He rolls the latex down his cock, and when it’s completely sheathed, he crawls between my legs, and they open even wider. Leaning down, he kisses me everywhere until I’m breathless and my body yearns for him. My hands grasp his covered cock. He’s not just long, he’s thick, and my fingers don’t touch each other.
“Put me inside you,” he says. I rub him up and down my wet slit, my pussy contracting once knowing what is coming. His lips move from my lips, to my cheek, to my jaw, and finally, he sucks my neck and thrusts in me. In one hard movement, he’s so deep, and I yelp out while he moans. My hands go to his face, my neck arching my head back while he slowly pulls out of me and then goes back in. My legs wrap around his waist, my hips tilt back, and somehow, he goes even deeper.
This time, we both moan, and the sound of our pants echoes off the walls, mixing with the sound of our skin slapping together. He takes me harder and harder each time, my body meeting him thrust for thrust. The weight of his body on top of mine, his kisses on my neck, on my lips, his tongue licking, sucking everything; it’s too much, and it takes no time before I feel the buildup. His mouth covers mine, and I meet his tongue in a sexual battle that both of us will win, but then I let go of his mouth when I finally come, moaning out loud. My pussy clenches, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps pounding and pounding, and finally, he moans out his own release. He falls to the side and rolls me to my side, his cock still in me. His chest rising and falling.
“I need a minute,” he says, looking at me and then up at the ceiling. I follow his eyes, and I see what he sees; his cock buried in my pussy, both of us joined. My leg over his leg, my shoes still on. “We are going to take full advantage of that mirror,” he says, leaning over and grabbing my ass to push me onto him.
“What makes you think I want to go for a round two?” I joke with him, and he turns his head, his eyes going from glaring to bright. “I mean, maybe”—I roll onto him—“this one time was enough to scratch the itch.”
“I’ve got another peek for you.” He smiles and smacks my ass, grabbing me in his arms and rolling us both off the bed. He stops at the bedside table to grab two more condoms and then goes to the bathroom.
He walks in the orange and blue marble bathroom, and I see two sinks to my right. He places me down on the cold counter, and I yelp. He takes the condom off and tosses it in the toilet. “Shower or bath?”
I look at the circle shower, and then at the deep tub with an ocean mural. “Hmm, I feel really, really dirty,” I tell him. “A dirty that only a tub can clean.” Smirking at me, I watch him walk to the tub and lean over to turn on the faucet. He turns around and walks back to me. Standing in the middle of my open legs, he brushes my hair behind my shoulders, then leans in and kisses me. One hand goes to my cheek, and the other cups my breast. His hand then moves to the back where he unclips my bra. “Well played.” I laugh while I kiss him. He bends down, grabbing one leg, and brings it up to untie the shoe, then drops it to the floor with a huge clunk. He does the same to the other one and then picks me up and steps into the bath. We sit in the tub. Well, sitting wasn’t what we actually did as both condoms are now in the garbage.
By the time we collapse in bed, I think the sun is coming up, but it must be later in the day by now because when he wakes me up, it’s much lighter in the room. Flipping me to my stomach and lifting my hips, he kisses my shoulder, and I lie here like a loose noodle. Well, more like an overcooked noodle. “I need food,” I mumble and hear him laughing as he reaches over and grabs the phone.
He orders a shit ton of food, more food than two people could possibly eat in one day. “I’ll also take a huge bowl of strawberries, a bottle of champagne, and some chocolate dip.” He hangs up the phone. “Thirty minutes,” he says. It’s then that we both hear the click of the door opening, and I spring up, reaching out for something to cover myself.
“Tyler.” I hear Cassie’s voice and clench the sheet tighter that is covering my torso. “Are you up yet?” He looks at me with a shocked face, so I jump up out of bed and rush around the room. Grabbing my dress, I fly into the bathroom, then lock the door after me. I grab my bra and put it on, followed by my dress, and I’m about to tie my first shoe when I hear a soft knock on the door.
