Page 2 of Lost In Someone

I’m transfixed, and without paying my colleagues any attention, I stalk over to him. He turns his head and looks straight at me. It’s as if he felt my gaze, my total focus on him. He looks me up and down, perusing me the way I did him. He says something to the people he’s with and strides toward me.

“Dance with me,” I say. It’s not a question. By the way he’s looking at me, he’s as hooked as me.

We step onto the dance floor and start to dance. For someone as bulky as him, he moves sensuously, swaying his hips. He slips his tongue out and dampens his lip. Fuck, I want to do that. I want to lick and taste him.

As if he reads my mind, he leans in and presses his mouth to mine. I open my mouth for him, and heat floods me with the first touch of his tongue to mine. I tighten my grip on his waist, then slide down to his jean-clad arse. The globes are full and firm and fit my hands perfectly. The kiss deepens as he threads his fingers through my hair, holding me in place. He licks over my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and back to my lips. When he nips the flesh of my bottom lip, I groan helplessly. I never want this to stop.

I’ve always been the instigator, the leader, probably because I’m only looking for a bit of fun, but I give in to him, letting him take control. We kiss for what seems like forever, and it’s still not enough. When we pull apart, his lips are as swollen as mine feel.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Please, god, say yes.

With a quick negotiation of where to go, we leave and walk the short distance to my hotel. I drop the key card on the counter as he looks around the room. There’s no sign of regret in his manner, so I push away from the wall and walk over to him.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous. I want you naked. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Fuck, yes!”

Our mouths clash together again. He grapples with the buttons on my shirt as I undo the buckle of his belt. It doesn’t take long for us to be down to our underwear, me in black boxer briefs, him in white CK briefs. His thick shaft stretches the fabric at the waistband. I can imagine the burn as he fills my arse, but that’s not what I want. I want him on his hands and knees as I sink into that tight arse. I want to watch the muscles clench, to ripple as I lay him on his back and take him again and again.

I grab the lube and condoms from the side table and throw them onto the bed.

He smirks. “You came prepared.”

“Hopeful.”

I lose all rational thought when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my boxers and pulls me closer. “I’m glad you were. And I’m the lucky one.”

I push him back onto the bed, and as soon as he lands, I grab his briefs and yank them down and off his legs. “Wow, that’s a beauty.” His cock is a work of art: thick, long, and uncut, the thick vein running up the underside pulsing. There’s no way I’m not getting my lips around that.

As I suck him into my mouth, his groans fill the room. He twitches, and I get my first salty taste of his pre-cum. I want more. I want his load.

As I wake up, my first thought is getting my lips around his dick again. Maybe asking him his name would be a good idea too. But when I roll over, I find the space next to me empty. The clothes we threw carelessly around the room have disappeared. He’s not in the bathroom. He’s gone.

Fuck!

I thought we had a connection, something good, something more. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. We shared more than just sex. It was intimate. Every touch from him left its mark on me, in me. And I fucking slept through him leaving.

Why didn’t I get his name and number? Because I never do. But this time I wanted them.

It’s been a month, and work carries on. We move to a different area, and while I can’t forget that night or how I still have a tug in my chest when I think about him, life goes on.

I turn down the offers of another night in a club. It doesn’t stop the guys from asking, though.

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m ready for the weekend. As I gather my stuff, Craig calls over, “Hey, we’re going to the pub. Do you fancy a pint?”

That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. A pub is better than a club. “Sure.” I grab my coat from the hook by the door.

November has hit in a big way. The wind and rain have made work cold and wet, and I’ll be glad when I’ve finished and back in my own house.

My phone pings as we enter the pub, which is toasty warm from the roaring fire in the main bar. “There?” I point to a table next to it, and Craig and Phil nod.

I undo my coat and lay it on the back of the bench seat, then pull out my phone. It’s a message from Drew. I haven’t heard from him since I stormed away from him. Why’s he texting me now?

Drew: Thought you might want to see this.

I scroll down to the photo. It’s Kate with a small but definite baby bump. What the fuck? Why would Drew think I need to know this?

Do I answer him? It’s got nothing to do with me. Kate and I were never exclusive. We hooked up a few times a year if we felt like it. She had other partners, just as I had. Besides, we always used condoms, and Kate said she was on the pill too.

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