The Last Guy

by Ilsa Madden-Mills

  “We really shouldn’t do this . . .” My voice is breathless.

  “Agreed.”

  He strides toward the bed, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s focused, determined, and I watch as he unfastens his belt, the top of his jeans, his zipper.

  “This is a terrible idea.”

  “Yes,” he murmurs, cupping my face. I sigh and lean into his palm, letting the sizzle between us electrify me. If I do this . . . if I go through with boning him . . . it’s going to be the best sex of my life, judging by the tiny raised hairs all over my body.

  I scoot to the foot of the bed so I’m right in front of him and my head is level with his waist. Looking up, I slide my palms to his sides, pushing his jeans lower. He’s standing in front of me in black boxer briefs. I slide my palms up and down against the hot planes of his pelvis, teasing him, tracing my fingers around the straining bulge of his erection. “We’re gonna regret this.”

  A long shudder comes from him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded as he watches me. “I don’t think so, Stone. Not in a million fucking years.” He leans down and his lips capture mine, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth, exploring, owning me.

  Using my fingernails, I catch the edge of his briefs, and drag them down his thighs. His incredible cock springs free, a drop of precum on the tip. I curl my fingers around his thick shaft, smoothing my thumb over it.

  Breath hisses through his teeth, and his large hands move to my face, fingers curling into the sides of my hair. He wants me to suck him off, but I’ve found building up the anticipation is such sweet torture. I blink up at him as I trace my fingernails along his inner thighs to his sack, lightly scratching him.

  “Jesus.” His brow lowers, eyes burning with desire when I finally flick my tongue out and around the tip of his penis.

  “Fuck, yeah,” his voice breaks, as I fist him, pumping his shaft as I suck at the tip.

  Leaning back, I pick up the moisture with my hand and work him faster as I take him in my mouth again, pulling him farther to the back of my throat. Our eyes meet, and I can see he’s on the edge. I feel his hips moving, picking up the pace. His lids are lowered, eyes glazed, and I’m sure he’s about to shoot down my throat when he stops me.

  Holding my cheeks, he moves me back. His dick pops out of my mouth and bobs at me as he leans forward, moving me onto my back.

  “I want inside that sweet pussy,” he growls, reaching down for my thighs and pushing my legs up and open. He blinks down and moves back, dropping to his knees and sliding his tongue from my center to my clit.

  “Cade! Oh . . . oh . . .” My hips jump, and I’m gasping and chanting as his tongue follows a fast figure eight over and over my clit. That luscious beard scruffs and teases my inner thighs, and I’m winding tighter with every pass. I’m so close to coming. “Oh, yes . . . oh, yes!”

  He leans back, and a cool breeze drifts over us before he plunges into me with one swift drive.

  He’s thrusting fast and hard, bigger than any guy I’ve ever slept with, and it’s a deliciously erotic stretch I’ve never felt before. He’s hovering over me, and I hear his breathing. I see the bead of sweat glistening on his cheek, and I want to lick his entire body. Instead, I gently push his shoulder.

  Our eyes meet in a flash, and it only takes him a moment to understand. My legs go tight around his waist, and he cups my ass, rolling us over so I can be on top. He’s lying back on the bed, and I’m sitting straight up, brazen in the moonlight. My knees are on the mattress, and I start to rotate my hips, circling like a hula dancer.

  I’m on my knees grinding my clit against his body with every rotation, faster and faster. My eyes flutter shut, and my entire focus is on the orgasm building in my core.

  Cade thrusts up, and I throw my head back as the pressure explodes in my belly. My pelvis clenches into a burning, tight ball, and I call out, my voice breathy and broken.

  Imaginary metallic glitter falls all around us as my body shakes and clenches through a mind-erasing orgasm. Cade’s large hands grasp mine, our fingers clasped as I ride it out.

  It feels so good, it’s almost painful. I never want it to end, but just as fast, Cade snatches his hands out of mine.

  “Oh, fuck!” He scoops me by the ass up and off his dick, resting me back on his thighs.

