and falling steady, still lost in slumber. His ass was the ass I knew so well, so perfectly shaped, he looked like he’d been pulled down from a podium in a Roman amphitheatre. He was worthy of tourist snapshots, sculpted from stone and hot enough to scorch a thousand souls.
Screw my life. One look at him and I was thrumming desperate for another go.
His back had the same glorious ladder of a spine, with dips at the base that made me want to dig my fingers in and lick a road all the way up. His butt cheeks were screaming out to be pulled apart, my eyes desperate to snatch and steal every sliver of his privacy.
Holy shit.
I was doomed.
My whole body was rattling, desperate for another taste of him eating me alive, but no. My brain was fighting it this morning, holding on to the frayed edges of reason. Finally. I had some. At least thirty seconds of frayed reason enough to swing my legs out of bed and shove myself to my feet.
I didn’t have a clue where most of my stuff had been cast aside – not even my phone – but luckily my medication tray was on the top of his chest of drawers with a half full glass of water standing next to it. I ate up my morning dose, then resolved to drag myself to some kind of order and get the hell out of there, party over, see you later.
See you never fucking again, more like it.
I’d clipped my bra back on and tugged my dress down over my head by the time I realised he was looking at me. His leg was lazily kicked out, arms deliciously muscular as they grabbed a load of pillows and propped his head up.
His stare was anything but lazy as he lapped me up. I could feel him. Drinking me in and swigging me deep.
He patted the covers next to him with a smirk, but no. Just no.
“Fuckathon over,” I said. “One off, remember. Nice to know you.”
I sounded a whole load more sure than I felt.
“You’re really fucking off before a morning repeat?”
My back was to him when I nodded. “Yep, I’m really fucking off.”
I didn’t hear him moving and I daren’t have looked around to check, just kept on grabbing my stuff up from the carpet and piling it back into one of my cases. Still no sign of my phone.
“I can give you a lift back to your place,” he said, but I shook my head.
“I need the train,” I replied. “Can’t have anyone seeing us together. If I’m a scrap of lucky, I’ll get away with this bullshit without having to spend the next decade explaining my crazy.”
“Maybe a decade explaining the crazy is better than a decade living without it,” he said, and his words thumped me deep.
There was only one person on this planet responsible for the decade living without it, and he could go and get fucked. I spun to scorch his stare with mine, wishing my clit believed a sliver of the spite the rest of me was such good friends with.
“I’ll be living without it for more than a damn decade this time around,” I told him. “It was a splurge. A stupid splurge. That’s all.”
“I can still taste your pretty cunt,” he said, and I hated him. I hated the way he licked his lips and kept that smirk at full volume. I hated the way he was bursting for more without even breaking a sweat. I hated the way he had me on fire, even though my heart was ice cold and seething.
I hated the way his cock was hard and my mouth was watering.
I hated the way I was fluttering like a weak little heartbreak with jelly legs.
“Get me to the train, please,” I said, and he held my stare for a few long seconds before getting to his feet.
“Sure.”
He kicked aside his strewn shirt and pants and grabbed some jeans from his drawer. I cursed myself for watching as he pulled them up, and cursed myself harder when his eyes met mine in the mirror, catching me in the act. I got the hell out of there and found his bathroom at the bottom of the landing.
My heart was panging weirdly as he burst right on in while I was taking my morning piss, that same smirk on his face as he checked out my pussy as I peed. He loaded up his