Right

by Jana Aston

  “Fair.” He nods. “Just out of curiosity, how do you see that playing out? Wedding night anal? Honeymoon anal? Or are you talking first anniversary anal?”

  I twist my lips while I think. “Wedding night anal doesn’t seem right, does it?” I scrunch my nose and tap my lip while I give this genuine reflection. “Post-honeymoon, pre-first anniversary seems like the anal sweet spot.”

  “Good to know. I’ll make a note of it.”

  “You do that.”

  The elevator stops and we exit. There are two doors on this floor and I follow Sawyer as he unlocks one of them, then pauses on the threshold.

  “Do you want me to leave so you can go through my stuff?” He points back to the elevator as if he’s serious.

  “Cute,” I tell him. “Maybe later.” Then I step inside and gasp.

  Twenty-Eight

  Sawyer stops to hang our coats as I take off across the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the edge of the condo and the view, I’ve never seen anything like it. I walk right up to the glass and point.

  “Sawyer, William Penn is right there!” I tap the glass with my fingertip. “Like, right there.” City Hall is directly across the street with its famed William Penn statue sitting atop the very peak of the clock tower. Being so many floors up, it feels like we’re eye level with the statue. I’ve never seen it from this vantage point, that’s for sure. “This is so cool.” I’m standing so close to the glass my breath is fogging it up when I speak, so I step back an inch and take in the view. Directly across the street, spotlights highlight the clock tower portion of City Hall. Looking down, I can appreciate the roof of the main building, the architecture stunning from this view. The skyline is sensational, lights twinkling as far as I can see.

  I see him approach in the reflection of the glass. I’m still oohing and ahhing over the view when he stops behind me and lays one hand flat on the glass and uses the other to sweep all my hair over my left shoulder, baring the right side of my neck. I watch his reflection in the glass as he bends down and places his lips on the skin where my neck and shoulder meet. My breath hitches instantly, the heat of his lips causing me to go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. We stand like this for minutes, my chest heaving while he devotes more time than I’d have thought possible to worshiping my neck, his lips traveling up to my ear. I’m wearing dangly earrings, and he slips them out of each lobe, gently, his fingertips skimming my ear as he does, and holy shit, I’m wet again. He’s barely touched me, his lips on my neck, his fingertips across my earlobes, yet I’m electrified with need.

  His movements are slow. So slow. The man is not in a hurry. His hands move to the hem of my sweater and he raises it, inching it up my torso until he gets to my chest and I raise my arms so he can slide it over my head. I watch the entire show in the reflection of the glass and I want him inside of me so badly that it hurts.

  He drops the sweater and winds his hand around a chunk of hair at my scalp, tugging it so softly, as he moves his lips back to my collarbone. I am ready to whimper. And beg. Then he tugs my hair hard and bites my earlobe and I do whimper, my head falling back onto his shoulder.

  His hands move to my waist, and I’m sure they’re headed for the button of my jeans, but they’re not. He slides them up my torso, and I pick my head up to watch in the reflection. My hair is already a mess, my eyelids at half-mast. He’s directly behind me, and all I can make out in the reflection are his hands and the top of his head as he moves it to the other side of my neck. He cups my breasts, over my bra, his thumbs rotating simultaneous circles over the lace, moving toward the center with each rotation until he’s thumbing my nipples and I’m bending at the waist, trying to grind against him to get some relief, any relief.

  The cups of my bra are yanked down, my breasts lewdly resting atop, and then his fingers are back, cupping the weight of them as his thumbs get to work again on my nipples. They’re so sensitive right now, his hands so warm and erotic on my skin. I whine and brace my hands on the glass to keep myself upright a moment before he abruptly pinches each nipple and I mewl and drop my elbows to the glass, my head resting on my splayed fingertips.

  “Sawyer, please.” I’ve moved on to begging. I want it so bad.

  “Please what?” he asks, his palms caressing my tits, the heels of his hands brushing my nipples as he squeezes my flesh between his hands.

  “Please take off your pants,” I whine.