My head snaps up. “It’s me,” Tyler says. “She’s gone.” I walk to the door with only one shoe on, the other shoe in my hand. I unlock the door and open it, and he’s standing there in the hotel robe. “What the hell are you doing dressed?” he asks and then proceeds to pull my dress over my head, this time knowing exactly where the zipper is. “Why are you dressed?” he asks the silly question, rolling his eyes and almost pouting like a child with his hands all over me.
“Does she come into your room every day?” I ask him. Standing in front of him while he leans in and unsnaps my bra, I see him nodding his head. “What if we were downstairs naked?”
“She’s seen me naked,” he says nonchalantly, and now I’m a little bit pissed. “She’s been working with me for the past, I don’t know, thirteen years.”
“So? I’ve worked with Stephanie for seven, and I have yet to see her naked and vice versa,” I point out to him as he bends and takes a nipple into his mouth. “Stop that when I’m trying to talk to you.” My hand drops the shoe to the floor.
“No talking,” he says, repeating the same thing with the other nipple, “we have to get ready for champagne waterfall.”
“What the hell is that?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head.
“It’s better if I just show you.” He kisses me now, full on with tongue. I get on my tippy toes and kiss his neck. He hands me another robe to slide on, and I slip off the other shoe, and we walk back down the stairs to his living room. He presses the button, and the shades slide up. The sun is shining, so I walk to the floor-to-ceiling windows and look out at the beaches below. You can look into the distance and see a couple of boats lingering also. “What if she comes back?” I ask him, turning and seeing him sitting on the couch looking out also. “What if she has a question?”
“I’ll lock the door after room service comes, and I told her to take the day off, that I would be chilling in bed all day.” He stretches out his arms along the back of the couch, pulling his robe open at the top. “She won’t come back unless I call her.” I nod at him, turning and looking out into the distance to make my mind shut down. I try hard, but the things running through my mind don’t stop. “What’s going on?” I hear him behind me and feel his heat on my back while his hands move around my hips. His hands slide under mine while he kisses my neck. I move my head to the side, then turn to face him, and his lips meet mine. “What is going on in your head right now?”
“Nothing.” I try to lie because there is no way he knows me that well, no way he can tell, but I just look at him, and his eyes bore into mine. He kisses my cheek, then the side of my neck, and then the back of my ear.
“Liar,” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver under his touch. “I can think of ways to get it out of you.”
“Oh, yeah?” I moan when he nips my ear, one of his hands sneaking into the front of the robe and cupping my breast, his fingers tweaking the nipple. The knock on the door breaks the moment as I look around for places to hide. “I’m going upstairs,” I tell him as I run upstairs, going into the bathroom just in case it’s Cassie again. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, I use the time alone to regroup. “I’m going to eat and then go back to my room,” I say to the empty room. “That’s what I’m going to do. Eat and leave.” Almost like I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t want to stay here with him all day. What did Kellie tell me? You don’t shit where you eat, or eat where you shit, or however that disturbing phrase is worded.
“You can come down now!” he shouts up the steps, breaking my self-flagellation, and I get up, poking my head out. “It’s just the two of us.”
I walk down the steps, then double check the lock on the door. I take in the suite now, the carpet in a royal blue, my feet sinking into it. A
desk is set up in the corner with a huge MacBook screen on the top and a vase of red roses. Next to the desk are two couches with a gold cast iron table between them and two peach-colored pillows in the middle. When you look up, you can see the cast iron railing upstairs because it’s set up like a loft. A white pillar looks like it’s holding up the second floor. To my left is fully stocked bar, and Tyler stands on my right next to the four-person table covered in all the trays of food he ordered. The tin covers are off, and two empty plates are set next to each other for us. I look over at the L-shaped couch on the far-left side, and the bottle of champagne sitting in the middle of the table in an ice bucket with a fresh bowl of strawberries next to it. “Dessert,” he says, smiling, and I just shake my head. I sit in one of the chairs at the table, and he sits next to me. “What do you want?” he asks. Picking up my empty plate, he puts some eggs on it with some turkey bacon, fresh fruit, and a pancake. “You want more?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s good.” I take the plate from him, then grab a napkin and put it across my lap. I pick up the crystal pitcher of fresh orange juice and pour some in my crystal glass. “You want some?” I ask him, and he nods while he fills his own plate, double the size of mine.
