Page 23 of Playboy

Eyes squeezed shut, he lets out a slow growl. “Fuck.” And then I feel it. The pulsing inside me. The jolt of his cock as he unloads. The muscles and tendons in his neck go taut, and he comes with a low moan. It’s fucking beautiful. He’s fucking beautiful. Even crying.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, the look of torturous rapture turning to mortification. “Just give me a few minutes and we can go again.”

I shake my head and gently slide my hands down his forearms. “It’s all good.”

He wobbles, his jaw dropping. “Hannah.”

I bite down on my lip.No. This is good. One night. One fuck. And now it’s over. “Don’t get attached, Baby Hall. I told you I’m the ice queen.”

With that, I slip out from beneath him and stride to the bathroom without looking back. Because let’s be honest, there’s no coming back from a one-night stand that involves crying.

CALLIOPE’S COLUMN

May

Almost

Almost, ladies. Almost is the absolute worst word in the English language. You want to know why? Because I almost had it all.

I thought I’d found the unicorn. You know, the kind of man romance novels tell us exists. A man who wined and dined me, said all the right things, waxed poetic about our first kiss, and excelled at using his freaking tongue—so well I’m optimistic the lost art of oral may see a comeback. And to top it all off, he had the kind of dick dreams are made of. Long and thick and blinged out with my favorite kind of piercing…

Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?

Only he had absolutely no idea how to use it.

There are all kinds of ways a guy can disappoint in the bedroom.

So often, they last too long, jabbing me over and over until I’m begging them to come so it can be over. Or it’s too quick. A one-pump chump, if you will.

This man was a literal god with his tongue. He let me ride his face like he was my personal playground, and let me tell you, I got down and dirty on the playground.

So the minute I saw the piercing, I thought he was the unicorn I’d been searching for.

But he catfished me with those tongue skills. Honestly, if the sex had been better, I wouldn’t have let him out of that room.

I would’ve just chained him to my bed and kept him there so I could do it over and over and over again. Don’t worry, I would have taken notes and reported back.

But that’s not what happened.

The problem wasn’t even that he didn’t last. I could have made the best of a quickie, followed by another round.

No, what ruined it for me was the sniffles. Every time I’d get close, the man would sniffle, and it totally threw me off. I imagine it must be akin to having a baby monitor set up beside you while you’re trying to fuck your man. What kind of person can orgasm to a soundtrack of sniffles?

I swear I tried to tune them out, and I figured if I changed positions, that would do the trick, but when we were face to face, I found out it was so much worse. It wasn’t just sniffles.

He was CRYING!

Yep, literal tears streaming down his face while he tried like hell not to come. There was honest-to-god chanting:don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.

Well, I’ve got news for you ladies, I didn’t.

EIGHT

DANIEL

No fucking way.She’s not…she can’t be. Holy shit, is HannahCalliope?

NINE

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