A Taste of Utopia (9 page)

My eyes glimmer as tears threaten to come out.

His face scrunches up. “What?” He brushes a strand of hair glued to my sweaty face. His vulnerability is so breathtakingly in contrast to the gorgeous, confident man I met at the club.

“Seth, this was . . . it, uh, God, it was incredible.”

A multitude of emotions crosses his face, but pure male satisfaction prevails as he replies. “Glad to be of service.” He smiles and withdraws from inside me.

I grimace at the pain and discomfort.

“Be right back,” he says and disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, I’m still in the same position. I’m too sated to move. I wonder when I’ll regain full command of my body. If ever.

“Here, let me clean you.” He rubs a warm and soft washcloth inside my thighs and my most intimate place. He is kneeling in between my legs. From my vantage point, I see a full erection going. It renews my desire. I want him again.

He looks at me with clouded eyes. His gaze is full of hunger and desire for more. It’s parallel to my own desire to have him again.

My lips turn up slow, in a quiet invitation. However, he shakes his head, and vehemently says, “No, you’re sore.” He continues his gentle sweeping.

I sigh in disappointment.

He places a kiss on my apex, disposes of the cloth and climbs my body until we’re facing each other. “You need to sleep, to get some rest.”

I fight to break free from the stupor that holds my body inert. I want to seduce him and change his mind. Fatigue wins the battle.

He lies beside me and tucks me under his arm. “Sleep, Cherry Lips.” He places a kiss on my head.

I nuzzle on his shoulder; my hand slides around his narrow waist. I breathe in the woodsy scent of him and close my eyes.

And Dreamland welcomes me.

Seth

I WAKE UP TO A
pounding headache and the throbbing of a raging erection.

A soft ass shifts, rubbing against said erection. Patches of memories from the previous night slide in my mind, making me growl with renewed desire.

She shifts again and fucking precum drips off my dick. Well, fuck me. I haven’t felt this way since I was a teen.

Her hair is fanning over my face, releasing the scent of gardenia. Thinking about last night, I tighten my hold on her. I was so goddamned horny. I hadn’t felt that way toward a woman in a long time. Most likely never. In my reasoning, I thought that fucking her senseless would purge this burning desire she awoke in me. It didn’t.

My mind tries to dictate what to do next. But the head down below pleads, and throbs and jerks, ultimately winning.

My hand slowly slides over her round thigh. It descends into the valley of her small waist and climbs her torso until reaches the summit of her full, generous, firm breast.

My fingers knead into its voluptuousness and focus on the nipple, pulling, elongating and pinching. She squirms, half-asleep, half-awake. Her sensual, raspy groan resonates through the silent morning.

I grind my dick against her ass as my teeth scrape the sensitive skin on her earlobe.

She turns to face me. Her sleepy eyes are already full of desire. She parts her lips to say something. Before she utters a word, my mouth crushes hers. My body stretches out on top of hers.

She moans in my mouth, and the sound alone takes me to the brink of an orgasm. Fuck.
Come on Seth, you can do better than that.

I inhale and draw back. My body needs a reprieve. This raging desire renders me a wreck.

But I see her under me. She has dreamy eyes and flushed cheeks. My body ignores the mental command to go slow. I capture her lips with uncontrolled hunger, undiluted passion.

She writhes and parts her legs, accommodating me between them. She raises her pelvis, adding some friction. Her sex presses hot and wet against my cock. Her responsiveness sets me on fire.

My hand slips down to her inviting pussy. I sweep my thumb lightly over her clit.

“Seth,” she cries.

“Hot damn, baby, you’re so responsive.” My hand finds her moist opening, and I fuck her with my finger. “Baby, I need you, hard and fast.”

“Please,” she begs. “Now.” Her plea morphs into a demand as she arches her back so my finger sinks deeper into her.

“Fuck.” I grab my pants from the floor and fish the pocket for a condom. My fingers are trembling. If I don’t bury my dick inside her, I might have a heart attack.

