by Penny Wylder
As if sensing my need, he stands up, pulling my body down to the edge of the bed, my ass hanging halfway off. He says nothing, but his eyes, they speak volumes. There’s a promise there, a heat so intense I feel it scalding me from the inside out.
“Tell me you want me to fuck you,” he demands, suddenly. His nostrils flaring, the muscles on his stomach and chest flexing. His fingers dig into my thighs painfully as he leans forward, rubbing the head of his swollen cock against my wet folds.
I moan. It feels so good, his hot length pressed against me.
“Fuck me, Heath. I need you,” I say breathlessly. I’m finding it hard to breathe again. Every little thrust of his hips brings the head of his cock against my tender clit, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body. I feel myself dripping, my pussy juices running down the seam of my ass.
I’ve never been this wet in my life.
“Beg me,” he growls. His thrusts become swifter, his hips jerking into mine, every brush against the nerve bundle causing my breath to hitch. Could I come again like this?
Fuck yeah I could.
“Please, please, please,” I beg, a mantra. His teasing is never ending. He pushes my legs farther apart, exposing me further. When his eyes turn slumberous I melt into the bed. Damn, he’s gorgeous. The sexiest man to ever touch me. Never have I felt this way.
He pulls back, only to rest the head of his cock at my entrance. I clench reflexively.
“You like that, don’t you?” He purrs, sliding the head of his incredible cock around my wet entrance. I can’t stand it, he’s so close, I just need him to ram it hard inside. I feel empty, I need it so bad.
I raise my hips, trying to force him inside me. He laughs, taking one of his hands and pushing me down, holding me in place.
“Don’t make me tie you up,” he says.
I hiss out a breath, the sudden image so appealing I go blind for a second. I feel him shift from the bed, reaching down, and then I hear the tear of a condom wrapper, and his intake of breath as he rolls the condom down his cock. Finally, he rears back and rams his length so far inside me I flinch.
He’s so big, too big, he’s tearing me in two. I whimper, wiggling my hips, wanting to push away, yet wanting him closer at the same time. He’s got me so tied up in knots I don’t know what I want anymore.
He stills above me, his breathing suddenly harsh. The lines of his face sharpen, become more intense. He’s looking at me again in that way that he does, the way that makes me feel like I am the only woman in the world to him.
It does something funny to my stomach, squeezes my insides.
I lose that train of thought as he starts to move, slowly. He pulls out, moaning softly, before ramming back inside. He’s so big I can feel him pressing against my cervix, and it feels so good.
So. Fucking. Good.
His head hangs low, his eyes leaving mine as his body takes over. Again and again he slowly pulls out, only to ram his shaft to the base, deep inside me. Pressure builds, goose bumps of pleasure scatter across my body.
I can’t take it. I need him to go faster, I need … so much need.
“Faster, harder, fuck,” I say, garbled. He complies, no longer teasing. He grabs my ass and lifts me, changing the angle, going deeper. I cry out, his groan mimicking mine. Something snaps and he throws his head back, his movements becoming frenzied.
He punches into me, drilling faster and faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing around us.
“So damn tight,” he moans, his fingers digging in to the flesh of my ass. I squeeze around his cock and surprise registers as it swells further. I can tell he’s close, his breathing is ragged, his hips ramming into mine with uncontrollable force.
I couldn’t stop the orgasm if I tried. I rear up and he grabs me, instinctively wrapping me in his arms, pulling my chest to his. My breasts press against him and I come apart in his arms, his dick so far up inside me I’m seeing stars.
The walls of my slick sheath squeeze him tight and he curses, his body going still as he comes forcefully. We stay like that for a few moments, our chests heaving in unison, my body trembling against his, sated.
He turns his head, finally, and kisses the corner of my mouth, his cock still hard inside me. He twitches, once, pushing inside me with a low groan.
“So, fucking, good.” He enunciates each word with a little thrust. I whimper, my tender flesh responding immediately.
4
I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up the next morning. A new storm had moved in overnight and the clouds block the sun, but it’s getting lighter. I look at my phone sitting on the nightstand. It’s 7 A.M.
My sleepy mind is instantly awake and I lurch into action. I’m going to be late for work. I still have to get a gift for my boss and take a shower.
Heath stirs. I’ve woken him with my frantic movements. “Hey, where are you going?” he asks, his voice slurred with sleep, expression groggy. His hair is messy, flat on one side where he’d slept on it. It’s adorable.
“I have to go to work,” I say, frantically scurrying to pick up all my discarded clothing items.
“No time for breakfast?” he asks.
I don’t recall ever having breakfast with my other one-night-stands, but I would with him. If I could. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that.
“No, I’m sorry.”
I can only imagine what this looks like from his point of view. It’s as if I can’t get away fast enough. But there’s simply no time to think about his feelings right now—though a guy like him probably isn’t too worried about it. Maybe he’s even relieved. Goodbyes with one night stands are awkward enough without someone lingering behind when all you want to do is get on with your day.
