Page 41 of Service Included

“Yeeeeesss.” She buried her face in her folded arms and raised her hips higher. She was open for him, her body racing ahead to imagine his cock penetrating her waiting flesh. She felt swollen, as if the engorgement in her breasts and pussy had spread to every part of her body and taken the strength from her bones.

And then he pushed deep into her pussy while he held and supported her. His finger found the button at the top of her opening, flicked, and flicked again.

She trembled, weak-jointed with the need to submit, and knew she wouldn’t be able to stay in this pose if he didn’t support her hips.

“You’re beautiful.” His groin smacked against her bare skin, and the sound made her gasp. He pulled back and slammed into her again, the slap of their skin as loud as their breathing. “And so fucking smart.” His words sounded like they were yanked from him, jerky and rough. Again, he drove deep and took her into the pounding rhythm.

She didn’t care if he was spouting lines. Didn’t care, because desire whipped her too, drove her to push backward and force him as deep as she could take.

“So fucking”—he pulled back, she tensed with the opposite reaction, and then they collided with enough force to make her grunt—“smart.” Again, slicker and faster and so hard. And again, deep enough that she felt his balls slap her body where they connected. “Fuck.”

She felt so dirty with this man. His fingers dug into her hips, his thumbs wrapped around and pressed into the yielding flesh of her buttocks, and she had to abandon any of her own motion and move only as he directed. It was so good, so necessary. His cock filled her so deeply she saw stars. So much fucking. She was getting tighter, squeezing. She could feel it starting in her thighs. Her pussy opening and closing at the same time. Locking down on him, trying to keep him, but trying to move faster too.

“Yes, yes, fuck.” She didn’t know what to say to keep him doing this. Doing her. “Harder.” That. That would do it.

He listened. She didn’t know how he thrust harder, but he did. He shouted without words and pumped so deep into her that her voice disappeared, then he hung, waiting, as the tight grip she’d had on her desire shattered from their connection. She felt the waves rocking her pussy, and then he groaned and shuddered behind her, coming only after he’d felt her control explode. Behind her closed eyes, the world shrank to nothing but the sensation of his cock and his hands. His blinding magnificent cock sunk to his balls in her pussy. She doubted they’d ever be able to separate.

Her knees collapsed, and they tumbled together, gasping for air. He drew out of her body and rolled over.

“That,” he said, and then his eyes fluttered closed.

She didn’t need words to know what he meant. They’d broken some barrier between this world and the next. Perhaps she ought to acknowledge that they’d let a wild force out into the world through the door they might have opened, but he was senseless.

Excellent idea.

By the time sheopened her eyes again, the windows had become gray-purple rectangles among the darker shadows gathered along the walls. Nico sprawled on his stomach next to her. One of his arms curled between them, and his other hand rested on the floor. The empty house cocooned them.

She had to pee, she needed more water, and she ought to retrieve the clothes strewn around the first floor. At least her underwear and shorts were close enough to grab as she creptout of the room. She didn’t quite trust that there was nothing left on which to stub her toe until she had navigated the hall and reached the bathroom. Without towels or mats to soften the sound, the light switch’s click echoed in the white-tiled space. Likewise, the mirror amplified the overhead light, making her cringe when she saw the red creases the mattress seams had left across her cheek.

Then she glimpsed her back.

Nico hadn’t merely doodled on her body, she understood as she twisted to see the full design in the mirror. He’d created undulating poppies, the petals bright red against the pale skin usually covered by her waistband. He’d shaded the blue and black markers to create glossy centers leading to the pure black pistils. Where he’d wanted highlights, he’d left her skin uncolored. Somehow, with a mere three colors, he’d woven a tapestry on her body. She’d never personally wanted a tattoo, even though she’d admired other people’s designs, but these flowers stole her breath.

And then she recognized the other element of his art. The angular script that she’d initially thought represented stems and pointed leaves was actually numbers. Ten digits, starting with Eugene’s 541 area code, were legible in the reflection. He must have written them backward. She twisted again, trying to see if there was anything else—a word? A message?—hidden in his design, but there wasn’t. He’d given her what appeared to be a phone number, presumably his, and left the next choice to her.

Her imagination spun with scenarios of long-distance dating as she rinsed, donned the few clothes she had, and slipped down the stairs. At the bottom, she gathered his jeans and boxers. She would return to Seattle tomorrow morning, and then on her own time, she could decide what she wanted to do. Neither of them had to address the topic tonight. This guy seemed to know allthe ways to fill a one-night stand with possibility, but without infusing pressure or awkward expectations.

Damn, he was good.

In the kitchen, she found their shirts, cupped water in her palm to drink like Nico had done, and then dried her wet hand on her shorts. While stretching muscles that multiple rounds of sex had jolted into use, she felt as if Nico’s drawing had enough weight to press on her skin. He must want to keep in touch, making this potentially more than a one-and-done fling.

She’d like to see him again too, although she had no idea how the logistics would work. Nico was in Eugene, and Seattle was the place where she’d built a life for her daughter and herself. Callie loved her school, their neighbors were their best friends, and she had a great job.

The rattle of her phone vibrating against the counter announced an incoming text, startling her in the quiet room. Answering it was a good way to stop overthinking.

Aleesha had sent a photo.

Whoa, the spontaneous kayaking guy was super-hot. Dark, with a nice beard scruff and short hair. Sharp cheekbones that balanced out his nose but lips that softened his face enough to make him swoony. They were in front of that hotel on the Seattle waterfront with the giant outdoor fireplace and the big views of the ferry and Olympic mountains, although she imagined Aleesha wasn’t going to spend much time staring out the windows, given that her message said she’d text by ten in the morning.

Well, well. Some sort of acknowledgment seemed to be required.

Remember what I said about life jackets?

It’s like the Titanic here.

Aleesha

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