Chance (The One More Night Series) (7 page)

The atmosphere in the room shifted.  Now he was taking the lead.  Or was he?

“Why don’t you remove it yourself?” I asked. 

With a swiftness that surprised me, he stood, and our bodies became so close that he nudged me against the coffee table.  To right myself, I did what I had to do—I wrapped my hand around his back for support, which just drew us closer together, so much so that I could feel him pulsating against my thigh.  Given the mischievous look in his eyes, I had to wonder whether he’d done it on purpose.  But I decided that I didn’t care.

Before he removed my bra, he kissed me on the mouth.  The rough stubble on his chin brushed against my cheek and caused me to gasp, particularly when he kissed me on the neck and then probed lower toward my breasts. 

His tongue tasted me.  His lips covered me.  Low murmuring sounds came from his throat as he released my bra with a flick of his hand.  I heard it hit the floor somewhere behind me, and then he bent his head and took one of my nipples into his mouth. 

As he sucked on it, I moaned with each swirl of his tongue, which seemed to dance and dart over every nerve ending in an impossible cascade of sensations.

And then he stopped—just stopped—which took me aback.  He looked up at me, our eyes met, and then he pressed his lips firmly against my ear.  “I’m going to do something to you that no one has ever done to you, Abby.”

The heat of his voice and the softness of his lips against my ear were enough to weaken my knees.  But I kept my voice firm.  “How would you know what anyone has done to me?”

“Let’s just say it’s safe to assume that nobody has done this.”

“Because you think I’m inexperienced?”

“No.  Because I think you’ve been with inexperienced men.”

“I’ve only been with two men.”

“Enough said, then.  Now, let’s see if you can handle it.”

I had no idea what he had in mind, but the mystery of what was coming sent a thrill through me.  At this point, I was nothing if not a hot mess inside, but I wanted to stay in character because I was having fun with him and sensed that he also was enjoying himself.  So I kept my voice steady when I spoke.  “You don’t know what I can handle.”

“You don’t know what I can do to you.  I’m going to make you come, but not like you’d expect.”

What does that mean?

“So do it.”

Already, I felt as if my body couldn’t take much more, and yet, pathetically, we’d only just started.  He smoothed his hands down the sides of my torso, and I writhed beneath his touch.  My body was so alive, it felt like torture when he lightly touched his nipples against my own, and then began to rub his nipples against mine while he whispered obscene things to me.

What he was saying was too much.  It was sensation overload.  Again and again, his nipples flicked across my own.  Again and again, he pushed me closer to an edge I didn’t know existed, but had only heard about from my girlfriends.  But even this was more cutting than they’d ever shared with me.  This was raw, primal, unexpected.  His chin dipped down and once again, his stubble brushed against my exposed flesh, making me throw back my head in ecstasy.

“Please,” I said.

He didn’t respond.  He just kept doing what he was doing.  The same motions, over and over.  Barely touching me, which not only seemed to be the point, but which also was the cruelest part.  I wanted his hands on me, and I wanted him inside of me, but he seemed determined to deny me of that.

“When I fuck you, you’re not going to be able to take all of me,” he said.  “And when you realize that you can’t, when you know that I’m too large for you, that’s when the fighter in you will want to prove me wrong.  I can’t wait for that to happen, Abby.  Because when it does, you’ll experience something like you’ve never experienced before.  It will feel like your first time.”

With those words alone, I closed my eyes and came so intensely that it wracked my body to the point that I cried out and shook involuntarily, even when the orgasm was over. 

Breathless, I looked him in the eyes and saw that he was watching me.  When he whispered into my ear again, he lowered a hand between my legs, placed it against my inner thigh, and when he told me exactly how he was going to fuck me, another orgasm struck. 

I couldn’t believe what was happening to me.  Throughout all of this, he’d barely touched me.  All of this was beyond what I expected.  And he was right—I’d never experienced anything like it before.

But he had more in mind. 

