the night-stand.

  * * * *

  Aysia

  I kind of lost track of the number of condoms we used over the course of the night, but I was pretty sure Marc was aiming for some kind of record. Olympic, maybe? Or sex god? Were there awards for sexual prowess? Or maybe there was just some kind of personal satisfaction involved in making my thighs ache as if I’d just won a mechanical bull riding competition. But needless to say, I wasn’t overly stunned that I slept like a tranquilized
monkey. I was, however, a bit surprised to wake up to an empty bed and the sound of water running in my en suite bathroom.

  What were you thinking, Aysia? That he’d hightail it out of here as soon as your eyes closed?

  Maybe I was. Or maybe I just didn’t know what the expectation for a one-night stand should be. In my head, I imagined a torrid tussle in the sheets. Nameless. Meaningless. Instead, I had a gorgeous man— whose name had left my lips a hundred times rather noisily over the course of the night—in my shower on a Saturday morning. Possibly using my overpriced, totally organic coconut oil body wash. I narrowed my eyes, considering whether or not it would be prostitution if I demanded a fee for said use. Not that I couldn’t afford it. Just that there was something to be said for certain indulgences. Then again, if the suit he’d been wearing was any indication, he could more than afford it, too. For a second, I wondered what he did for a living. But I shoved the curiosity aside quickly. Knowing too much about him might defeat the whole purpose of a one-night stand.

  With a sigh, I freed my feet from the sheets and forced myself up into a stretch. My body really did ache. And judging by the growl in my stomach, it needed sustenance, too.

  I snagged a T-shirt from my closet, slipped into that, plus a pair of underwear, then headed through the French doors and down to the kitchen. The general state of disarray was a blush-worthy testament to our eagerness to get to the bedroom the night before. The nearly full bottle of wine sat uncorked on the counter. One empty glass lay on its side, precariously close to the edge of the counter. The other had somehow found its way to the rug under the coffee table. We’d somehow managed to knock a framed print off the wall, and Marc’s shirt was crumpled on the floor beside the breakfast bar. I didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or impressed.

  Settling on the latter, I bent down to pick up the shirt. But I froze, mid-grab, as Marc’s deep chuckle carried down from the miniature balcony above the living room.

  “I was a bit disappointed that you weren’t in bed when I got out of the shower,” he said. “But somehow this view makes up for it.”

  I straightened up and spun. But whatever smartass remark I’d planned on tossing back stuck in my throat instead. Marc stood on the edge of the stairs, one elbow resting on the loft’s railing. He wore nothing but a bright blue towel and a cocky smile. His thick hair was more than damp, and a few droplets of water made their way down his neck to his wide, well-muscled chest.