  He doesn’t respond, but turns me and slides his hands under my ass until I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s still fully clothed, and my nipples rub against his sweater, but it’s not where I want the friction. I bury my head in his neck to restrain myself from bouncing in his arms, trying to simulate what I really want to be doing this second.

  He carries me like it’s nothing to walk with an extra hundred pounds clinging to him and I use the height of my position to finally get my hands into his hair. It’s as thick as I thought it would be and I run the pads of my fingers across his scalp, then do a little hair-tugging of my own and run my tongue along the perimeter of his ear.

  We come to a stop in his bedroom and he sets me on my feet at the end of his bed. The room is illuminated with the lights from outside the window, the view the same from here as in the main room. Thankfully I’m not shy. He gives me a little shove so I lie back on my elbows, then correctly analyzes that the boots need to come off to pry these jeans off of me and lifts one ankle at a time, making short work of getting them off my feet. My own hands are already on my pants, zipper down, then shimmying them past my butt, lacy bikini bottoms included. Sawyer finishes the job and observes me buck naked on his bed, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. He’s still dressed. Fucking tease.

  “Take. Off. Your pants.”

  He grins and removes his sweater, then undoes the first few buttons of the button-down he’s wearing beneath it, before reaching behind his neck and pulling the shirt off over his head.

  “So assertive, Everly.”

  I lick my lips and ogle his chest. Damn rowers. He is in every bit as good shape as I imagined. My pussy is throbbing, like a physical ache. I want to cross my legs and squeeze, just for the brief pressure it will provide. I consider it, bending my leg and running the toes of one foot up the calf of the opposite leg. But I stop, and bend my knees open instead, exposing myself to him completely. Come here.

  His shoes make a soft thump on the floor as he toes them off and finally, finally his hands move to his pants, my eyes trailing down the light smattering of hair leading south as he pops the button, unzips, then stops. Why is he stopping?

  He drops his forearms to the bed between my spread legs, his intent clear. I slap an open palm on the bedding and mutter, “Goddammit, Sawyer!” as he kisses the spot right above my clit.

  He pauses and looks up at me with a smirk, which should be insulting considering where his face is, but I’ve got more pressing concerns. Namely that I need something larger than a tongue right now.

  “Problem?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

  He’s fucking with me. He knows what I want.

  “I don’t want that.” I stumble over my words because he’s just flattened his tongue and run it over the length of me. Thank fuck I kept that waxing appointment yesterday.

  “No?”

  “I want you in me.” It’s getting harder to talk, because he’s good with his tongue. “I want you on top of me.”

  “Oh, I love the dirty talk, Boots. Go on.”

  His tongue is flicking my clit and I arch my back over the bed. I’m totally going to come like this, but it’s not what I really want right now.

  “I want your cock inside of me, Sawyer. I want you to sink it into me, with my legs stretched wide and all of your weight on top of me. And then I want to feel you move. I wanna feel you sliding out of me and then slamming back inside. That’s what I want.”

  He flattens his tongue and sweeps it across my clit while inserting one thick finger inside of me and dragging it in the perfect come-hith
er movement. I come, thrashing my head on the bed and screaming his name.

  I’m panting when he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Jesus fuck. That move right there has another flood dampening my already wet pussy. He drops his pants and kneels on the bed, leaning over me to snag a condom from the bedside table. Propping myself up on one elbow, I wrap a hand around the length of him, running it up and down. I could weep with joy. It’s a nice dick. Hard. Thick. Long. Did I mention hard?

  I flick my eyes up to find him watching me examine his dick, which is hot, so I hold his gaze and twist my wrist, gliding my hand back and forth. He’s thick, my fingertips barely touching. I’ve given enough handjobs, and I can usually rest the pad of my thumb on the nails of my fingertips as I stroke, but there’s no overlapping here. I swallow, not breaking eye contact with him. The stretch I’m going to feel with him inside of me will be incredible.

  I drop my eyes back to his cock in time to watch pre-cum escape the tip and I move my hand up to rub my thumb through it, then use the moisture to massage the head of his dick before dragging the tips of my fingers and thumb together over the head of his cock.

