Page 59 of One Last Shot

The sigh that escapes my lips when he enters me with his fingers is otherworldly, and I can’t be responsible for the sounds that escape my lips as he begins stroking me deeply inside while his palm slides along my clit with each thrust of his hand. Between the feel of his enormous cock along my ass, the miracle his fingers are working inside me, and the way he’s gently pinching my nipple with his other hand, he’s got me ready to orgasm in record time.

“I’m so close,” I whisper, then want to cry when his hand leaves my breast. But he uses it to push his shorts down his legs, then he’s back with his bare skin against my ass.

Then he’s moving again, and I’m having trouble deciding which I appreciate more: the way his long fingers can reach the parts of me that need his touch, or the way his rock-hard muscles are cradling my body from head to toe, making me feel protected and cherished. I consider myself pretty well versed in sex, and this still feels different somehow. More intimate, more meaningful. Less about getting off and more about the connection. I mean, this is the first time in years that I’ve spent more than one night with a man.

I’m wondering if the same is true for him, or if he’s had successful short- or long-term relationships, when the pulsing deep in my core begins. It spreads, making my legs shake beneath me and my arms feel tingly. My breath comes in short inhaled gasps and long exhaled moans, and I don’t even know what I’m saying, but words are tumbling out of my mouth.

When my muscles stop pulsing around his fingers, he pulls out and I hear the rip of a condom wrapper, but I’m too exhausted to even move. “When I saw you at the game tonight in my jersey, all I could picture was bending you over,” he says, one hand coming to my hip and the other guiding my back down so my hands are resting on the cast iron table next to us. The jersey moves up my back as his lips trail kisses along my spine. “Even mid-game I wanted to be inside you,” he says, his mouth next to my ear as his body cups mine. Between my legs, he rubs the hard, long length of himself along my slick folds.

My hands rest on the table, still warm from the sun even though the air is turning cold this late at night. A shiver of anticipation runs through my body. “I live to make dreams come true,” I say as I push my hips back into him.

His responding growl sends another shiver through my body, as the realization that I can have this effect on him floods me. He pulls back and then he’s stretching me open as he slips into me. I’m still sensitive from my orgasm and the feel of him sliding along the nerve endings inside me, dragging that magnificent cock along the slick walls of my core, has me keyed up way too fast.

Then he wraps his hand around my ponytail and he must stand because his chest is no longer pressed against my back. A tiny tug has my neck arching backward.

“Look at me.”

I glance over my shoulder and am surprised at the possessiveness I see in his eyes as they scan my face and then travel down my body before returning to meet my eyes.

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me, Petra. Watching myself enter you like this—You ... this ... is even better than I always imagined.”

I’m sure my eyes go wide at the word “always.”He pictured us together like this?Isthatwhat he meant last night when he said not seeing me like a little sister was half the problem?

“Everything about you,” he says as he drags himself slowly in and out of me, stoking a fire right between my legs, “is exquisite. Everything. Your smart mouth, your drive and ambition, the fierce way you care about people, your protectiveness. And this body ...”

He picks up the pace, his thrusts coming faster and harder and leaving me breathless in the best possible way. “Talk to me,” he says. “What are you feeling?”

I’m too focused on his words, the feeling of his fingertips as they press into my hip, the way he’s hitting that spot deep inside me exactly as I need him to hit it, the way his hand is still wrapped around my hair holding my head in place. It takes me a moment to find the right words. “I feel ... overwhelmed ... possessed. I feel like I want to do this as often as possible. Like this is what was always meant to be between us.”

The last sentence has him grunting in agreement as he pounds into me, his movements forceful and gentle at the same time. Then he stops suddenly, pulling out right as I was starting to feel the first traces of my next orgasm.

“I want to see you,” he says as he flips me over, lifting me up and laying me back on the table. “And I want you to see me too.” He pushes back inside me, then reaches his hands inside the open neck of the jersey and cups my breasts before bringing them up so that the neckline of the shirt holds them in place like a push-up bra.

“You like that I’m wearing your number?”

“I normally avoid jersey chasers like the plague,” he says. “But you in my jersey ... it’s the biggest fucking turn-on.”

He hooks his hands under my knees, bringing them up to the sides of his chest. At this angle, he’s so deep, and I’m stretched so wide from the thickness of him. His eyes are still on my breasts, so I bring my own hands up and cup them, rubbing my thumbs over my nipples. I see the heat in his eyes, those molten gray irises swimming with lust, his pupils so large they almost take over the irises. “You like it when I touch myself?”

“Hell yes,” he grunts, his dark hair falling forward into his eyes as he looks down at me.

I bring one finger up to my mouth, swirl the tip of it with my tongue in the most suggestive way I can manage, then bring that finger down to where our bodies join together. I’m well on my way to another orgasm, but might as well help him out if he enjoys watching. A couple of swirls and flicks of my clit with my finger and my hips are moving to meet his in time with each push and drag.

“Shit, Petra,” he grunts out. “You are so fucking sexy.”

In response, I pinch my nipple with my other hand, and my eyes half close with the pleasure coming from so many parts of my body. I can feel my muscles clenching around him as the orgasm starts deep inside, but it’s chased by a second orgasm from the feel of my finger on my clit, and experiencing both at the same time has me gasping and panting out expletives over and over as the waves of heat and sensation roll through me.

Sasha’s eyes close tightly as he pushes into me with one final thrust, and feeling him pulsing against my inner walls sends me completely over the edge. I come apart with a sound that’s half scream, half sigh, but he reaches down and covers my mouth, bending forward whispering, “This ends very differently if we wake Stella up.”

I glance around, for the first time considering that she might be able to see us or hear us from her bedroom. But then I remember that her bedroom looks out onto the terrace, and from that angle it’d be impossible to see us in here.

“How does it end if we don’t wake her up?” I ask as he pulls back to look at me.

He looks over his shoulder toward my bedroom door. “Let’s find out.”

* * *

When I wake up in the morning, everything is sore. My body feels like I spent last night doing gymnastics, which in a way I guess isn’t far off. Sasha was asleep with his arms around me when I dozed off, and even though I know he wouldn’t have wanted Stella to find us here together, it’s still disappointing to wake up alone.

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