  I’m still shaking, and I reach down to rub my clit as he pumps his cock with his fist, groaning and bucking his hips as he comes, the thick white liquid landing on his stomach and my thighs. Another shimmer of orgasm moves down my legs, and I reach forward to cover his hand with mine, moving slower as his orgasm tapers.

  Our eyes lock. We’re facing each other in the moonlight, panting hard, covered in sweat. I’ve never felt more satisfied. Cade is gorgeous in my bed. The muscles across his stomach flex, forming a six-pack as he sits up, facing me where I’m straddling him.

  Holy shit.

  “I didn’t have a condom,” he says apologetically. “I wasn’t sure if you were on the pill.”

  “I am,” I sigh, with a smile, resting my forearms on his shoulders.

  “Still, I figured it wasn’t polite to come inside without a condom.” He turns his face and kisses my arm. “I mean, without the proper conversations and paperwork.”

  “You’re very considerate,” I tease. “I think we violated all safe sex standards when I put your dick in my mouth.”

  “Fuck, that was a stellar blow job. I almost shot right down your beautiful throat.”

  My lips curl in a smile. I even chuckle. “It’s the foreplay, the teasing . . .”

  “You’re so tight. You felt like a virgin on my dick.” He moves his lips to my jaw, kissing the side of my neck.

  I lean my head to the side. “You make a habit of fucking virgins?”

  “Mm.” He runs his mouth up behind my ear, and tingles flow through my insides. “We all have our first.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” My eyes start to close. My nipples are taut and tingling, and I want him to suck them. I want him to make me come again, but for now, we’re both covered in the product of our last orgasms.

  “We should shower,” I say, and his head rises.

  Strong arms wrap around my waist and he lifts me, sliding us to the edge of the bed. Once again, he’s carrying me, my legs around his hips.

  “Tell me the way.” He grins, and my soft tits press against his rock-hard chest.

  We both smell like faded cologne, sweat, and sex mixed with the faint lavender scent Chas likes to spray around the house.

  “To the front, opposite hall.”

  He’s walking quickly through the dim apartment, following my directions.

  “That thing you did with your hips—”

  “It’s a shimmy—”

  “Blew my mind.”

  “We can do it again.” Resting my forehead against his shoulder. I feel light and buzzy. “I used to take a belly dancing fitness class.”

  “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  We’re in the bathroom, and I push back, lowering my legs to stand. Facing the shower, I lean forward to turn on the water and test the temperature. I feel the heat of Cade at my back, and I’m suddenly aware my ass is pointed right at him.

  “Oh!” I moan as his long fingers slide between my thighs, cupping my pussy, testing inside.

  “You’re still wet,” he groans.

  “Yes . . .” My back arches slightly, and I hear him make another low noise just above the hiss of the water.

  He slides his fingers forward and over my clit, circling that sensitive little bud faster and sending waves of heat through my lower stomach and thighs. Closing my eyes, I press my palms against the wall of the shower, and I feel the shifting at my backside.

  His hand moves to my hip, and he’s pressing his cock at my entrance again. I buck against him, wanting him inside me, and without hesitation, he sinks, balls-deep into my throbbing core.

  “Fuck!” he shouts, gripping my hips hard with both hands.

  I use the
wall for balance, and he jerks my ass hard against his pelvis, hammering fast and deep into my core. I don’t want him to pull out this time. I want us to ride this building orgasm all the way to the end.

  His hand snakes around the front of my thigh to find my clit. My legs spread wider so he can rub me off as he pounds into me from behind.

  “Oh, yes . . .” I’m whimpering and bucking, rising on my tiptoes with every hit.

  He’s still moving, still massaging, and I’m so close to the edge. Every muscle in my core tightens, draws up, ready to burst. His palm slides over the skin of my ass, and without warning, he gives me a firm SMACK! It’s like the strike of a match to my insides.

  “OH!” I cry, as my orgasm explodes through my stomach.

  My knees buckle, but he catches me, pulling me back up, continuing to pump his cock in my spasming pussy.

  “Fuck, yeah!” He shouts, and I feel his orgasm start.

  I’m flush against his body, and we’re matching each other pulse for pulse. My eyes are squeezed shut, and I’m not sure I can move at this point. I’m wondering if these electric waves of pleasure will ever subside. I hope they don’t.

