“You’re going to come for me now. Come for me now. Say it. Tell me your coming,” he demands. The force of his words, the unapologetic demand, his wet finger sliding over my clit in tight circles, his relentless, rock hard cock pounding inside me, it’s all too much. He’s right, I’m coming.
“I’m coming,” I yell. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He pulls my hair harder, yanking my head back to him, and catches my lips in a crushing kiss. I moan into his mouth as I come, as the city lights outside the window burst in front of my eyes. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know who I am. All I know is that my body feels like it could float above the earth, his hands and his cock impaling me are the only things tethering me to the ground.
His hand tightens on my hip and lets me know he’s close. I feel his thighs shaking behind me, and his jaw is tense, ragged breaths panting against my cheek.
“I’m going to come,” he says, and with a few last deep thrusts, he grunts in my ear, toppling us on to the bed, his hand still on my pussy, his cheek against mine.
We lay like that for a few minutes, coming down together, his body curled against mine. Chris smooths back my hair and plants a kiss on my temple. He inches down the bed and climbs down the ladder. Again I watch as he goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. I reach down and cup my pussy, feeling a delicious ache and thinking about what just happened. I stretch my arms over my head, languishing in how loose and relaxed I feel. My eyes take in the lights along the Seine, and I try to memorize every detail and the feeling I have in this moment. It will be a memory to sustain me when I return to New York. Part of me wants to give Chris my number feeling it would be crazy to pass up this guy when the chemistry has been so hot, but I know there isn’t a future with anyone in the next few months, not when I have to do what I plan. No one wants to be with a girl like that. I know that the next few months won’t be easy, and I realize the uncertainty of my future makes me appreciate the perfection of this present moment.
As long as Chris is in the bathroom, I take the opportunity to check my laptop, within reach on a small shelf next to the loft. I open it up and check my new page on the most popular cam girl platform, Sugar Girl. It looks perfect. I was lucky to be selected for their roster, and I know in just a few months, I’ll have enough money to pay back my debts and really go after my dreams. I laugh out loud as the thought of giving Chris my number passes through my head again. There is no way Chris would want to date a cam girl. He is definitely off limits.
“Hey, whatcha doing?” He’s back. I didn’t hear him climbing back up and I snap my laptop closed quickly, hoping he hasn’t seen the screen.
“Checking my email,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. He’s staring at me and it feels a little unsettling. “What are you looking at?”
“You. You’re really beautiful. And that was so fucking amazing I’m at a loss for words.”
He spoons himself around my body and draws the down blanket up and around our shoulders, rubbing softly on my hip as if trying to soothe the spot he’d so aggressively grabbed before.
“Is this okay?” he asks. “I mean, is it okay if I fall asleep here and spend the night?”
I think I say yes, or at least I intend to, but with his hand on my hip and his body pressed against mine, I drift off to sleep before even answering.
4
Chris
I sense the morning sun streaming through dormer windows behind my closed eyes. The bells of Notre Dame woke me up a few minutes ago. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well. I roll over and reach beside me, feeling for Weaver’s warm body, yearning to press up against her and put my morning wood to good use. All I find is an empty and cold space beside me. And an envelope. I take out the note inside:
Thanks for the memories, Chris. Last night was great. If I’m ever back in Paris, I’ll look you up.
xoWeaver
PS Get your ass out of bed before eleven or they’ll charge me an extra $50.
PPS I always pay my debts.
Inside the envelope is a folded twenty-euro note. I lay back on the bed and reread the note a few times, hoping against ridiculous hope that I somehow missed her phone number on the first few readings. How can it be that she just took off like that, without a trace? I mean, I’ve done that before, sure. I’m not naïve when it comes to one-night-stands, I’ve just never been on the receiving end like this before. It isn’t my habit to deceive women. I always make sure I’m crystal clear about my intentions, but sometimes the message isn’t received, and I’ve had to block a few numbers over the years. I’m not sure it’s because of my incredible charm or large bank balance. Probably both.
It was one night, Chris, I tell myself, but I can’t get her out of my head and the disappointment sticks with me as I wash up in that tiny bathroom and put on my crumpled suit. It wasn’t just the mind-blowing sex, the down-for-anything way she had about her, it’s more. Being with her last night was easy. She was fun. Unpredictable. Independent. I can’t remember the last time I met a woman who stimulated me like that. The idea that I won’t get to see her again makes me uncomfortable. I’m not a fool to think that she is the one. Hell, I’m not even sure I’ll ever find a woman I want to spend my life with, but I know I want to spend more time with Weaver. Simply put, I really want more.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I check the text message coming in from my brother, Martin.
How was last night? Did it satisfy your craving for a bit of freedom and fun?
Then something pops into my head. I remember the website I saw Weaver looking at in bed, Sugar Girl or something like that. It looked risqué, but when I asked Weaver what she was doing, she lied; said she was looking at her email. Why was she looking at that website? I pull it up on my phone and scroll through the homepage, looking at the thumbnails of various women, none of them Weaver. I shove my phone in my pocket, frustrated.
As I walk down the seven flights of stairs, images from last night flash in front of my eyes. Her smooth skin, glowing in the moonlight; the way her body reacted to every touch; the low moans, the frantic keening; how she gave and took so hungrily. By the time I reach the street, I’ve decided. This isn’t over. It’s far from over. This is only the beginning.
I text my brother.
Yes, I had fun. I’m not satisfied, though.
Not yet.
Chris and Weaver’s story continues in THE BILLIONAIRE’S CAMGIRL. Available on Amazon now!
Books By Penny Wylder
Filthy Boss
Her Dad’s Friend
Rockstars F#*k Harder
The Virgin Intern
Her Dirty Professor
The Pool Boy
Get Me Off
Caught Together
Selling Out to the Billionaire
Falling for the Babysitter
Lip Service
Full Service
Expert Service
The Billionaire’s Virgin
The Billionaire’s Secret Babies
Her Best Friend’s Dad
The Billionaire’s Gamble
Seven Days With Her Boss
Virgin in the Middle
The Virgin Promise
First and Last
Tease
Spread
Bang
Second Chance Stepbrother
Dirty Promise
Sext
Quickie
Bed Shaker
Deep in You
The Billionaire’s Toy
Buying the Bride
Dating My Friend’s Daughter
Big Man
Trapped with My Teacher
My 5 Bosses
Good Girls Say Yes
His Big Offer
Dangerous Love
The Roommate’s Baby
Perfect Boss
Cowboy Husband
Knocked Up By Her Brother’s Enemy
Flirt
Lust
Claim
The Wife Arrangement
Big Mountain
The Baby Maker’s Club
Prom King
The Single Dad Arrangement
Getting Her Back
Hate to Lose You
Drink Me Up
For Her
For Us
Valentine’s Day Virgin
The Billionaire’s CamGirl