Page 27 of Built to Last

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excerpt from short-term shag

Levi

Fuck me, she’s hot. I’ve seen her in the building a handful of times over the last week. Tatted, ridiculously lush and curvy and dressed like a vintage pin-up girl. Her raven-black hair looks silky and impossibly soft, and I desperately want to sink my fingers into it. About the same time I sink my dick inside of her.

We’ve ridden this elevator together multiple times over the last couple of days, but I haven’t yet thought of a way to introduce myself.

It seems highly unlikely she’s single. She’s too damn beautiful for that. No, she definitely has a boyfriend. Maybe a girlfriend. I blow out a breath and try not to stare at her through the slightly distorted reflection in the elevator doors. But damn it’s hard to look away. She isn’t a small woman, and there’s nothing unassuming about her. She’s bold with her brightly colored tattoos and her fire-engine red lips. Her deliciously voluptuous body is only highlighted in the clothes she wears. Nothing too revealing that I’d noticed thus far, but everything molded to her plump curves as if tailor-made.

Today she’s wearing tight black pants with gold buckles across the shin-length hemlines. It’s the shirt accentuating her amazing breasts that keeps drawing my attention though. It’s black with a tie that goes around her neck. The plunging neckline gives me a fantastic view of her cleavage and the fabric is dotted with little red cherries. One green stem curls around her right nipple.

My cock stirs against my thigh and I slide my eyes closed to get myself under control. She makes me feel like a pubescent teen; she’s a wet dream come to life.

We’re going up, and I’m ready to get to my condo. It’s been a hellacious week at school and I have a stack of papers to grade. I’m not looking forward to that. Grading is, hands down, the worst part of being a professor. Taking on a summer term class makes it even worse. But this is the weekend to do it. We have a possible hurricane heading our way and I intend to use the bad weather to stay in and get the work done.

A loud popping noise sounds around us, then the lights go out and the elevator slams to a halt.

“Fuck!” she says. Her voice, smooth—yet rich—like expensive scotch.

A hand grabs onto my arm and nails dig into my skin through my tweed jacket.

“I’m sorry. Just not a fan of the dark,” she says.

“Not a problem,” I tell her.

“Whoa, are you from England?”

“Yes.” I do have that going for me. American women love my accent. It’s gotten me laid on more than one occasion. I reach into my pocket and pull out my mobile to flick on the flashlight feature. She stares back at me, all wide-eyed and gorgeous. I move over to the emergency phone and pull it out. It immediately starts ringing. My companion remains attached to my arm. But I’m not about to complain about that.

“Power’s out all over the city,” the woman’s voice on the other end of the line informs me.

“Any idea how long it’ll be until they can get us out of this elevator?”

“How many are there with you?”

“Just two of us.”

“Do either of you have a medical emergency?” the nasally woman asks.

“Uh, I don’t believe so.” I glance up at the pretty woman standing next to me and raise my brow in question. She shakes her head. “No, we’re both all right.”

“Very well. We’ll send someone out as soon as possible, but medical emergencies are our priority right now.”

“What should we do?” I ask her.

She releases a crusty cackle that says she likely smokes several packs a day and has for years. “I suggest y’all get comfortable.”

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