That’s not how I feel with Heath, though. Oddly enough, I feel comfortable around him. He has a way of putting me at ease. I would love to see him again, have a repeat of last night. Of course, I’m not going to ask. If he rejects me, everything we did will be tainted and I want to be able to look back on this memory with fondness.
“Uh, thanks for last night,” I say, a bit self-consciously. What do you say to someone after a night like that?
I finish pulling on my boots and start to leave. I get to the door, my hand reaching for the handle when he says, “What, no kiss goodbye?” He sounds offended, which I wasn’t expecting. Normally guys just give a wave and roll over and go back to sleep.
“Oh, sorry.” I go back to the bed. My layers of clothes make swishing sounds in the silent room.
Leaning over the bed, I give him a quick peck on the lips. I know if I stay too long, a kiss might just well end up with me back in the bed. As much as I want to, I can’t do that. I have to go.
Each step I take as I leave the hotel and head out toward the street is agony. It feels like I just ran a marathon and had been beaten with wooden dowels along the way. I think I used muscles last night that I didn’t know I had. I smile to myself. Now this is what sex should feel like after. I would take this kind of rigorous workout over a day at the gym anytime.
I’m thinking about my night with Heath as I finally hail a cab and journey across town to the only clothing store that’s open this early in the morning. Surprisingly, when I think about everything that happened, I’m not actually thinking about the sex—which was AMAZING. Instead, I’m thinking about that smile of his that veers off to the side just the slightest. It makes him look like he’s up to something even when he’s not. And the sound of his laugh, a deep sound he makes with his belly. It was the most genuine sound I’d heard in a long time. Of course I think about those eyes too. Not just their stunning color and the way they stand out against his tan skin. It’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only girl in the world when I’m with him. It’s like no one else matters. It’s just the two of us and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. I know that’s not true, but when I’m with him, I can’t help but feel that way.
I’m swooning all over again by the time I get back to my apar
tment. How can I already miss someone I’ve just met and don’t even really know? He’s probably some supreme narcissist in his daily life and I’m lucky to have dodged a bullet in knowing him. I have to keep telling myself that to avoid this annoying ache in my chest. I am not that girl who gets attached to one night stands. I refuse to be her.
Once I’ve had my shower and wrap the gift for my boss, I head to work for a grueling eight hours. I’m putting the box in my locker when Stephanie walks in.
“You’ve been MIA lately,” she says, leaning against the locker beside me. I can feel her studying me while I try hard to get rid of the lingering smile stuck to my face.
“I’ve had a lot going on,” I say.
“Where were you last night? I stopped by your apartment to find out what happened with all that O-Maker business since you stopped answering my texts.”
Guilt sits heavy on my shoulders. Normally I tell Stephanie everything, but it didn’t even cross my mind to check my text messages or get ahold of her to tell her what happened. Heath had taken up all the space in my head.
When I turn toward her she frowns. “Why do you look like that?”
I’m trying so hard not to smile. “Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to hold in the sun.”
My smile breaks open, stretching my cheeks, and exposing my teeth.
“Oh my god,” she says. “You met him, didn’t you?”
“Not on purpose,” I admit.
Her eyes hatch open. “Holy. Shit. Tell me everything.”
Our cubicles are next to each other, the partition wall between us low enough so we can see each other. My cubicle is neat and tidy, while Stephanie’s side looks like a rainbow troll exploded with neon sticky notes stuck to everything and all the pens with fuzz balls and dangly bits on the lids.
I tell her about the coffee shop and the barista writing No-O on my coffee cup and finding out there’s a hashtag about it with my photo attached and everything. Then I tell her about the incident on the train and how Heath saved me. Our time in the dressing room and getting caught by the girl who worked there. And then the kiss that followed that felt so much more than just a kiss. Finally, I tell her about getting a room and the fancy hotel and all the magic that happened after, sparing no detail. By the time I’m done Stephanie’s mouth is hanging open and a bead of sweat rolls down the side of her temple.
“Jesus,” she says. “You just lived every fantasy I’ve ever had.” Then she looks at me skeptically. “So he just happened to be on the very same train you were on, in the very same car?”
“He was on his way into town to go shopping,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “In Brettsville? What did he buy?”
“Nothing. He told me he was here to shop, but I think he came to town to see a different girl.”
She takes a bite of something that had been sitting on her desk, but since we both just got to work I’m wondering how long it had been sitting there. “What makes you think that?” she says with her mouth full.
“Why else would he be here? Obviously not for the stores. Shopping is way better in San Pedro County where he lives.”
Stephanie wipes the crumbs off her shirt and turns her computer on, pretending to work. I do the same just in case our boss walks by. “So he came to town to see another girl but ended up spending time with you instead?” she says.
It does seem odd, but she might’ve stood him up or something, or maybe her plans changed and I ended up being a convenient plan B. Except I don’t remember him ever checking his phone other than to look on Twitter. I was with him the whole time. He didn’t even slip away to use the bathroom except after we had sex, and even then he left his phone next to mine on the nightstand.
“If you have a theory, I’d love to hear it,” I say.
