by Stella Rhys
10
HOLLAND
I had spent the day antsy, beyond ready for the agreement Iain and I had made for tonight: 9PM at the Victorian Hotel. No strings attached sex. We go our separate ways after.
Just the thought of meeting a man at a hotel for a quick orgasm was exhilarating. But add the fact that it was my brother’s best friend—that this had to be a complete and utter secret from almost everyone in my life—and I couldn’t stop squirming at work. As far as I was concerned, nothing about my day could be any hotter.
But then came Iain’s afternoon text while I was in a meeting.
I can’t wait till 9. Meet me at The Victorian at 7PM.
It was a significant enough change in plans, and the fact that he’d just informed me like I had no choice made me feel all sorts of ways.
For one, hot. Because apparently, there were correct times for Iain to be controlling, and sex was one of those times. Plus, I liked knowing that he was thinking about me at work. Between Adam and, well, Google, I knew Iain Thorn was a busy man. No meeting on his schedule was ever unimportant, and yet he’d just canceled one because he couldn’t wait any longer to fuck me.
Which was flattering.
And a little bit daunting too.
Because while I’d meant it last night when I said he didn’t have to be gentle with me, I wasn’t totally sure what that meant for me now. I had the bare minimum of experience when it came to sex, and I’d never been fucked for longer than ninety seconds at a time. Safe to say, I wasn’t necessarily ready for what Iain had in store for me.
But I was curious.
After all, I’d endured twenty-two years of being treated like the most pristine little doll. I’d specifically moved to New York to escape that life, and if last night’s screaming outdoor orgasm was any indication, I did enjoy being treated the opposite of fragile.
So there was that.
And the fact that I wasn’t going to get this chance again.
It was just tonight. Now or never. Iain had made it clear that this was a one-time thing, and I’d fantasized about this moment since I was old enough to have these kinds of thoughts, so after slicking on some lip gloss in the bathroom of my office, I fished my MetroCard out of my backpack.
Then as I slung it over my shoulder, I breathed deep, thoroughly prepared for the hottest night of my life as I marched out the door.
Crap.
I’d Googled the Victorian Hotel during work today, but somehow, I hadn’t known it was going to be this level of fancy.
The lobby was full of sleek black surfaces and towering light fixtures. They lit everything in a warm yellowy-orange glow, and even the women working behind the desk looked like art—tall and polished in sexy black dresses and custom blazers, with their hair twisted neatly to the side, and their makeup airbrushed to perfection.
It kind of made me wish I’d dressed up a little more. But with my feet still hurting from dancing in heels last night, I’d gone with my trusty white sneakers, a ribbed olive green tank dress, and a black choker to jazz up the whole look. I stood by the fact that it was a cute outfit, though admittedly, my backpack probably didn’t match.
It was powder blue, made of canvas, and what I brought to work every day because it was the perfect size to fit all my stuff. Plus, it was super cute and the only thing that survived my post-high school closet purge.
But I blamed it for the reaction I got when I gave my name to check in.
The brunette behind the front desk had first looked down her nose at me like I was perhaps lost. But upon putting my name into the system, she’d lifted her eyebrows, showing a half-second of unmistakable surprise before she flashed me a smile and handed over my key.
“Here you are, Ms. Maxwell. This is your key to the penthouse loft,” she said so smoothly that my flinch of surprise came at a two-second delay. “Mr. Thorn has already checked in. Just take the elevators to your right and enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering if the woman’s scrutinizing eye was because I looked so dazed, or if it was because she was familiar with Iain—the way it seemed everyone in this city was—and wondered what the heck my business was with him.
Oh, you know.
Just having dirty, sweaty, not-gentle sex with him all night. No biggie, I thought as I pressed the button for the elevator, trying to keep it light with myself just to keep the butterflies at bay.
But as soon as I stepped in the elevator—as soon as it gave a tiny lurch and started its ascent to my room—the reality of the night began to sink in, flooding me with nervous excitement and, oddly enough, the desperate need to talk to Kelsey Schaffer.
Sophomore year, when we were still best friends, she used to come over and try to take pictures of Iain when he was walking around in his sweats or coming out of the pool. Because after the first time we saw that thick rod snaked down the leg of his trunks, our crazy teenaged hormones couldn’t seem to get enough.
“And he’s not even hard yet,” Kelsey would whisper giddily to me, to which I’d giggle and nod right along, despite the fact that I didn’t fully grasp what that even meant back then.
Though of course, I knew now.
And that knowledge was precisely what made me so anxious that I tripped on nothing as I got out of the elevator, and dropped my key card twice before succeeding in pressing it against the key pad and finally opening the door into the penthouse loft.
At which point I stopped and stared.
Because whoa.
The soaring space was chicly decorated with sleek leather furniture and abstract art, but I looked right past it all at to stare at the glittering downtown skyline out the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows. They wrapped around the entire room to give a sweeping view of the city that stole my breath and had me floating over in seconds, touching my fingertips to the glass just to make sure it was really there.
It was a hell of a welcome to New York moment, and I swore I’d never been more awestruck in my life.
But then Iain walked into the room.
