Page 65 of The Worst Guy Ever
This.
This is the vision I’ll keep with me forever. The full curve of her tits peeking out from where I’ve lifted her top, pale flesh begging for my tongue. The line that dips down the centre of her stomach to where her hips are rolling against me, already desperately seeking relief. Her hands grip my shoulders and I guide her in close so I can whisper against her mouth.
“If I had my way, you’d be full of my dick this entire weekend.” My other hand finds its home on her hip, gripping her there, moving with her as she rubs back and forth against me. “You’ve only come once. It’s not nearly enough. I need more.”
“I faked it.”
“Such a pretty little liar,” I say, licking her throat. “Keep grinding.”
“I hate you,” she moans and bucks faster.
“I hate you too, sweetheart.”
After our second round it’s late, I’m starving, and Hattie doesn’t take much convincing when I suggest we order burgers from room service. I throw on a robe to collect them at the door and set everything up in the lounge.
“Dinner is served, my darling,” I call through, and she appears a second later in a robe of her own. A robe I immediately want to get my hands inside.
Her hair is wild, the skin around her neck and her chest red from my kisses, and I add that image to my memory too. She picks up a plate and settles at one end of the sofa, but stretches her legs out until her feet are in my lap. Hattie so rarely makes the first move, but I don’t draw attention to it in case she changes her mind.
“Do you want to watch something?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I don’t mind. I mainly watch rom-coms with Megan and try not to point out how ridiculous they are.” Hattie takes a big bite of her cheeseburger and I’d be offended by her satisfied moan if I hadn’t already made her make that same noise with my tongue.
“I had you down as more of a true crime fan.”
She points a fry in my direction. “You thought I’d enjoy watching shows about women getting chopped into pieces then glorifying the men who’ve murdered them?”
“Well, not when you put it like that,” I laugh, slightly horrified at the reality check.
“What do you watch?”
“Not a lot. My mum is a big fan of Antiques Roadshow though, I sometimes watch it with her.”
She doesn’t reply, and I turn to find her staring at me, her head cocked slightly to one side. That cute little wrinkle appears between her eyebrows and I want to reach over and smooth it out with my thumb.
“You’re a real mystery, you know that?” she says.
I shrug and leave the remote for now, happy to just be here with her like this.
“Where did you learn to give massages like that?” she asks, finishing her burger and wiping her hands on a napkin.
“I studied physiotherapy for a while. It helps a lot of our patients, so I wanted a better understanding of how I could help with more of their issues. Massage therapy was a part of the training. Speaking of which, you’ve got some serious knots in your shoulders.”
“Mmm, I know,” she says, swallowing. “I’ve been pushing it hard at the gym lately and not allowing enough time to recover.”
I sense a hint of something there. “Any particular reason?”
“There’s a lot going on at work. Boxing is a good way to deal with the stress of it all. That and orgasms,” she says with a smile.
“Well, I’m glad to be of service on that front.”
Truth is, I can’t get enough of her. I’m not ready to go again, but after clearing away our plates and washing my hands, I’m very happy to return to the sofa and lift her into my lap. She doesn’t resist, and I sit back and let her get comfy, straddling me, her warm, smooth skin on mine.
“Tell me about a time you were happy,” she says, her tone so calm, peaceful. To my shock, she leans in and settles her head on my shoulder, one arm sneaking into my robe to wrap around my back. I close my eyes, settle my head back against the sofa cushions, and she wiggles in closer.
