Party Girl

“Well... I'm busy.” She looked at the few remaining bites of her burger before setting it aside with a grimace. “I threw a party when I reached my first million subscribers.”

“You put on a party hat, threw a handful of confetti that got stuck in your keyboard, and unboxed the plaque that YouTube sent you while you were livestreaming. But that was it, unless you did something else that you didn't talk about online. Did you?”

No.” She sat up straighter against the pillows and crossed her arms, looking vexed. “I told you, I don’t really have family or a huge circle of friends. My online community are my family and friends. I celebrate with them. What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong with it is that they’re not really here. They’re just words on a screen.”

“They’re still people.”

“People you can’t touch, or hug, or fuck around with. Convincing yourself that those online people are your family and friends is the ultimate lie you use to keep people at a distance. That’s the reality of what you do.”

Her mouth tightened. “I beg to differ. In fact, I’m the exact opposite of what you’re describing. I’m a total people person.”

“Yeah, you probably would have been if your selfish-ass mom and supreme bitch of a granny hadn’t fucked you up so bad you do everything in your power to make sure no one gets close enough to hurt you.”

Her gasp rang around the room. “I am not fucked up!”

“Beautiful, we’re all fucked up in some way, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s what makes us interesting. And I have to say, I find it pretty fucking interesting that you’ve trained yourself to enjoy parties and people that actually have nothing to do with you.”

She chewed that over for a while before slanting him a scowl. “Is this conversation going somewhere, or are you just enjoying showing me how I fail at life?”

“All I'm doing is pointing out that you’ve gotten all this shit mixed up in your head. Celebrating the lives of others has blinded you to the fact that you're forgetting to move forward with a life of your own—a life that should be filled with your own celebrations.”

“I see. And is that your official diagnosis, Doctor?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. I’ve diagnosed you as a workaholic, and here’s the prescription—quit other people’s parties and start celebrating all the kickass amazing things you have in your life. Like me.”

Some of the heat ebbed from her scowl. “I think I can get behind the whole celebrating my own life kind of thing.”

“Good. I’ve got a few ideas on how you should start.”

“Oh?” The last of her scowl vanished as a reluctant smile took its place, a flicker of heat glowing to life in her suddenly heavy-lidded eyes. “Are you going to share those ideas with the rest of the class, or are you going to keep them to yourself?”

“When it comes to this, I’m just like you—totally into sharing.” Setting aside the remains of their meal, he climbed onto the bed with her, pulling aside the sheet covering her as he went. “Just so you know, I get how a person can fall into a rut when it comes to work. You get tunnel vision and forget about everything else. I've been there and done that, to the point where I almost didn't give a shit that the best years of my life were passing me by. But then a blue-eyed, raven-haired goddess crossed my path and suddenly I knew it was time to start living not for the job, but for something one helluva lot more important. All I need to do now is shake that goddess out of her own rut, because that’s exactly what she needs for a healthy work-life balance. Doctor’s orders,” he added, smoothing a hand over her thigh and reveling in the silken feel of it. “And you’re not allowed to be a noncompliant patient. Understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she whispered, even as his mouth moved over hers.

What a woman.

The words echoed through his head as he kicked off his jeans and covered her body with his. What a woman she was, turning him on with just a word or a smile. What a woman she was, to give of herself so freely and without reservation, like she found joy, just fucking joy, in being with him. What a woman she was to gift him with that same uninhibited joy in return.

What a woman.

“I want to take you so many ways even the Kama Sutra author would be impressed,” he murmured, running his lips along the side of her neck while his balls tightened and his cock throbbed. Everywhere he touched, he found new definitions of perfection. Everywhere he tasted, he discovered a deeper addiction. “I'll never be able to get enough of you. You need to understand that.”

Her legs latched around his hips. “I think I can relate.”

“If you only think it, you can't. Not really.” Giving her a quick squeeze, he moved her until she was rolled onto her belly. “But you will. When you crave me like a drug, you'll understand exactly what you do to me. Ass up and head down, beautiful.”

The tremor in her breath echoed in his ears as she followed his instructions. “I'm not sure about this. I like seeing your face—”

“And I like making you see stars.” He took a moment to smooth his hands over what had to be the world's most amazing ass before putting another condom in place and positioning his cock between her legs. “Wanna make you come so hard you think I'm God, baby. Spread wider.”

“Oh... wow,” she whispered, but did as instructed.

Goddamn, what a woman.

Sliding into her tight pussy was his personal idea of a miracle. That sweet sensation knocked everything else out of existence—where they were, what year it was, even his own damn name. Becoming a part of her was bliss. The thought of their inevitable separation was hell. She was his heaven.

And he was hers.

“My beautiful Hannah has the sweetest pussy.” He ground his teeth as the pleasure ballooned inside him, and he chased after it with every powerful thrust into her. But as much as he reveled in that growing madness, he wanted to make sure that she was right there with him. Without breaking rhythm, he slid a hand around her hip and down to her sex-slick cleft, loving the soft little sounds of pleasure coming from her. “Gotta treat this pussy so good it purrs just at the sight of me.”

“Do it,” she whispered, her breath hitching in the hottest damn way. “Do it, fuck me, please...”

“Love that so much, beautiful.” The fierce rhythm of his hips increased as his fingers hit the jackpot. The hold on what little sanity he had left began to slip as he stroked her clit, her moans turning into incoherent cries as she also began to lose it. “Get there, Hannah. Come for me.”

Those words seemed to be the final catalyst that pushed her over the edge. The hot, slick flesh sheathing his cock convulsed before she cried out as if in agony, her body rocking urgently back into his thrusts, taking him in deep while her hands fisted on the sheet and tore it from the bed.