Stone is moaning, and I know he’s close. Watching his eyes close and seeing the chiseled ‘v’ of his hips in front of me as he drives into my face makes me goddamn wild for him. I’m moaning, my mouth humming against his cock to increase the pleasure. It works. I put my all into sucking that cock and he’s pulling that hose out and spraying huge streams of cum all over me. He gets my tits, but he also gets my face, my stomach, my thighs. Ropes of cum line my whole body. I know that I'm going to need to be extra careful in the shower…but I’m not cleaning up that way just yet. I'm going to be the best bad girl I can be and lick up all of the cum that he’s spurted onto my breasts.
When he strokes the beast into its final submission, that’s when I look right into Stone’s eyes and lift a tit up to my mouth. I slowly swirl the nipple with my tongue. Every drop of his cum on me is like icing on a cupcake. I’m cleaning it off slowly but completely and tasting every round his love gun shot off. I'm so turned on by tasting him. The saltiness of his cum mixed with my own cum in my mouth is so erotic, the room practically spins from how aroused I am.
His eyes, taking me in while I suck down every last drop of his cum, eggs me on to get every literal drop that he gifted me with. After I finish the second breast’s load and swallow it up real good for him, I use my hands to scoop up what’s on my face. I lick my fingers and then head down my stomach and my thighs. I savor every last drop until I’m sticky, sated, and totally spent. It's like when I finish this meal, then it's time for a siesta.
“C’mere,” Stone says, jettisoning himself onto the bed with his arms outstretched for me. “That was majorly fucking hot,” he says, his voice again so sensual that my body is covered in excited bumps and I shiver.
I lie against his chiseled chest and let the aftershocks pump through me. I listen to his heart, the thundering beat in his chest starting to slow down with his breathing. I don’t think anything of it and I have a kind of post sex paralysis. But when the calm washing over him makes me start to yawn too, I realize that he’s going to sleep.
Oh God.
I turn my face to look up at him and check to see if he is and, yes, he's asleep. He slings an arm over me possessively that threatens to lock me in. I try not to grunt and disturb him as I slide out from under his arm and wiggle away.
I look back at him, despite thinking I need to use this opportunity to make my getaway, and the sight of his nude, incredible body makes all this sink it. Totally unforgettable. That incredible body is enough to make me start to feel wet again. Shame on my pussy, exhausted as she is, conjuring up more arousal when I’m trying to get out of here.
I know that I could never forget a night like this. I don’t know if my body will ever recover from the aftershocks of this experience. The intensity of the orgasm rocked my world, every pun intended. But most of all, the overwhelming perfection of Stone’s cock buried deep in my pussy? That’s something I’ll never be able to get over. No cock has ever been so good. None can. It isn’t just how long it is or how wide it is. Stone knows how to fuck. He fucked me with a wild abandon unparalleled by any man I’ve ever slept with before. Even though I’m fairly uninhibited in my sexual forays, never have I felt so free, either. So this experience pretty much ruined me for all other men.
God, I've never fucking come so hard as I did with Mr. Guitar God. I don’t know that I?
??ve ever felt so erotic as I did licking my cum off his massive cock. I’m still shivering just thinking about it. I slink into my clothes and head out of the room while Stone is still sleeping. Maybe he really won’t remember this … and I just can’t be the one to explain that to him. I have to get back to my apartment and get a grip on myself because the way he fucked me, the intensity of how I felt toward him is fucking me up. Especially considering the truth about what I was there for. An interview. Fact-finding. I want to stay to make sure he's okay, though, not to finish out my story. I'll have to kill this story, or get it some other way.
My head is spinning and I keep slipping into my clothes as quietly as I can. My clothes are wrecked. I struggle to make do with what I have to work with and I get the hell out of that room, out of that hotel, and drive back to my apartment. Fucking Stone is the most addicting fuck I’ve ever experienced and I can’t wrap my head around it.
And here Stone is, addicted, and the medicine that cures him is wrecking his life. Wrecking my pussy in the most delicious way possible is one thing. But wrecking his life?
