Finally, he drops his hand from my clit, grabs my hips with both hands instead and fucks me with abandon. He drills into me until I feel his abs tense against my skin, and hear his breath go hard and wild in my ear.
“Come inside me,” I gasp, and arch my hips to thrust back against him. “Come in my ass.”
He grits his teeth and groans as he finishes, his body bucking against mine, filling me with his hot cum. When he collapses across me, I reach back to tangle my hands in his hair, and lean over my shoulder to find his mouth with mine. I kiss him, hard, and he kisses me back, his lips parting beneath mine. Our tongues intertwine, and in that moment, I think, I could not have chosen a better man for my first.
He pulls out with a sigh, and I know exactly how he feels. I want to keep feeling that way forever. Utterly and completely connected to him. I am his . . . and he is mine.
I shake myself. No. I can’t start to think that way. That’s dangerous.
That road leads only to heartbreak.
I slide off the bed and pad across the penthouse to the bathroom. It’s every inch as glorious as the rest of the place, and I take my time, finding that it’s already been stocked with everything we could need. Brand new toothbrushes still in the cases, five kinds of toothpaste to choose from, dozens of soaps and lotions and even a second toilet with some kind of water spout on top of it that I eventually realize must be a bidet.
When I finish taking a quick shower and washing my face and brushing my teeth, I slip into the nightgown I find waiting on the back of the bathroom door. It’s silky and see-through and clings in all the right places, yet somehow feels amazing against my bare skin.
Feeling deliciously sore, yet still aching for more, I pad back across the penthouse to find him curled on his side, dozing on the edge of the bed.
I curl up on the other side, but only after I pull the comforter over his exposed chest.
Then I lie on my side and stare at the distant window, thinking.
Why did he fuck my ass first? I thought by now, surely after a night like tonight, he would have wanted to fuck my pussy. He said he’d make it special for me, since it was my first time, but I couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for my first. So why delay? Why not take me and be done with this?
My eyes drift shut, unable to remain open after such a long night of sensations. But the question continues to swirl in my mind, restless, even as my body surrenders to sleep.
8
I wake up groggy, confused. These sheets feel way too nice, this bed too lump-free beneath me. Where am I?
It all comes back in a rush. The helicopter flight, the show, the hotel, the penthouse . . . The pleasantly sore throb in my ass. I shift a little, and that’s when I notice the other pressure—the heavy weight of an arm around my waist.
Slowly, moving carefully so as not to disturb him, I glance over my shoulder.
Pierce has curled up beside me, hugging me tight against his body. His chest presses against my upper back, and his knees are curled behind mine, following the curve of my body exactly. We fit together so perfectly . . . And with his arm draped around my waist, hugging me against him, it almost feels like a natural position to wake up in. I’m just another girl, waking up beside her new boyfriend who can’t stop cuddling her in his sleep.
I smile, though part of me feels nervous about what this means, and turn back around to doze off. But the motion must wake him up, because a moment later, his arm slides off my waist, and I hear his breath catch beside me.
I glance over my shoulder again. “Pierce?”
His icy blue eyes find mine in the dim, pre-dawn glow from the windows. Before I can say anything, or ask what he’s thinking, he pushes off of the bed, leaping away from me as though he’s been scalded.
I listen to him pad across the penthouse. In the distance, the bathroom door opens and closes again. I lay back on my pillow and shut my eyes, but sleep is farther away than ever now.
I listen to the shower run for almost twenty minutes straight. Then the flush of the toilet, and the rush of the sink, and the soft swish of an electric toothbrush, or maybe a razor.
All the while, I stare at the inside of my eyelids, unable to drift back off. Why was he hugging me?