each bounce, “Feels so good. I don’t want to stop.”
“I want you to come again,” I grit out.
“Going to,” she gasps, her head falling forward until her brow touches mine. I feel her breath across my mouth, and there it is… just like that and almost at my command, her body stiffens as an orgasm takes her hostage. I can feel her pussy rippling around my cock, and my hips jerk upward into her.
One, two, three more thrusts, and I’m coming right along with her. “Fuck,” I bark as I start to unload.
Christ, this is good.
So fucking good.
The best… and it gets better each time.
Who is this girl, and what has she done to me?
Mere moments after the last ripples fade, we collapse sideways onto the bed, my cock slipping out of her. We lay face to face, drained and with dopey smiles on our faces as we stare at each other.
“That wasn’t too rough?” I ask.
“God no,” she murmurs, then stretches luxuriously like a cat. “That was amazing.”
“Good.” I lean in, brush my mouth against hers, before rolling back enough to look at her. “So, how was your day yesterday?”
I didn’t get over to Jaime’s until after nine last night, and there was no time for talking. She’d been texting me dirty stuff that evening, and I was ready to fuck her the minute I stepped over her threshold.
I had told her a semi truth—that I had a work meeting. The truthful part of it was I was at Jameson to meet with Kynan and Rachel about a security seminar they want me to help Rachel give in a few weeks. Rachel, of course, attended via video since she’s in the Vegas office.
The lie was that Jaime thought the work meeting meant at the car dealership she thinks I work at, and I didn’t bother correcting her with the truth. While I have been having an amazing time with her, I keep waiting for me to wake up one morning and realize it’s over. I’ve never dated anyone this long, never spent this much time and energy on a person, and I don’t trust myself to maintain this for the long term. It’s just not inherently me.
So until such time the lie about my profession compromises my moral compass to the extent I feel I’m harming her, I am going to keep things as is.
Jaime doesn’t respond to my question. It’s something I would have asked her had I arrived earlier—say to have dinner with her first. I love to hear all about her work, which I’ve come to learn is important and lifesaving to many people. While Jaime will try to start a conversation about “my work,” I usually put her off with a, “you don’t want to be bored by that,” or “it was a crappy day, and I would rather not talk about it” type of responses.
“Are you in an orgasmic coma?” I tease, taking her chin in between my thumb and forefinger and giving her a little shake.
She grins, stretches again. “Sorry… it’s just… I think you broke me a little just now. But I mean that in the best of ways.”
“We can fuck like that any time you want,” I promise as I release her chin. Curling my arm under my head, I ask again, “So how was work yesterday?”
Jaime’s expression clouds, her mouth turning downward. “Not the greatest.”
“What happened?” My hand immediately goes to her waist to pull her in a little closer, enough so my hand can rest on her lower back. I glide my fingers there in a comforting measure.
“A woman I helped place in a shelter last week left, presumably going back to her abuser.”
One thing I notice about Jaime is she never refers to the men from whom she helps to keep women safe as a “husband” or a “boyfriend.” She only calls them abusers, meaning she doesn’t give them any human credence at all.
“And?” I prompt, knowing this story won’t have a happy ending.
“She’s in the hospital,” she whispers, eyes misting up a bit. I’ve never seen her cry. I mean, we’ve only been dating a week, but she’s such a happy optimist. There’s never been a situation where I would have seen tears.
I’m now seeing the ugly side of her work.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He beat her with a bat.” Jaime grimaces. “She has a brain bleed. She’s in pretty bad shape.”