Once I start erupting, I can’t stop. Not until every ounce of cum is drained from my cock. Not until I’m so deflated I can’t pump into her anymore. Even then, only the prospect of me messing up the condom work and creating an oops baby makes me stop.
But I don’t want to.
I make myself pull out of her and stumble out of bed. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure if I’m rushing toward the bathroom to clean up and take care of the condom—or just plain ol’ running away to keep myself from falling on top of her again.
Gotta admit, no girl has ever rocked my world like that before. Still, I go through my usual ritual of cleaning up the condom. Not just disposing of it, but washing it all the way out so no wastebasket-used-condom-sperm donation business can pop off.
This is the part where the pleasure of fucking new pussy begins to fade. And I wait for the soaring warmth in my chest to be replaced by that dead inside feeling. It never takes more than a minute or two.
But then a minute passes and then another one. And it never comes. What the…?
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and jolt at what I see. This morning when I looked in this same piece of glass, all I saw was hangover Griff, messed-up hair, bloodshot eyes, and some deepening forehead lines I was probably going to have to talk to my derm about one of these days.
But now, I barely recognize the guy in the reflection. He’s smiling goofily at me in the mirror. Like he’s…like he’s…
It takes me a few tries before I land on the word. Happy. I look happy. Well, how about that…?
Merry Christmas to me indeed, with a yippee ki-yay on top.
Which is why my heart stops when I come back to the bedroom to find her slinking toward the door.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I hook an arm around her waist and pull her back into my chest.
Goddamn, she smells good. Like a whole bunch of carbs topped with apple crisp. As spent as I am, my dick kicks to life as soon as it makes contact with her round, soft ass.
“I need to clean up too and sleep for about a thousand years. You wore me out,” she answers with a laugh.
“Damn right, I did,” I answer. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She laughs again, that low, wicked sound I still haven’t tired of for some reason. “No, I can’t say that. But I figured I should stay in the room you gave me. That way, I won't wake you up later on when I leave.”
My blood goes from low simmer to ice in an instant. “You were going to leave without telling me?"
She stiffens in my arms. “It wasn't meant to be an insult. I just figured you'd want me gone, now that you've finally got what you brought me here for.”
The truth is, I thought that too. It should've been enough. But it's not. I still want her. I still want to fuck her.
And I can’t say if I'm pissed because she’s planning to leave or because I already know I won't be letting her. Not today. Maybe not even tomorrow morning.
It feels like I’m jumping off a cliff when I say, “Red?”
“Yes?” she asks, her voice careful, like she suspects she might be dealing with some kind of psycho.
Maybe she is. Maybe she is.
But I say it anyway. “Stay with me. One more week. Stay with me until New Year’s Eve.”
CHAPTER 17
GRIFF
I wake up the following day to a strange sensation. There’s a weight pressing against my back all the way down to my ass, heavy and warm, and something’s binding me to it.
Two arms…I pop open my eyes. Two arms have me trapped. And that’s when I realize I’m being spooned. Red, the roadhouse bartender I invited to stay with me, has turned me into the little spoon inside her cuddle. The fuck?
Listen. I rarely do overnights. I don’t do cuddles. And I sure as hell don’t let girls little-spoon me. But here I am with Red’s arms wrapped around my chest. She’s even got her legs pressed into the bottom of my thighs—like a goddamn nesting block.
“What the hell?” I ask out loud.
Her breath whispers across my neck, and she presses her tits into my back as she says, “Oh, hey, you’re awake.” A little laugh escapes her, like she’s been waiting a while for me to show signs of life.
And yes, I’m awake now. In more ways than one.
We ended up sleeping most of Christmas Day away—no keto-friendly dinner for us. But I woke her up two times to take her again. After all of last night's activities, I wouldn’t have thought it possible to spring a hard-on this fast.