“I got nothing. It’s a strange coincidence.” Her eyes grow wide. “Or maybe it’s fate. Maybe the two of you are soul mates and it’s the universe pushing you together.”
I roll my eyes. Stephanie always tends to venture into new age ideology. Every time she has anything in common with a new guy she blames it on fate, and look how those turned out. But I have to admit, the thought of Heath and me being made for each other is quite appealing. His is a face I wouldn’t mind looking at every day for the rest of my life. Unfortunately, I don’t share her same belief system. Everybody takes the train. It’s the fastest and cheapest way to get from one town to the next and not have to worry about traffic jams, rush hours, and ice on the road. It’s possible we’ve ridden in the same train car many times and it was only because of our conversation on Twitter that our crossing paths were finally revealed. Though I doubt I would forget a face like his. When I’m on the train, I keep my head down and try to get from point A to point B without anything weird happening like most people onboard. So it’s very possible I might’ve missed him before.
“Are you going to see him again?” she asks.
My shoulders wilt and there’s a tinge of sadness in my stomach that feels almost like a hunger pang. I want to see him again, of course, but chances are it won’t happen.
“I doubt it,” I say.
She doesn’t press me about it or try to convince me to try and talk to him again. We both know how one night stands work. No one wants to be that annoying person who lingers longer than they should.
I’m thankful when she drops the subject. We don’t talk about it again. We don’t talk about anything actually. It might be the most productive day at work that we’ve ever had.
5
That night after work I put on my flannel pajamas and throw my hair up into a messy bun. It’s not like I have anywhere to be on a Sunday night. Brettsville doesn’t have much in the way of nightlife anyway. Just one club and a couple of dive bars.
Stephanie and I went to the club once. The music was terrible and the people were worse. There was a fight that ended up with some prissy blonde’s weave being yanked off and the cops being called. After the cops arrived and started checking I.D.s, several minors were busted with fake licenses. The place was shut down a week later. That was six months ago and it only re-opened last week. Chances are, if I felt like going out, it would be packed. I’m not really in the mood to go wait in line during a near blizzard in the freezing cold wind. Once we finally made it inside, then we would have to wait even longer for a drink.
Why bother with all that drama and suffer through hours of tedious top forty remixes when I have a comfy bed and an iPod full of music I actually want to listen to here? I don’t have any alcohol, but that’s probably a good thing. I shouldn’t be drinking alone right now. It’s an especially bad idea when I can’t get Heath out of my mind. I know myself well enough that after a few drinks, the thought of trying to contact him would sound like a great idea.
Nope. I’m sticking to coffee.
Stephanie is on Instant Messenger. We talk about the upcoming Christmas party and what we’re going to wear; who she can take home after and not hate herself the next morning for it. The best she can come up with is the night janitor. He’s not too old, not married, and has a ton of prison tattoos. Right up her alley.
After an internal war about whether or not I should go on Twitter, I decide to just do it. It’s far too tempting to look on Heath’s feed and find out what he’s up to. I decide I might as well. What can it hurt?
But first I check on the No-O hashtag, see how that hot mess is holding up. Once I click on it I see that all the traffic has started to fizzle down and was slowly making its way down the trending list. That was until someone decided to breathe new life into the subject. There’s one tweet in particular that seems to be getting a lot of attention:
#O-Maker has healed the #No-O with his magic wand and everyone lived happily ever after.
My stomach sits in my throat. The tweet has six thousand shares and hundreds of replies. Heath and I are both tagged in it.
It’s followed up shortly by another tweet: The end. Now get over it and move on, p
eople
The person tweeting is none other than my best friend Stephanie. I’d be pissed if I weren’t so amused. There’s something liberating about everyone knowing that I was with Heath. I’m actually kind of proud of that fact. I would never announce it to the world, though. And if Stephanie would’ve told me she was planning on doing it, I would’ve made sure she didn’t. Which is obviously why she didn’t tell me in the first place.
Then a horrifying thought hits me, and instead of keeping it to myself, I message Stephanie.
Me: Why the hell did you post that? Heath was tagged by other people in that post. He’ll see it and know I told you about having sex with him last night.
Takes her only a few seconds to respond.
Stephanie: Who cares? Men love it when women talk them up to their friends. Roll with it, baby.
The only things rolling are my eyes. I can’t believe she did this—actually, who am I kidding? I can totally believe she did this.
I look through all the comments, and all the tags. Most of them are people saying congratulations. I put my hands over my face, wondering what Heath will think when he sees it. I should’ve left Twitter alone. Too late now.
And since I’m already here, I might as well check out Heath’s feed while I’m at it, right? It doesn’t take much convincing myself that, yes, it’s a good idea. I click on his name because I have no self-control. He’s posted several things since I left him this morning.
The first is: I’m on cloud 9.
Seeing those words, my heart hammers into action. He doesn’t say why he’s on cloud 9, but there are several replies asking him why. He hasn’t responded to any of them. I look at the time when he wrote it. 7:15 this morning. Right after I left the hotel room. Is this tweet about me?