  “You like that?” I ask.

  A grunt escapes his lips, followed by a notable increase in his breathing.

  “How about your balls?” I whisper, dropping my hand to cup his sac, then use my nails with the barest hint of pressure.

  “Yes, I like that,” he says, sliding an arm under my knee, knocking me flat onto my back. I grin and stretch my arms over my head, lifting my pelvis towards him. He watches me, slowly running his eyes down my torso while ripping the condom package with his teeth. He returns my grin with a lazy one of his own, then winks at me. He’s kneeling between my legs rolling a condom on and he winks.

  It takes the breath right out of my lungs. I’m not sure why that changes the moment for me, yet it does. It’s inexplicably endearing. In the midst of this sexual furor, it says more than I want you. It says, I’m having fun with you. I think I could have fun with him for the rest of my life.

  He aligns himself with my opening and glances at my face, then pauses.

  “You good, Everly?” He says it softly, questioningly, his eyes fixed on mine.

  I nod with the slightest movement of my head and suck my lip between my teeth when he slides the head of his cock inside of me. He’s still kneeling, guiding his dick into me with one hand, gaze intent on the point where our bodies are joining.

  It’s been a while. I don’t own a vibrator—living in a dorm room is not exactly conducive to that kind of privacy. I flex my toes and arch my back as he slides in deeper, my body adjusting to the oh so welcome invasion. He slips his other arm under my opposite knee so my legs are bent back, knees near my chest and toes pointing to the ceiling, and then he thrusts in completely.

  A whimper escapes my throat and he pauses for a moment, letting me adjust before he moves. When I release my lip from between my teeth and exhale, he leans over me and braces his forearms on each side of my head, resting his weight on top of me. I drop my knees, heels digging into the mattress on each side of his hips, and wrap my arms around his neck.

  “This is what you wanted?” he says, pressing me into the mattress, the smattering of hair on his chest abrasive against my nipples in a way that I feel all the way to my clit. The flat planes of his stomach are resting against my own, and the weight of him feels like heaven.

  “Yeah,” I whisper in response. “You feel nice.”

  He meets my mouth with his own for a soft kiss.

  “You feel nice too.”

  His eyes are inches from mine, the tip of his nose nuzzling against my own.

  I’ve had sex before.

  I haven’t had whatever is happening right now.

  I swallow, my heart rate increasing, and not from passion.

  His lips drop back to mine, softly tangling with mine until I flex my pelvis, wanting more. He raises himself, unwrapping my hands from his neck and twining our fingers together over my head. Then he begins to move. He rotates his hips and slides out of me, the glide lighting up every nerve ending inside of me, then drives back in with a force that makes me gasp.

  I dig my heels into the mattress and meet his thrusts, our entwined hands pinned to the mattress keeping me from sliding towards the fabric-covered headboard. I don’t doubt the force of his exertion would otherwise have me mobile. Our combined breathing and the slapping of his balls against my bottom is the only soundtrack in the room. He’s so deep it hurts in the best way. I love the feeling of being stretched around him, all the way to the base. The trimmed hair around his cock provides a light scratch to my clit when he angles just right.

  “I’m gonna come,” I say, but I already am. My pussy tightens around him so hard it would hurt if he thrust, but he pauses a moment while my climax subsides, chuckling softly at my announcement that came after the event.

  He withdraws, sitting back on his heels and dragging me to him, hooking both my knees over his elbows and sliding back inside of me. My lower half is elevated, his hands wrapped around my waist as an anchor to pull me onto him as he pushes into me. We can both watch from this vantage point, and I’m so wet I can see myself on the condom when he slides out and hear it when he disappears back inside.

  I whimper, a bit unsure if it’s hot or embarrassing, but Sawyer’s not unsure. He groans, and it’s primal and raw and he can’t take his eyes off us. His hands are still gripping my waist. He moves one, dropping a thumb to my clit and working it with a skill I’ve never experienced. I come again and he joins me, shouting his release, stilling inside of me, then pumping his hips slowly until he’s spent.