  Warm arms wrap around my chest, lifting me so that my back is against his torso. I’m firm against his body, and his mouth is right at my shoulder, kissing my skin, moving into my ear. “So good,” he murmurs.

  He’s smiling, and I’m flush with heat. We enter the shower, allowing the spray to cover our bodies. I reach for the cloth and pour the lavender-scented body wash on it. Without a word, I smooth the foam over me then turn and smooth it over his pecs. Making my way down the hard ripples of his abs, I allow him to take it before I rinse.

  My body feels boneless and deliciously satisfied . . . and utterly exhausted. I step out of the warm spray, lift my towel off the rack, and wrap it around me. Reaching in the narrow cabinet, I pull one out for him. He takes it, and we exchange a smile. Leading us to my moonlit room, everything feels soft and lofty as I drop my towel and push through the sheets, resting my cheek on my pillow.

  I’m drifting on a cloud, floating in space when pressure on the other side of the bed tells me Cade is here. He slides closer and pulls my head onto his chest, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. It’s delicious.

  “Remember that Beatles song ‘The End’?” I ask from my fluffy pink cloud.

  “Um-hm.” The vibration of his voice tickles my ear.

  “Do you think they meant you should make more love so there’s more for you to take? Or you should take more love so there’s more to make?”

  “Mm.”

  I lift my head and see his eyes are closed. Pushing against his side, I repeat the question. “Make more love or take more love? Positive or negative?”

  He exhales heavily and rolls toward me. In the process, he turns me so my back is to his chest. “I’ll fuck you again,” he says through a thick layer of sleep. “Just give me a minute.”

  “No, that’s not what I . . .” His breathing is more rhythmic, and I hear a slight snore. I let it go.

  I’m exhausted, and everything is warm and cozy—yet I can’t fall asleep. Marv’s words today keep repeating in my brain. He wants me to give up my dream. The idea makes me sick, every molecule inside rebelling at the thought. Houston is where I started . . . it’s where I’ve built my reputation. It’s my home now. How many people get to build their dreams at home? Not very many, that’s how many.

  Cade’s arm tightens around my middle, and I decide the answer is taking.

  Maybe I should take more love and ask questions later.

  I’m not sure.

  I need to think about it more . . .

  I’m curled up like a kitten, still in my pink, gauzy heaven where pastel-rainbow mermaids swim in glittery lavender seas. Rainbows drift in hazy beams all around me, and I’m just about to eat a sparkly cupcake when a loud, nonstop BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! Shatters everything—including my head.

  I sit up quickly to stop the horrifying noise, when, “OH!” I moan.

  I’ve just been hit with an invisible sledgehammer, and my skull has shattered into a million pieces. The sun is blasting through the window like a prison interrogation lamp, and I slap the clock across the room and cower into my pillows, pulling the blankets tight around my head.

  “Oh, God,” I whimper, tears of pain wetting my eyes. “I’ll never drink again . . . Never never never! I promise this time! Please, please just let me die now. Please put an end to this suffering!”

  A groaning sound comes from my left, and my insides freeze. Unexpected warmth is near my leg, and I carefully, cautiously slide my foot to the side until it encounters . . .

  “What!” I sit straight up.

  The blankets are tight around my head and over my ears, as I turn carefully to see . . .

  My brain scrambles.

  Cade Hill is in my bed! Cade Hill is lying on his side, eyes closed, and . . . my eyes drift down . . . completely naked!

  Oh, shit! Oh, shit! It wasn’t a dream!

  I move again, and I feel deep in my core the ache of every time we had sex last night. I remember our first glorious time before we got in bed, then our second mind-altering time in the shower . . . and then somewhere in the early morning hours, it seems like my ass got too close to his erection, and he instinctively grabbed my hips, sinking that enormous cock deep into my pussy and pounding out a quickie. My whole body flushes with heat.

  That erotic flashback is quickly replaced with panic. “No . . . no . . . no!” I whisper, scooting away to the opposite side of the mattress.

  What have I done?

  Why did I do those shots? Dammit!

  As gently as possible, I slide out and crawl to the towel lying on the floor where I dropped it last night. Scooping it up, I wrap it around my naked body and scurry out of the room, across the hall to Chas’s closet where I can borrow a robe.