I’ve had years of practice, but my fingers are clumsy. The frantic need to have her is so intense that jacketing myself rivals climbing Mount Everest.

I settle back in between her legs and spread her legs open. She is exposed and all mine. I glance up at her face. Her cheeks, flushed pink, turn bright red. She is feeling shy.

I shift my attention back to her red folds. They’re swollen and glistening with desire.

I run my tongue over my lips. “I want to taste your sweet cunt so bad, but my dick is kind of in a hurry.”

Her lips make an O shape, shocked and surprised at my crude words. She is a mixture of angel and minx. And the erotic combination might just be the death of me.

I climb back over her and position my dick in between her hot cleft. I rub my erection on the moisture along her clit, lubricating the tip of my cock.

“Fuck.” With a grunt, I thrust hard and deep into the hot depth of her.

Her body coils, taut and tense. Her mouth lets out a cry. It carries the sound of pain and pleasure. I capture her lips and thrust my tongue into her mouth. My hands shackle her wrists, and my hips pin her to the mattress.

My thrusts are merciless—hard and fast.

Her cunt convulses around my dick. I want to slow down, savor and lengthen our pleasure. But my body wants what it wants.

I release her wrists. Her hands, so small and delicate, grab my biceps, her legs wrap around my hips urging me closer, deeper.

My name becomes a liturgy on her tongue as she cries out repeatedly.

My mind borderlines complete insanity. My body, bursting with energy, is as uncontrollable as a ruptured live wire is.

“Goddamnit, woman,” I grunt, plunging my tongue back in her mouth.

She sucks my tongue, her nails sink into the skin of my arms. Her pussy, tight and warm, clenches, throbs and grips my dick as she rides her orgasm.

I come. Hard.

I lower my face to the valley of her breasts. My panted breaths are blowing on her skin, my hips making slow, short thrusts as I too, ride the remnant of my orgasm.

We are silent.

There is nothing to be said. The feelings of what transcribed between us transcend words. Render them useless.

“Good morning,” I finally say.

“Morning.” Her voice is raw from screaming my name.

I withdraw from her. And the absence of her surrounding me makes me feel as naked as Adam must have felt that day in Eden.

I snatch the condom off my dick and dispose of it in the wastebasket next the bed. A soft purr from Lottie calls attention to my semi-erection. I glance at her.

Her hair is tumbled with sleep, her lips are red and swollen, and her face is flushed. But I’m drawn to her eyes. They are wide, innocent, and full of sunshine. It sends a shiver up my spine.

Has a virgin pussy whipped my dick into submission? I shake off the line of thought.

“Baby, if you make another sound like that I’ll have to take you again. You’re sore, I’m hungry, and we both need a shower. ” I gather her in my arms, so she is lying on top of me, and kiss the top of her head. “So hush.”

She stretches and nuzzles into my chest making another lazy and quiet purr.

“I’m warning you.”

She raises her hand, and her index finger starts to draw loops on my chest.

“Is this real?” she asks in that raspy voice of hers.

“Pretty sure it is.” Unless it’s a utopian dream and I’ll wake up.

“Are we insane?”

“Pretty sure we are.”

“Are we really married?”

“Baby, I have the certificate that says so, and the bloody sheets to prove the consummation.”

“We need to talk about it.”

“No, we don’t.”

Ignoring me, she slips off my lap and sits on the bed. Her hair falls over her shoulders, covering her breasts. I want to reach up and brush it away so it won’t obstruct my vision of her gorgeous tits. But her face is grave. She’s intent on having this conversation.

However I’m not ready to address the damn white elephant sitting in the middle of the room, so with swift movements I stand, scoop her up and take her to the bathroom.

“First things first: Shower, food, conversation.”

“But—”

I kiss her open lips midsentence.

“In this order: shower, food, talk.”