  Twenty-Nine

  I wake up sore and alone. Something clatters out in the living room so I know he’s nearby, but I’m almost glad he’s up. Almost. The stamina of that man is something to be reckoned with. I came five times last night before he was done. We’d finish one round, fall asleep talking—my head on his chest, his fingers in my hair—and then we’d wake and start the entire cycle again.

  Shifting, I roll over and then sit up, pulling the sheet up and tucking it under my arms. It’s a nice room. I’d guess it must be professionally decorated. Probably his mother, I realize, recalling that she’s a designer. I can’t imagine Sawyer used someone else. I’ve already seen the master bathroom—it’s tiled in marble and contains a double-door entry. There’s a walk-in shower that would make any dorm-living girl cry tears of joy. I’m definitely using it before he takes me home, that’s for sure.

  The bedroom is simply furnished, clutter-free. The headboard on the king-sized bed is fabric, and as I scoot back to lean against it I catch something on the nightstand, a can of Diet Sun Drop. I reach over and pick it up, finding it cold. Sawyer must have left it there just recently. I pop the top and take a swig as Sawyer appears carrying a tray, which, if my nose does not betray me, contains bacon.

  “Do you want coffee too, or just the soda?” he asks, nodding to the can in my hand as he sets the tray on the bed.

  “You made me breakfast in bed?” I ask, eyebrows raised. He’s too much. I’m waiting for a camera crew to pop out and tell me I’ve been punked. Massively, irrevocably punked.

  He drops his hands to the bed and leans in, stealing a kiss. “To be fair, I didn’t cook. Ordering room service is one of the perks of living here.” He stands and walks towards the bedroom doorway. “Coffee?” he reminds me.

  “No, I’m good,” I tell him, taking another swallow of my beloved soda. When he walks back in with a coffee for himself it hits me. “Do you drink Diet Sun Drop?” I ask, holding the can up for a visual before setting it down on the breakfast tray.

  “No.” He uncovers the plates on the tray, stacking the lids and setting them aside. “And to be honest, I half expected your pussy to taste like Diet Sun Drop based on how much of it you appear to consume.”

  My eyes widen and a flush heats up my cheeks as I bite my lip. He’s managed to make me blush.

&
nbsp; “I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got you scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon and pancakes. Or you can eat an egg white omelet with me,” he says, digging in with a fork.

  I pick up a piece of bacon and shove half of it in my mouth. “You know about my Diet Sun Drop addiction but not what I want for breakfast?”

  He takes a sip of coffee. “Well, your mom didn’t pick up when I called this morning, so I had to wing it,” he says, pointing at the tray.

  I gasp. “You did not call my mother to ask her what I like for breakfast at”—I glance at a wall clock over the dresser—“seven in the morning.”

  He holds my gaze for a long moment, his face giving away nothing, until he finally breaks out a smile and I sag in relief.

  “Not cool, Camden.”

  “I learned about your soda addiction from your social media accounts. It’s not hard to piece together someone’s likes and dislikes if you look in the right places.” He tosses a smirk in my direction. “Your Pinterest boards alone are a treasure trove of information.”

  “Um, are they?” I wonder what exactly is on all those boards and how embarrassed I should be that he’s looking at them so intently. I pick up a fork and break off a piece of pancake then look at Sawyer. “So what does my pussy taste like?”

  “Seventy-three seconds.”

  “What?” I ask, popping a bite of egg into my mouth.

  “It took you seventy-three seconds to ask what your pussy tastes like.”

  I roll my eyes in his face. “So you toss out commentary on my pussy flavor and expect I’m not going to ask? You’re a tease.”

  He swallows and shakes his head. “No, I fully expected you’d ask. I just had my money on it taking three minutes.”

  “Tease.”

  “It does taste a bit like Diet Sun Drop.”

  “Stop it!”

  He holds up his hands and shrugs. “It does. Diet Sun Drop and Everly.”

  “Not an answer.”

  “It is. Sunshine, citrus, and a great cabernet sauvignon.”