“Holland.”
I spun at the rich sound of his voice, my heart pitter-pattering before my eyes even locked on him—and how incredibly fucking good he looked.
Holy hell.
I practically heard the giant whoosh in my brain as my every ounce of awe for New York promptly refocused on Iain.
He stood across the sprawling room from me, looking like pure sex and authority in a brilliant white shirt and tailored slacks. His sleeves were pushed up the way I liked, and his grey silk tie was undone, but still hanging around his neck, giving me instant fantasies of being bent over a desk in his shiny Midtown office and ruthlessly spanked till he was fully de-stressed from the day.
And just like that, I’d ruined another pair of panties.
“Hi,” I finally returned, my pulse picking up as his eyes dropped down my body. For once, his attention on me was immediate, unabashed. Like he was already prepared to devour me whole.
It made everything from my throat to my thighs tremble as he began to come toward me, his stride purposefully slow, almost predatory so his eyes could take their time moving up my legs, my hips, my waist. My breasts.
Stopping at the couch, he leaned against the armrest, the length of his body on full display as he drank me in, probably watching my nipples harden right before his eyes.
His mouth was curved in a bit of a smirk when he finally looked up at me.
“How are you feeling right now?” he asked.
“Fine,” I answered too quickly. But then I added, “A little nervous.”
He studied me for a moment. “Why?”
“Because… this is still crazy to me?” I said with a laugh. “And I guess because… I don’t know what to expect from you. And I don’t have a lot of experience.”
“That’s not relevant to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I spent my entire day thinking about how tight your pussy felt around my fingers last night,” Ia
in said matter-of-factly. “I don’t need you to know what you’re doing, Holland. I just need to fuck you.”
A knot jumped into my throat and I swallowed it back, as turned on as I was intimidated by the casual savageness of his statement.
“And how hard are you going to fuck me?” I asked, my voice coming out softer than I intended. My fingers rushed to play with the ends of my hair when Iain didn’t immediately answer, only studying me for several moments.
“If you’re afraid I’ll hurt you,” he said, his voice low, “I won’t.”
I nodded.
And though I believed him, I mentally cursed his need to be so very economical with his words. It was clear that New York Iain was a man of efficiency, who never spoke beyond what was necessary—even when right now, it was clear that I wanted, maybe needed him to say more. When I was younger, whatever the situation, he could always read the look in my eyes with little effort and utter the exact words I needed to feel better at that moment.
But that was a different time.
And a different Iain. That much was for sure, considering old Iain would never dare to ask what he asked me next.
“Is your pussy wet for me?”
A shiver ran up my spine as I nodded.
“It’s been,” I laughed, peering down at my own lap. “I think I’m wetter now than I was last night,” I added. And when I looked up again, I saw the faint smirk on Iain’s lips and the appetite burning in his green eyes.
“Are you going to show me?”
I smiled, immediately hot over how very dirty that simple question sounded.
“Yes. But…” Wrapping my hair around my finger, I let the silence stretch between us for a second. “I want to touch you first,” I finally said. And when Iain tilted his head in question, I answered by letting my eyes fall to his package. “I want to feel your cock in my hand. So I know what to expect.”
Iain’s eyebrows lifted for a brief moment of surprise, and then he stared at me for a bit, his eyes glimmering with what looked like amusement. But after another few seconds of silence, he gave a single nod, his voice like velvet as he said, “Come here.”
IAIN
She didn’t hesitate for a second, making my dick twitch as I watched her come right to me, looking like a sex kitten with that strip of black velvet wrapped around her neck.
That little fuck-me choker.
I couldn’t wait to slam my dick inside her while she wore that and only that.
I couldn’t wait to fill my hands with her tits. Hear her beg for my cock.
A thousand fantasies flashed through my mind by the time she came to me, a playful look dancing in her eyes as she stood close, caged between my legs, her gaze switching back and forth between me and my package for a few seconds.
But then it stayed for good in my lap and I had smirk, watching color rise to her cheeks as she slowly formed her palm against my swollen cock, spreading her fingers to fully accommodate my size in her hand.
A little breath of air escaped her lips as they parted, and the thrill in her smile was visible as I hardened in her palm, all my blood rushing to where she was touching me, because fuck me, this already felt so good. And surreal. For Christ’s sake, I had Holland Maxwell petting my hard cock, looking so unabashedly excited by it, fully oblivious to the torture she was already putting me through.
“Stroke it,” I instructed.
Again, she obliged without hesitation.
And as she did, I watched her get immediately aroused, her throat moving as she swallowed, and her lips flushing red before my eyes. Her nipples were already stiff but they pebbled even tighter, straining against the cotton of her dress as she discovered just how hard I could get for her.
I was a steel fucking pipe by the time she looked up at me, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she asked, “Does that feel good?”
I gave her a look for being coy.
“You know the answer to that,” I said, watching her tits bounce directly in my eye line as she continued stroking me over my pants. I let the soft movement put me in a trance for a few seconds before moving my hands up her body, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders and peeling the cotton down so I could finally see what I’d forced myself to only look at last night. And as soon as I did, I was cursing a mile a minute in my head.
