Fool Me Once

“Add another finger,” I tell her, no clue where this is coming from. It’s as if she’s released some sexual beast in me. Her eyes widen and she pulls her pointer finger out then inserts it back in, this time adding her middle finger. As she fucks herself with one hand and plays with her tits with the other, I stroke my dick. The room is silent save for our heavy breathing. We’re both turned the hell on. My dick is swollen with need, and so is her pussy.

And then she stops and removes her fingers. Her eyes meet mine, and she brings her soaking wet fingers up to her mouth, parting her lips, then closing them around the digits. When she sucks off her arousal and moans, her eyes rolling back in her head, it’s my breaking point.

Letting go of my dick, I cage her in my arms, my body covering hers. My mouth crashes down onto hers, and I push into her tight warmth. She moans into my mouth, and I can taste herself on her tongue. I suck on her tongue as I thrust deep inside her. She tightens around me, and I push in deeper, harder. She feels like everything that is perfect in this life. She feels like home. Our mouths fuck each other while our bodies make love to one another. We’re both close. The foreplay already brought us to the precipice. We’re dangling off the edge.

Blakely grips my shoulders—her nails digging into my skin—and calls out my name so loud, if we were at her house, she would’ve woken up her neighbors. Her entire body shakes and her pussy tightens around my dick like a vice grip as she falls right off the edge, taking me with her.

Blakely

“Why the pout?” Keegan asks, tracing my turned down lips that I didn’t realize matched my thoughts. We’re lying in bed, our bodies entwined in one another, waiting for room service to bring us breakfast. I’m exhausted and slightly sore, of course in the best way possible, from our love making last night. After the first time, we showered to clean off, only to go back to bed and do it all over again, and again. Keegan is like an addiction. I can’t get enough of him. So much so that at one point last night, I actually woke up and pulled him on top of me. He made sweet, slow love to me until we both found our release, and then he rolled over and fell asleep still slightly inside of me.

“I don’t want this to end, and that makes me feel guilty because our son isn’t here.”

Keegan pulls me closer and kisses me softly. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some time for yourself. He’s at home with your sister, who is practically a second mom to him. You’re such a good mom, JB. You give that kid every part of you.”

“I know you’re right. I just can’t help it.” I shrug. “It’s a mother’s curse, I guess.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Keegan gets up to answer it. I can’t take my eyes off his muscular form. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, slung low on his hips, and I know there isn’t anything underneath. His back is a work of art, chiseled in all the right places. Not overly built, just lean and perfect. He has a tattoo of his last name across his shoulder blades in gray script.

He wheels the cart of food into the room, the door closing behind him, while I grab his shirt from the chair and throw it on. “Want to eat out on the terrace?” I suggest. It’s probably in the sixties this morning, and our room overlooks the Atlantic.

“Sure.”

I grab the down blanket from our bed since we won’t need it anymore—we’re checking out after breakfast and heading home—and drag it outside. There are two lounge chairs, and when Keegan plops down onto one, I go to sit on the other, but he grips the curves of my hips and pulls me between his legs. He wraps his arms around my torso and kisses the side of my neck. “Fuck breakfast,” he murmurs. “I just want to eat you.” He bites down on the side of my neck playfully, and a giggle escapes my lips. I’ve never felt so wanted and cherished as I do with Keegan. He suckles on my skin, and my body relaxes against him. I don’t know how I’m going to go home after last night and be away from him.

“Move in with me,” I blurt out, and he stills. I don’t even know what’s gotten into me. One second I’m thinking about what it would be like to get to be with him every night and morning, and the next thing I know, I’m spouting shit out of my mouth. When he doesn’t say anything, I consider taking it back, telling him I was just kidding. But then it hits me, I don’t want to. I wasn’t kidding. So instead, I turn in his arms to face him and explain. “If you lived with me, you could be with Zane and me every day. We could go to bed and wake up together. We could be a family.”