my clit and his torso, waves of pleasure building like a growing tide. His gaze flickers between my parted lips, my closed eyes and my breasts, happily jiggling along, level with his mouth. I feel his lips wrap around my nipple and another moan carelessly flies from my throat.
We fuck like that, his hands gripping my ass, until it’s all too much. The feeling of his cock, the heat of the room, his mouth against my breasts.
“I’m gonna cum.”
My entire body quivers as my hands find his hair, dark strands wrapping around my fingers as I pull his face into my chest and ride out my orgasm. He comes soon after, his hot stream filling me up, his moans muffled in my breasts.
For a few moments we remain wrapped up in one another. Sweaty, sticky, fucked out.
I’m the first to move. I sway my hips towards the bathroom, closing the door as I clean myself up. I try to be quick about it, a few seconds on the toilet and two minutes in the shower. I’m standing at the sink, surveying the light bruises on my neck when I hear it: the hotel door opening and closing shut.
“Neal?” No response.
I stick my head out the bathroom door, the smell of us assaulting my nostrils but there’s no sign of Neal. He’s thrown on his clothes and left.
Quickly, I tug on my dress and rush into the hall, hoping to find him waiting for the elevator but he isn’t there either.
Neal Dietrich has fucked me and dashed.
That fucking asshole .
Nine
It’s difficult not to feel betrayed. I’ve only known Neal for a handful of hours, but I felt a connection to him, which was shattered when he ran out on me.
I’m sure I could find his contact information on the internet, but when I wake up the next morning I decide it isn’t worth it. I needed a good fuck before I went back to Baltimore and I got it.
No strings. No complications. Except why does my heart feel mildly broken?
______
My father’s attorney operates out of his Lincoln Park brownstone, three stories tall with a charming red door and two dogs calmly sleeping out front. His wife answers the door in a bright yellow apron, a glass of lemonade ready in hand. She hands it to me and ushers me inside with a warm hand on my back, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, dearie,” she says, her breath moving through my hair.
She leads me into the dining room, a tight space filled with a long brown table. Gina, Ashleigh, Darlene, a man I don’t recognize, and Martin Simmons – my father’s longtime assistant – are already seated, spaced out far apart from one another, around the table. Gina and I make eye contact. I give her a small smile but she looks away. She’s pissed I walked out of my father’s repass without so much as a word and refused to answer her text messages. I take a seat near the head of the table, a seat away from Martin, and for the first time I feel guilty.
The lawyer, Donald, enters a moment later, drink in hand, glasses hanging around his neck. It’s the beginning of summer but he’s wearing a tweed suit, chocolate brown, with a button down, black tie, and brown sweater beneath his jacket. He looks uncomfortable and very, very hot.
“Do you want me to turn on the air, dear?” asks his wife, sticking her head in the room.
He waves her away. “No, no, it’s fine.” In front of him sits a thick manila envelope. He pries it open slowly, all of us watching, our shoulders hunched towards him in interest. He sets a piece of paper on top before he folds his hands and addresses us. “What you should know is this ‘reading of the will business’ isn’t very customary at all.”
The man I don’t know, large and Italian, says, “That’s not true. You see it all the time in uh, movies.”
“ Movies . Make believe. My point exactly.” Donald takes a drink. “But Julian, as all of you know, had a flair for the dramatic so here we are. The formal reading of his will. Before we start,” he looks around the table, “would everyone mind
We fuck like that, his hands gripping my ass, until it’s all too much. The feeling of his cock, the heat of the room, his mouth against my breasts.
“I’m gonna cum.”
My entire body quivers as my hands find his hair, dark strands wrapping around my fingers as I pull his face into my chest and ride out my orgasm. He comes soon after, his hot stream filling me up, his moans muffled in my breasts.
For a few moments we remain wrapped up in one another. Sweaty, sticky, fucked out.
I’m the first to move. I sway my hips towards the bathroom, closing the door as I clean myself up. I try to be quick about it, a few seconds on the toilet and two minutes in the shower. I’m standing at the sink, surveying the light bruises on my neck when I hear it: the hotel door opening and closing shut.
“Neal?” No response.
I stick my head out the bathroom door, the smell of us assaulting my nostrils but there’s no sign of Neal. He’s thrown on his clothes and left.
Quickly, I tug on my dress and rush into the hall, hoping to find him waiting for the elevator but he isn’t there either.
Neal Dietrich has fucked me and dashed.
That fucking asshole .
Nine
It’s difficult not to feel betrayed. I’ve only known Neal for a handful of hours, but I felt a connection to him, which was shattered when he ran out on me.
I’m sure I could find his contact information on the internet, but when I wake up the next morning I decide it isn’t worth it. I needed a good fuck before I went back to Baltimore and I got it.
No strings. No complications. Except why does my heart feel mildly broken?
______
My father’s attorney operates out of his Lincoln Park brownstone, three stories tall with a charming red door and two dogs calmly sleeping out front. His wife answers the door in a bright yellow apron, a glass of lemonade ready in hand. She hands it to me and ushers me inside with a warm hand on my back, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, dearie,” she says, her breath moving through my hair.
She leads me into the dining room, a tight space filled with a long brown table. Gina, Ashleigh, Darlene, a man I don’t recognize, and Martin Simmons – my father’s longtime assistant – are already seated, spaced out far apart from one another, around the table. Gina and I make eye contact. I give her a small smile but she looks away. She’s pissed I walked out of my father’s repass without so much as a word and refused to answer her text messages. I take a seat near the head of the table, a seat away from Martin, and for the first time I feel guilty.
The lawyer, Donald, enters a moment later, drink in hand, glasses hanging around his neck. It’s the beginning of summer but he’s wearing a tweed suit, chocolate brown, with a button down, black tie, and brown sweater beneath his jacket. He looks uncomfortable and very, very hot.
“Do you want me to turn on the air, dear?” asks his wife, sticking her head in the room.
He waves her away. “No, no, it’s fine.” In front of him sits a thick manila envelope. He pries it open slowly, all of us watching, our shoulders hunched towards him in interest. He sets a piece of paper on top before he folds his hands and addresses us. “What you should know is this ‘reading of the will business’ isn’t very customary at all.”
The man I don’t know, large and Italian, says, “That’s not true. You see it all the time in uh, movies.”
“ Movies . Make believe. My point exactly.” Donald takes a drink. “But Julian, as all of you know, had a flair for the dramatic so here we are. The formal reading of his will. Before we start,” he looks around the table, “would everyone mind
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