His hand went to my panties, and he hooked his fingers inside and moved them across the band as he intentionally touched my clitoris and pushed my panties down so I could step out of them.  When I did, I fell into his arms just as one of his fingers slid inside of me.  And then another.  And finally another.  I felt so full, I dug my fingernails into his back because I wanted him to feel what I felt as he rhythmically began to stroke me.

“It’s too much,” I said.

“If this is too much, then you’ll never be able to take me.  Lose control of yourself, Abby.  Let yourself go.  Open yourself up to me.  It’s the only way.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.”

“Take me to the bedroom.”

With ease, he lifted me into his arms and carried me into the dimly lit room.  His fingers were still inside of me when he laid me down onto the bed.  But then he removed himself from me and took off his pants and his boxers. 

When he knelt down and penetrated me with his tongue, he began to search, lick, taste.  Over and over in my head, I kept thinking that I never thought that it could be like this—that this was something that must be happening to another person—because in my life?  At my age?  And given how I’d been raised?  It sure as hell hadn’t happened to me yet.

But it is now.

So, it was. 

I lowered my legs, wrapped them around his back, and urged him up toward me.

“You’re not ready,” he said.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.  I’m telling you that you’re not.”

“Just fuck me,” I said.  “If you feel you need to be gentle at first, then be gentle.  But once I’ve accommodated you, I want you to be rough with me.  This is our first and last time together—”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that.”

“It’s true.  We both know it is, and there’s no shame in it.  I want to leave here knowing what it’s like to be with a man, not a boy.  I want you to take me hard, and I want to walk away knowing that I never once held back.  So, make love to me as if you do love me, Chance.  Give me that illusion.  You know I’m not attached to you, so you’re free to do with me what you want.  Just promise me that you’ll make love to me as if you are crazy about me.  Pretend that you want to prove that to me.  Make me feel something that I’ve never felt before.  You’ve already done that twice tonight—now, please, do it again.”

And so he did.

With one quick motion, he lifted my hips and pressed the head of his cock against my wetness.  I reached down to grasp him, and in an instant, I realized his concern.  He was larger and thicker than I’d expected, but I was damned if I was going to let that intimidate me.  Slowly, I pulled him toward me, just so the head of his penis slipped inside of me, which was enough.  For a moment, we remained still—and then he went deeper, his girth making me catch my breath.

“Abby—”

“Give me more.”  I swung my legs to wrap around his buttocks, and bit down hard on my bottom lip when he began to push inside of me.  It was painful, but it was a wonderful kind of pain.  I could feel his desire coming off him in waves, and I knew that he could feel my own as I tightened myself around him.  I felt myself grow wetter.  I reached out for the sheets and pulled them toward me.  And then, without warning, he took me by surprise and buried himself inside of me.

My back lifted off the bed.

He leaned down and met my lips with his own, swallowing my scream as I struggled to take all of him.  What in the hell did he have down there?  I could feel him pulsing inside of me with an energy that was so heated, it was enough to make me forget about the pain and lose myself in it. 

When I was ready for him, I moved my hips to indicate that I wanted him to start thrusting. 

As he did, I met each of his thrusts with my own.  I reached my hand around his neck while he took me with the fierceness that I’d begged for.  With each thrust, I felt as if I was coming alive in ways that I hadn’t felt… ever.  No man had ever made me feel so complete.  No man had ever made love to me like this.  

Each time he drove into me, I felt myself open to him in ways that I’d never opened myself to another man.  What I felt was a mixture of pressure and pure bliss.  Toward the end, just as I was approaching my third climax of the evening, I started to buck against him as he rammed even harder into me.  And then came the unexpected groans of his own pleasure, which thrilled me to my core.

“Come for me,” he said.

I was in the ether, and it had no connection to reality.  He held my hands at my sides, pinned me down onto the bed, and then lowered his head to one of my nipples.  When he sucked it into his mouth and pressed his tongue against it—and fluttered against it—that was it for me. 