I place her on the marble floor. Inside the shower stall, I switch on the water, flip on all the jets, adjust the temperature, and say, “Get your gorgeous behind in.” I smack her ass as she steps into the stream. “I’ll order breakfast and will come back to shower with you,” I say, closing the door.

After ordering breakfast, I fish in my wallet for another condom. I should have specified that a shower included wet, steamy, vertical sex.

An urgent pounding at the door bursts the bubble that had been keeping us isolated from the world.

“It can’t be room service. I just placed the order,” I mumble, putting on my pants, not bothering with a shirt.

When I yank the door open, a fuming Chloe storms into the sitting room area.

“What the fuck did you do to my friend?” She spews the words out in an angry little burst. Her nostrils are flared, and her eyes dart around the room, searching for Lottie. Her skimpy nightgown, raccoon eyes, and tangled hair tell me she rushed here.

I’m taken back by her hostility. “Nothing that you didn’t pay me for,” I answer, irritated. The nerve she has to burst in, all righteous, acting as if I raped her friend. Wait, is this some sort of ploy to incriminate me?

She holds her cell phone up toward me as if it were a loaded gun. “This! Tell me this isn’t true.”

“If you care to exp—”

“Did you fucking marry Lottie?”

I blanch. “How the fuck do you know?”

“Where is she?” Her eyes flash to the bedroom door.

“Shower. Who told you?” Maybe Lottie called or texted her.

“It’s all over Facebook, you asshole. Clear picture and bold letters.”

She shoves the device in my face. I retrieve it from her, taking a closer look.

The picture is the one Cher snaped. It frames our profile while we kiss. Elvis Presley behind us. Lottie’s left hand rests on my arm, the ostentatious ring and wedding band I put on her finger glint as if confirming our marriage.

The caption, most likely written by Cher, reads:
‘Elvis just made it official. We’re married <3.’

The picture has dozens of shares, hundreds of likes and an equal amount of comments.

“Fuck,”

“Yes, fuck her not marry her!” Chloe screams.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I return the device to her.

“Well, you give me a virgin that would only have sex if she was married. What did you expect, sweetheart?” I know I’m coming across as a jackass. But my head’s spinning.

“Wait! Does she even know I hired you? You didn’t tell her, did you?” she asks in an accusatory tone.

“Tell her what?”

“That you were her birthday present, that I hired you to fuck—wait what did you say? Who’s a virgin?”

“What do you mean tell her? She doesn’t know? My directions said to act casual so this would go down as a casual date. Role-playing and shit. You’re fucking telling me she doesn’t know I’m an escort?” The conversation I had with Adriana runs through my mind. She never said anything about this.

“No, no, no. Don’t turn this on me. I was crystal clear with your madam, or boss, or whoever the hell the owner of Tailored Companionship is.”

“The hell you were crystal fucking clear. I was told to never, ever, mention I was an escort.”

“Bullshit. I was clear. You were to flirt with her and then tell her I had hired you to give her twenty-one orgasms to make up for her asshole of an ex that didn’t make her come when they had sex. Of course, I trusted the institution to send a man with smarts and sensitivity. Someone to make it all smooth, and even a bit romantic. Hence,” she says, waving a hand around the room. “This room, and the flowers. Oh God, oh God!” She covers her face. “What have I done to my best friend?”

“Shit. Fuck.” I pace the length of the room. Racing thoughts tumble and crash through my mind. What do I even care? It’s not like I know Lottie, or care about her.

Fuck, whom am I kidding? I knew exactly what I was doing last night. I knew I wanted to fuck her more than I wanted my next breath. I knew I would have given my right kidney to make it happen. And since I’m being honest, I am aware that there was a connection between us, one inexistent with the hundreds of other women I fucked throughout my career.

Accepting these truths is easy. However, what do I do with them? Where to go from here?

I don’t have a clue. However, I know this much: I don’t want this crazy thing between us to end. Not yet. Not until I understand whatever the fuck this is.