Scratch the Surface

Pulling on his arms, I brought his hands down beside his head and curled my fingers into his, pressing them into the mattress as I hammered inside of him, lost in the skin-shivering feel of him coiled around me inside and out. The orgasm came roaring up my spine, and I cried out hoarsely, everything washing out for a moment, sound and color, before I was back, shuddering with aftershocks.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I wasn’t supposed to surrender and lose control. I needed to pull out, but instead I bucked forward into him, thrusting deep, nothing gentle about it, like I was ready to start the whole thing all over again.

He arched up off the bed like he was trying to reach me, touch me, put his skin back on mine, and I realized, only then, that my hands were still in his.

Closing my eyes, I tried to get my body to calm so I could pull out, but his muscles were spasming, tightening and then relaxing, holding me there lodged inside. It almost hurt, but between the squeeze and me coming, I couldn’t move if I tried.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Opening my eyes, I gazed down at him, which didn’t help at all. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, eyes heavy-lidded, and his gold hair was a tousled, sweaty mess. He looked both sated and debauched, and the throb of arousal that rolled through me was insane. Since when was I insatiable or hungry for human contact? Especially with a trick? What was happening?

“Kiss me some more.”

“I…need to pull out and––”

“Not yet,” he murmured, wetting his lips, huffing out a breath, his gaze beseeching, the yearning obvious. “Come here.”

The sound of him, husky and low, did he know how sexy he was?

“Please,” he murmured.

I was a goner.

Collapsing, I spread my body over his, plastering our skin together, the sweat and semen that had escaped the condom of no consequence, only my hands fisting in his and his warm breath down the side of my neck mattering at all.

“Stay,” he said.

So I did.

2

Cameron

The knocking on the door jolted me awake, and I sat up in bed, trying to get my bearings. It was dark in the hotel room, only that line of white between the curtains which let me know it was well past dawn, and if I opened them, I’d be blinded. Normally that wasn’t the case. I beat the sunrise on a regular basis, finishing my morning run right as the daystar rose, so already my schedule was off. Turning, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked the time.

Oh dear God.

“Cam! Are you up?”

“Of course I’m up!” I yelled defensively at the door connecting my room with that of my business associate, Doug Taylor. If we were friends, I probably wouldn’t have yelled, but I’d only met him for the first time at the airport the day before when I picked him up. I, of course, had gotten a rental—didn’t want to put excess miles on my own car—to make the drive from Pacifica, California, where I lived, to Sacramento, as it was only ninety miles. I always got a lot of phone calls taken care of while I was on the road. It worked out well, I got to Sacramento in time to pick him up at the airport there, and together we drove to the hotel downtown.

Both Doug and I worked for Berg and Stein, him in LA in contract law and me in San Francisco in accounting. We were there in Sac to meet with the people at the Rauch Group and let them know what our findings were on their proposed acquisition of Dunbar Holdings. Our first meeting on this already horrible Thursday morning was in forty-five minutes, and I hadn’t even showered. What in the world was going on?

Turning to get out of the bed, realizing I’d been lying under a sheet and nothing else, my evening came back to me in a wave of images.

Everything, all of it, was so unlike me. I had never, ever had sex with a stranger before. I was the careful one, the guy who maybe thought about sex after the third date, if things were going really well and the other person and I had similar life goals.

It was insane that I had invited someone into my room, into my bed—into my body—and never even gotten a name. That wasn’t me. In fact, it was so completely not me that if I told anyone, they’d never believe me in a million years. I was far more likely to rob a bank than have a one-night stand.

Crazy.

And yet…

The bed was wrecked, I was naked, and I felt a shiver run through me that had nothing to do with the arctic temperature of the room, but instead with the slight twinge in my ass when I sat up, that felt more warm than uncomfortable. My body had been well-used, and I couldn’t remember that ever being the case.