Highest Bidder

I wrapped my arms around her back and held her to me as I rutted into her and listened to her shouts of pleasure. I gripped her ass cheeks and held her hips even higher so there was not a tiny inch inside that I had not touched. All of it belonged to me. I had waited all this time for this.

As I kept thrusting into her, I felt her legs cling to me tighter and her pussy pulse on my dick.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she muttered.

Her words are cut off as screams of pleasure are torn from her throat. Her face flushed as I rode her hard towards the edge of the abyss.

“Wow, that was amazing,” she gasped, as the echoes of our release fade away.

My cock twitched inside her. I was still hard. I felt proud I had taken her cherry. Moving my mouth to her nipple, I sucked one of the soft pink buds in my mouth. She moaned with pleasure. Giving it a little teeth, I gripped her ass and pulled her hips aggressively up my hot dick, all the way to the fucking root.

“Are we going to do it again, Brent?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Freya, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk,” I growled.

“I want that too,” she whined.

Freya

It took me quite the while to return back to earth, but even after I did, even after my brain restarted and my heartbeat settled, I remained on top of Brent. I was no longer a virgin. Brent had taken it. Actually, Brent had bought it. And it was the most amazing feeling in the whole world. Everything I’d heard was untrue. With the right man, it was heaven. He was still inside of me, and neither of us wanted to pull apart, at least that was what I hoped.

My head was on his chest, feeling its gentle rise and fall, and the rhythm of his heartbeat, a melody I didn’t want to break away from. His warmth seeped into me, and when he suddenly moved to wrap his hand around me, his nose softly nuzzled the crook of my neck, and my breathing became labored all over again.

We only had this for tonight, so there would be no holding back. A separation, especially after the profound experience we’d just shared seemed unfathomable. I wanted him to touch me again, continuously until the sun rose.

He began to move. For a few moments, I tried to ignore his intention to separate from me, but he curled his hands around my ribs, lifted me bodily, and pulled out of me. I gasped at the loss of our warm, wet, joining, but he deposited me on the bed next to him.

I shut my eyes to hide the emotions inside me.

After disposing of the used condom, I felt him settle in the space beside me. I waited for him to immediately rise and get out of the bed. When a few minutes passed and he didn’t move, I began to feel a bit of warmth flood into my chest again. Perhaps he would be here until the morning.

“How do you feel?” his quiet voice filtered over.

“I’m fine. I am perfectly fine.”

“Good,” he said, “because we have a long night ahead of us.”

“Have you not had enough?”

“Have you?” he countered.

I was immensely sore but we only had tonight. Nothing could hold me back. I shook my head. And he reached for me again. I felt my body open up to him like a flower. I screamed his name three more times before my eyelids shut.

It felt as if I had closed them only a few minutes before morning arrived. I felt him move beside me, then his warmth was gone. I opened my eyes to the vivid reminder of all that had happened the previous evening. It all still seemed like a distant dream.

For a while, I considered pretending to be asleep. My chest tightening with apprehension when I heard him moving around the room quietly. I thought that he would wake me up, at least say goodbye, but instead I heard his footsteps heading towards the door.

I instantly shot upright.

True enough, he was heading towards the door, fully dressed.

“Brent,” I called out, my tone sounded strangely lost and small.

Stopping, he turned around to glance at me. He didn’t say anything, just waited.

I hated him for not saying a word, for not caring, for treating me like a whore. I knew I couldn’t say what was in my chest, my heart, my belly, my skin, my mouth, my sex. I couldn’t tell him I didn’t want him to leave. Ever.

He quirked an eyebrow. How distant he had become. Last night, he had worshipped my body, now he was the mysterious, secretive billionaire again.

“How are you going to send the funds?” I asked, putting as much nonchalance as I could muster into my question.

“The club will wire it to your bank account,” he responded. “You’ve already provided the information, I believe.”

I glared at him.

He turned fully to face me. “What is it?” he asked. “You’re doubtful you’ll receive it?”

“No, but how am I supposed to explain one million pounds in my account?” I asked sullenly. “To anybody?” I hated talking to him about money, when all I wanted to do was have him inside me again. I wish I had never fallen asleep. I wish I had let him have me one more time.

He shrugged his shoulders without looking up. "A gift sounds reasonable enough."

“A gift of one million?”

“Why not? You picked up a rich boyfriend. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Don’t send it yet,” I said. “I’ll think about how to receive it, and get back to you.”