The Player Next Door

The slow pace I started at quickly escalates as his grip of my hair tightens and his breathing grows raspy and his hips rock, first subtly and then with a smooth rhythmic roll. The only warning I get is the pinch at my nape as his fists clenches to grip my hair tight and then, with a guttural moan, Shane releases into my mouth. I take him all in.

His body is relaxed when I pull away. He’s sprawled across the bed, his chest heaving. “Holy shit, Scar. That was … ” He stretches his arms above his head to rest on his pillow, his mouth opening as if he’s about to speak but then closing as if he can’t decide what to say, several times over. He finally settles on, “Can you please do that again, soon?”

“Maybe.” I climb onto his body to straddle his hips. His lips are parted, and his eyelids are heavy. “Not if you’ll fall asleep on me,” I warn.

A deep, throaty laugh escapes him. “Does this look like I’ll fall asleep?” He reaches down to stroke himself. He’s already thickening again.

Meanwhile, my core is aching with the need for release.

With a smirk, he fumbles for the condom he set on his nightstand.

I savor the view of Shane tearing the packet and expertly sheathing himself in record time. With sturdy hands, he seizes my hips to reposition me. He may have stalled sex from happening before, but there’s no hesitation now. He guides me onto him, slowly filling me.

A breathless cry slips for my lips as my body stretches around his size and my inner muscles clamp around him, and a heady fire spreads through my veins, igniting my body.

“Hol-y fuck,” he growls. “I won’t last long if you keep making sounds like that.”

I roll my hips, guiding him in those last few inches to fill me completely. “You’ll have to make up for it.” Given the tingling stir in my lower belly, I doubt I’ll be chasing my release for long.

His fingers bite into my flesh as I ride him, his heady gaze dancing from my face to my swaying breasts to where we’re joined as if he can’t decide where to settle. His hips meet my body in measured thrusts. Between us, my body grows wet as I get lost in the intoxicating thrill of this intimacy, of being full and stretched by Shane.

“Fuck … Scar, I need … ” He doesn’t finish that sentence before flipping me onto my back and overwhelming me with his substantial frame. His lips find mine in a fervent kiss as he drives into me with fast, deep, powerful thrusts. I coil my legs around his hips and let him dominate my body, content to tangle my fingers through his silky hair and savor his mouth as the bed’s headboard bangs against the wall over and over again.

My orgasm hits suddenly, flooding me with warmth and rushing through me. I cry out as my inner muscles squeeze Shane, earning his curse and several harder, faster plunges. He lets out a deep, almost pained groan into my mouth and his hips still as he pulsates inside me.

We fall into a contented silence for a long moment, our swollen lips grazing, our ragged breaths mingling, our chests heaving.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t do that back in high school,” Shane whispers.

I lay boneless beneath his weight. And utterly content. “Why is that?”

His teeth find my earlobe, giving it a lazy nip. “Because we never would have gone anywhere.”

A warm shiver courses through my body. “You’re probably right.” I trail my fingertips over his chiseled shoulders and back. His skin is burning hot and slick with sweat. “Speaking of which, what time do you want to leave for Route Sixty-Six?”

His deep chuckle vibrates through my core. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed tonight.”

Twenty-Four

“Are you sure this is it?” I hold up the unimpressive rubber ring. “It looks like a weird elastic hair band.”

“About fifty percent sure.” When Shane sees my scowl, he holds up his hands in surrender. “That toilet’s ancient.”

I sigh with resignation. “Maybe we should just replace it, then.” My main-floor toilet started running last week and hasn’t stopped. If I don’t do something soon, I’ll be paying for a new toilet’s worth of wasted water.

“Let’s try this, and if it doesn’t work, I’ll put in a new one for you next week.”

“You know how to do that?”

“I did my renos, remember?” He answers with far more patience than I probably deserve. “And if I need help, I’ll call a friend who owes me a favor and definitely knows what he’s doing. Either way, I’ll get this fixed up for you.”

A gray-haired man with a wiry mustache and a fluorescent-orange staff vest shuffles up to us in the plumbing aisle, his steel-toe boots sliding against the concrete floor. “Can I help you two find something tonight?” He has a kind, grandfatherly face.