Read Online Chance (The One More Night Series) by Christina Ross - Free Book Online
Authors: Christina Ross
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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
“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
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