Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
My world centered on this man with a ferocity that threatened to knock me to my knees. Maybe this was the result of a long day together after a few days apart. Desire wasn’t a romantic notion now, it was a greedy, demanding beast. It was no surprise that we crashed into each other the second the door closed behind us.
10
SEB
Jackets and shoes went flying, followed by belt buckles and zippers. I licked his stubbled jaw as I led him into my suite through the living area to the bedroom. I shoved my khakis and boxer briefs off, kicking them aside. Trent fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, growling in frustration at his slow progress.
A few seconds later, the buttons pinged off the wall when he ripped my shirt open. He slipped his tongue in my mouth, making it impossible to protest if I’d been so inclined. And I wasn’t. I met him thrust for thrust as I clawed at his back and pushed his jeans over his ass.
We lost our balance in our clumsy maneuvers and fell sideways onto the bed. I tossed the complimentary turn-down service card and mints aside and wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him close. I rode his cotton-clad dick, loving the sweet friction. It wasn’t what I really wanted. It was a tease.
He sucked my mouth, feeding like a hungry animal as he pushed his briefs out of the way. We gasped at the press of our naked flesh.
“Christ, I need inside you. Where’s your lube? Please tell me you have condoms.”
“The bathroom.”
“Too far. I’ve got this.” Trent pulled his wallet from his jeans and proudly presented a condom and a travel-sized packet of lube.
I started to make a smartass comment about preparedness, but words seemed like a waste of effort. I needed one thing and one thing only. I opened my legs wide, lifting my balls out of the way. Trent drizzled lube over my hole.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” I winced.
“Shh. I’ll make it better.” He teased my hole, brushing his thumb over the sensitive puckered flesh and slipping a finger inside.
“Give me more. I can take it.”
He obeyed.
I gritted my teeth when he added a third, but I didn’t tell him to stop. I wanted him too much.
Trent sheathed himself, his jeans still hovering just below his ass as he lined his cock at my entrance and pushed. He rested his forehead against mine, his breath caressed my lips, gauging my every reaction before burying himself deep. We clung to each other. I could feel him pulse inside me like a heartbeat.
And then…I wasn’t sure what happened next. It was a blur of frantic motion—thrusting, pumping, and grinding. We couldn’t get close enough, fast enough. I loved seeing him on edge, so crazed with lust that he lost all pretense of finesse. I felt the same. It was a wild ride and I hung on for all I was worth.
But there was no way to make this last. We were a runaway freight train barreling toward a cliff’s edge at top speed destined to break apart…and on that note, I wrapped my fingers around my shaft. Three or four tugs later, I was a goner. And Trent was with me.
He shuddered, bucking his hips over and over before collapsing on top of me.
“I think this is probably a good time to stop pretending this isn’t going to happen again,” Trent panted, finally kicking his jeans off as he rolled to his side.
“Agreed. In fact, I’d be more than happy to spend the next few days right here…in bed.”
“Perfecting your craft?”
I grinned. “Exactly.”
So that was what we did. I’d never stayed in bed or even wanted to unless I was sick. But I liked this. A lot. We didn’t have sex twenty-four-seven. We did other things too, but we didn’t stray far. We ate at the hotel restaurant or at local pubs and took walks through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens, talking about everything under the sun. Favorite songs, favorite movies, favorite cereals when we were kids…everything.
For the first time in decades, I shared trivial things about myself that had nothing to do with my aspirations for Baxter. In fact, I didn’t mention Baxter or work at all. It came up in phone calls and emails that required my attention, but work was secondary to Trent. In a way, though, he was a facet of my work. He was my inspiration, my muse. And now that I had him all to myself, I wanted to know what made him tick…what made him happy, sad, angry, flustered, excited.
I learned that he didn’t care for cereal. Trent preferred eggs or bagels. He loved pizza, classic rock, and had a soft spot for Bon Jovi and Springsteen, which he claimed was the Jersey in him. His parents named him after the city he was born in, thinking they’d call him by his middle name, Angelo. That never stuck. Trent surmised that had something to do with his older sisters calling him Angie.