“Coffee?” he asks, picking up the coffeepot and pouring some for himself and then me. We don’t say anything as we eat. “This,” he says between his last bite and his sip of orange juice. “It feels like I’ve been having breakfast with you forever.”
I look at him. “I was thinking the same thing.” Honesty with him just comes easy as if we’ve woken up together for years and have breakfast with each other all the time. I grab my cup of coffee, bringing it to my lips. “I mean, obviously with you cooking for me.” I wink at him, and he just nods.
“I would if you wanted me to,” he says, grabbing his orange juice. “When we get home, I’ll cook dinner for you,” he says, and I almost stop drinking, a thoughtful look on my face as I think. “Are you done?” he asks, looking at my plate that is empty. “I think it’s time for dessert.”
“Is it?” Smirking, I set my cup down. “And what is dessert exactly?” Looking at him while he smirks, I appear to have just challenged him to something.
“Well.” He pushes from the table. “Let me show you.” He holds out his hand to me, and I take it, getting up. He unties the front of my robe and pushes it off my shoulders, doing the same to his. “This is better.” My nipples peaked at the cold that is now hitting them, so he takes his thumb and rubs one. He pulls me to the couch, gesturing for me to sit on it, then he pulls the table away from the couch, giving himself some space. He takes the bottle of champagne and pours two glasses, handing me one. “To dessert,” he says, holding the glass out, and I clink it. Bringing the glass to my mouth, I feel the cold, crisp champagne hitting my tongue. He grabs a strawberry, then holds it to my mouth. “Bite,” he says, and I do, trying to grab the juices before they drip, but I lose the battle as it falls on my chest. His eyes light up as he bends over and sucks it off me.
I watch him walk back to the table to grab the whole bowl of strawberries and the bottle of champagne. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you brought the table back here?” He smiles at me, and I know he’s up to no good.
“Then we couldn’t have a champagne waterfall,” he says, holding the bowl of strawberries out for me. “Now the thing with a champagne waterfall is that you can’t move.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t understand,” I tell him, and his smile just grows bigger.
“Lean back on the couch,” he directs me, so I place the strawberries beside me in the corner and lean back. “Not like that.” Coming over, he places the champagne on the floor, then grabs my knees and pulls me out. My head is on the cushion, and my butt is on the edge of the couch. “Now open your legs.” My legs open without my brain even knowing what it’s doing. He grabs his glass of champagne and fills it again. “Now remember what I said; you can’t move.” He stands over me and bends, pouring champagne on the middle of my chest. I yelp out at the coldness of it, then look down, seeing it run down my chest to my stomach, stopping at my belly button. He bends down, licking the path down to my belly button where he sucks the rest of it.
“That was fun,” he says and does it again, this time pouring more and catching it with his tongue as he sucks my belly button. “Time for more,” he says, and my head is becoming heavy. My nipples are aching, and I have a strong need to close my knees for friction, but I can’t because he is kneeling between them. He fills his glass again, his eyes on me now when he brings the glass not to where it was before but to the tip of my pubic bone.
“Time for the waterfall,” he says, getting lower. Pouring the cold champagne on me, he tries to catch it with his mouth while his sucks on my pussy. I don’t know how much he actually got because my head fell back at that moment. He does it again and again, pushing me to the edge, and right before I’m finally ready to come, he stops sucking. I hiss out each time, my head thrashing from side to side and my body tingling.