Because holy Christ, those tits were fucking mouthwatering.
They were full and heavy, and so impossibly goddamned perky I wanted to slap them. Squeeze them. Mold them around my cock and fuck them till I had them streaked in my cum. They were free of tan lines as well—an observation that raised a few questions I was forced to ignore as Holland’s breathy voice stirred me from my state.
“Can I take it out?”
I blinked, taking a moment to turn my focus from her hypnotizing breasts to her doe eyes as she requested permission to free my cock.
I wet my lips.
“Take it out,” I nodded, watching her undo my belt and take it upon herself to get on her knees.
All on her own. Because she was so eager.
So fucking adorable.
I combed my fingers through her soft hair, watching every second of her expression as she unzipped my pants and tugged them down. Her lashes fluttered when she found my erection pressed against my navy boxer briefs, and for a moment, with her mouth parted, she just stared.
But then she smoothed her hand over it and looked up at me.
“Can I suck on it?” she asked.
Jesus fuck.
“Of course you can,” I murmured, in disbelief of how perfect she was. How perfect she looked all wide-eyed and focused as she gently stretched my boxers off my cock.
My abs tensed under my shirt once she had every inch of me resting heavily in her hands, and my breathing grew shallow as she stared at my swollen tip, wrapped her fingers around my shaft, and instinctively started to pump. Slowly first, but then a little faster. Her glossy pink mouth drew close—close enough for me to feel her warm breath on my head—but she didn’t touch her mouth to me just yet.
“You’re killing me, Holland.”
“I’m sorry,” she said fast, a nervous laugh bubbling from her lips. “I’ve just never done this before.”
“Come again?”
“What?” She frowned at my reaction. “I’ve had sex,” she said, shooting me a playfully offended look. “I’ve just never given a blowjob.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” Her bottom lip protruded as she continued stroking my dick, frowning in a way that was so inexplicably fucking cute that I thought I might blow my load right in her hands. “Because it seems really intimate.”
“Whereas other kinds of sex aren’t?”
“Not the same way. Taking cock is different than tasting it. Tasting it means it’s in your mouth. On your tongue.” She looked up at me. “I’ve just never wanted to do that,” she murmured. Then she wet those flushed lips. “Until now.”
Christ.
She already had me feeling weak. Just by fucking talking.
Brushing her hair back, I looked down at her angelic face looking back up at me.
“You want to taste my cock, Holland?” I asked, my voice husky.
I felt something melt inside me when she nodded so immediately. So excitedly. This fucking girl. Familiar feelings of warmth and affection flooded my body, fucking with my head as they mixed with my aching need to see my dick in her mouth. A million conflicting emotions warred in my chest as I gazed down at her.
But not a single one of them overpowered my lust.
“Go on then,” I murmured. “Taste it.”
And with those words, she re-gripped my shaft, taking another second to get herself visually acquainted with my size before her focus zeroed in on the thick bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip of my cock.
And then, as if it were a lollipop, she took the first little lick.
Fucking. Hell.
My thighs flexed, and a powerful shudder rippled through
my body. Just one swipe of her tongue—now two—and I was in heaven. A sinful heaven that rolled my eyes back and sank me so deep in my pleasure that I didn’t even know when I’d started pulling her hair.
“Suck on it,” I directed, watching her promptly open her mouth and take as much of me as she could.
I groaned, tightening my grip on her hair as she sucked eagerly, her mouth so warm and wet on me, forcing me to fight the need to close my eyes, because as much as I wanted to drown in how incredible it felt, I needed to watch too. I needed to memorize every second of Holland Maxwell kneeling at my feet, her blonde head bobbing to and fro, looking right at home on my cock. She was getting comfortable. Going faster. Plumping her big tits in her hands as she took an impressive amount of me in her mouth, between those lips. Those fucking lips. They looked so pretty wrapped around me—so glossy and pillowy even as they stretched to accommodate my thickness.
For Christ’s sake, she was pure perfection, her cheeks dewy and her eyes bright as she looked up at me while sucking my dick like it was candy.
The pleasure had my eyelids feeling unbearably heavy, and I felt a smirk curving my mouth as she gave a little mmm.
“I take it you like it,” I said, my voice coming out in a rasp.
“Mm-hm,” she answered with her mouth full, sending a sweet vibration humming over my shaft.
She was worshipping my cock now, getting it so wet, doing so fucking good that I knew I needed to stop her soon. Though I didn’t want to. At all. I wanted more of her plump lips suctioned around my cock. More of her hollowing cheeks and her greedy, wet tongue bathing my shaft. But if I didn’t stop her now I was going to do everything I wanted to do to her. I was going fuck her mouth. Make her choke. Hold her head in place as I flooded her throat with my cum. And I had a hell of a hunch that she couldn’t take any of that, so drawing on my every last ounce of control, I gripped her jaw, pulling her swollen lips off my shaft and wincing as I growled, “Get up.”
11
HOLLAND
I felt like sex.
Pure, filthy sex as I returned to my feet, standing before Iain with my lips swollen, my tits out and my pussy soaking through the pale blue panties I’d chosen for tonight.