And, selfishly, I have to add, wrecking my story? Well neither of those is a fair trade off. Because no one can write about how he’s found some miracle drug and he’s having difficulties. I grimace, knowing my editor would actually find the story a risky, but still intriguing read; I know that I can’t share these details with anyone else. Like, I’m the reporter who slept with her source, but I’m not the reporter who shares private medical details that her subject gave her. Even as ambitious and driven as I am to get my job done, do it well, do it better than anyone else? Even though I’m generally pretty ruthless when it comes to work or anything in my personal life, too? Well, I’m not heartless. Not heartless enough to take someone who’s been through the hellish ordeal of addiction, trying to get past that, and confided in me the truth. There's something about the innocent way he asked me to come to his hotel room. Sure I assumed that he was messing me with the pill story. But in some very strange way, everything that happened tonight somehow endeared me toward trusting him and that crazy story. As if incredible sex somehow makes the impossible and unlikely seem, well, possible and likely.
My heart doesn’t stop racing the entire drive home. Erotic flashbacks taunt my every movement. How can my body feel so sensitive and so numb at once? When I get inside my apartment, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. I feel a tinge of sadness. All the cum I drank today was so much more satisfying than a glass of water. But as hard as I came? I need to make sure that I don’t get dehydrated.
I get into the shower, despite being tired. If I’m being honest, I feel shitty about not just passing out in his arms after the fuck fest we had. I wanted to. But I didn’t want to let my ambitious reporter self take over and start observing the scene for if he told the truth or lied. I didn’t think I wanted him to have forgotten our night, either. I’m in the shower for a long time, buried in a lot of thoughts that don’t completely follow through, or come to a head. When I finally notice that the water has gone cold, I get out, dry off, and climb into my own bed. It feels lonelier than I’d like to admit.
129
Gisele
At the Irish Exit, I sit at the table with Ashley and Kathy, sipping a bourbon, my fav drink. Which, I’ll admit, is a little strange. In the middle of Stone’s explanation of his alcoholism and experimental drug use, it didn’t seem like the appropriate time to pop in with, “Bourbon is my favorite drink too!” even if it's true. I’ll be honest, the coincidence seems … well, a little coincidental. I didn’t want him to think I was some sort of weird groupie who just claims to love something ‘cause he does, know what I mean?
But seriously, bourbon is the best. I can’t imagine taking a pill that would make me not want to drink it. That’d just be tragic. Giving up drinking would be tragic.
I stare down at my bourbon, ignoring the conversation around me. Some awful band is up on the stage, wailing about lost love, and I ignore them too, even when they hit a particularly bad note. Okay, so maybe I hear those, despite my best intentions. But seriously, is it weird for me to be mooning over some guy who I only fucked once? And, who doesn’t even remember it happening? I need to get over it already but …
I don’t want to. And that’s really weird for me. I’m the queen of fuck ‘em and leave ‘em. But this time? I don’t want to leave.
I let out a gusty sigh that can probably be heard in China. God, I’m a mess.
“You seem really upset,” Kathy says, patting my hand consolingly. “Are you okay? You’ve hardly said a word tonight.”
So much for suffering in silence. Let’s be honest here—I’ve never been good at that one. “It’s Stone,” I admit. Ashley’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline at that. I haven’t turned in my article on our interview yet, and we haven’t had a chance to chat. And, quite frankly, Ashley likes being in the know so I’m pretty sure she’s been dying to ask me all night what happened in the interview.
There’s a reason she works at a gossip magazine …
“What happened?” she asks breathlessly, leaning forward with anticipation.
Have I mentioned yet that she likes to be in the know? ‘Cause she does.
I open up my mouth to respond to her when I notice that the band is finally packing up and moving off stage. Thank God, I can finally think again, without their off-key wailing reverberating in my ears. I remind myself to give the bartender an extra-large tip. To put up with these shitty bands coming through has got to be a hellacious job. I thought my job at Blush was tough sometimes, but at least I don’t have anyone caterwauling in my ears all day long.
My eyes flick back to Ashley’s. Truth time.