Page 30 of Sweet Escape

“Do you know how hard it is not to stare at these?” he asks, his tongue flicking teasingly against one nipple.

“Probably as hard as it is for me not to ogle you in those stupidly tight polo shirts,” I answer, whimpering as his teeth graze against me.

He pulls back and I mourn the loss of the contact. But only briefly, because his mouth is back on mine, his hands gripping at my hips and working at the button on my jeans.

I mirror his actions, my hands working at his fly with a desperation I wasn’t expecting but can’t seem to help.

The room is nearly pitch black, so even as my eyes adjust, it’s hard to see much. But I don’t need to see anything to know that the man in front of me is as desperate for this as I am. A fact that’s only confirmed when my hand slips into his jeans and grips him over his boxers.

Memphis pauses, his hands rising and bracing on the door on either side of me, a groan coming from somewhere deep in his chest as I squeeze him.

“Is this for me?” I ask him, gently biting on his ear and loving the little breaths I can hear falling from his mouth.

His hips begin to shift, his dick thrusting gently against my hand. And when I slip my hand inside the cotton and grip his hot flesh, he whispers a quiet “Fuck” into my ear.

Everything after that seems to move in double time, each of us making quick work of ripping the other out of their clothing, barely enough to access what we want. In record time his pants are shoved down, the crinkle of a foil packet the only sound in the room apart from our heavy breaths as he wraps up.

My jeans and panties are at my feet a few seconds later, one leg freed and hitched up under his arm, opening me to him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he grits out as his thumb strokes me between my lower lips, confirming my earlier assessment that I’m fucking drenched.

He slides one finger inside me, then two, testing my readiness.

“I’m ready,” I tell him. “Fuck, I’m so ready.”

Memphis chuckles, then flicks his fingers. I whimper, feeling like he could resolve that ache deep inside me just like this, just at that little touch.

God, it’s been so long, and I feel like I’ve been coiled so tight. I need this. So fucking bad.

Instead of letting him continue to tease me, I bat his hand away and grab his cock again. Memphis’s laughter cuts off, and he inhales sharply as I guide him to my entrance.

“Fuck me,” I tell him, rubbing his head in my wetness and then shifting my hips so that he begins to slip inside.

“Shit.” It’s the last thing he says before he’s thrusting inside me in one smooth movement, all the way to the hilt, slamming against something deep inside that makes me cry out in the best kind of pleasure pain.

He pauses, though, and doesn’t move his hips again. His hand comes up and covers my mouth, then he puts his forehead against mine.

“You need to be quiet,” he says, smirking as he rotates his hips, his dick bumping against something delicious.

I whimper.

“Let me know if you can be quiet, Vivian,” he growls, repeating both his words and his actions as his cock continues to nudge that same spot inside me.

I nod, desperate for him to keep moving.

“Good. Because there’s a bar full of people fifteen feet away from this door. And it could be a big problem if they hear you screaming out my name.”

Cocky shit.

But that’s barely even a thought before he’s pulling back and slamming in again, causing my entire body to throb with need.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Memphis thrusts a few more times before he pulls his hand away from my mouth, seemingly satisfied that I won’t call out again.

And I manage to keep my cries to myself, but barely.

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