Just when I think he’s finally going to let me come, he pulls back again. I curse at him as he laughs, then goes back again and again, and finally, when I’m about to come, he throws the glass down beside him, gets on his knees, and thrusts his cock all the way in me. “Fuck,” he says with one of my legs raised on his hip while he looks down at us. I didn’t even see or feel him put a condom on. His thumb makes little circles on my clit while he pushes in and out of me, and I can finally come. He lets me have it, and I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. And just when I think it’s almost done, he pinches my clit, and I come again, one orgasm rolling into another. I must squeeze him more than he can take because in the middle of the second one, he joins me.
His body covers mine when he finally stops. “We need another shower,” I tell him, and he nods. Waiting a bit before he finally pulls out of me, he walks to the bathroom to discard the condom and then comes back. “Shower or bath?” he asks, and I get up slowly, making sure my knees don’t give out on me.
“Shower,” I say, then grab the bowl of strawberries and walk over to the table to grab the chocolate syrup. “Time to show you cockaberry fondue.” I wink at him and walk away, swaying my hips. He follows me up, and we get a lot more dirty before we get clean. Then both of us crash for a nap the second we get back to the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks me from over his shoulder. I look up from where I’m sitting in the chair in the corner while I tie my shoe. “Why are you dressed again?” I look at him as he turns around and sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I figured you would sleep through the night, so I would go back to my room,” I tell him as I tie the other shoe. I woke up an hour ago and lay in bed fighting with myself about getting up, knowing that our time would be over, and I finally gave in ten minutes ago. “Besides, we scratched the itch, right?”
I look at him now; he’s sitting with his back to the headboard and the sheet at his waist. His hair crazy from my hands and sleep, and he glares at me. “Itch?” He repeats the word, and it feels shitty hearing it from him.
“Well,” I say, getting up and standing in front of him, “we clearly”—I point at him and me—“you know.” Trying to make it less awkward since I’m the one doing the walk of shame, I say, “Had an itch.”
“So, you scratch it on my dick?” He glares at me, putting one hand over his head and another on his stomach. I’ll always remember this moment, him like that, the look of no cares in the world.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I say, “Don’t look at me like that. We both had an itch, and we scratched it.”
“The difference is that I didn’t need to ‘scratch an itch’,” he says, using his fingers to do air quotes. “I wanted to scratch that itch, and I wanted it with no one but you.”
“Tyler.” Hearing me whisper his name finally gets him out of bed, and I watch him make his way to me. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?�
�� he asks, standing in front of me. “Don’t say that I wanted this; don’t say that I wanted it with you? What exactly am I supposed to say?”
“You’re supposed to say, I don’t know, thank you for the best night of my life.” I look down, then up again. “Thank you for cockaberry fondue.”
“Yeah, and what if I said I wanted to do it again?” he asks me. “What if I told you that I want to scratch the itch, again . . . and again . . . and again?”
Cocking my hip to the side, I fold my arms over my chest. “Now?”
He cups my cheeks. “Now, later, tonight, in the middle of tonight, maybe tomorrow before we go running, then definitely tomorrow night.” He looks straight into my eyes. My chest is heaving and then the sound of my heartbeat fills my ears.
“That is a lot of scratching.” I place my hands over his. “What if Cassie comes in? What if—”
“Will it make you feel better if we did the scratching in your room?” The question stumps me. “Or we can go to your room, grab your workout stuff for tomorrow”—leaning in, he kisses me softly on the lips, my body doing a full sigh—“then after we run, I’ll come to your room to make sure you aren’t itchy, and then I’ll come back here, and we can, you know, scratch it again tonight.”
“Just so we are clear,” I say right before I give in, “we are still talking about sex, right?” My laughter is swallowed by his kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
Tyler
Looks like this in-demand actor was just caught sneaking out of his new love interest’s house. Sources say he fled the scene once the estranged husband showed up!
Hollywood Playboy Page 13