Fortuity (Transcend 3)

His erection pushes between my legs and my bunched-up dress.

One strap of my dress falls off my shoulder, and he has my bare breast in his hand, kneading it, pinching my nipple, and driving me fucking insane!

“Condoms …” he mumbles against my neck, biting and sucking my flesh. “We … have … to … find … them.”

I agree.

That will require him to stop kissing me. That will require him to put me down. And right now, we’re in a good place—specifically his cock is in a good place, causing intense pressure and friction in the most perfect spot.

“O-K … in…” I shamelessly grind against him “… just…” holy crap that feels good “… a … minute.”

There’s a special message system going between my vagina and my nipples. It translates into confetti, trumpets, and a high probability of fireworks.

He dips his head and flicks his tongue over my nipple before his mouth completely covers it.

“Nate …” I arch my back away from the wall as he presses me to it—pressing there.

Oh god … glorious THERE!

“Fuck … we’ve got to stop.” His mouth works its way from my breast to my shoulder. He bites it playfully before resting his forehead on it.

I rock my pelvis against him.

He thrusts in response.

“Gracelyn … I…” another thrust “…need … more.”

I do too, but I’ve never been opposed to short-term goals. They’re my specialty more than long-term goals. If he lets me orgasm now, I’ll be in a better frame of mind to get the condoms.

“Torture …”

Thrust …

Thrust …

Thrust …

He pleads his case while gripping my ass and moving me right where he needs me. And as luck would have it—exactly where I want to be.

No!

He pulls away, easing me to my feet. Our labored breaths fill the fraction of space between us as my legs decide if they’re going to hold me upright.

No joke. If the slightest breeze crosses my clit, my eyes will roll back in my head with an orgasm. I’m that close. I attempt to play it cool, pulling up the strap to my dress before smoothing down the skirt. My panties have been thrust into no-man’s-land. I’ll deal with them later.

“We have to go find them.”

I nod, only partially coherent. I’m so drunk on Nate right now, I’d never be able to walk a straight line.

“K.” I nod again several times. “Where?”

“Your place. Maybe in his bathroom.” He grabs my hand and drags me next door. “I’ll check the bathroom; you check drawers in the kitchen and living room.” He grabs my face and kisses me hard, stoking the fire. I wrap my leg around his leg, looking for any friction.

Seriously, anything!

“Go.” He pulls away.

I look in all the side table drawers and all the kitchen drawers.

Nothing.

It would have been quicker to just drive to the closest convenience store.

I hear banging of drawers and clattering of things being riffled through in the bathroom. When I peek inside, Nate looks at my reflection in the mirror, a mix of pain and desperation.

“No luck?” I cringe.

He turns and attacks me again. His hands holding my face. His tongue frantically exploring the inside of my mouth.

There has to be something we can use. Plastic wrap. A sandwich bag. Something!

This … this is how even really smart, mature, levelheaded women get pregnant. They go way too long without sex and find something better than a Scottish, kilt-wearing hottie. They (I) dry hump a man who hasn’t had sex in over ten years.

There’s no way this ends well. He’s going to rip off my clothes and deposit ten years’ worth of sperm inside of me. Yep. Here we go …

Nate shoves down both straps to my dress and ravages my breasts. He keeps them distracted with his mouth while his hands not so patiently pull off my panties.

It’s not that I didn’t go through a time in my life where I dreamed of having children. I did. That time passed. My womb is no longer taking applications. I just inherited a ten-year-old. And I have a super important but rather shitty job.

Lives depend on me being responsible. I can’t die. I can’t forget to get Gabe registered for fall classes. And I can’t let my temporary neighbor deposit millions of half babies into my vagina.

“Oh boy …” I push away, out of breath, really turned on, and freaked out of my mind. A few labored laughs escape as I continue to step back, going in reverse until I hit the threshold to the kitchen.

A safe six feet away.

I wrinkle my nose, feeling equally as frustrated, as I tuck my breasts back into my dress and pull my panties up my legs. Nate looks nothing short of tortured—an animal desperate for its first meal after months of hibernation.

“I’m not on birth control. I don’t want my first letter to you to be an ultrasound picture of tonight.”