The orgasm that overcame me was unparalleled, perhaps because he himself had fallen on top of me as he shot inside of me.  I gripped him by the back of his head, but he needed no encouragement from me.  Almost immediately, his lips were on mine.  As he throbbed inside of me, he held me and kissed me.  And then he completed the illusion of our lovemaking when he said in my ear that he never wanted me to leave.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Two hours later, while Chance slept and dawn broke along the horizon beyond his bedroom windows, I slid quietly out of bed and looked down at him with affection. 

I thought that he was so beautiful, so perfect, that I didn’t want to leave him now.  But I knew that I had to.  We were of two different worlds, and last night was a fevered beginning to an amazing end.  One on level, I knew that the intimacy we’d shared had meant nothing.  But on another level, it had meant everything. 

You were wonderful
, I thought while I looked at his peaceful face. 
Thank you for everything—especially for allowing me to trust someone again.  I swear that I’ll never forget it.  Or you, Chance.

As much as I wanted to stay with him, I knew that I had to leave before he woke.  Last night was an anomaly.  It was special, it was gentle, and at times it was wonderfully brutal—but now it was in my past. 

I needed to go while the sex between us was still sweet.  The last thing I wanted was any kind of morning-after awkwardness, which Brooke and Elle had long warned me against.  And so I gathered my clothes from the bedroom and living room, pulled myself together in front of the large mirror that hung in the entryway, and then wrote him a note with the paper and pen I found in the suite’s kitchen.

“Thank you,” I wrote.  “For the first time in my life, I felt like a woman last night.  You did that.  I asked you to make love to me as if you really did love me, and you did.  I know that was asking for the moon, and I know that all of it was an illusion, but I still believed it.  You were that good—and that thoughtful.  And I’m grateful for all of it.  I hope that one day you find a woman who is deserving of you.  We won’t see each other again, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be moments in my life when you creep into my thoughts.  When you do, it will be with affection.  —Abby.”

I re-read the note and was horrified to see how much emotion I’d put down onto the page.  What was I thinking?  Was I that badly in need of getting laid?  I didn’t recognize the person who wrote that note—my subconscious must have lost its mind.  I knew that I couldn’t expose myself to him like that, so I crumpled the note in my fist, searched for a trashcan, found one near the kitchen island, and dropped it inside. 

I went back to the note pad and simply wrote, “Thank you.  It was beautiful.  —Abby.”

With nothing more to say, I stepped out of the suite, took the elevator to the lobby, and left him and The Plaza behind. 

*  *  *

As I left the hotel and started to walk down Fifth, Manhattan had yet to come to life—it was just past five on Saturday, so only the most die-hard of individuals were out, most of them jogging or running along the sidewalks before it became too hot later in the day to do so. 

I thought of Brooke and Elle, and it occurred to me that they likely were worried about me.  I’d been so consumed by what had happened last night, I’d never texted either of them, which was a cardinal rule not to be broken.  I dug into my purse and retrieved my phone.  And sure enough, there were several texts from each of them.

Texting wasn’t an option now—they were likely asleep.  So I called Elle, who answered on the third ring.

“Where are you?” she said.  Her voice wasn’t drowsy as if I’d just woken her up—instead, it was as sharp as it was hot.  “Why haven’t you called?  We’ve been worried sick about you.  I was giving it another hour before I called the police.”

She was angry as hell, and she had every right to be.  I’d never done anything like this before, but that didn’t excuse me from following the rules Elle had set into place when all of us first moved to Manhattan.  If any of us didn’t plan on making it home at night, for whatever reason, then we called or texted at least one person in the group so everyone’s mind would be at ease for the rest of the night.  I hadn’t done that.  I felt terrible about it, and I fully took the blame.

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I don’t know what I was thinking—I should have called.  Or texted.  But I was so caught up in the moment, I didn’t even think of it.  I swear I didn’t, not that that’s an excuse.  It isn’t.  I’m an idiot.”

“Abby, you always come home.  Brooke and I were frightened out of our minds for you.  You never
don't
come home after work.  So, where have you been?  Why didn’t you call?”  She paused for a moment, and then her voice trailed off.  I knew her well enough to know that she was thinking this through and putting together pieces of a puzzle that would nail me against a wall.