  Hanger after hanger, it’s all satin and feathers and rainbow colors. A low groan of pain from my bedroom causes me to grab the next one I touch. It’s black with white feathers all around the collar and cuffs. I’ve got to triage this crisis . . .

  I take a deep breath and go to the door, pulling it open to find Cade standing in the hall in his jeans and shirt. It’s unbuttoned, and his lined torso is on full, glorious display. His dark brown hair is a sexy mess, and his blue eyes go wide when he sees me.

  “Jesus! What is this place?” Just as fast he groans, reaching up to rub his forehead. “Fucking shots.”

  “You’re . . . at my apartment.” Nice. He doesn’t remember a thing. Maybe I can work with this.

  “You wear that around your apartment?”

  Looking down, I pull the feathery lapels closer. “I-I needed something to wear. It’s my roommate’s.”

  “Right.” He nods. “Sasha Fierce.”

  “Chas-say McQueen.”

  “I gotta go.”

  He’s across the room faster than I expected he’d move. Maybe his hangover isn’t as uproarious as mine? I haven’t budged, and he’s scooped up his shoes, hand on the doorknob when he pauses.

  “Uh . . . about last night. I—”

  “You don’t have to say a thing.” I hold up both hands like he’s got a gun on me. “Shots. Lots of shots. Big mistake. Huge. What happens in the apartment stays in the apartment.”

  Something passes across his face I don’t understand. Confusion? Disappointment? Regret? His forehead creases as he studies me, then he nods, a short, brusque nod.

  “I’ll see you at work.”

  With that he’s out the door, and I collapse on the spot with a moan. “Oh, God! Now I really do need to die.”

  Rebecca

  VICKY IS WAITING for me when I arrive at the station at three. I’m usually in by nine, but I was vomiting in my toilet at nine.

  “I spent the whole night thinking about this,” she says, following me as I walk.

  I’m in the newsroom with my sunglasses still on. I’ve managed my headache with several ibup
rofen, but the harsh fluorescent lighting isn’t doing my puffy eyes any favors—another mark against me in Marv’s book.

  I nod.

  “Marv is a spineless bastard. He should have fought for you,” she continues. “But . . . if you’re weekend executive producer, just think of the power we could have . . . over story selection, guest interviews—”

  “I’m not interested in production. My contract as a reporter isn’t up until December thirty-first.”

  “It’s late September.” She’s looking at me with those clear blue eyes. “Just think about it,” she says, before striding down the hall.

  She has a point. If we want to make a change in the priorities of this city, one of the best ways to do it is take over the highest rated news station in town. Still, I thought I’d be doing it from behind the anchor desk.

  Glancing down at my tight skirt, I think about how I should have gotten up and gone for a jog this morning. The mild nausea is back at the very thought. Exhaling a sigh, I start up the hall when Cade emerges from his office, and our eyes meet. Lightning strikes my already clenched stomach, and I take a step back. His perfect lips tighten into a thin line, and his eyes dart away as he heads into Marv’s office.

  Oh, God . . . I force myself to start breathing again. Going to my desk, I shake my mouse to wake my computer. The screen pops up, and I look over my schedule for the day. Continued coverage of Planetary Princess . . . No, I shake my head. I just can’t.

  Snatching up my phone, I punch Vicky’s number. She answers on the first ring.

  “You’ve come to your senses?” I can tell by her tone she’s annoyed with me.

  “I think I’ve got a stomach bug.” It’s true. I’m a coward. “I’ve got to go home. Savannah can take day two of Planetary Princess.”

  “Savannah’s covering the wastewater treatment plant.”

  “She’ll owe me one.”

  I hang up, thinking about the perky twelve-year-old reporter Marv hired over the summer. Okay, she’s twenty-three. Still, Vicky’s been giving her shit stories (literally) in the name of “paying her dues.” The truth is I’m the one getting shat on. With her size zero waist and perky little breasts, Savannah will be in the weekly anchor’s chair, the very top spot next to Cade, by year’s end. Another jolt of nausea wrecks my beleaguered stomach, and I make a straight line to the door.